The Chaperon Bride (Harlequin Historical)

by Nicola Cornick

‘Oh, no.’ Now she took several decided steps back. ‘I am no easy entertainment for a rake.’

  ‘I hardly thought you so and I have told you I am no rake. I do not make a habit of kissing chaperons. In the main they are too old and unattractive.’

  She laughed again. ‘You are absurd, my lord. And unpardonably rude as well.’

  ‘I know. Open the gate.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Open the gate. Please, Annis.’

  She hesitated visibly. A flash of sheer masculine triumph went through him as he saw the struggle she had with her own feelings and desires. He waited.

  ‘No, I shall not.’ Determination gave strength to her tone. ‘I have a position to maintain, my lord, and I shall not compromise it further.’

  It would be easy enough for him to open the gate himself—or to vault over it. She could not prevent him. They both knew it. The breeze whispered in the branches above them whilst they waited, her gaze holding his. His desire for her was simmering now, but Adam knew it could be rekindled at a second’s notice. Yet something held him back. Passion, he was accustomed to, although perhaps not as intense a desire as this. Respect was something else. He admired Annis’s strength of will and her determination to do the right thing, even as he thought of overriding her and taking what he wanted. Her resolve was part of her attraction. Passion…and respect. It was a powerful combination. He found he had to honour it.

  ‘Goodnight then, my lady,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you again.’

  ‘Goodnight, my lord.’ Her tone had eased. Relief? Reluctance? Both, perhaps. ‘I see you spoke the truth. You are not such a rake after all.’ There was no challenge in her voice, only amusement.

  He laughed ruefully. ‘I told you I was no such thing. But…I would still like to see you again.’

  He saw the shadow of her smile. ‘I am persuaded that you will change your mind, my lord. Everything always looks different in the daylight. Goodnight.’

  She disappeared up the path to the house and her footsteps died away. Adam was left to make his way back up his own garden and on to the terrace in thoughtful silence.

  His wife, Mary, had died when he was only twenty-three and for a while, after the initial grief had dulled a little, he had briefly indulged in all the superficial hellraising of a rake on the town. His efforts to forget Mary had been hopeless. His liaisons had seemed tawdry and supremely unfulfilling, and every time, the cool, sweet memory of her had reasserted itself easily, reminding him that he had not buried his grief at all. Eventually he had joined the army, gone abroad, and fought his battles against the French rather than struggling against his demons at home.

  He had been so young when he had fallen in love with Mary that he had never cultivated the hard, dismissive attitude to women that he saw reflected in so many of his contemporaries. To him it had been impossible to see his wife merely as an ornament to grace his home, the mother of his heirs. He had wanted her to be both of those things but they had also been intimately attuned, madly in love. Adam recognised now that it had been a first and very special love that he had had for Mary, but there was no reason to suppose that, had she lived, it would not have matured into something deeper and wiser.

  Alas that it had not been meant to be. After he had returned from the Peninsula, he had hardly eschewed all women, but he had never met anyone that he wanted to marry. He had never even considered it. But in the nine years of his widowerhood he had never been moved to passion the way that Annis Wycherley had moved him tonight. He thought ruefully that he must have been without a woman for too long, to want someone so irrationally and so immediately. The only other person that he had ever been drawn to so quickly was Mary.

  Annis Wycherley. Fair and sweet, not an innocent young girl and yet strangely untouched. He remembered once again her hesitancy, the way her lips had softened beneath his, warming in response. Such unpractised sweetness could not be feigned and just the memory of it made his body tighten in response.

  She had taken a step back from him in more ways than one that night, distancing herself from the disconcerting affinity that had bound them together in the darkness. As a chaperon, he could understand her reserve, but it did not discourage him. He wanted Annis Wycherley and he knew that she was also attracted to him. He was determined to know her better.

  Annis closed the garden door and locked it behind her. Just for a moment, out in the darkness, she had forgotten all about Fanny and the urgent need to find her, and that was unforgivable. Just for a moment, when Adam Ashwick had kissed her, she had forgotten that she was a chaperon.

