‘Don’t,’ she said, a shadow crossing her face.
He looked at her curiously. ‘I’m not wrong, am I, Mari?’ he asked, worried.
‘Yes . . . no . . . that is . . . You go too fast. I have not said that I am in love with Luke, and even if I was, I would not know whether he loves me . . . ’
‘Men don’t jump in front of bullets for women they don’t love,’ said Kit reasonably. ‘But if you wish me to say nothing more, then I won’t mention it again. At least, not until you give me leave.’
Marianne gave a lopsided smile. ‘I can’t keep anything from you, can I?’
‘No, little sister.’
The door opened, and Adèle tripped in.
‘Adèle. My love.’ Kit’s face lit up as he saw his pretty amour.
The petite Frenchwoman blushed charmingly and went over to Kit’s side, taking his proffered hand. ‘Kit. Trudie told me you were out of bed,’ she said in her excellent English. ‘But should you be down here? What did the doctor say?’
‘He said that I may take my ease downstairs provided I don’t tire myself,’ said Kit, repeating the words he had said to Marianne, but this time with an unmistakeably lover-like warmth.
It did Marianne’s heart good to see it. Kit’s love for Adèle, and Adèle’s for him, was lovely to see.
‘Ah. Good. Then I will sit with you and make sure you follow his instructions,’ said Adèle.
‘For as long as Trudie allows it,’ said Kit, plainly having forgotten Marianne’s existence in his happiness at being with Adèle. ‘She read me a lecture this morning about compromising you, and told me we must be chaperoned whenever we want to sit together.’
‘Ah! But me, I told her we have crossed half of France with only a skin-and-bones horse as our chaperon,’ said Adèle, similarly oblivious of Marianne’s presence.
‘And what did she say to that?’
‘She told me that nothing that happened in such a barbarous country would surprise her, but that we are in England now!’
Marianne smiled happily to hear Kit and Adèle’s banter. After all they had been through, it did her good to know that they could finally be together. Then, knowing that they were engaged – or would be, just as soon as Kit had found the right moment to propose - she ignored Trudie’s feelings on chaperonage and discreetly slipped out of the room.
Kit and Adèle’s happy laughter receded as she made her way along the corridor and upstairs, and her own happy thoughts receded with it, for she was still anxious about Luke. Although Dr Moffat had said he should make a full recovery, and although her own knowledge and experience told her that this should be the case, until he was actually up and about again she would not rest easy.
The doctor was still in Luke’s bedroom, however, and so she waited patiently until he came out.
‘Ah! Miss Travis! Just the person I wanted to see.’
‘How is he?’ she asked.
‘He is resting now. His fever has gone and I have given him strict instructions to get some sleep. He should get as much rest as possible over the next few days. Then, as long as there is no return of the fever, he should be able to get up.’
Marianne thanked the doctor, and when he had gone, slipped into Luke’s room.
It was bathed in darkness. The heavy drapes were drawn across the window, and no candles were lit. But by and by, as Marianne’s eyes grew used to the darkness, she began to be able to see. To her right was the Adam fireplace. The fire, banked down, glowed in the hearth. On the wall ahead of her were the windows, covered with heavy damask curtains, and the bed was set against the wall to her left. It was a four poster, and the curtains which surrounded it were tied back. Under the coverlet was a figure lying quietly: Luke.
She moved into the room, gently shutting the door. She was determined not to disturb him, but she wanted to see for herself that he was resting peacefully. A little daylight was coming in through chinks in the curtains, and by this light she could make out his sleeping face. It was peaceful. There was no sign of the fever that had plagued him the day before. His features were relaxed, and she realised that she had never seen him like this before, he was usually such a strong and active man.
Her eyes lingered on his face: his smooth brow, his almond-shaped eyes, and his cheekbones, which were beautifully moulded. It seemed strange to think of a man as beautiful, but as she saw him like this, in repose, she realised that his face was indeed beautifully shaped. The high cheekbones and strong jawline were in perfect proportion and gave a fine structure to his face. With his face relaxed, however, he seemed younger than normal, and strangely vulnerable. The vulnerability touched her, and made her insides ache. Her strong Luke, brave, fearless, looked almost boyish. She shivered, realising that this vulnerable and disarming side of him would be one his wife see every night – if he ever took a wife.
She moved further into the room. Although he was sleeping peacefully she wanted to reassure herself that his fever had indeed gone, and when she reached the side of the bed she put out her hand, resting it on his forehead. His skin felt cool and dry.
She was just about to remove her hand when his own rose, catching her by the wrist, and a smile crossed his lips.
‘You’re awake!’ she exclaimed.
He opened his eyes, and there was a flash, faint but unmistakeable, of wickedness in them. ‘And glad to see you. More glad than I can say.’
‘Oh, Luke, I was so worried about you . . . ’
‘Were you?’ His eyes were searching and his good hand, the hand that led from his undamaged shoulder, as it rubbed hers, was strong and firm.
