“Good heavens! How did you find a private detective?”
“I forget,” said Ginny. “Someone gave me a name and address. Fosdyke his name is. He came with excellent references and Harvey gave him a job as a footman so that no one would suspect anything. He told me about Cyril and Jeffrey and Tansy plotting against me but I know about them. They’re only out to drive me away—not murder me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” demanded Gerald. “I have a right under Mr. Frayne’s will to send them packing.”
“It’s much better to have them under my nose,” said Ginny, yawning. “That way I can find out what they’re up to. They’re not very clever.”
She yawned again.
“You’d better catch some sleep,” said Gerald abruptly. “I shall push back the table and make you a sort of bed on the floor, and I’ll sleep on the settle.”
Ginny rose as well. “If you weren’t such a stuffed shirt, Gerald,” she said with a sudden return of her most irritating manner, “I could remove—well, something that is making me most uncomfortable, and you could throw caution to the winds and even go so far as to unbutton your jacket.”
“If you have no care for your reputation, I most certainly have,” said Gerald, flushing. “Furthermore—”
“Oh, don’t start jawing,” said Ginny with a rare trace of anger. “I am going in to the kitchen to remove whatever it is I have to remove and spare your blushes, dear boy, because when I return you won’t know the difference.”
With that she marched into the kitchen and slammed the door. Blast all women, thought Gerald wrathfully, and with great daring he unbuttoned his jacket and loosened his collar.
CHAPTER TEN
He awoke early the following morning as a pale ghost of a dawn filtered through the shutters. He unlocked and unbolted the door and pulled it open. A great drift of snow tumbled into the room revealing the same white roaring wilderness behind it.
Gerald fetched a brush from the kitchen, swept as much of the snow back outside as he could, and slammed the door again. Ginny had not moved.
She lay sleeping like a child, with her cheek resting on her hand. He tucked the quilts around her and threw a pile of logs on the glowing embers of the fire.
Then he stood looking around, at a loss as to what to do next. He kept expecting servants to appear with trays of tea and cans of hot water. Perhaps he should rouse Mr. Figgs and see if there was a razor he could borrow.
He climbed up the narrow dark stairs and located Mr. Figgs’s bedroom under the eaves. The landlord was lying asleep, snoring, with his mouth wide open and an empty brandy bottle lay on the floor. Gerald walked over to a scummy handbasin in the corner of the room and found a cutthroat razor. He would take it downstairs and boil it before he used it.
He walked back downstairs and looked with increasing irritation at the sleeping Ginny. In the absence of servants, he thought savagely, a woman should be bustling about boiling his shaving water and fixing his breakfast.
He stood over her, coughing very loudly, and at last he nudged her gently with the toe of his shoe. Still she did not move, and feeling very hard done by, he pushed open the kitchen door to a rousing welcome from the black beetles, who seemed to be everywhere.
He discovered a small stove in the corner, its top laden with dirty pots and pans. He threw them into the sink with a resounding crash and then cocked his head to one side, hoping the noise would awaken Ginny, so that she could take over these womanly duties. But still she slept. “Like a pig,” he muttered as he fetched the kettle from the fire with a lot of unnecessary clattering and banging.
His fury mounted as he realized that water was obtained from a pump in the yard, which would, in all probability, be frozen solid. He opened the back door and scooped large quantities of snow into the large kettle. Fortunately there were plenty of logs in a shed outside the kitchen door but no kindling. He dragged in an armful of logs and put two into the black mouth of the stove, threw a cupful of paraffin over them, and dropped a match. There was a whoosh that removed some of his eyelashes but at least the damn thing was crackling away. He thumped the kettle on and looked around. Everything seemed to be dirty—teapot, plates, cutlery, and pots and pans. He eased himself out of his evening jacket and, donning a greasy apron, he started to work.
Five kettlefuls of water later the kitchen was relatively clean and the beetles had retired in disgust. Lord Gerald had done the dishes quite as violently as he could in the hope that the bangs and crashes would awaken Ginny. But on she slept while his lordship thought nasty thoughts about her as he scrubbed the pots savagely and tried to hang the cups on their hooks by throwing them across the kitchen.
He picked up a dishcloth that was spread over a small chair and found himself looking down at a pair of frivolous corsets with little eau de nil roses on the suspenders and a quantity of black lace at the bosom. So that’s what Miss Ginny had gone to remove. He hung them up behind the kitchen door by one of the suspenders and hoped Ginny would be disgraced when she saw them exposed to view.
He found a side of bacon in a meat safe beside the door and some eggs in a basket in the larder. The bread was old and stale but could be sliced and toasted. As he set to work to cook breakfast his bad temper miraculously fled. He had a warm feeling of achievement. By George, it just showed what a man could do!
As he waited for the bacon to cook he found an extra kettle and tiptoed in—anxious not to wake Ginny this time—and hung it over the fire without so much as a chink of metal.
But she awoke.
She would, he thought bitterly. Just when all the work is done!
But Ginny was so full of praise for his efforts and had clapped her hands in delight at the sight of the clean kitchen, that he became cheerful again and they had a very companionable breakfast in front of the fire.