  She shivered slightly. She met plenty of eligible men in her work, but almost all of them were looking through her to see her charges and the fortunes that they brought with them. Annis could not blame them. In public she dressed with deliberate, self-effacing dullness and behaved with stultifying propriety. It would have been impossible for her to do anything else, for surely no one would employ a flighty duenna. Yet Adam Ashwick had not looked through her. He had seen her, even in the dark. Seen her, pursued her, almost caught her. She could barely believe that she had let him kiss her. Or that she had kissed him back.

  ‘I do not do things like that.’

  ‘You just did. And I dare swear that you enjoyed it.’

  She had, too. No one had ever kissed her like that. In fact, no one had really kissed her at all. Not with passion and intensity and a sweetness that had melted all her resistance. It had taken her completely by surprise.

  ‘I cannot quite believe that you did it.’

  ‘Believe it. And that I would like to do it again.’

  She did not doubt him. No false modesty, nor convention, nor reserve could deny the fact. He had wanted to kiss her and she had wanted him to do so, wanted it with an ache that she could still feel deep within her.

  Annis drew a deep breath. Such a situation was not part of her plans at all. She had married young, for security. There had been nothing of love about it. She certainly did not wish to be ambushed by romance now, at the advanced age of seven and twenty, when she had a living to make and an estate to support and no intention of falling for a man who could turn her untried emotions inside out.

  She frowned a little. She had known that she was drawn to Adam Ashwick, but she had severely underestimated the extent of that attraction. The direct, complex and perplexing man that she had met in the daylight had given no hint of this other deep and passionate side to his nature. Annis shivered convulsively. These were dark and uncharted waters and she would do better to avoid them.

  Except that she had already encouraged him. She knew she had, seduced a little by the moonlight and the romance and more than a little by Adam himself. He had surprised in her a depth of passion she had not known existed. Now that she was alone again it felt like folly, but at the time it had been very sweet.

  She hurried along the garden corridor. She had told Adam not to call and no doubt he would not put himself to the trouble of contradicting her. Which was just as well, for she was not at all sure what she could say to him if she were to see him again. It would be awkward. It might be embarrassing. Matters always looked different in the cold light of day, and this was one incident that was best left to moonlight and memory.

  And now, she had to find Fanny.

  A sliver of light from beneath the door of the servants’ quarters caught Annis’s eye as she went down the corridor to the hall. In these small town houses the servants’ quarters were small, consisting only of a tiny office for the butler, the kitchen and a small dining room. Annis did not employ a butler, and had only four indoor servants—five if one included the maid who waited on Fanny and Lucy. All of them should have been abed by now.

  Annis opened the door and went down the stairs. There was a furtive rustling sound, as though a large mouse was running wild in the kitchen. Flickering candlelight betrayed the litter of a large feast: breadcrumbs, chunks of cheese, slivers of ham. At the end of the table sat Fan
ny, her cheeks bulging, crumbs scattered down her nightdress. For the first time in the acquaintance, Annis thought that Fanny looked discommoded.

  ‘Oh! Lady Wycherley! I was a little hungry…’

  ‘So I see,’ Annis said. She felt simultaneously vastly relieved and slightly irritated. ‘Tidy up after yourself, Fanny, and go up to bed. You are like to have nightmares with all that cheese.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Fanny murmured submissively. Her sharp eyes took in Annis’s outdoor clothes. ‘Have you been out, ma’am?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘Only into the garden,’ Annis said. ‘I thought that I heard an intruder and went out to check that everything was secure.’

  ‘How brave of you, ma’am!’ Fanny said, eyes huge. ‘That is just what I would expect of you. I would never venture out in the dark alone, of course, for my aunt, Lady Mary Crewe, says that it is not at all the done thing.’ She stuffed the remaining piece of cheese into her mouth, adding as an afterthought, ‘Was anyone out there?’

  ‘No,’ Annis said, turning away. ‘There was no one at all.’

