The Illegitimate Montague. Sarah Mallory

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      ‘Last night was quite delightful, of course, but we both know it cannot be repeated. There is a naval term for it, I think … ships that pass in the night.’ She achieved a giggle. ‘Although we did not quite pass each other, did we?’

      His face took on a stony look.

      ‘Do you really think our meeting quite so insignificant?’

       Open your eyes at him, Amber. Give him that guileless expression of surprise.

      ‘Of course it was significant. Without you I would have lost a great deal of stock. I am very grateful to you.’

      He made her an elegant bow over Bosun’s neck, his voice and his manner thick with sarcasm.

      ‘I am glad to have been of service to you!’

      Inwardly she flinched, but she had wanted to put him at a distance, and seemed to have achieved her aims. Surprising, then, that she should feel like bursting into tears.

      She waited for him to turn his horse and gallop away, instead he continued to ride alongside her.

      ‘Much as I am eager to reach the Park,’ he said coolly, answering her unspoken question, ‘you pointed out to me last night that my coat is in need of a little attention. I shall stop off at the Rothermere Arms to see what can be done to repair the damage.’

      Amber’s conscience stabbed her.

      ‘You have lost two buttons. I do not think the inn will be able to help you there.’

      ‘Yesterday you said I deserved a new jacket,’ he reminded her.

      Those blue eyes threatened her defences again and she kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

      ‘Goodness, you do not suppose I remember every little word I say?’ she quipped. ‘You may come to the warehouse and I will mend your coat for you there, if you like. Or I could direct you to one of the seamstresses I know, although none of them live on this side of Castonbury.’

      ‘Thank you, madam. I have lost enough time already and have no wish to go chasing around the countryside! I will come to your warehouse. And if you could allow me the use of a mirror and some water, too, I would be obliged to you.’

      His clipped tones told her he was keeping his temper in check. Good. She did not want him to be kind to her, just as she was beginning to regain control over herself.

      It took them an hour to reach Castonbury. They saw no one on the road but all the same Amber was glad to have Adam’s company, the memory of yesterday’s assault still fresh in her mind. They said very little, but as they entered the village she pointed to a tall, stone building at the far end of the street.

      ‘There, that is my warehouse, with the shop built on the side. Ripley and Hall, cloth merchants.’

      Adam heard the note of pride in her voice as she read out the words on the sign. She followed it with a soft laugh.

      ‘Oh, dear. I do hope poor Fred isn’t laid low with worry about me!’

      Another surprise. From the moment he had first seen Amber Hall she had taken the wind out of his sails. When they had seen off those ruffians he had expected to find her shocked, tearful, even faint. Instead she had positively beamed at him, full of energy. The immediate and mutual attraction was undeniable, but he had tried to fight it, whereas Amber … He remembered that first, tentative kiss. Had she intended to seduce him? Looking back it seemed quite possible, especially when he thought of her behaviour this morning. He would not have been surprised to find her regretting their actions, afraid of what had occurred, but she had acted like a worldly-wise mistress, eager to move on. And now, just when he was beginning to think that she was nothing but a heartless strumpet, she knocked him off course with such warmth and concern in her voice as she spoke of ‘poor Fred.’

      He dropped back and followed as she guided the wagon through the double gates into the yard. Even before she pulled up a lanky youth and an old man came hurrying out.

      ‘Thank goodness you are here!’ The youth put up his hand to help her down.

      ‘Aye, we bin that worrit about thee,’ growled the old man, going to the horse’s head. ‘We was gonna get up a search party if you ‘adn’t shown up soon.’

      ‘Well, I am here now, and safe, as you see. And we have Mr Stratton to thank for that.’ She jumped down and turned to him, her smile lighting up the yard. ‘This is Frederick Aston, my clerk, and holding the horse is Jacob, who helps out in the warehouse.’

      Adam looked from the pale, thin youth to the gnarled old man holding on to the dray horse and realised why Amber had thought it necessary to fetch the cloth herself.

      ‘But what’s happened?’ cried Fred, looking in horror at the damaged bolts of cloth.

      ‘A few ruffians thought it would be a good joke to cast my load into the river,’ she replied. ‘If Mr Stratton had not come along, then it might all have been ruined. As it is, only those bolts on the top were soaked. They have dried out somewhat, but you had best put them to one side for laundering.’

      Frederick turned to her, his rather colourless eyes filled with anguish.

      ‘Oh, Mrs Hall, if only you had let me come with you—’

      ‘What, and leave old Jacob to look after my shop and warehouse all alone? I needed you here, Frederick.’ She glanced up at Adam, and some of the certainty seemed to leave her. ‘Now, if you and Jacob would look after Mr Stratton’s horse, and kindly unload the wagon, I shall take our guest indoors.’

      She led the way in through the warehouse. It was stacked high on all sides with rolls of fabric—gaily patterned cottons, creamy muslins, shiny silks in a rainbow of colours, woollen cloth in every shade from black and deepest blue through autumn browns to greens the colour of spring leaves.

      ‘So Frederick and the old man are the only help you have?’ he asked her.

      ‘Yes, but they are very loyal, and we manage very well.’

      There was something defiant about the way she spoke but Adam did not question it. Silently he followed her between the racks to a door leading into a small corridor with a narrow staircase.

      ‘Ah,’ he said, following her up the stairs. ‘You live above the shop.’

      ‘Of course. I grew up here.’ She led him to a bedroom with a washstand and a mirror in one corner. ‘This was my father’s room. I think his shaving box is here somewhere… .’

      Adam held up his saddlebag. ‘I have my own razor, ma’am, and a brush and comb, thank you.’

      He eased himself out of his coat, his grazed knuckles and a certain stiffness in his shoulders reminding him of yesterday’s confrontation at the river.

      ‘Good.’ She reached out and took his coat, making sure she did not touch his hand. ‘I will find Maizie and send her up with some water.’

      She picked up the jug and Adam watched her hurry away. She was nervous, but that was only to be expected: she was a woman alone, and he was in her house. It occurred to him СКАЧАТЬ