She flailed out at his imprisoning hands, kicking ineffectually at his booted legs. His eyes widened in horror, then narrowed with grim purpose as he lifted her bodily off her feet and began to drag her across the room.
Her anger flipped to wild, ungovernable panic at the realisation that she could do nothing to prevent him forcing her on to the bed. She began to twist in his hold, clawing at him like a cat.
It took her a full five minutes before she realised that, far from flinging her on to the bed and ravishing her, he was merely restraining her in one of the armchairs.
She stopped trying to escape him, and looked up into his face. She was wrecked from the exertions of struggling against a being so much stronger than herself, but he was not even breathing hard. He looked completely in control of himself. While she had just behaved like some kind of…a wild woman!
Oh, it was all true, what they said about her! She was not right in the head! How could she have attacked the poor man like that! He was not the one who had betrayed her, and robbed her of the future she had worked so hard for so many years to secure. It was Madame Pichot who had done all that.
With a whimper of shame, she let her head fall forwards, on to his breast. And as her breathing slowed, and her heart quieted, the odour of singed wool permeated her senses.
And she felt even worse. When she had leapt to her feet, she had been careless of her proximity to the fire. Lord Matthison had only been pulling her away from the flames.
‘I…I’m s-sorry,’ she gulped.
His hands eased the pressure they had been exerting on her shoulders.
‘Can I let you go now? Will you stay in that chair, and do nothing that might put yourself in danger?’
She nodded, too ashamed of her loss of control to muster up an adequate apology for having so badly misjudged his intentions.
It was only when he pulled away, and went to sit on the chair on the other side of the hearth that she could tell how shaken he was, too. His face was white, and his hands, as they curled round the arms of the chair, were trembling. It must be frightening, she expected, to have a crazy woman leap on you!
‘You do need to get out of your wet clothes, though, Cora,’ he repeated.
‘My name is Mary,’ she reminded him defiantly as she began to fumble at the buttons of her coat. That episode had stripped her of what little remained of her dignity. She had to claw it back somehow! And reminding herself that he was just as capable of leaping to the wrong conclusions about a person was a start.
‘Whatever you call yourself,’ he said so patiently it roused a strong desire to throw her sodden, singed coat at him, ‘you need to accept the fact that I have no wish to see you hurt yourself. Nor,’ he went on more firmly, ‘will I let anyone else hurt you. I just want to look after you now. Protect you.’
Her fingers stilled on the strings of her bonnet. Protect her! Offering a woman protection was just another way of saying he wanted to make her his mistress, she knew that much, however simple everybody thought her.
But surely, if he really believed she was his lost love, he would not be offering her that kind of relationship? She eyed him with renewed suspicion. Had he known all along she was not the dead woman who had taken his heart to the grave? Was he not the tortured soul she had thought him at all?
She heaved a sigh as she lifted the bonnet from her head. She was clearly no judge of character. Look at how wrong she had been about Madame Pichot.
The complaining woman from the showroom had accused him of trying to evade doing his duty to her daughter. Claiming Mary was his long-lost fiancée would get him off the hook all right…but not, she frowned as she leaned down to place her bonnet in the hearth to dry, if he only planned to make her his mistress! Many married men still kept mistresses.
And she had said he was evil. Kitty had said there were whispers he was in league with the devil. That all his luck at the gaming tables stemmed from a horrible murder he had committed of a young woman who he’d lured to his estate. Learning about that was what had made Molly change her mind about the advisability of Mary embarking on a relationship with him. It did seem odd, she thought, darting him a sideways glance, the way he had materialised out of the rain just when she was at her most vulnerable. How had he known she was in Bath? Let alone arriving the very minute she had discovered she was completely and utterly destitute?
A shiver racked her whole body, and instinctively she wrapped her arms about her waist.
‘I don’t care how much you pay me,’ she said as firmly as she dared, ‘I won’t pretend to be somebody I am not, just so that you can get out of marrying someone you should never have asked in the first place if you do not love her.’
‘What?’ Lord Matthison sat bolt upright, staring at her as though she had just sprouted two heads.
But before either of them could say another word, a hotel waiter had knocked and entered, bearing a tray of coffee and sandwiches. While he was setting it down on the table, they sat eyeing each other, like two prizefighters getting their breath back between rounds.
‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘Not quite,’ Lord Matthison bit out. ‘Would you be so good as to take my wife’s coat and bonnet, and dry them? And her boots, too, if you would not mind waiting for a moment.’
And then he was on his knees at her feet, deftly unlacing her boots, sliding them off, and handing them over to the wooden-faced waiter.
‘Madam’s things will be dried, brushed and returned first thing in the morning,’the man assured them, almost managing to conceal his disgust at the state of Mary’s clothing. It wasn’t until he had left the room with her coat draped over his arm, her boots dangling from his fingers, that it hit her that she was now trapped in this room overnight, with a man who was so determined to make her his mistress, he had pursued her all the way to Bath. She had just been so glad to see the back of those wretchedly uncomfortable boots she had not paused to think what the consequences of handing them over would be.