They were left much to themselves for most of that day. Mr. Figgs had lost his pleurisy, only to find a hangover, and had said he would cure that with a hair of the dog. But he had drunk the whole coat quite quickly and had retired again to his bed.
Ginny and Lord Gerald had found a greasy pack of cards and had passed most of the day in winning and losing large fortunes from each other. A dinner of a cheese omelette with more cheese to follow went down splendidly. Ginny carried up a tray of food to the landlord and then called Gerald up to light a fire in Mr. Figgs’s room, for the landlord was still complaining of feeling poorly and seemed to enjoy the novelty of being able to lie in bed and have the upper classes wait on him for a change. It was a situation he would not have allowed in normal circumstances, but what with the storm howling outside and the inn cut off from civilization, the social barriers did not seem to matter.
All constriction seemed to have vanished between Lord Gerald and Ginny and they teased and joked and laughed like two children.
But as the evening wore on a feeling of unease began to creep over Gerald. Ginny had brushed out her golden hair and it hung down on her shoulders in a gleaming mass. He was becoming painfully aware that he was isolated in this inn with a very attractive girl. He felt jumpy and nervous. He prayed he would not take advantage of the situation and that Ginny would remain her pleasant, cheerful, friendly new self and not say or do anything to precipitate a scene.
He rather gruffly suggested an early night. Once again Ginny snuggled down among the rugs and quilts on the hearth, and once again Lord Gerald doubled his long legs up on the settle and tried to close his eyes.
He looked down at Ginny and found she was staring up at him, wide-eyed, and with an unreadable expression on her face.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
Ginny sighed. “If this were a book,” she said, putting her still bandaged hands behind her head, “it would all be so romantic.”
Lord Gerald firmly closed his eyes.
“I mean,” Ginny went on in the same placid voice, “it is just as well we feel no attraction for each other, or the situation would be quite agonizing.”
/> Lord Gerald pretended to snore.
“And furthermore,” added Ginny, “can you imagine if it were Peter Paster here or someone like that instead of you… ?”
Gerald never knew quite what happened except that he was suddenly seized with a fit of the most terrible temper. Hadn’t he behaved like a gentleman all day? Hadn’t he slaved like a scullery maid to clean the kitchen while she snored her stupid head off?
With a great effort he said, through his teeth, “I am not Peter and I am too tired to get involved in one of your stupid discussions about romance, so go to sleep.”
“All right,” said Ginny. And she did!
Gerald simply couldn’t believe it. He uncoiled himself from the settle and knelt down on the floor beside her. His collar dug into him and he started to remove it. Why should he worry about the conventions when she was not awake to notice how politely he slept in all the discomfort of a dirty shirt. He then removed his shirt with a sigh of relief and threw it onto the settle opposite.
Ginny opened her eyes. Lord Gerald was kneeling over her in his vest and trousers, the flickering shadows from the fire playing along the gold hairs on his muscular arms. They looked at each other for what seemed like a long time, Ginny, wide-eyed and wondering, and Lord Gerald, hard and tense, crouched in the firelight.
Then she raised one of her bandaged hands and lightly touched his neck.
All hell broke loose inside Lord Gerald de Fremney.
He pulled her up into his arms and fastened his lips on hers, deeper and harder, crushing her against him, his senses swirling and throbbing until only one thought, one mad desire burned in his brain, and that was to quench this terrible burning passion that Ginny was able to arouse by a mere touch of her hand.
Sometime later, when his heart had stopped thudding and a glimmering of sense came back, he smoothed her hair back from her brow and tenderly kissed her mouth. “I’m sorry, Ginny,” he said quickly. “It should not have been like that.”
And the infuriating Miss Bloggs smiled up at him in the firelight and murmured, “Really? You must show me what it should have been like.”
“Like this,” he whispered, bending to her mouth again and slowly and carefully beginning to remove all the articles of clothing that had not been removed before. The wind howled and moaned outside, and the logs in the fire sputtered and cracked, and there were only the black beetles to watch the ancient naked dance of the two bodies on the floor.
“You’re very bruised,” said Lord Gerald as the white-and-red light of dawn crept across the floor. “Was that me?”
“No, darling,” smiled Ginny. “The fall from the carriage.”
“You have a great bruise just here, rather like the map of India. I shall kiss it better….”
Mr. Figgs often said in later years that he had never been so well looked after in his life. “They didn’t even allow me to set a foot out of bed,” he had said proudly, “and Miss, she even read to me. And they paid handsome for their board when they left.”
A freakish warm wind came dancing over the English Channel on the third day, turning the white carpet of snow into slush and flooding the fields.
Lord Gerald struggled back into his shirt, which Ginny had washed, and helped her into her stays and then fastened up all the tiny buttons at the back of her dinner gown with thin, sensitive fingers that itched to unbutton them all again.
Gerald planned to walk for help, leaving Ginny at the inn after warning her not to unbolt the door until she heard the sound of his voice.
