A Shocking Proposition (2 page)

Lord Ashton turned to Maddy. “Miss Kirkby?”

She said simply, “My cousin desired some private conversation.
Since I have nothing to say to him, and no desire to hear anything he may wish
to say that cannot be said in public, I declined.” And she deliberately rubbed
her arm where Edward had gripped it.

Lord Ashton’s eyes seemed to settle there and narrow to
dangerous slits.

“That would appear to settle it, Montfort,” he said in a voice
that might have been chipped off an iceberg. “The lady refused. In my book that
always ends the matter.” A hint of scorn laced his tones.

Edward scowled. “See here, Ravensfell, you’ve no call to
interfere. If my cousin and I—”

“Leave me out of it, Edward,” said Maddy. “I’ve no desire to
speak to you. Unless, of course, you wish to discuss a settlement for Cally
Whitfield. She’s expecting your child in a few months.”

Edward’s mouth opened and closed, and Lord Ashton’s chill-gray
eyes widened slightly.

Maddy watched Edward, contemptuously. “No, cousin? I thought
not.”

She turned away from him. “Thank you, Lord Ashton.”

He inclined his head. “Not at all. Are you returning home
now?”

Maddy’s mind whirled. She’d intended to have Bunty put to and
drive straight home. It was after midday. If she didn’t hurry, darkness would
catch her before she reached Haydon. She cast a glance at the sky. It was bright
and clear, and last night’s sunset had been brilliant.
Red
sky at night
,
shepherd’s delight.
And
there would be a moon if she needed it...

“Not quite at once, sir.” Her heart pounded at the sheer
impropriety of what she was about to do, but she had no further doubts. “There
is one piece of business I need to conclude.”

He nodded. “I see.” He glanced at Edward. “I cannot see that
you have anything further to do here, Montfort. Unless your horses are here? No?
Then, good day.”

Lord Ashton didn’t move. There was nothing overtly threatening
in his appearance or voice. But something about the cold, gray eyes and his
stance radiated a warning, and Maddy stared as her cousin, his eyes hard, turned
on his heel and stalked out of the yard.

One of the lingering stablemen muttered, “An’ a good riddance,
too.”

* * *

Five minutes later Maddy was ensconced in a private
parlor with pen and paper provided by a very curious landlord. Her stomach still
churned at what she was doing, not to mention the confrontation with Edward, and
she fought to keep her hand steady enough to produce the perfect copperplate her
governess had drilled into her.

It took her half an hour and several sheets of paper to say
what she needed to say. Resisting the urge to read it over yet again, Maddy
folded up her letter, wrote the direction upon it and affixed the wafer. She had
made it as businesslike as she could.

Nothing venture, nothing win. And she had absolutely nothing to
lose. She sent word for her horse to be put to, and sallied back out to the
yard.

To find that Lord Ashton was waiting for her by the gig, his
horse saddled.

* * *

“You’re escorting me home?”

Maddy Kirkby stared at him, her face crimson.

Ash resisted the temptation to touch a finger lightly to her
cheek and find out if the blush really was scorching. Or if her skin was as
silken as it looked. Instead, he held out his hand to assist her up into the
gig. “Yes.” Her hand was gloved. That ought to be safe enough, even if the shock
of seeing her again in Blakiston’s office had reduced him to inanities.

If anything her blush deepened. “There’s no need for that!”

He said nothing, just raised one eyebrow. Judging by her
expression, that still annoyed her as much as ever.

“You’re going to insist, aren’t you?” she said, sounding as
though her back teeth were clenched together.

He nodded. “I am.”

Silence sizzled between them for a moment. There was something
about her. About the tilt of her chin and the narrowing of her green eyes that
told him she was as stubborn a woman as she had been a child. He’d never
realized how attractive stubborn could be.

With a snort, she accepted his hand and stepped into the gig.
“Thank you,” she said. “Even though it isn’t necessary!”

“Thank
you
,” he said, fighting a
wholly unexpected urge to grin. Stubborn, but definitely not stupid.

“For what?” she asked in a suspicious voice.

“For not wasting time and breath with an argument you weren’t
going to win,” he said, watching as she tucked a fur rug about her legs. He’d be
damned if he’d let her drive home alone. He swung into the saddle and followed
her out of the yard.