  Chapter Five

  Annis was accustomed to keeping her own counsel, but she was surprised to find how strong was the urge to confide when she had luncheon with Sibella the following day. Her cousin had a nose for gossip and an insatiable interest in all things romantic or matrimonial; indeed, Annis often thought that when Sibella was on a scent she was more tenacious than a terrier. It was with this in mind that she told her only the bare outline of her encounter with Adam Ashwick, leaving out all the bits that Sibella would be interested in. What would Sibella say if her notoriously down to earth cousin confessed to kissing a man who was almost a stranger and further, admitted that she had found him shockingly attractive? She would scent a romance and would be forever trying to throw Annis in Adam Ashwick’s path, which would be both embarrassing and unhelpful. Annis loved Sibella, for she was warm and comfortable company, but she was not subtle.

  ‘So,’ Sibella said, when Annis had finished the tale, ‘did you ask Lord Ashwick what he was doing lurking in the lane in the middle of the night?’ She stirred another spoonful of sugar into her cup of chocolate. ‘It seems a strange time to be taking the air. Do you think that he was waiting for Fanny or Lucy Crossley? Perhaps whilst Fanny was attending to her midnight feast, Lucy was intending to creep out?’

  ‘I think it most unlikely, Sib.’ Annis helped herself the last half scone. ‘Lucy Crossley has a tendre for Barnaby Norwood, as you know, and unlike her sister she is unlikely to do anything foolish to put a potential match at risk. Barney is young and handsome, as well as being the younger son of Lord Norwood, and Lucy is head over ears in love with him.’

  ‘Well, Lord Ashwick is young and handsome, if it comes to that.’

  ‘I do not consider a man of two and thirty to be young,’ Annis said. ‘Nor is Lord Ashwick precisely handsome.’

  Her cousin arched her perfectly plucked brows. ‘Lord, you are very exacting! Where does youth end for you, Annis, and middle age begin?’

  Annis laughed. She had had this discussion many times before with her cousin, who stubbornly refused to acknowledge that they were growing older. ‘Oh, at six and twenty, I think. And you and I, my dear, are both on the shady side of that!’

  Sibella looked down at her comfortably spreading figure, clothed today in a gown of blue-and-white striped sarcenet. ‘Then I like being middle-aged!’ She asserted. ‘I have three delightful children, a doting husband and a comfortable home.’

  ‘And all before you reach the age of thirty.’

  ‘Hush!’ Sibella shuddered. ‘I will not have that word spoken in this house.’

  ‘Why not?’ Annis smiled maliciously. ‘David is already thirty and looks very well upon it and Charles will be thirty in December and I myself will be thirty—’

  ‘Stop!’ Sibella held up her hand. ‘You will not be thirty for at least two and a half years.’

  ‘You look very well preserved for your age,’ Annis said commiseratingly, a twinkle in her eye. ‘No one would believe you a day over five and twenty, Sib!’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her cousin patted her blonde curls. ‘Unlike you, Annis. Where did you get that atrocious dress? It puts years on you! I fear I shall not be going out in public with you if you affect such frightful fashions!’

  ‘Fortunate that no one saw me arriving at your door, then,’ Annis said, ‘or you would lose your position as Harrogate’s most fashionable hostess once and for all. You know that I almost always wear bombazine and a turban, Sib! What self-respecting chaperon would not?’

  ‘Well, you look like a ape-leader! Surely you did not purchase that at Mr Frankland’s shop?’

  ‘I did.’ Annis stroked the grey bombazine dress lovingly. ‘He bought it in especially for me, you know. Apparently everyone else is wearing silk and muslin this summer.’

  ‘Of course they are. It is cooler, for one thing.’ Sibella put her head on one side and viewed her cousin with a jaundiced air. ‘You know, Annis, you could be quite good looking if only you tried harder. You are lovely and slender—’

  ‘I am considered too tall for a woman.’

  ‘But you have a most elegant figure. If only you did not disguise your curves under those drab clothes—’ Sibella broke off as Annis blushed bright red. ‘Oh! Whatever have I said?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Annis said hastily, putting her plate down with a clatter. She remembered Adam’s words: ‘You have a most deliciously curved shape’ and she almost ended up spilling her tea as well, her hand shook so much.

  Sibella was looking at her strangely. ‘What is the matter, Annis? You look very red.’

  ‘The heat!’ Annis said hastily, fanning herself vigorously. ‘I feel a little warm.’