‘The fever . . . ’ she began hesitantly.
‘The fever’s gone now.’
‘I . . . shouldn’t be here,’ she said falteringly. ‘I should let you rest.’
‘You will do me more good than any amount of rest. I was hoping you would come.’
‘I had to see you. When we brought you home last night you were so ill —’
‘Why did you bring me home?’ he asked curiously. ‘To the Hall?’ He patted the bed beside him. ‘Sit down and tell me all about it.’
Marianne hesitated and then did as he said. As she settled herself beside him she could not help noticing that his white lawn night-shirt set off his olive complexion most attractively, revealing as it did an inch or two of masculine chest . . .
She gathered her straying thoughts. ‘In the end, we had no choice. In all the confusion, when the French were chasing you, no one gave any thought to the rowing boat. It was only later, when Figgs went to look for it and could not find it that we realised no one had lashed it to the side. So Captain Gringe had to take us all into the harbour. It was daylight when we arrived, and he thought it better to wait until it was almost dark before smuggling us off the ship.’
Luke nodded in agreement. ‘That makes sense. In the daytime, people would have been curious and would have talked about what they had seen. Two young ladies, two injured men and a couple of ruffians, coming down the gangplank, would have set the harbour buzzing.’
‘Yes, although I don’t think Henri and Figgs would take kindly to being called a couple of ruffians,’ laughed Marianne mischievously. ‘Captain Gringe sent for his carriage as soon as dark began to fall, and gave the coachman instructions to bring us all here. Figgs would have taken you on to the Manor, but by that time you were feverish and I insisted you were brought inside.’
He lifted his hand and brushed her cheek. Even in his weakened state his touch was redolent of virility. ‘It seems I have much to thank you for,’ he said, his eyes looking deeply into her own.
‘You can thank me by getting well again,’ she remarked, suddenly feeling vulnerable at being so close to him and resorting to the manner of a nurse. She pulled up the coverlet around his shoulders as if to emphasise the point.
‘I intend to.’ He was unperturbed by her ministrations. ‘Someone needs to keep an eye on you, and make sure you don’t go stowing away on any more ships!’
‘There’s no fear of that. Once was enough. But now, I intend to go. You are still weak, and you need to rest. Dr Moffat has given strict instructions, and I mean to see that they are carried out.’
‘Very well.’ Then his good hand moved to the back of her head and he pulled her face towards his, kissing her deeply and sensuously, with such a firm movement that she had no time to resist – even if she had wanted to, which she did not. And then he let her go.
He heart pounding and her cheeks still flushed from his kiss she headed towards the door, unable to resist one final look back at him before she went out into the corridor, closing the door gently behind her.
The next week passed quickly. Despite her fears that the days would drag, Marianne found she had plenty to do. She was kept busy with nursing Luke and Kit, and in between she found time to send Tom to the harbour to bring back her mare from Jim Smith’s, and to comfort Adèle, for the pretty Frenchwoman was anxious about the fate of her beloved parents.
The fate of the Comte and Marie-Anne concerned Marianne as well. The Comte was her godfather, and Marie-Anne had been almost like a second mother to her, so that she was almost as anxious as Adèle.
‘We were separated as we tried to leave France,’ said Adèle in her prettily-accented English. ‘Ah! Marianne. I have tried to put on a brave face before Kit because he is injured, and I want him to get well, but it is difficult. I worry so much. Where are they, my parents? I hoped I would find them when I reached England. I hoped they, too had escaped.’
‘They might have done,’ said Marianne.
‘No. If they had escaped, they would have come here.’
‘Not necessarily. If they had wanted to mount a rescue attempt to save you I think they would have gone to London first. It would be much easier to arrange something from there.’
Adèle looked a little more hopeful. ‘Ah! Mais oui. It is possible.’ She nodded to herself. ‘C’est possible.’
‘Do you know anyone in London? Anyone they might turn to for help?’
Adèle thought. ‘My father, he has a cousin, a Lord Dublaine, in Brook Street. Perhaps they have gone there.’
‘Why not write?’ suggested Marianne.
Adèle, her face alight with hope again, nodded. ‘I will write at once, before tea. And perhaps soon we will have news.’
Marianne left Adèle to compose her letter. In all the danger and excitement of the preceding week there had been no time for her to attend to the estate, and she knew that there would be many things that needed her attention. She left the room, meaning to go to the stables and ride out towards the orchards, but just as she was crossing the hall she saw Luke coming down the stairs.
He looked paler than usual, and thinner, but still he looked magnificent. His long, lean body, encased in a cutaway coat, knee-breeches and boots, showed no sign of his recent injury, unless it was in the way he had one hand folded across his chest. His dark hair framed his masculine face, which was lean, angular and alert. And Marianne’s heart did somersaults in her chest.
Even so, she was concerned.
