Claiming the Ashbrooke Heir Page 7

  She slipped it over her head and felt its silken folds drop around her. ‘There!’ Meg exclaimed. ‘You look lovely. A real lady. The Major cannot be anything but pleased.’

  The Major was more than pleased. He had always known she was beautiful, and he had watched her blossom in the last few weeks, but the vision which rose from the sofa as he entered the room was breathtaking. The green gown was exactly right for her colouring and enhanced the rich brown of her hair. As for her figure—he could only stand and admire. The bodice was low cut, as evening dresses were expected to be, and the top of her breasts peeped enticingly from the trimming, even though she had endeavoured to hide the fact with a small posy of pink rosebuds plucked from the garden. From its high waist, the dress fell to her feet, skimming her hips and swirling around her like pale green water.

  Something inside him gave a sudden lurch—something he had not felt for years: the desire for a woman. It was a full minute before he pulled himself together to smile and bow over her hand. ‘Mrs Anstey, my compliments. You look …’he searched for the words ‘… delightful. No—more than that—magnificent. I shall be the envy of every gentleman present.’

  Annette blushed at his words, thinking how he, too, looked magnificent. He had discarded his black coat and trousers for dark green, which almost matched the ribbons of her dress. He wore a white lawn shirt, a waistcoat of white brocade and a white cravat elegantly tied. He was elegance itself. His coat was so well tailored it seemed moulded to his broad shoulders, and the trousers, held under his dancing pumps with a strap, only served to emphasise long muscular legs.

  She had to tear her gaze away to bob a curtsey. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Indeed I am.’

  ‘Off you go and enjoy yourselves,’ Mrs Hurst said. ‘Have no fear. I shall take good care of the baby.’

  The Assembly House, in Theatre Street, was a grand building, and the ballroom was decorated with flowers and swathes of greenery for the occasion. The dancing had already begun and the floor was crowded.

  ‘It seems dancing is a poplar pastime in this part of the world,’ he murmured as they made their way into the throng.

  She was perfectly aware she should have a female companion, but as no such person existed except perhaps Mrs Hurst, who was needed to look after Timmy, she would do without. After all, she was not known in Norwich—certainly not in the circles who went to balls.

  ‘Do you know anyone?’ she asked, as she laid her fingers on his arm. They walked further into the room and began to circumnavigate the dancers.

  ‘No, and that means I can ask you to dance more than twice and no one to censure us. In fact we can, if we wish, dance every dance together. Unless some of the other hopefuls step in to claim you.’

  ‘How can they? We have not been introduced.’

  He laughed. ‘No, so I shall have you all to myself.’

  The country dance had finished and another was about to begin. He bowed, she curtseyed, and then he held out his hand to lead her into it. He might not have danced for some time, but he had no trouble remembering how to do it. With him to help her, she soon picked up the steps and they neither of them stumbled as he had predicted.

  She was conscious of looks of admiration from the young men, which turned to frowns when they realised how closely she was being protected. The mamas and chaperones lifted their quizzing glasses, murmuring among themselves. ‘Who is she?’ ‘Who is he?’ ‘She has no chaperon, but they cannot possibly married for no husband would dance with his wife.’ ‘They must be betrothed.’ ‘See how they look at each other as if there is no one else in the room.’

  Knowing they were incognito, Annette began to enjoy herself. Her eyes were shining, her lovely dress swirled about her and he was enthralled. ‘They are playing a waltz,’ he said, after two country dances, a minuet and a gavotte had left them breathless. ‘Shall we try it?’

  And then she was on the floor, and he had one arm about her waist and was holding her hand with the other. She felt a frisson of something trickle through her—a warmth that was more than the warmth of his hand on her back through the thin material of her gown. It permeated her whole being and made her breathless. How she managed the steps she did not know, no one had taught her, but he guided her unerringly and before long she was following his every move, aware that he was holding her quite close. Sometimes her gown wrapped itself about his legs. Dark green and light green merged to make one body. Lost to everything but the music, she felt as though she were floating.