There was too much traffic in the town to ride beside the gig,
let alone converse, but once they were clear and out on the Corbridge road, he
brought his mare up alongside. By then he’d noted that she was an excellent
whip. Sure and steady, keeping the little mare well up to her bit. He wouldn’t
have minded being driven by her. He also knew that his decision to escort Maddy
home had been well-founded.

“Look, for what it’s worth, Maddy—Miss Kirkby, I mean—I have no
doubt that you are perfectly capable of looking after yourself.”

She let out a breath. “You always used to call me Maddy. When
you weren’t calling me a nuisancy brat.”

“You aren’t a brat anymore,” he pointed out. God help him, she
was a woman. He knew that happened, of course he did, but—he swallowed, trying
not to think about the stray, tawny curl that flirted beside her temple. “Are
you saying I may still call you Maddy?” Something in him tensed.
Maddy.
It sounded so damn intimate. Last time he’d
seen her she’d been about fifteen with a mass of springy, curly hair tied back
in a ponytail he’d occasionally pulled. Now he ached to twist that stray curl
around his finger, brush it back.

“Yes. If you wish.”

She was an old friend, he reminded himself. That was all.

“Then you had better drop the Lord Ashton rubbish,” he said.
“It’s still Ash.” That was how it should be between friends.

“You thought Edward might waylay me, didn’t you?” she said.

And she was still as quick of thought as she had ever been.

For a moment Ash hesitated. “He thought about it,” he said. “He
changed his mind when he saw I was with you.”

“
What?
”

He’d thought she hadn’t noticed Montfort lurking near the edge
of the town as they drove out. She’d needed all her concentration on her driving
to clear a dray.

She muttered something under her breath, and paled.

She feared Montfort?

“Who is Cally?” he asked.

Her mouth tightened. “A dairymaid. Who didn’t have anyone
around to defend her when she said no.”

“I see.” And he did. The world was full of Callys. And
unfortunately full of Montforts. Sadly, not so full of women like Maddy who
would stand by the poor girl. “You’ve taken her in.”

A short nod.

“What did your brother say to that?”

Her shocked expression as she turned to him gave the clue.

“You didn’t know? But that’s why Edward—” she broke off. “I’m
sorry. Stephen died six months ago.”

That’s why Edward what? He didn’t like to ask since she hadn’t
volunteered the information. “I’m very sorry,” he said instead. “My
condolences.” A thought occurred to him. “Er, am I still escorting you to
Haydon?”

A queer expression flashed across her face, gone in an instant.
“Yes. I still live there. Mr. Blakiston said that you are still interested in
Roman antiquities.”

A change of subject if ever he’d heard one, but he accepted it.
He felt relaxed in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Somehow, talking to Maddy
about the Wall, his summer plans for excavating one of the forts he knew of,
took him back to summer days before he’d gone to war. When Maddy had still worn
her hair down, albeit tied back against the eternal wind that swept the fells.
And those bright-green eyes had been nearly as quick to spot a half-buried
potsherd as his own. He still had the little horse he’d found one day when she
was there. A collector in Rome had wanted to buy it, but he hadn’t been able to
bring himself to part with it.

They were still talking when they reached the turn off up to
the village of Haydon.

Maddy halted the gig there, sheltered from the wind’s bite in
the lee of the hedge. “I would invite you up, but it’s getting late. If you
don’t turn back now—” She glanced up at the sky.

She was right, but the regret that shot through him was a
complete surprise. He wanted to spend more time with her. Find out why she’d
used that odd phrase—
I
still live there.
His jaw tensed—find out why she
feared Montfort. Did he own Haydon now? Somehow Ash didn’t much like the thought
of that.

“Thank you, for accompanying me home,” she said, holding out
her hand. “Not just because of Edward, but—” She stopped, her face flooding
scarlet.

Because she had enjoyed his
company?
As much as he had enjoyed hers?

“I’ll see you in the summer if not before,” he said. And
realized that he definitely didn’t want to wait that long. “You won’t mind my
digging on Haydon land again?”

A queer expression crossed her face. Almost, he thought, it
looked like guilt. “N-no. But we’ll need to discuss it.” She held out her
hand.

