A Regency Courtesan's Pride: More Than a Mistress / The Rake's Inherited Courtesan

She slipped on her nightgown, thrust her arms into the sleeves of her robe and knotted the tie. She glanced around the room. It was dangerous to leave candles burning unattended. The thought of a fire made her skin crawl. The house in Skepton had taken but minutes to burn. The girls had been lucky to escape with their lives. She took the snuffer from the mantel and tiptoed around the room, quickly extinguishing them all.

Unfortunately, Charlie didn’t seem to notice her departure. With a rueful smile at her continuing feeling of regret, she opened the door and peeped out into the corridor. All quiet. And dark. With no sound from her bare feet on the runner, she ran lightly back to her own room at the end of the hall.

She jumped between the cold sheets and shivered.

It would have been nice to stay next to Charlie. For them to wake up together. Like husband and wife.

The faint memory of sitting on her parents’ bed in the early mornings, drinking chocolate like a real grown-up lady slid into her thoughts. They’d been so happy. Before the fever had struck.

Afterwards, everything had changed. Poor Grandfather had been so sad, so worried about what to do with her.

She snuggled deeper beneath the sheets and closed her eyes. If only things could have been different. If only she could have been a lady like her mother, as Grandfather had hoped, Charlie might have gone along with her proposal. Betrothed to a marquis. Merry Draycott. What a thing. She couldn’t help but chuckle beneath her breath. She hugged her arms around her body. Imagine meeting such a gorgeous man on the road across the moors.

The vision of her phaeton, shafts upright in the ditch, brought her upright. Deliberately damaged.

Her stomach roiled. Her heart raced, rising in her throat to shorten her breathing. Fear.

Saints above, she’d never sleep now. She couldn’t go back to Charlie, admit her terror. He’d use the knowledge to impose his will.

Shivering, she got up and lit a candle to keep the dark thoughts at bay. She stared at the flickering flame. Was that why Charlie kept his candles alight when he slept? To keep away evil?

It would have to be something terrible to trouble such a powerful man.

Numbers were her escape. She picked up the accounts ledger she’d put aside earlier in the evening. It would either put her to sleep, or she would get her morning’s work done before first light. She must find a way to increase production, or she would have to let employees go.

Why was everything going wrong now? Were all the naysayers who had wrung their hands in horror at her inheritance of the mill right after all? Was it impossible for a woman to run such a large enterprise as Draycott’s? Should she have abided by her uncle Chepstow’s wishes and put everything in his hands?

She sighed. Grandfather would have solved the problem in an instant. Look out for t’coppers was his motto. Was that what she was doing wrong? Looking out for the pounds?

Dash it all, she would not be beaten.

She opened the ledger at the beginning. The answer had to be here.

Cold. Alone. Charlie opened his eyes.

Darkness assaulted his gaze. Silence his ears. A band tightened around his chest, cutting off air. Sweat trickled down his back. His heart thundered. He lay rigid. Still. Suffocating.

In a bed?

Why the hell was it dark?

The candles must have gone out. Darkness had woken him. He threw back the covers and drew back the curtains from the window. It didn’t help.

He gathered the supply of candles he’d left ready with shaking hands. He brought down the candelabra and struck the flint. A candle flared. He inhaled a deep calming breath.

He held the flame to the candelabra. Its candles hadn’t burned down, they’d been snuffed. Some time ago by their length.

He glanced at the rumpled bed. Merry must have doused them when she left.

Why hadn’t he awoken then? He had slept through her departure. Were the nightmares finally gone?

He rubbed at his breastbone and stared at the window. A faint trace of grey in the darkness of the room. He wanted to cheer. He felt rested. For the first time in years, energy coursed through his veins at the thought of a new day.

He’d made love to Merry, wonderful passionate wild love, and fallen asleep. God, he’d lost complete control with her, behaved like a green boy with his first woman.

She had climaxed deliciously. He hardened, wanting her again.

It wouldn’t happen.

Their lovemaking hadn’t changed her decision. The two things were not connected. She wanted him gone. He was to drive away and leave her to face the danger alone. Impossible. Yet what choice did he have unless he agreed to her suggestion that he pose as her future husband.

He groaned. If his father ever learned of this new adventure of his, Robert would be outcast forever. But leaving Merry in danger was out of the question. He already had enough guilt to carry. What he’d done to Robert. His failure at Waterloo.

He would not fail Merry.

He stilled. Was he once more being reckless, endangering others to satisfy his own ego as his commanding officer had accused?

He went hot, then cold. Damn it all, what else could he do? If he left and something happened to Merry, he would never forgive himself.

A knock sounded at the door. He grabbed for his banyan as Brian stepped in, carrying hot water in a jug. ‘Ready for your shave and a bath, my lord? ‘

Ready? Yes, indeed. Because he needed to see Merry as soon as possible. Not that he expected the conversation to be easy.

Chapter Ten (#ulink_1118fd96-b4ea-55ee-b0e0-963616382625)

The account books didn’t look any better now than they had in the early hours of the morning. One thing was obvious—while costs were rising at the mill, income was falling. Clearly, she would have to deal with the other mill owners’ enmity quickly or face ruin.

Merry raised her gaze from the rows of numbers and stared out of the window. No blue skies today. The moor looked particularly bleak, a wasteland of white patches amid the brown grass.

A brief knock and the door opened to admit Charlie. He looked wonderful. Refreshed. And, damn him, more handsome than ever.

An odd feeling of shyness tensed her stomach. Warmth stung her cheeks. He’d think her such a naïve fool for blushing after her wantonness in the night. She kept her smile cool. ‘Good morning, my lord. Ready to leave?’

He grinned. ‘Forgotten my name so soon, my sweet? How are you, Merry? Did you sleep well?’ He strode to the desk, gathered her hands in turn and kissed each palm. ‘You look beautiful.’

Right, beautiful in her plain brown gown and ragged grey wool shawl. Her working clothes. The man was a flirt. ‘I am well, thank you, Charlie. Is your carriage at the door? I will come and bid you farewell.’

He wandered around the room, looking at the neat rows of ledgers on the shelves lining one wall, each one neatly dated. ‘So this is where you spend most of your time?’

‘Yes.’ She pulled her old shawl closer around her, not because she was cold, but because having him prowling around her office seemed to make the room smaller.

‘I’m not leaving,’ he said.

‘What?’ Her mouth fell open.

‘I’m not leaving while your life is in danger.’

Why did men always think they were the only ones able to solve problems? ‘I don’t need your help.’