Sarah Mallory - His Countess For A Week

Her own anger seeped away. ‘That would be very uncivil, would it not? In your own house.’

‘It would indeed.’ His smile fully appeared now. ‘Off you go to bed. We will discuss this further in the morning.’

She managed a faint smile herself and with a soft ‘Goodnight’ she left the room, forcing herself not to run.

When she reached her bedchamber, Ruth was pacing up and down.

‘Oh, thank heaven!’ She took her mistress by the shoulders and turned her towards the light, subjecting her to a close and critical inspection. ‘What happened? What has he done to you?’

‘Nothing, Ruth. I have come to no harm at all.’

The maid gave a loud sigh and plumped down on a chair. ‘I don’t mind telling you, when I heard that the Earl of Westray had turned up and was bringing you back here I was that worried! I fear we are undone, Miss Arabella.’

‘Nonsense. This is a slight setback, Ruth, nothing more.’

‘Has he not exposed you as an impostor?’

A small bubble of laughter fizzed inside her. She said airily, ‘On the contrary. He has agreed to help us.’

The maid looked anything but reassured by this news. She frowned.

‘And what does His Lordship want in return?’

Arabella could not deny she had asked herself the same question, but she was not prepared to speculate about that just yet.

‘I have promised him nothing,’ she said at last. ‘Now, help me to undress, Ruth. I need to sleep!’

A short time later Arabella was alone in her room, in her bed, with just the bedside candle burning. She lay back against the plump pillows, gazing up at the intricately carved tester as she thought about the new Lord Westray. She did not know what to make of him. He did not appear outraged at her deception, merely amused. Perhaps in comparison to his own dark deeds this pretence was a trifle, but when she had mentioned his past he had flinched as if she had touched an open wound.

She wished she knew just what he had done, that she had made more enquiries into his past, but at the time it had seemed unimportant; the new Earl was half a world away.

How old could he have been when he was convicted? She did not think he was yet thirty, so he would have been almost a boy, one-or two-and-twenty, perhaps. The lines around his eyes and mouth indicated more than mere laughter. Dissipation, perhaps. Or hardship. His hands, she had noted, were not soft, but calloused from tough, physical work.

How had he survived? What deprivation had he suffered? He had received a full pardon for his crimes, but the life he had led for the past six years must have left its scars. And she was in his house, posing as his wife. Strangely the thought did not worry her. She was not afraid of the new Earl, but perhaps she should be.

Arabella slipped out of bed and crossed to the connecting door leading to the Earl’s chambers. The key was in the lock and she turned it, giving a little nod when she heard the satisfying click. It was best not to take any chances.

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