“Of course,” he said. He leaned over to take her gloved hand,
meaning only to say goodbye. For an instant her fingers clung and their eyes
met. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull back, he turned her hand over, palm
up. There, between glove and sleeve, was the merest strip of pale, tempting
skin. Heat a swift rhythm in his blood, he raised her wrist to his mouth and
brushed his lips over the place. Lord, she was soft. Tissue soft, silk soft. His
lips lingered, and he breathed in a new world. Breathed in leather, wool,
lavender and, beneath all that, the underlying fragrance of warm, sweet woman.
For a fleeting instant there was madness, his fingers tightening involuntarily.
And then his brain reengaged, banishing insanity. Reluctantly, rebellion
pounding in every pulse of his blood, he obeyed its dictates and straightened,
releasing her.

In the real world the earth and sky were, to his surprise,
still in their proper relation, the one to the other. Somewhere a rook cawed
lazily, a dog barked and the wind whipped at them. Nothing had changed. Except
Maddy Kirkby was staring at him, green eyes wide, and her lips, that had
sometime in the past several years become shockingly lush, slightly parted.

“You had better go,” he said, rather more roughly than he
liked. But God help him if she continued to look at him like that. Her parted
lips were giving him ideas. Ideas a gentleman who had taken self-righteous
exception to another man’s behavior, was a complete hypocrite to be
entertaining.

Her mouth closed and color flared in her cheeks, her chin
lifting, as she gathered up the ribbons and set her mare in motion. Her eyes
flashed a challenge. “I am not a toy for your amusement, Ash Ravensfell,” she
said quietly. The mare’s breath huffed out on the cold air and they were
trotting away up the lane.

He watched, even after the gig rounded the first bend, still
able to see Maddy, spear straight, until she crested the rise and was gone.

Chapter Two

The horse
,
he was fairly sure it was his
,
although it was not in the least familiar
,
picked its steady way along a ridge.
Despite the drifting mists
,
he knew precisely where he was—on Haydon land near Hadrian’s Wall.
Somewhere in the whiteness ahead
,
he could hear the sound of stone scraping
,
tools being used on the Wall.
He tried to push the horse faster
,
knowing that some vandal was dismantling part of the Wall for building stone
,
but the horse ignored his efforts.
Wind swirled down out of the north
,
and on the Wall just ahead of him a figure became visible...a woman in a dark cloak
,
tawny hair tumbling about her shoulders in wild disarray
,
and witch-green eyes.
Waiting for him.
She held out her hand
,
either beseeching his aid
,
or offering her own.
He tried to speak
,
but the Wall trembled and fell
,
and she was gone with it into the mist.
...

Ash woke to the sound of his curtains being drawn back and lay quietly. A better dream than most he’d had in the past eighteen months. At least he thought it was, already it was fading.... Had he really dreamed that Maddy Kirkby had been standing on Hadrian’s Wall begging him for help? Or had she been going to help him?

* * *

Ash looked disinterestedly at the solitary, unopened letter beside his breakfast plate and addressed himself halfheartedly to the very excellent ham and eggs on his plate. Opposite him his much elder half brother Gerald, Duke of Thirlmere, was going through his personal correspondence while munching toast and marmalade. Occasionally the ducal brows rose. Twice he snorted out a laugh and read something aloud to his duchess, Helen.

The duchess, glancing up from her own letters, smiled affectionately at her husband over the rim of her teacup. Both duke and duchess cast furtive glances at Ash.

He tried very hard not to notice and even harder not to grit his teeth. He knew they loved him, but he did wish they would stop worrying about him. But how did you explain to your brother, who was more like a father to you, and had never been anywhere near a battlefield in his life, and his even more sheltered wife, that there was nothing wrong? Nothing that complete loss of memory wouldn’t fix. At least he was sleeping better and the dreams, dreams that had woken him screaming, and in a cold sweat of fear, weren’t as frequent. In fact, he hadn’t had one for a couple of months. Although, he couldn’t say that he entirely liked the turn his dreams had taken last night. If he had dreamed about Maddy Kirkby. He wasn’t too sure now. Perhaps he had. He’d certainly spent enough time on the journey home yesterday thinking about her. Wondering if the rest of that milky, pale skin was as sweet and silken as her wrist? Or the wide, lush mouth as passionate as his imagination wanted it to be? Hell’s teeth! What was worse? Suffering nightmares, or indulging in erotic fantasies about a respectable young lady he hadn’t seen since she was fifteen?