  ‘You dance superbly well,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you have never waltzed before?’

  ‘No. Never. I am persuaded it is very daring.’

  ‘It was once. But now it is danced at almost every ball, it is nothing out of the way at all.’

  Nothing out of the way! With his arm about her waist and his other hand clasping hers, how could it be nothing out of the way?

  He whirled her round. ‘You are lovely, you know. You deserve better than the life you are leading now. You should be dressed in silks and satins, the wife of some titled gentleman, lady of the manor. Not climbing steps to dust and clean. It is not fair.’

  She smiled. ‘It was you who said life was not fair, as I recall. I have accepted my lot; it is much better than I could ever have hoped for when I left Riseborough Hall. But tonight I can pretend …’

  ‘Not only tonight, but other nights, I hope.’

  For the first time she stumbled. What was he saying? What did he intend? ‘Nights’ he had said. Suddenly the evening was spoiled. How could she have been so gullible a second time? Men like him did not pay compliments to women like her without a reason. She turned and left him, almost running from the room, watched by all the eligible young men, all the hopeful young ladies, and all the gossiping matrons. She did not care.

  He was so taken aback he did not move for several seconds. What had he said that she should suddenly run from him? He caught up with her as she had left the building and was standing undecided on the step. He grabbed her arm.

  ‘Annie, what is the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. Let me go.’ She tried to shrug him off, but he held her firmly.

  ‘You are crying.’

  ‘I am not!’

  ‘Then what is this?’ He scooped a tear from her cheek with his finger and showed it to her.

  ‘Something in my eye.’

  ‘Then we had better have it out, don’t you think? Come back inside. We can talk over supper.’

  ‘No. I am going home.’

  He chuckled. ‘On foot? How far do you think you will get?’

  ‘Then take me home.’

  ‘Certainly. If you wish it.’ He turned to send the doorman to find his coachman and have the carriage brought round, keeping his eye on her in case she fled. But she seemed docile enough. Docile and silent.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE DID not speak until they were in the carriage and on their way. She was acutely aware of how close they were. It was impossible in the confines of the vehicle to hitch herself out of his way.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘I require an explanation. We were in perfect amity, enjoying a waltz, and poof! You ran off without a word of warning, leaving me standing like a ninny in the middle of the floor. I do not take kindly to such treatment, especially when I cannot for the life of me imagine what I have done to deserve it.’

  ‘I woke up,’ she said flatly. ‘I woke up out of my dream and realised how foolish I was being …’

  ‘Dream? What dream?’

  ‘That I was a lady—that I was being treated like a lady.’ She gave a cracked laugh. ‘You would have thought I had learned my lesson, would you not? I am a nursery maid, a woman no better than she should be—whatever that stupid phrase means. I have no business parading in silk gowns and going to balls. I should be at home with my son, not making a spectacle of myself among the gentry.’

  He began to laugh. He was so amused he did not see the anger gro
wing in her lovely eyes. ‘Oh, Annie, you are priceless!’

  ‘No, like every woman, it seems I do have my price. Three rooms, a cradle and an evening gown. Is that cheap, Major? I have no idea of the going rate.’

  ‘My God, is that what you think?’ He stopped laughing, twisting round so that he was facing her. ‘I thought you knew me better than that. When have I ever given you grounds for thinking so ill of me?’ He took her face in his hands and tipped it up so that he could look into her eyes. Even in the gloom of the coach he could see the tears still standing on her lashes. The sight of her gazing back at him, eyes shining and lips slightly parted, was too much of a temptation. He lowered his mouth to hers.

  Suddenly the fight went out of her and she put her arms about his neck, feeling the soft curls at its nape. His warm breath against her cheek was having the most extraordinary effect; her whole being began to tingle, from the ear he was caressing with his mouth to her full breasts, straining against her bodice, down into her stomach and groin and on to the tips of her toes. She was on fire.

