The Regency Season Collection: Part Two. Кэрол Мортимер

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       Chapter Eleven

      ‘Someone was skulking about the castle again last night, my lord,’ Partridge the gatekeeper informed Tom about a week after Peters left for London and Miss Trethayne resumed her petticoats.

      The idea he measured out his days by her actions disturbed him more than any rogues ambling about the disused wings of the castle in the dark. Unluckily for him, she looked even more magnificent in skirts than she did in breeches. Lady Wakebourne was obviously intent on torturing him, since each garment produced out of that accurst trunk in the rafters suited her protégée better than the last.

      First there was that dratted habit, draped so delightfully about her long limbs and feminine curves he could hardly concentrate on staying in his own saddle whenever she was wearing it, let alone any of the places he was supposed to be taking such an interest in. Then there was a dark-crimson monstrosity, made from finest silk velvet with such a sneakily modest bodice he was certain its wearer had no idea how immodest it truly was. The colour suited her and the fine stuff clung to every sleek and lovely line of her and when she moved he badly wanted to know how it felt between his touch and the warm woman underneath.

      He only just suppressed a groan at the very thought of her hips swaying gracefully in front of him as she’d preceded him into the makeshift dining room last night. As if that wasn’t bad enough, this morning she was wearing a deep-sapphire abomination of the very finest wool, made up into a morning gown, of all things, with a lawn fichu gathered almost to the neck that ought to be just what he’d been longing for last night, but was more of a disaster than the last instead. He was learning the magic of the hinted-at rather than the blatant whilst he tried to eat his breakfast now and he really hadn’t wanted to know how well a fashionably high waistline showed off her firm, high breasts and magnificent length of leg.

      Had he groaned out loud at the shattering memory of her sitting at the breakfast table, greeting him as if not quite sure he was the urbane gentlemen everyone around her seemed to think him? Wise woman, he told himself distractedly, as he met Partridge’s speculative gaze with a rueful grin. He doubted much about his ridiculous preoccupation with Miss Trethayne’s artfully designed new wardrobe had escaped the shrewd scrutiny of yet another man outside his natural orbit. There were so many of them at Dayspring he almost added himself to the list, but a terrible feeling of belonging was creeping up on him unwanted.

      A good job this man knew how to keep secrets then; Tom decided to ignore any minor crimes he’d committed in his hot youth and trust he hadn’t brought them with him from London. Partridge was the main reason the odd assortment of people living in his castle had gone unmolested for so long, so Tom could trust him where they were concerned, even if he was less certain about the man’s relationship to the free-traders and his supposed lord and master.

      ‘You’re quite certain this business has nothing to do with guinea boats or smuggling spies in and out of the country? I might wink at the Trade for the sake of my tenants and half the inhabitants of the south coast, but I won’t look the other way if they run traitors or Boney’s guineas in and out of Castle Cove.’

      ‘They wouldn’t do it now you’re here anyhow. Folk round here are more loyal than you deserve and they’d never tell the landers you don’t go in that part of the castle if you can help it.’

      ‘I’d hoped nobody would notice.’

      ‘I’ve lived a lot longer than you, my lord, and not much passes me by.’

      ‘Which would make you a good gatekeeper.’

      ‘So I’m told.’

      ‘Ah, so there is a lady in the case. I thought so somehow.’

      ‘Love gets to us all in the end, if we’re lucky enough. The real trick is to recognise it when it hits you between the eyes, my lord,’ the man said blandly.

      ‘And to know it for the passing joy it is,’ he muttered grumpily.

      ‘But then it wouldn’t be love in the first place, would it, my lord?’

      ‘No, damnation take it, it wouldn’t and it isn’t. We were talking about intruders and thieves, Partridge, not fairy stories.’

      ‘So we were, my lord. Then it’s high time we found out who’s getting into your castle and why they keep coming now you’re here and busy at long last.’

      ‘Perhaps we’d best find out what they’re looking for, then,’ Tom said, resigned to searching the part of the house he’d managed to avoid since his first day back.

      ‘Stands to reason they wouldn’t keep coming if there was enough of them to search properly in the first place.’

      ‘So it won’t take many of us to catch them.’

      ‘You want this kept quiet, milord?’

      ‘Yes, the place is all but empty and no sane felon would bother to break in.’

      ‘Aye, most everything was taken away years ago. They certainly ain’t busy picking apart state beds СКАЧАТЬ