Of course, girls grew up, and the discomfort of his saddle yesterday attested to the fact that Maddy had definitely grown up. He would see more of her in the summer if he excavated the fort on her land, so he’d better get over it.

Gerald having finished with his letters, removed his eyeglasses and smeared a vast amount of marmalade on another piece of toast. Helen was gazing thoughtfully at the teapot, clearly considering another cup, when she gave Ash another worried glance.

It had occurred to Ash in the past that if he just joined in with whatever passed for normal at any given time, his brother and sister-in-law seemed to worry less. In that spirit he picked up the letter beside his plate and broke the wafer. Accustomed to notice everything about him because his life and those of his men might depend on detail, he registered the fact that the wafer had been affixed with a plain seal and the paper was of rather poor quality. On the other hand, the writing was that of an educated...woman at a guess. His gaze flicked to the signature—M. Kirkby—and his pulse skipped a beat. He quelled it, and noted the address—Three Shepherds Inn, Newcastle—which explained the plain seal and cheap paper. It also explained what she’d been doing yesterday while he waited for her. But why the devil hadn’t she just told him whatever it was on the way out to Haydon?

He began to skim the letter, and then, wondering if perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming, went back and started reading again. Slowly. When he finished and was convinced he was actually awake, he read the letter again. Just in case he had missed something. He hadn’t. It said precisely what he’d thought it said, and it certainly made sense that she hadn’t quite liked to broach this subject face-to-face.

“Interesting letter, then, Ash?” said Gerald.

That was one way of putting it... Ash handed the letter over. “You tell me.”

Gerald stared at him, but put his eyeglasses back on and glanced at the letter. “Madeleine Kirkby? What’s she doing writing to you?” He began to read. “‘A business proposition to put to you... Grandfather’s will—
’
heard something about that. Rather an awkward business with Montfort being so determined to take the estate back, very poor showing on his part, if you ask me...” He glanced up, frowning. “You didn’t say that you’d seen her at old Blakiston’s yesterday. Or that you’d had a run-in with Montfort. Fellow’s a blister. A complete wart.” Ash said nothing and Gerald fell silent again as he read on. “Good God!” He looked up, removed his eyeglasses, and stared at Ash.

Ash refilled his own coffee cup and leaned over to top up Gerald for good measure. “That’s what I thought.”

“About what?” demanded the duchess.

Gerald put the letter down, took a sizeable swig of coffee. “It’s a proposal.”

“Yes, dear.” Helen adopted the sort of patient tone that a wife of twenty-five years who wanted to stay sane had to perfect. “You mentioned a business proposal. What sort of business does Miss Kirkby have with Ash?”

“Marriage,” said Ash.

* * *

“I don’t quite see what’s bothering you about it,” Gerald said placidly as they rode. The day was surprisingly clear, a miracle in early December. Gerald said the weather would close in later and Ash agreed. But right now a pale sun filtered down, brightening the bleak fells with their dusting of snow.

“What?” Ash wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard correctly. Gerald had asked if he planned to accept Miss Kirkby’s offer and he’d answered that it probably wasn’t a good idea.

Apparently Gerald didn’t agree any more than his own unruly body had. The moment he had read Maddy’s marriage proposal his body had proclaimed it an excellent idea.

Ash was having a hard enough time ignoring his baser instincts and listening to the dictates of honor, which said that he shouldn’t take advantage of Maddy’s situation, without Gerald’s idiocy. “I’m not fit to marry anyone!” he snapped. The idea of waking up from a nightmare screaming, in bed with Maddy...no. Except Montfort was going to take her home, kick her out...he liked that idea even less. Edward Montfort needed a thrashing at the very least. He’d thought so yesterday. His hands tightened to fists on the reins and his mare tossed her head in annoyance.

“Why the hell not?” demanded Gerald. “You’re well enough off as these things go. Are you dishonest? The sort of blister who’d beat his wife?” He frowned at Ash’s fidgeting mare. “What’s bothering Phaedre?”

“Of course not,” said Ash, easing his hands. The mare settled at once, and he met Gerald’s calm gaze. Better to have the truth between them. “For God’s sake, Gerald! What woman wants a coward to husband?”