  ‘Well, I did warn you about the bombazine.’ Sibella frowned. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, I was suggesting improvements to your appearance.’

  ‘May we please change the subject, Sib?’ Annis asked desperately.

  ‘In a minute. Do you not wish for the benefit of my advice? Your hair is a very pretty blonde colour if only you would let it show—’

  ‘It is unfashionably without curl,’ Annis snapped. She pushed away the memory of Adam touching her hair in the moonlight, running his hands through it as he tilted her head up to kiss her. The whole encounter seemed extraordinary. She still could not quite believe it. Adam Ashwick had kissed her. She, Annis Wycherley, a widowed chaperon of seven and twenty, who did not have a romantic bone in her body. She drained her teacup and reached for the pot again. Tea was always efficacious in soothing ruffled sensibilities, so Mrs Hardcastle said.

  ‘You have a beautiful complexion,’ Sibella was saying, determined to continue with her appraisal.

  Annis sighed. ‘And freckles! That, as you know, is death to any pretensions to beauty. Now, may we end this litany?’

  Sibella, an accredited beauty since her girlhood, sighed as well. ‘All I am saying is that if you did not dress as a dowd it would be a start.’

  Annis had herself back in hand by now. ‘If I did not dress as a dowd, as you put it, no one would send their wards and daughters to me to chaperon. Remember the fuss that time I went as a governess and did not have the sense to cover up my hair! One would have thought that a glimpse of blonde hair was enough to send a man into a love-struck daze!’

  ‘Oh, it is,’ Sibella said, smiling a little self-satisfied smile. ‘I have always found it so.’

  ‘Well, I have not—’ Annis broke off, realising that this was not entirely true. Adam certainly seemed to have liked her hair. She wriggled a little uncomfortably on the sofa, wishing that she had never raised the subject of Fanny’s jaunt the previous evening. It had also raised some other memories that had kept her awake long into the night.

  Sibella was still looking at her oddly. ‘Are you sure you are quite well, Annis? You seem strangely distracted today and not at all like your usual self. Perhaps your meeting with Lord Ashwick has disturbed you more than you make o
ut.’

  ‘It has nothing to do with Lord Ashwick,’ Annis said quickly.

  ‘I see. All the same, it must have been splendidly romantic to meet him out in the garden—in the dark.’

  Annis swallowed hard. She had a strong urge to change the subject, but she knew that Sibella would view that as deeply suspicious. Her best option was to affect a cool and casual air, but she was not sure she could carry that off. Whatever else she felt, cool and casual was not it.

  ‘Umm. I would not say that it was romantic. I was looking for Fanny, of course, and Lord Ashwick…Well…’ Annis fidgeted slightly as she tried to think of something to say without giving herself away ‘…he was very pleasant…’

  ‘Pleasant! Annis!’ Sibella rolled her eyes. ‘Half the ladies in Harrogate would have given their diamonds to be in your shoes last night and the only word you can come up with is pleasant!’

  Annis looked defensive. ‘What would you have me say? I suppose there are those who would reckon Lord Ashwick charming.’

  ‘How half-hearted you sound!’ Sibella’s big blue eyes opened wide. ‘The York Herald was far more fulsome in its comments.’

  ‘Of course. Its publisher wishes to sell many papers and to have all the ladies swooning over Lord Ashwick must surely increase its circulation.’

  ‘Lud, what a cynic you are, Annis!’

  ‘I fear so.’ Annis smiled. ‘Experience breeds cynicism.’

  Sibella tutted. ‘What nonsense. I am sure Lord Ashwick is well worth swooning over.’

  ‘If one is the swooning kind one could do worse, I suppose.’

  ‘He has quite a reputation.’

  Annis smiled. ‘These London gentlemen always do. Some women find those sort of dark good looks unbearably attractive.’

  ‘But not you?’ Sibella gave Annis an arch look. ‘At least you could have some sympathy with his situation. He has a tragic past.’

  ‘Yes…’ Annis thought of the time by the river when Adam had told her of his love for his wife. She felt a little low. The encounter in the garden had been romantic and passionate, but it seemed trivial in comparison to the devotion Adam had felt for Mary.