The Regency Season Collection: Part Two. Кэрол Мортимер

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      A moorhen shrieked a protest, then hastily fell silent as a hunting barn owl scoped the edge of the trees on silent wings and a vixen barked to her cubs to behave themselves and come away from somewhere close by. They were noises of the night he’d been so familiar with once upon a time he marvelled that he’d forgotten how good it felt to enjoy the freedom of his own land in the dark, when nobody else but smugglers and poachers and creatures of the night wanted it and a forlorn boy could feel free of all that made his days hideous. Even though he’d hated the castle back then because his guardian lived in it, he’d loved the land and still did. Another lesson learnt, he decided with a resigned sigh as he wondered if that was another reason for his godmother’s demand he spend a season here and never mind all those childish oaths never to set foot in the place again.

      ‘Damn it, Virginia, I’m here, aren’t I? Shouldn’t that be enough for you when I swore I’d never set foot in the place again until you went and died on me and left that confounded list of things to do behind you,’ he murmured into the night air. He could have deceived himself into thinking he heard her argue less than the best was never good enough for her godson, thank you very much. ‘God, I miss you so much,’ he whispered to the now-still lake and the moonlit shadows and decided restlessly wandering the cliff-paths all night wouldn’t do anyone much good and he couldn’t avoid his bed for ever because there was no Polly Trethayne in it, waiting for him to come home and make love to her in the heady shadows of my lord’s currently humble bedchamber.

      * * *

      Polly had been out of sorts for the rest of the evening. When the fire was burning low and conversation lulled to a sleepy murmur she looked up from a reverie about what lords and their secretaries talked about when nobody else was listening and caught Lady Wakebourne’s eyes resting on her. For a while she tried to join in the relaxed chatter after the day’s work until her thoughts took over and she lapsed into silence again.

      If Mantaigne was here, no doubt he’d manage to annoy her in all sorts of subtle ways. And yet... And yet nothing; he was just a man and much like any other. Under his fine clothes and fastidious grooming he was still only another son of Adam. For a supposedly idle man he had a set of very powerful muscles on that lean body of his, though, and she had a feeling he was as impressive without a stitch on as he was with all that fine tailoring and spotless linen not doing a very good job of concealing his manly perfections from the eyes of the world.

      He swam in the sea every morning whatever the weather, just for the sheer pleasure of pitting himself against the elements so far as she could tell. Then there were all those long hours spent in the saddle and it really wasn’t quite right for her to long for an excuse to ride at his side and simply watch the play of his well-honed muscles over that long body of his as he moved as one with his horse. He might have helped her out in her quest to find fault with him, she decided crossly, but, just when she was ready to find him as idle and frivolous as he wanted her to, he would do something that showed how unlike the image he worked so hard to portray he was underneath those fine clothes.

      She recalled him on that first day, dust and ancient cobwebs clinging to his sweat-sheened skin until she’d challenge his fashionable friends to even recognise him under the grime. Heat rushed through her at the memory of him so utterly male and yet so endearingly boyish in all his dirt. That hot bolt of what must be carnal desire unnerved her.

      She’d spent years thinking herself a freak for not feeling the wanton urges some women seemed to be brought so low by. Now she was yearning like a schoolgirl for a man who very likely wished she didn’t exist. Horrified to catch herself sitting among her friends, a dreamy smile on her face, she tried to make sense of the various strands of conversation and join in, but it was like trying to weave cloth out of cobwebs and the chatter faded into the background again as sorting out her feelings towards the lord of Dayspring Castle took centre stage once more.

      The man was a walking conundrum, she concluded, frowning at the empty fireplace. If she understood him a little better, maybe she could put him out of her head and get on with her life. At first sight he’d looked almost too perfect, like a hero out of a myth rather than a real man. She supposed she’d been as taken in by his surface polish and glamour as everyone else after that first bolt of heady shock that here was the man she’d never let herself dream of, standing there watching her with whole worlds of promise in his blue eyes. Something told her that shield was part of a game he played with his fellow man even then and perhaps that accounted for her irritation with him as soon as she realised he wasn’t put on this earth to make her feel unique and feminine and found.

      Could such a self-contained man let anyone see him as he really was? She doubted it, but if he did she hoped she wasn’t here to see it. There, she had admitted it, even if only in her thoughts. She wanted to be his special female, the one to unlock his guarded heart and make herself uniquely at home in his arms. Well, she could want as much as she liked, it would never happen. How could it when she was herself and he was Marquis of Mantaigne?

      ‘Woolgathering again, my dear?’ Lady Wakebourne asked softly.

      Polly realised the others had said goodnight and gone to their own quarters without her even noticing. ‘Apparently,’ she admitted, finding her gaze hard to meet.

      ‘High time you got some sleep if you’re planning more relentless toil in the morning, my dear,’ her ladyship told her, and Polly meekly got to her feet and took a last look round the now shadowy parlour.

      How much longer would they be able to sit together so sociably at the end of a day’s work like this? The question added another layer to her discomfort as she followed her ladyship down the grand stone stairway and outside into the twilight. So much was changing here and Polly knew her driven urge to work hard stemmed from a need to fight those changes and pretend all would be well again. That was obviously impossible; they lived in a different place and time now and she should accept it and plan her next move.

      ‘Did Lord Mantaigne really find that lovely cloth for my new habit in an attic we managed not to discover somehow?’ she asked as they made their way across the courtyard and she did her best to curb her long stride to her ladyship’s shorter pace.

      ‘Yes, he thinks the box must have been thrown in a dark corner when his grandmother died and the fabrics she planned to have her London dressmaker make up for her were forgotten. Lucky for us, since if they had been turned into clothes we’d have had to look at you dressed like a scarecrow for evermore.’

      ‘I shall ignore that comment as best I can, but it must have taken a deal of work to make it up so beautifully.’

      ‘We love you, my dear,’ the lady said simply, and Polly battled tears.

      ‘It’s so long since anyone said so,’ she admitted huskily, ‘and I love you too.’

      ‘Thank you. After Greville shot himself I thought I was too bitter and twisted up with fury and grief to love anyone again, but you and your brothers and the unlikely friends we’ve gathered along the way taught me otherwise. You have made a lot of difference to a good many lives, Polly. I hope you’ll see how special you are one day and how very lucky those boys of yours are to have such a sister.’

      ‘I only did what any sister would,’ Polly protested uncomfortably.

      ‘Most would have sent their brothers to a charitable institution and done whatever they had to in order to make their own way in the world. Not many would put their half-brothers before their reputations and any prospect of a decent marriage. I would not have done what you did at seventeen; I was far too selfish and pleased with myself for such a sacrifice back СКАЧАТЬ