Captivated By Her Convenient Husband. Bronwyn Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ harvest ball was nothing to the Duchess, whose town house ballroom in London held four hundred and even then was always a crush.

      ‘That man is odious,’ the Duchess whispered as they walked away. He was more than odious, though. He was dangerous. He’d not made a fortune in the East India indigo trade because he talked a lot. He’d made it because he was a man of action. He did what he said. If he thought he could dissolve her marriage and coerce her into another, Avaline was quite concerned he actually could.

      ‘Thank you for coming tonight,’ Avaline offered sincerely to her mother-in-law. It would have been easy enough for the Treshams to stay in town to await Major Lithgow’s return and his news of Fortis.

      The Duchess dismissed the effort. ‘Major Lithgow knows where to find us. It could be days yet depending on the Channel crossing. We’d rather be here, supporting you. Today is a difficult day for all of us, made no less difficult by Hayworth’s event. He planned this on purpose and it is poorly done of him.’

      Avaline smiled, grateful for the support. Fortis’s family had stood beside her all these years, treated her as a daughter when her own parents had passed within a year of each other, leaving her alone with Blandford and its debt. Would they continue to stand by her if Fortis were truly dead? That, too, would be decided when Major Lithgow returned. Her future hung in the balance as did her freedom. Regardless of Lithgow’s news the freedom she’d known would be at an end. She would be a wife or a widow. She’d either have a husband or she’d need a husband—a woman’s lot in a nutshell.

      ‘Try to dance and forget for a little while,’ the Duchess encouraged, reading her thoughts. ‘There’s nothing else to be done until Major Lithgow returns. I’ve arranged partners for you. Here’s Sir Edmund now.’

      Sir Edmund Banbridge claimed her for the first dance, another family friend of the Treshams claimed her for the second. The Duchess had done her job well, peopling Avaline’s dance card with those who’d understand how emotional the evening was for her and wouldn’t press her for small talk. But eventually, the list ran out and Hayworth, as host, could not be denied for ever.

      ‘I believe supper is mine.’ Hayworth took her arm, brooking no prevarication as the supper waltz ended. Avaline understood her reprieve was over. She would not be allowed to refuse, but on principle, she had to try.

      ‘I find I have no appetite tonight.’ She would not have him believing she was in favour of his company.

      ‘Then we’ll walk outside. You needn’t stay indoors.’ Hayworth reversed direction, taking them away from the crowd moving towards the supper buffet.

      Avaline saw her mistake immediately. He was punishing her. If she would not eat with him publicly, she’d be forced to walk with him privately where anything might be said or done. The French doors leading outside to the veranda closed ominously behind them, the temporarily deserted garden spread out before them. This was not a situation she wanted to be in. ‘We have our seclusion, my dear. Just the two of us. Perhaps now you’ll tell me why you resist my offer so vehemently? Or do you need some different form of persuasion?’ Something dangerous glinted in his eyes. His body shifted, moving closer to hers, crowding her against the rail, a predator stalking his prey, a horrifying reminder of how alone she was out here with him.

      ‘I don’t consider cornering a woman on a dark balcony persuasion of any sort,’ Avaline replied staunchly, trying to ignore the fact that to keep herself from touching him, her back was pressed against the hard wrought-iron of the balcony. She could physically go no further.

      The knuckles of his hand gave a possessive caress of her cheek, his touch leaving her cold while her mind debated the plausibility of what he might venture here in the dark. Would he truly go so far as to force attentions on her? Admittedly, it was difficult to conceive that he would. She’d been raised in the belief that gentlemen knew the limits of propriety and abided by them, yet that very assumption was being challenged before her eyes. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Avaline, who has been on her own too long, you’ve forgotten certain pleasures. You need a man to remind you.’

      ‘I have a man.’ Avaline was starting to panic now. He was giving no sign of retreating.

      He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You have the memory of a man. It is not the same, I assure you.’ His mouth bent to hers in a swift move meant to take her by surprise, meant to render her helpless. The moment his mouth caught hers, she shoved, hard and certain. There could be no hesitation on her part or he would see it as acceptance. The shove bought her space, enough of it to rush past him and gain the door. She fumbled with the handle, struggling with it in her haste. She slipped inside, but not before he got his hands on her again, his grip punishing about her wrist.

      ‘Don’t be a fool, Avaline. I like a good, hard chase,’ he growled, ‘and I always win.’ As if to prove it, he dragged her to him and then danced her back to the wall until she was trapped between him and the damask. ‘I don’t mind if we play rough. I will have my answer.’ His mouth was inches from hers, his body pressed to hers, giving no quarter. ‘Tell me again, why do you resist?’

      Then he was gone, miraculously pulled away from her, a fist crashing into his jaw with enough force to send Hayworth sprawling into a Louis XV chair too brittle to take his weight. He went down and the chair splintered with him. A man was on Hayworth like a wolf on its prey, straddling the prone figure, one hand gripping his collar, the other forming a ready fist to finish the job. No, not a man, an avenging angel, Avaline thought, taking in the dark hair, the broad shoulders beneath the soldier’s blue coat and the ripple of muscle as the man bent over Hayworth. Another blow landed, galvanising Avaline. Avenging angel or not, she couldn’t allow him to continue even if Hayworth deserved it. Violence was violence.

      She ran forward, gripping her rescuer’s arm. ‘Stop! Please, stop!’ The arm tensed, muscles flexing beneath her touch, iron hard and rigid.

      The man turned his face to her, blue eyes lethal, mouth set grim. ‘Are you sure, my dear Avaline? I will only stop if you say he’s had enough.’

      He let go of Hayworth’s collar, dropping him on to the floor. Hayworth rolled to his side, curled in a ball, nursing his jaw. ‘Allow me to answer your question. Perhaps the lady resists your proposal on the grounds of bigamy, Hayworth.’ His growl was pure, primal possession and it sent a trill of excitement down her spine. ‘Looks as though I’ve come home just in time.’

      Avaline’s breath caught. She did not remember that voice, the rich rolling timbre of it behind the growl or the sound of her name on his lips as if it belonged there. How could she forget such a voice? But the hair, the shoulders, the blue eyes, the uniform... Her mind started to grasp the details, the realities. This must be what it felt like to see a ghost, the impossible made real. The world spun. She instinctively reached for him in a desperate attempt to steady herself against the overwhelming realisation.

      ‘Fortis. Oh, my God, you’re back.’

       Chapter Two

      Blandford Hall—the next afternoon

      Fortis sat on a sofa upholstered in rose silk, his back to the wainscoted wall, his sight line trained on the wide double-doored entrance of the drawing room, his peripheral vision aware that beyond him to the left were French doors and beyond that a manicured garden bursting with autumn colour. He was aware, too, that he was surrounded on all sides by luxury, safety and people who loved him. Beside him on the sofa sat Avaline, keeping respectful—or was that wary?—inches between them, СКАЧАТЬ