‘You shouldn’t be up,’ she said, taking a step towards him. ‘Dr Moffat says —’
‘Dr Moffat is a fine man, but he is used to dealing with invalids, not strong men who heal quickly.’ He crossed the hall towards her and stood so closely to her that he could have touched her. ‘Don’t worry, I have been injured often enough to know what my body can and cannot stand,’ he said, his eyes seeking her own. ‘In more ways than one,’ he added wolfishly.
Marianne tingled. But forcing herself to concentrate on his recent injury she gave a reluctant nod. She knew from Kit that Luke had been involved in other rescues before this one, and had to concede that he knew best as far as his own limits were concerned.
‘And now that I’m up, I must be returning to the Manor.’ He put out his good hand and brushed her cheek. ‘I was going to wait for the right time and the right place to say this, but I don’t want to wait any longer. Marianne, I have something to ask you. Something of great importance. Will you — ’
The sound of someone noisily clearing their throat interrupted him and he uttered an oath, but Trudie, who had followed him down the stairs, ignored it, just as she ignored his darkling look.
‘You were just going into the drawing-room to take your leave of Master Kit, if I remember rightly,’ she said blandly; nevertheless looking pointedly at the barest inch of space that separated Lord Ravensford from her beloved Miss Marianne. ‘He’s just gone into the drawing-room.’
He looked as though he wanted to curse even more, but mastering his temper he instead gave a wry smile and made the housekeeper a polite bow. ‘You are a good watchdog, Trudie. You are also right. I am just going in to see Kit. Miss Travis?’
He offered Marianne his arm and they went into the drawing-room. Kit and Adèle were just approaching the French windows from the garden, which had been thrown open on account of the fineness of the day.
‘Luke! Marianne! You can be the first to congratulate us!’ said Kit, as he and Adèle walked into the room arm in arm. ‘Adèle has just done me the very great honour of agreeing to become my wife.’
‘Oh, Kit, that’s wonderful,’ said Marianne, running forward to give her brother a hug, before kissing Adèle.
‘My heartiest congratulations,’ said Luke with a genuine warmth, a warmth in which there was now no trace of envy.
Adèle blushed prettily and Kit beamed at her with obvious pride.
Trudie, who had followed Luke and Marianne into the drawing-room, smiled as much as any of them, adding her own congratulations before bustling off to fetch the tea.
She soon brought it into the drawing-room. The silver teapot was gleaming on the silver tray. Porcelain cups and saucers were set beside it, and the sugar was neatly displayed in a silver dish.
Once the tea had been poured, Luke turned to Kit. ‘I hope you will bring your Adèle over to the Manor tomorrow afternoon, Kit, and take tea with me. I would like to repay at least some of the hospitality I have been shown over the last week. And Miss Travis,’ he said, turning to Marianne with a meaningful look, ‘I hope I can prevail on you to join your brother, too.’
‘Splendid!’ said Kit, beaming happily at his sister and his best friend.
And Marianne, with a warm glance at Luke, and thinking she knew in her heart what his important question was going to be, happily agreed.
Chapter Eleven
Sun streamed in at the windows. Marianne was awake early the following morning, roused by the sound of the birds. She threw back the covers. Today she was going to visit Luke . . . .
She sprang out of bed and rang for Trudie.
‘You look very cheerful this morning,’ said Marianne as Trudie entered the room. ‘Still delighted at the thought of Kit and Adèle?’
Trudie shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t that, Miss Marianne, though that’s wonderful enough. But something else has happened.’
She would say no more, remarking only that Marianne would find out for herself when she went downstairs.
Curious, Marianne dressed quickly and went down to breakfast, wondering what could have set Trudie smiling so.
As she opened the door to the dining-room she knew at once. There, sitting at the breakfast table as though he had never taken to his room, was her Papa!
‘Ah! Marianne,’ he said, pausing in the act of slitting open a letter with a silver paper knife, ‘there you are. Did you sleep well?’
Marianne cast an amazed glance at Kit, who gave her a quirky smile as he tucked into a plate of ham and eggs, and then Adèle, who beamed at her happily from behind her chocolate cup. Then she turned her attention back to her father, who seemed to have recovered all his lost vitality overnight.
‘What will you have?’ asked her Papa conversationally. ‘The eggs are very good.’
‘Yes. Eggs,’ she said in a daze.
‘Good. And after you have breakfasted, be so good as to join me in my study. I wan
t to know about everything that has been happening on the estate.’
Marianne gave him another amazed look and then, beaming from ear to ear, applied herself to her breakfast.
Some twenty minutes later she went into his study.
‘Come in, my dear,’ he said.
Marianne went into the room and closed the door behind her.
‘Sit down.’
Going over to a Sheraton chair, Marianne perched on the edge of her seat. She still could not quite believe that her beloved Papa was restored to her.
The Earl Next Door Page 17