For a moment they rode on in silence, their horses’ hooves ringing on the iron-hard ground.

“Ran away in the teeth of battle, did you?” asked Gerald at last.

“What?” Ash stared. “No, of course not. But—”

“Oh. You hid in your tent and didn’t even go out to fight?” Gerald nodded. “See what you mean. Very bad form, that.”

“Don’t be a bloody idiot!”

“That would be you,” said Gerald. “And I’ll thank you to stop insulting my brother, whoever you are. If you think a few bad dreams make you a coward, you
are
an idiot.”

“You don’t—can’t—understand,” said Ash. He’d been unable to hide the dreams from Gerald, but this was the first time the topic had been mentioned openly.

Gerald nodded. “No. Not fully. You know, when I started learning to ride I had an accident. Only about four, but something spooked the pony and she bolted. Full-scale bolt. I hung on, absolutely terrified, as long as possible—”

“You were a child!” said Ash. “That doesn’t make you a coward!”

“I fell off in the end,” said Gerald, as if his brother hadn’t spoken. “Soft landing. Nothing broken, and they put me right back on, so I rode home. But that night I had nightmares and the next time I was taken out for a lesson, I wouldn’t get on. Screamed the place down. Wasn’t so much the fall itself, but the bolt, I think—the
fear
of falling. Took weeks before I’d get on again. But I did get on in the end.”

“You were a child,” repeated Ash.

“I was,” agreed Gerald. “And you weren’t much more than a boy when you went out to the Peninsula, and—”

“I was twenty-five!”

“That’s what I said—a boy,” said Gerald, from the vantage point of the twilight side of fifty. “And you saw God knows what, but I never heard you bottomed out or failed in your duty in any way. And you finished up at Waterloo.” He snorted. “If you’d told me you hadn’t been frightened, I’d think you a damn fool.” He considered. “Or a liar.”

There was nothing to say to that, and eventually Gerald spoke again, his voice slightly thicker. “Thirty thousand men dead. I’ve often thought it must have been something like hell. And I can tell you it was hell waiting to know if you were one of those thirty thousand.”

It had been worse than hell, because the carnage had not distinguished between good and evil...but perhaps Gerald did understand after all...who would have thought it? Kind, stolid, dependable Gerald, stuffed with duty to the backbone.

“The thing is,” said Gerald, “we hang on for as long as we have to, even when we’re terrified, but sometimes, man or boy, it takes time to—well, not forget, you don’t do that, but learn to see the memory from a distance or something.”

Was that what he needed to do?

Ash changed the subject. “And you think I should marry Maddy Kirkby? I hardly know the girl!” Which begged the question of that shattering
awareness
of her in Blakiston’s office yesterday. And certainly didn’t solve the problem of sharing a bed with a woman when you might wake up screaming.

Gerald snorted. “Well that’s never been considered an impediment to marriage. If you think about it, it’s no more odd than if her father or brother, were they alive, had approached me about an alliance between the pair of you. All Miss Kirkby has done is be rather more direct than is usual. Look at the facts, Ash. You’ve been offered exactly what you want—a property right on that blessed Wall of yours. If it comes with a wife attached, where’s the problem? You seem to know her well enough to call her Maddy.” He shot Ash a shrewd look. “And for some reason you didn’t see fit to mention to me that you’d seen her yesterday, let alone had some sort of run-in with Montfort over her.”

“I’d be marrying her for her money!” And her stretch of Wall, of course. He shoved aside the thought of Montfort. He’d settle with him soon enough.

Gerald shrugged. “Happens all the time. And it was her idea. Look at it this way—if you don’t marry her, she’ll be out on her ear and won’t have any money.”

There was that. And there was also the shocking attraction he’d felt yesterday. He’d wanted to see her again and here she was offering to marry him.

A
business proposal.
That’s what she’s offering.

“Seems to me,” said Gerald, “That you’d be helping each other. You need something to do with your life. She needs to keep her home.”

Ash took in a deep breath. “I’ll have to see her again.”

Gerald nodded. “Need to discuss the marriage settlements, for one thing. And while it’s perfectly understandable that she proposed in a letter, the least you can do is accept in person.”