It would be useless to apply to any of the hotel staff for aid, now. She had walked into this establishment leaning on her would-be seducer’s arm. They would not believe her excuse that she had been too dazed by the enormity of Madame’s cruelty to know what she had been doing.
Besides, if she did attempt to escape him, where would she go? What could she do? She knew of nobody who might help her find work. Not just here in Bath. Not anywhere.
While she sat in gloomy contemplation of her utter stupidity in playing right into his hands, Lord Matthison calmly began pouring the coffee and making a selection from the plate of sandwiches, which he then handed to her.
The fragrant aroma of coffee made her nostrils twitch, and the daintily cut sandwiches set her mouth watering. She promptly decided that whatever was going to happen next, there was no point in trying to deal with it on an empty stomach.
And so it was that the chambermaid who came in not five minutes later with a can of hot water, found them sitting by the fire, facing each other, sipping coffee and tucking into their sandwiches like any unremarkable, staid married couple.
She felt her last chance of explaining to a member of the hotel staff that she was being kidnapped, or seduced, or at the very least, being forced into a situation that was completely repugnant to her, slip away while Lord Matthison ordered the disposing of the hot water, basin and towels.
And then he was kneeling at her feet again, a towel slung over his shoulder.
‘Do not make a fuss about this,’ he said sternly. ‘Just remove your stockings so I can tend to your feet.’
The idea of a lord washing the feet of a seamstress was so shocking that Mary just sat there gaping at him.
‘If you do not remove them,’ he warned her, ‘I shall be obliged to do it for you.’
‘W-why?’ she said stupidly. Why would he want to wash her feet?
‘They are bleeding. Did you not know?’
She looked down, and saw that he was right. Her toes were numb with
cold, but there was no mistaking the bloodstains on her stockings from where the boots had rubbed her feet raw. It would be silly to fight him over an issue like this, she decided, putting her half-eaten sandwich down. Besides, they had already established that when it came to a contest of brute strength, he must always be the victor.
As she reached up under her skirts to untie her garters, Lord Matthison turned away, bringing the basin of warm water closer to her chair, so that she could put her bared feet straight into it.
It seemed a remarkably considerate thing for an evil seducer and murderer of women to do. It would have been more in character for him to leer lasciviously as she peeled off her stockings. She studied the top of his bent head as he lathered his hands.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he murmured when she winced as he gently began to soap the raw skin.
His strong hands were incredibly gentle as he lifted her feet on to the towel he had spread over his thigh, and patted them dry. She felt tears spring to her eyes at the tenderness of his ministrations. It was all a far cry from how she might have expected him to treat her.
Could a man in league with the devil be capable of acting with such kindness?
‘How, then?’she murmured as she wondered how he had managed to appear like a genie from a lamp at the most opportune moment. ‘I mean,’ she explained at his puzzled frown, ‘how did you find me?’
‘I followed you, as soon as I heard your employer had put you on the night mail, of course.’
‘How did you hear I had got on the night mail?’
‘I had been having you watched.’
She shuddered at the thought that someone had been watching her movements without her suspecting a thing. It was almost as horrible as thinking he had been able to locate her by supernatural means. Her revulsion must have shown on her face, because he said,
‘I have had you watched from the day I found you. You didn’t think I would let you slip through my fingers again, did you? After all I have been through these last seven years?’
‘People don’t behave like this,’ she said, wondering what on earth possessed him to act in such a way. And then she closed her eyes, on a wave of giddiness. Everything she had believed about everyone she knew had been turned upside down so many times this day! ‘This is like…a nightmare…’
‘The nightmare is over, now,’ he insisted. ‘I have told you, I will look after you now.You have nothing to fear. I won’t let you fall into the hands of unscrupulous people like that seamstress who treated you little better than a slave.’
She opened her eyes, saw the determined set of his jaw, and realised it was pointless getting upset with him.
It was not his fault she looked like the woman he had loved and lost. Not his fault Madame had vented her spite by pitching her into the worst possible scenario she could have invented. In fact, if anything, she felt sorry for him. For a moment, she had a crazy urge to reach out and put her arms round him. To tell him that she understood he believed he was doing the right thing, and did not hold it against him.
Instead, she ran her hand shakily round to the nape of her neck, closing her eyes against the need burning from his. He might say she had nothing to fear from him, but wealthy men did not pursue poor girls for any other reason than to amuse themselves for a while in bed. She might feel sorry for him, she might accept he sincerely believed he was coming to her rescue, but that did not mean she was going to abandon all her principles!
Even as she wondered how on earth she could find the words to explain all that was going on in her mind, when she was not sure she fully understood herself, he rose to his knees, placing one hand on each of the arms of her chair.
‘Cora,’ he grated, in a voice so full of pain and longing it touched her at the deepest level, ‘wake up and love me again.’
She knew the second before he did it that he was going to kiss her. Or at least, kiss the image of Cora that she represented.
She had not the heart to repulse him, after that heartfelt plea. So she made no move to stop him.
