Engagement of Convenience. Georgie Lee

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      Chapter One

      October 31, 1805

      Julia heard the shot from the top of the hill. It split the early morning still, sending a shock through her body and silencing the birds in the surrounding trees. Pulling hard on Manfred’s reins, she brought the large black horse to a halt and examined the woods below the riding path for signs of the shooter. Brilliant shades of orange, red and yellow dominated the trees and a gentle breeze sent many of the leaves cascading to the ground. A flock of birds rose from the forest, indicating the shot’s origin, but she saw nothing of the gunman. Uncle George often hunted here, but he was not expected back from London until later today.

      How dare they, she fumed, nudging Manfred down the sloping hill and into the thick cluster of trees growing along the small valley floor. Only a guest of their neighbours, the Wilkinses, possessed the audacity to hunt uninvited on Knollwood land.

      Low branches tugged at her hair, freeing it from the loose bun fastened at the nape of her neck. Pushing it back out of her face, she knew her sister-in-law Emily would object to such a display, but Julia didn’t care. She wasn’t about to allow the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends to poach in her woods.

      As she urged Manfred deeper into the thicket, it didn’t occur to her to fetch the gamekeeper until the horse stepped into a small clearing as the culprit let off another shot in the opposite direction. Julia flinched at the thunderous noise, but Manfred, true to his warhorse breeding, stood rock still. Only his twitching ears acknowledged the explosion.

      ‘What do you think you are doing?’ Julia demanded.

      The stranger whirled to face her and she drew in a sharp breath. Here was no fat wastrel, but the most handsome rogue she’d ever seen. The low sunlight cutting through the trees highlighted the deep-red tones in his dark hair and sharpened the bones of his cheeks. The shadow of a beard marked the square line of his jaw, emphasising his straight nose and strong chin. Her pulse raced with an emotion far different from fear. She could not name it, but it emanated from deep within her body.

      ‘I’m hunting,’ he answered plainly. Leaning his gun against a tree, he straightened into a stance reminiscent of the one her brother Paul assumed when a superior officer commanded him to relax.

      ‘You are poaching in my woods. Now remove yourself at once before I call the gamekeeper. He’s only a short distance away,’ Julia lied, hoping he believed it. The knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips told her otherwise.

      ‘I’d like to see your gamekeeper try to remove me.’

      Julia scrutinised him, hard pressed to imagine any of the servants, except perhaps the blacksmith, taking on such a sturdy man. He was tall and slender but solid, his wide shoulders and strong chest radiating a strength his loose-fitting hunting clothes could not hide. Following the line of his long arms to his hands, she imagined them around her waist, lifting her down from Manfred and pressing her against his body. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation of him claiming her mouth, the warmth of it driving away the morning chill.

      Swallowing hard, the danger of the situation rushed back to her at the sight of the hunting knife dangling from his belt and she mustered her anger to counter the scandalous thoughts. His gun might be empty, but there was no way to know his skill with the blade. ‘I demand you leave, at once.’

      ‘I must say, I’ve never been addressed in this fashion before.’ His blue eyes dipped down the length of her, then rose to her face. ‘Especially not by such an attractive young lady.’

      Julia grasped her riding crop tighter, ready to whip him if he threatened her, but he still did not approach. ‘If I were trespassing on your land, I’d have the decency to be humble, but since you are trespassing on my land I may address you as I please.’

      ‘You would have to travel a great distance to trespass on my land.’ He laughed, much to Julia’s chagrin.

      ‘Then be off,’ she ordered, ‘for the sooner you leave, the sooner you may reach your land.’ With all the grace of an accomplished horsewoman, she pulled Manfred around and cantered away.

      * * *

      James watched the woman disappear through the trees. Her horse, if one could call such a beast a horse, kicking up the soft earth, leaving behind clouds of dust to dance in the dappled sunlight. Nothing came to mind except pure awe, like the first time he’d been at sea with no sight of land. Neither the dark maidens of the islands hardened by tavern life, nor the plantation owners’ daughters with their languid speech, ever struck him as this woman had. No, she seemed too much of the world, yet strangely innocent of it. What would he give to slip her from her horse, lay her on the damp leaves and make her more knowledgeable?

      His body stiffened at the delightful fantasy before the shifting sun piercing the trees nearly blinded him. Judging by its height, he knew it was time to go. Grabbing the haversack from the ground with his left hand, he felt pain tear through his shoulder and the bag fell from his weakened hand, landing on the ground with a thud.

      ‘Hell.’ He snatched it up with his right hand and flung it over his shoulder. The gun’s recoil had irritated his wound more than he’d realised. Despite the stinging ache, he didn’t intend to give up hunting. He’d already lost too much to sacrifice more.

      Picking up the gun, he hurried through the woods along a small footpath leading up to the top of the hill. Climbing out of the shallow valley, the pain and all the emotions it brought with it taunted his every step.

      Damn it, damn it all, James thought bitterly, striding off down the opposite side of the hill and up the next steeper one, scattering a small group of sheep grazing in the wet grass.

      Up ahead, Creedon Abbey rose before him, its grey stone, small windows and numerous turrets and chimneys betraying its roots in the Middle Ages. James’s old friend Captain George Russell had done well for himself, investing some of the fortune he’d gained in the Navy in this small estate. Only the broken and charred roof timbers and smoke-blackened stone ruined the idyllic scene. George had failed to extinguish an oil lamp one night two weeks ago and the resulting fire had gutted a large portion of the house. Scores of workmen now bustled about the front drive, unloading large blocks of stone from carts or carrying wood inside to begin the first day of repairs.

      James shook his head at the damage, not sure whether to feel sorry for his friend or to laugh. Thirty years in the navy, fifteen as a captain and George had never once lost a ship. Within four years of resigning his commission, he’d nearly burned his house to the ground. For all George’s bragging about how much he’d learned from his niece about running an estate, he’d failed to master the simple skill of not setting it on fire.

      James’s СКАЧАТЬ