Lara Temple - Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress

He savoured his port as he watched her. She might not like sweets, but she was certainly doing justice to Biggs’s sandwiches. She put down her empty plate with a slight sigh and he smiled involuntarily. She was a strange little thing. No, not little.

‘Better?’

Her mouth wavered, as if she was contemplating holding on to her anger, and then settled into a rueful smile.

‘That was the best sandwich I have ever eaten, I think.’

‘I will inform Biggs of your appreciation. He takes bread and cheese very seriously.’

‘A sensible man.’ Her smile widened and he could see that girl again who had slid off Petra after her gallop, confident and confiding, but then she was gone again.

‘He is. Now that you are fed, I have a suggestion to make. When I go to Wilton I will confer with your father and when I return we will all sit down—’

‘Wilton? You’re going to the breeders’ fair?’ Nell asked, leaning forward.

Hunter raised his brow at the interruption. Her face had transformed again and was now alight and eager.

‘Yes. I’ve gone for the past couple of years. I’m looking for a stallion to breed with Petra. Why?’

Her gaze remained fixed on him, but he could have sworn that for a moment she wasn’t there, had left her body and travelled to some place lovely and warm because her cheeks and lips lost their pallor, warming to a shade of a very edible peach, and her pupils shrank, turning her eyes more silver than grey. For a split second he thought this is what she might look like after she climaxed, full of warmth and light, afloat. Then it was gone; she looked down at her hands and pressed them together as if about to pray.

‘I will agree to your compromise. On condition.’

Oh, hell. Somehow he thought he wouldn’t like this.

‘What condition?’

‘I will come with you to Wilton.’

It was not a request. This girl was definitely not turning into the biddable bride he had thought she would be.

‘I am not saying that I agree, but may I ask why?’

She shrugged and tugged at her gloves.

‘Well, clearly we need to speak with Father about repudiating this rumour and if he isn’t in London he has most likely gone to Wilton early. Surely there is no harm in merely driving with you since we are, for the moment at least, engaged. Well?’

Well, indeed? Why should every one of his instincts be on alert? Ever since Kate had shoved the newspaper with that blasted gossip at him he had known his life was going to take a distinct turn for the worse, but somehow he had hoped he could put off dealing with this particular commitment for a little while longer. He was used to the occasional sniping column about his affairs and activities and accepted them as part of his choice of lifestyle, but the deluge that had appeared in today’s papers following the appearance of those two sentences about his purported betrothal was trying his patience. It didn’t help that Biggs had indulged his sense of humour by acquiring several newspapers and spreading them around the house carefully folded open to the most damning, including one entitled ‘Wild Hunter Bagged at Last!’, which had been borderline libellous and peppered with the initials of the women reputed to be mourning his removal from the field.

All told he had been looking forward to confronting Tilney at Wilton and telling him what he thought of his management of this affair. What he had not counted on was that Tilney had clearly never told his daughter about the arrangement or that she would descend on him from the wilds of the Lake District demanding a disavowal. He walked over to the fireplace and shoved in another log. She wanted conditions, fine.

He stood and brushed the slivers of wood from his hands.

‘Very well. As long as you meet my conditions as well. Unfortunately, as far as the world is concerned we are betrothed and to deny that now will cause precisely the scandal we’re trying to avoid. So while at Wilton we present ourselves as such until we can consider how to end this engagement without turning us into a laughing stock. In addition, my co-operation is conditional upon reaching some reasonable long-term agreement about the water rights. I’ll be da—dashed if I have to negotiate yearly fee agreements with my once betrothed or your bridegroom of choice when eventually you decide to marry.’

Hunter trailed off as she blushed so hotly she might as well have been wearing her heart fully emblazoned on her sleeve. No wonder she wanted out of this betrothal. His forced fiancée clearly already had a bridegroom in mind.

As the blush faded she canted her head to one side.

‘Somehow that amounts to quite a few more conditions than mine.’

‘I’m not negotiating. Well?’

She gave a brisk nod and he relaxed.

‘Good. Off we go, then. Just keep your hood pulled low. I prefer not to be seen abroad with such a reckless character as yourself at this late hour.’

She laughed and stood, pulling on her hood, and he felt a twinge of regret. He reached out and arranged her hood so that it better covered the silver-gold glints of her hair. Her eyes rose to his in surprise and he didn’t immediately release the soft fabric. Her irises were an interesting combination of shades of grey and blue—from slate to ice to a rim of darker blue. This close he caught her scent, something warm, like a field of wildflowers in summer. His eyes glided down towards her mouth, slightly parted in surprise. A very generous mouth. For a moment he was tempted to taste that lush curve. The memory returned of her coming towards him on Petra, her hair tumbled and her face alight, except that now his imagination embellished, it was no longer a girl but this young woman coming towards him, and now he was drawing her down onto the grass, spreading that fairy hair out on the wildflowers her scent evoked...

He didn’t move, noting with cynical amusement the enthusiastic response of his body. Trust it to show interest now that he was within arm’s reach of escaping this engagement. Whatever the case, he had no intention of acting on the urge. He stepped back and held out his arm.

‘Shall we?’

Chapter Two

Nell obediently kept her head down as they descended from the hackney cab. At least that had been her intention, but a quick glance at the building they approached made her look up in swift surprise and her hood slipped back. She grabbed at it, but stood staring upwards. She had expected a house similar to Lord Hunter’s or like her father’s more modest town house. This looked more like a rambling school and took up half the road on this side.

Lord Hunter noticed her shocked expression.

‘I know, not ideal, but it’s the best I can do at such short notice. Aunt Sephy and Aunt Amelia live in a separate apartment. Their entrance is down this alleyway.’

He took her hand and placed it on his arm, leading her towards a narrow gap between the building and a row of modest-looking houses scantily lit by a single oil lamp at the corner. His arm was very warm under her gloved hand and it spread a pleasant heat through her, like the comforting animal warmth of leaning against a horse in a cold stable.

She smiled at the thought. Lord Hunter would probably not appreciate being compared with a horse. In fact, she had no idea what he might appreciate. He was not at all what she had expected. Neither the perplexing young man she remembered nor Mrs Sturges’s debauched rake. There was still that rather irreverent amusement hovering in the background, and sometimes not so far in the background, but she certainly didn’t feel threatened by him. Perhaps just a little when he had helped her with her hood; something unsettling in his eyes had set off alarms, but it had come and gone too quickly for her to act on her need to draw back.