Just before his mouth brushed against hers, she tensed, expecting to feel the dismay and revulsion that normally overcame her when a man got too close. But it did not materialise. Instead she felt a very strong wish that she could somehow take away his pain. A single tear slipped from behind her tightly closed eyelids as she put her arms round him, and began, very inexpertly, to kiss him back.
Her heart speeded up. She had dreamed of him kissing her like this, night after night.
Oh, how she wished she was the woman he had loved so much he was incapable of letting her go.
But she was not.
Her eyes flew open in dismay.
‘No,’ she said, her hands sliding from behind his neck, to push against his shoulders. ‘This is all wrong. I am not her.’
‘You are!’ he insisted, the anguish in his eyes bringing fresh tears to her own. ‘I did not believe it myself at first,’he said. ‘I thought you were a ghost. And then, when I had sobered up, that you were just a woman who resembled Cora somewhat. That was why I came to find you. To prove to myself that it was a trick of the light, or…’ He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving the damp locks ridged and furrowed. ‘But then you spoke. And I touched you. Cora…’ He seized her hands and began squeezing them repeatedly, as though assuring himself she was still there. ‘No woman has ever been able to stir my blood the way you do. It is as though I’ve come back to life, after seven long years of wishing I was dead!’
She blinked at him, a shock running right through her. For she knew exactly what he meant. When he held her in his arms, and kissed her, it was as though she had come to life, too. She knew no other man could have this effect on her.
It was as though they belonged together.
But it could not be…
Seeing her tiny shake of the head, he groaned, and buried his face in her neck, clutching her to him so tightly it was a wonder she could still breathe.
‘I’m sorry,’she murmured, stroking his hair. ‘So sorry.’
She wished she did not have to hurt him. If only she was the kind of girl, like Molly perhaps, who would not mind pretending to be who he wanted her to be.
It seemed to take a long time before he stopped shaking. But even then, she could not bring herself to let him go. Holding him was a harmless enough way of comforting him. If only there was some other way she could help ease his suffering, without sacrificing her principles.
And perhaps there was.
‘If,’ she began hesitantly, ‘I really was Cora, would you be treating me like this?’
‘What?’ he reared back, looking thunderstruck.
‘She was a proper lady, was she not?’ She must have been if she had been betrothed to this lord. ‘You would not have taken her into a hotel, and kissed her and held her like this. You would have cared about protecting her reputation.’
She could see him take her argument on board, struggle with it briefly, then toss it ruthlessly aside.
‘I am not letting you out of my sight again. Who knows where you might vanish off to if I once let down my guard!’ He leapt to his feet, paced away, then rounded on her, fists clenched at his sides. ‘And it is not as if you have any reputation left for me, or any other man to ruin is it? Not any more!’
Mary wondered why she did not feel in the least bit scared by this blatant display of masculine outrage.
But then it hit her that it was because it was not aimed at her, but at Cora.
And that it was Cora who had to answer his objections, if Mary was to stay safe.
‘Are you saying you no longer care about my reputation?’ she challenged him.
‘No, I am not, damn you!’ he snarled. ‘It is your physical safety, your well-being that matter to me, not some damn stupid convention that would have us lying apart in separate beds all night. Cora, I need to hold you, to know I have you back! Do you think I would sleep a wink if you were in another room, when I have already spent the last seven years
wondering where you are? Don’t ask me to leave you.’
No, she sighed, she could not ask that of him. Not when it would be such a cruel thing to do. She had already experienced far too much of cruelty for one day.
‘Very well,’ she sighed, though she knew she was going to regret it. ‘I will not ask you to leave. But,’ she said, lifting her chin in a gesture of defiance that was probably futile, ‘I will not share your bed.’
‘Not until we are married,’ he agreed, a look of profound relief on his face.
‘Married? I cannot marry you!’
‘But of course we are going to be married. What do you think I meant when I said I would not let you out of mysight?’Helookedwounded.‘Cora,youcannot think that because I said you had no reputation now that I could possibly be offering you anything less than marriage?’ He looked as though she had struck him. ‘I see that you did. What have I done to make you think that of me?’
Nothing, she realised. She had been troubled by the rumours others whispered about him, but she had never quite been able to believe them completely. Somehow she had always known that Lord Matthison was not evil. He was hurt, and angry and confused. That was what made him act in a way that seemed reprehensible to others. But she ought to have known better.
‘It is nothing you have done,’ she said in a contrite voice. ‘It is who you are. Men of your class never offer marriage to girls of mine.’
He spun back to her, his face clearing.
‘Of course. You still don’t believe you are my Cora, do you?’
He returned to the chair opposite hers, and sat forwards, his hands clasped between his knees, looking intently at her.
‘Very well, if you are not Cora, then who are you?’
Her heart leapt. ‘Are you ready to hear the truth at last?’
And then it plunged. If she made him believe it, what then? The only thing that gave her any hold over him was his belief she was a lady. Once he accepted she was just a poor seamstress, she would have no means to prevent him doing exactly what she feared the most.
Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss Page 9