He went into the kitchen to make some tea first and, while he filled the kettle, he found a nasty questioning voice had entered his brain. You’ll have to marry her now, won’t you? said the voice. Walked neatly into that little trap, didn’t you? He resolutely fought the voice down, made the tea, put cups and saucers on the tray, and returned to where Ginny was sitting by the fire, looking pensively at the flames.
He poured out tea and as Ginny made no remark, he said in a voice with a sharp edge to it, “I’m getting quite domesticated.”
“Yes,” said Ginny. She looked up at him and her gaze seemed disconcertingly penetrating and shrewd. In a second it had vanished, leaving her eyes completely blank. She fiddled with her teaspoon and then there was silence. Not Ginny’s usual placid silence but a silence stretched taught, an atmosphere of waiting.
Lord Gerald finished his tea and stood up. He had better propose and get it over with.
“I say, Ginny,” he remarked casually. “I suppose I had better marry you. I mean, in the circumstances, that is…”
“I don’t see why,” said Ginny.
“What?” Lord Gerald was outraged. “If I did not have first-hand evidence that you were a virgin, dear girl, I would begin to suspect your morals. Of course we’ve got to get married now. It’s the done thing!”
“There is no need for anyone but us to know what has happened,” said Ginny calmly. “You may return to your bachelor pursuits. You will soon find someone to replace Alicia.”
“Has all this time we spent together meant nothing to you?” he raged.
Ginny turned her face away. “I have already pointed out that you are under no obligation to marry me,” she said in a flat, dead voice. “Now, are you going to find help or do I have to do it?”
He went out and slammed the door.
It was several miles hard walking before he stopped shaking with anger. It was several more before he could calmly review what he had said. He was on the outskirts of Gyrencester before he realized he had not said he loved her.
And with a sickening, lost feeling, he realized that he did!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The police failed to find any trace of Ginny’s abductor. The telegraph boy had said a large gent had met him in the driveway of Courtney and had taken the telegram and then given him that famous sovereign. He couldn’t describe him rightly, because he had been wearing a long coat to his heels, a cap down over his eyes, and a muffler across his face and his voice had sounded funny.
Ginny had removed herself and most of her household to town. Although some months had passed, Lord Gerald could still remember his last painful interview with her in the stuffy little estate office at Courtney. He had tried to point out that his honor as a gentleman was at stake. He was not in the habit of seducing virgins. It was her duty to marry him. And Ginny had just stood there as empty-eyed and lifeless as a china doll. He was about to take her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her when she had suddenly walked from the room, and by the time he had gathered his wits and had gone to look for her, she was nowhere to be found.
He was so humiliated and angry, he decided he did not care for her one bit and the very next day he would ride over and show her so. But the next day she had left for London and had promptly hedged herself about with a round of social calls and activities and he was never to see her alone, even for a minute.
As Ginny flirted and danced with one eligible man after the other, his hopes died. The charming, warm, and passionate Ginny, he decided, only existed in his mind. He had been tricked by the snow and the storm and the firelight. She was as silly and empty-headed as he had always believed her to be. He prided himself on a narrow escape and returned, brooding, to his country home. If he thought of her at all during that long winter it was to hope that someone would murder her.
One warm May day when the dog daisies danced on the green banks and the purple clover carpeted the meadows he looked across to Courtney and saw spirals of smoke rising up from the tall chimneys. She was back!
He worked harder than ever on his estates, burying himself in agriculture and manual labor so that he might fall into an exhausted and dreamless sleep each night.
He was just beginning to tire of this monkish existence when he received an invitation from Lady George. The gilt-edged card was accompanied by a letter informing his lordship that Lady George’s “duveen” niece was staying with her and was absolutely the prettiest thing imaginable. Lady George wanted
the ball in honor of her niece, Mary, to be a great success and would Lord Gerald please attend, although little dickey birds had told her he never went anywhere these days.
He looked at it thoughtfully and then across the sunny fields to where the tall chimneys of Courtney rose above the trees.
He would go, he decided. He was sure Ginny would not be there. He had a longing to dance with a pretty girl and be feted and petted by their hopeful mamas.
He sent a warm letter of acceptance and felt the first pleasurable thrill of anticipation he had experienced since his nights at the inn with Ginny.
He endowed Lady George’s niece, Mary, with all the beauty and charms of perfect womanhood. He would marry her, he would invite Ginny to the wedding, and he would smile into her empty eyes and tell her how happy he was. He might make some laughing little reference to their time at the inn to show her that it had meant nothing to him.
The days before the ball passed quickly and the evening of the great event soon arrived. He dressed with unusual care, pulling his white gloves over his hands, which were callused like a laborers’ by the hard work during the winter and early spring.
His servants smiled their approval to see their master once more behaving as fitted his position in life instead of grubbing among the turnips.
His new Lanchester purred along the lanes in the twilight toward Lady George’s mansion. The air was warm and sweet and full of the scent of growing things. Tiny new leaves arched across the road, spreading their black lace against the darkening sky. It was as if the whole of nature had fallen asleep and was breathing deeply and evenly—the faint mist that was beginning to rise from the fields, her gentle breath.
He found himself relaxing and the nagging empty feeling he had been carrying around inside him for months began to recede.
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