  His lips moved against hers and then something happened to him. The annoyance subsided, blown away on a new sensation. His mouth softened and he was kissing her with genuine tenderness. She was soft and pliant in his arms, no longer resisting him or he might have stopped sooner.

  A low moan from her brought him to his senses. ‘Oh, Annette, I am sorry,’ he said, putting her from him. ‘I didn’t seem able to help myself.’

  Released from his embrace, she darted across to the opposite seat. Her face was flushed, her breathing coming in gasps which lifted her breasts high in the bodice of her dress, from which the roses had disappeared. He had only to reach out and give it a tug and they would be revealed in all their glory.

  He knew he had stepped over the boundary between acceptable behaviour and that of the rake. He had never kissed any woman against her will before, and he was confused and troubled. What had she done to him, this goddess turned witch, to make him forget he was a gentleman? What did she want from him? Surely she had not been expecting him to offer marriage? Did she imagine that would be his way of making amends for the wrong done to her by his brother? Had that been her dream? If it had been then it was as well she had woken up. It was unthinkable. He had to tell himself that, had to convince himself.

  They covered the remaining distance in silence. She was so confused—not only by his untypical action, but her own reaction—she could find nothing to say. He took her silence for anger, and could not make up his mind whether to be angry in his turn or deeply ashamed.

  When they pulled up at the door of the gate house, he left the carriage to hand her down and escorted her to the door. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Anstey,’ he said. And then he was gone.

  Mrs Hurst looked up from her mending as she entered. ‘My goodness, I did not expect you back for hours. There is nothing wrong, is there? Where is the Major? Is he not with you?’

  ‘He escorted me home, but would not come in for refreshment. I believe he has some paperwork to do in the library.’

  Mrs Hurst looked sideways at her, not believing a word. They had quarrelled, she was sure of it, but Annette’s pale and resolute face did not invite questions. ‘Shall I make you a hot drink? Chocolate, perhaps?’

  ‘No, thank you, Meg. I am rather tired and will go to bed. Has Timmy been good?’

  ‘As good as gold. I gave him some bread and milk about an hour since, and he settled down to sleep again without a murmur.’

  ‘Thank you. We’ll talk in the morning, shall we?’

  As soon as Mrs Hurst had left to go back to the house, Annette climbed the stairs to her room, weariness in every bone of her body. But it was not a weariness from dancing, it stemmed from the spirit. Tonight it had been borne home to her that her dreams were so hollow they could be shattered by a single word.

  She entered her bedroom and went straight to the beautiful cradle, stood looking down at her son. ‘I am a fool,’ she told him ‘There is only you and me now. There will only ever be you and me.’ Tears rained down her cheeks unchecked. ‘I am sorry, sweetheart, but that cradle must go back. And this.’ She fumbled with the little buttons on the green dress. ‘We will manage somehow.’ She flung the dress over a chair, put on her nightgown and tumbled into bed.

  After going over and over what she might do to keep them both from starving, she fell into a troubled sleep—only to be beset by dreams of dancing with Charles Ashbrooke, of being kissed by him and then finding herself back at Riseborough Hall, once more the nursery maid. And Lady Ashbrooke was standing over her with Timmy in her arms, smiling in triumph. She was so terrified she woke with a start and dared not go to sleep again.

  She must have dozed, because it was Timmy’s crying that roused her. She scrambled out of bed and went to pick him up. He was soaking wet and hungry. She cleaned him up and sat down to feed him. The tug of his mouth on her breast made her want to cry all over again. He was so little, so helpless, dependent on her for everything—food, clothes, a roof, and later there would be his education. She must not let him down. She would go through fire and flood for him.

