Romantic Association - Loves Me, Loves Me Not

Hugo gave a crack of laughter. ‘You? You do not even know where Gretna Green is!’

‘The coachman will know,’ Amanda said, finding a temper she did not even know she possessed. ‘Really, Hugo, you are in a strange mood today! I shall travel with Crockett and if we make good time I am sure we may overtake them.’

‘And then what? On whose authority will you send them home?’ Hugo looked highly entertained. ‘You are not dealing with a recalcitrant schoolroom chit, Amanda!’

Amanda, thoroughly annoyed, made to stalk away. By now she was miserably aware of the state of her hem and the soaked material of her slippers. The wind had teased her hair to a haystack and she was cold.

But Hugo caught her hand. It felt warm and comforting but also intimate and exciting. Hugo never normally held her hand.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I cannot permit my wife to travel to Gretna unprotected. I will come with you. If we are fortunate we may even reach Oxford by tonight.’

Amanda was so surprised that she stepped into a puddle. Hugo swung her up in his arms. ‘Hugo!’ Amanda gasped, clutching his forearms, which felt remarkably hard and lean. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘Merely helping you over this muddy ground, my dear.’ His breath tickled her ear, sending goose bumps along her neck. Amanda could smell his scent—fresh air and sweat and the faint hint of sandalwood cologne. What could be the matter with her? She had thought that an unwashed male body would repel her rather than making her head spin. It was perhaps fortunate that Hugo’s shoulder was so close. She leaned her head against it and lay quiet all the way back to the house.

Once Amanda had recovered from being carried home she banished her husband to wash and change his clothes and hurried to do the same. There really was no time to waste, no matter how indulgent Hugo felt of his grandmama’s misdemeanours. Hugo was famously—infuriatingly—easy-going, but Amanda knew that Lady Pevensey’s elopement would be the talk of the county. Everyone would whisper and gossip and titter and commiserate and it would be intolerable. Lady Pevensey’s lack of decorum would reflect on her. Her position in Marston Priors might well be under threat. It was not to be borne.

It therefore took her a mere hour and a half to don her travelling gown, instruct Crockett on the packing of her portmanteaux and descend the stairs to find her husband waiting, immaculately dressed in jacket, pantaloons and Hessians. On seeing her, he checked his pocket watch.

‘Less than two hours. And only three cases! You are to be congratulated, my dear.’ His gaze fell on Crockett, attired in a plain cloak and grasping a small bag. ‘Alas, I fear we cannot accommodate your maid, my love. I have had the small carriage prepared for the sake of speed and there is room only for us—and your luggage, of course.’

Amanda halted. ‘But I cannot travel without Crockett! Hugo, it simply isn’t done. She must come!’

‘Nonsense,’ her husband said bracingly, steering her out of the door. ‘What could be more decorous than that you be escorted by your husband? I may act as lady’s maid.’ He gave her a look that Amanda could only think was provocative. ‘I am not inexperienced.’

‘Indeed?’ Amanda’s travelling gown suddenly felt a trifle too hot.

She was still wrestling with her unfamiliar and rather disconcerting awareness of Hugo as the carriage clattered through Marston Priors and onto the toll road as the Wiltshire Downs unrolled around them. She had been in a closed carriage with Hugo many times and had never suffered this affliction. Indeed, she realised, she had taken him for granted.

Brought up from an early age to see the acquisition of a husband as a desirable sign of standing, she had gained her married status at the age of one-and-twenty, a little late because she was particular. Hugo had been easy to reel in and she had thought they were well suited. He was handsome, titled, well connected and wealthy without being extravagantly rich. More importantly, he had an equable humour, he was generous and did not interfere in her running of the household. She had thought, until that moment in the hall ten minutes before, that he would always permit her to have her own way. As for intimate matters—Amanda blushed inwardly but forced herself to think about it—she had been pleased that after their honeymoon Hugo seemed not to want to trouble her with his attentions more than twice a month and latterly not at all. Her mama had explained that a lady must be decorous at all times, particularly in the marriage bed, and Amanda had tried to follow that advice. She had been aware of a disappointing result but had put it from her mind.

Now, though, regarding her husband as he lounged with elegant grace against the cushions, she felt a stab of anger. It seemed quite wrong that he should thwart her in the matter of the maid and, more importantly, that he should be so relaxed when she was in a state of advanced fluster. She had not been herself since seeing him in his shirt and breeches but that could not account for this uncomfortable awareness. After all, she had even seen him with no clothes on at all. But she had looked away, as a lady should. Heat and agitation made her shift on the seat and Hugo looked politely concerned.

‘Are you quite well?’

‘I feel a little strange,’ Amanda admitted. ‘I think I am anxious because we set off in such a rush.’

‘Of course,’ Hugo murmured, his bright blue gaze fixed on her in a manner that made the breath catch in her throat.

‘Tell me about your sheep.’ Amanda searched desperately for a distraction from her curious feelings. ‘Last night at dinner you said that you wished to buy a flock of a different breed.’

Hugo looked surprised. ‘I thought you were not attending. I was not aware that you had an interest.’

Amanda had, in fact, very little curiosity about sheep but she was prepared to express an interest in just about anything if it helped lessen the strangely intense atmosphere between them. And, after a while, she forgot she was indifferent to her husband’s interests. They chatted about everything from Hugo’s improvements to the estate to the literature preferred by Amanda as first Wantage and then Abingdon were passed, with a change of horses and some refreshment in both towns. There was no sign of Lady Pevensey and her beau, although an elderly lady eloping with a curate would surely seem noteworthy, and although they asked at every post house they reached Oxford with no news. Between Oxford and Banbury Amanda fell asleep and woke to discover that she was resting her head on Hugo’s shoulder and his arm was about her. She raised her face to see him smiling down at her as he smoothed the tumbled hair away from her face.

‘I do not recall you ever venturing out without your hair in some sort of complicated arrangement,’ he commented, toying with the end of the ribbon that held her curls. ‘This is vastly more becoming and I am less likely to be stabbed by some ornament when I am close.’

The carriage lurched to a stop and he kissed her lightly before releasing her and moving to open the door.

‘Where are we?’ Amanda stammered, disconcerted to feel her lips tingle from the imprint of his.

‘At the King’s Head in Banbury. I will bespeak a room for the night.’

It was only when the groom was helping her down that Amanda realised he had said one room rather than two and prickles of excitement and apprehension raced through her. But when the landlady had shown them up the stairs to the spotlessly clean bedchamber, she found her husband as adamant on the subject of the room as he had been on the subject of the maid.

‘Two rooms?’ A dangerous light lurked in his eyes. ‘Out of the question, my love. Although this is a most respectable inn, I could not endanger either your life or your virtue by leaving you alone. You must sleep with me and then you will be quite safe.’