  As she sat there, she went over the events of the previous evening. It had started out so well and ended in disaster. Just as she had begun to trust the Major, had let her guard down and begun to enjoy herself, she had been brought back to earth with a bump. What had he said that had set her in such a turmoil? His hint that he wanted more from her. ‘More nights’, he had said. That perhaps could have been explained away, she realised now, but what could not be banished so easily was the way he had kissed her and her response. She had let it happen. He would undoubtedly think she allowed any man to kiss her and take that for carte blanche. Oh, it was an impossible situation and not to be endured.

  Timmy, replete, had dropped off to sleep. She put him on her bed while she washed and dressed. She carefully packed the green gown in the box in which it had arrived, wrote a brief note to the Major, which she laid on top of it, then put Timothy in his basket and took him up to the house. She left the box on the table in the hall, then went back to the gate house. She made herself a cup of tea and sat down to think.

  It was nothing new, this going over and over again the choices she had. They were few enough. She could try and find other accommodation, something she could afford on what she was able to earn and where Timmy would be welcome. Remembering her failure before, the dreadful hovel and Cecil Grosse’s lascivious eyes, she did not hold out much hope of that. Or she could stay where she was, do her best to avoid the master of the house, and hope he would realise she would not make a malleable and self-effacing mistress and give up the idea. The third option, which was no option at all, was the workhouse. She was stuck.

  Charles, looking down at the folds of green silk, was angry. He was angry with himself for being a crass fool, with the fate that had dealt a lovely girl such an unkind hand, with the girl herself for throwing his gift back in his face. What had she said in her note?

  I will keep the cradle and the baby things because Timmy needs them and, as you pointed out, he is your nephew. But I certainly do not need, nor want, the gown. I suggest you give it to your next victim. She might be more easily bought than I am.

  He picked the garment up and held it to his cheek. It had a faint smell of roses. It was almost as if she were in the room with him, near enough for him to touch her. He wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her again, more subtly this time. Dear God, that was not all he wanted! He wanted to feel her pliant body under his hands, to caress her all over from her ripe breasts to her belly and thighs. She had been right to be wary of him; she had read his mind even before he knew it himself. No wonder she was furious. But what to do about it he did not know.

  After all, what was she but a simple nursery maid, a needlewoman, a dreamer of impossible dreams? She was all of those things and more. She was proud, independent, and loving towards her child when she might be forgiven for hating him. She was educated and beautiful, but it was a bea
uty that came from within, an inbred poise. He knew what she was, but who was she?

  Fettle. Fettle. The word haunted him. And why Mrs Anstey? Why should a name like that simply pop into her head? He had tried to find out—not because it mattered to him who she was, but it might matter to her. He wanted her to be happy. It was the thing he most wished for, along with his own happiness. And suddenly he knew the two things were indivisible. He was so shaken by the revelation he fell back into the chair by the hearth, the green gown, smelling of roses, draped across his knees.

  She must work, Annette decided, as she carried her son up to the house and entered the kitchen. She tried to pretend all was well, but Meg knew her better than that.

  ‘Have you had any breakfast?’

  She put Timmy in the cradle in the corner, hiding a tear-ravaged face from her friend. ‘I am not hungry.’

  ‘You would do better with something inside you. You can’t go fainting from hunger, can you?’

  ‘I am not likely to do that,’ she said with a wry smile, watching dispiritedly as Mrs Hurst put the kettle on the fire and set the table with bread and butter, ham and cheese. ‘I am a long way from starving.’

  ‘You weren’t far off it when you arrived here. I reckon the Major found you in the nick of time. I’ll coddle some eggs.’

  The woman busied herself with the eggs, and neither spoke until they were cooked and on plates in front of them.

  ‘Now,’ Meg said, ‘tell me what’s wrong, for I know a Friday face when I see one. Something or someone has upset you.’

  Annette looked at her plate and had never felt less like eating, but she could not insult Meg by leaving the food. She began to eat, and then realised she was hungry, after all. They had not had supper last night, which she supposed was the reason for it. Eating gave her time to marshal her thoughts.