Marrying Miss Monkton

Feeling his warmly glowing eyes devouring her as if he were strongly tempted to do more than just stare, a sudden flush mounted Maria’s cheeks, and she said abruptly, ‘I am sorry about—almost slapping you. It was unforgivable of me and I should not have done it.’

‘But entirely understandable,’ Charles answered gravely. ‘Think nothing of it. It is forgotten.’

Maria waited, expecting him to apologise for the things he had said about Colonel Winston, confident that now she had given him an opening to do so, he would hopefully retract them, but he remained silent.

Beneath the shadow of her long lashes her eyes passed slowly over her companion. His broad shoulders filled his dark blue coat, and the grey breeches were close-fitting to display a superb length of firmly muscled limbs. It was obvious at a mere glance that he was an arrogant man, bold and self-assured, and much to her aggravation, she realised he would be the standard by which she would eventually measure her betrothed.

The clouds were suddenly swept away and the sun rose, bathing Maria’s face in its soft, golden light. She knew Charles continued to watch her, for she felt the heat of his gaze more firmly than the warmth of the sun. The countryside along the way failed to hold her interest, for his close presence wiped everything else from her mind. His gaze was persistent and touched her warmly. A smile was in his eyes and on his lips.

There was that quality about her companion that made her wonder if he were something more than what he appeared. It was as if his eyes could penetrate her flesh, and she wondered if she would ever cease to feel the unsettling vulnerability and wariness she experienced in his presence.

There was one time when the road was choked with peasants and vagabonds and carts and horses, when they had no choice but to go with the flow of things. At times the people were openly aggressive. Danger was in the air. Maria was a realist, knowing that they might be apprehended at any time. No one was safe. It was a relief to know that Charles was armed, with a plentiful supply of ammunition.

Thankfully they were offered no violence and their carriage went unmolested.

Halfway through the journey of their first day on the road, the carriage clattered and rocked over cobbles and Maria, glad of the opportunity to stretch her legs, descended stiffly to pace around the coaching-house yard while the steaming horses who had brought them so far were unharnessed and a fresh pair put to.

Getting back inside the carriage, she had to wait for Charles, who was in conversation with Pierre. Leaning a little closer to the window to study her companion when he was unaware that he was being observed, she gazed at him, her green eyes becoming darker, her soft skin a little pinker, her lips parting as she breathed faster, caught up in a sensation she herself did not understand.

As though somehow he had sensed her curiosity, he suddenly turned. And there was something about the way he looked at her that made Maria shudder before snatching her gaze away from him. He had no right to look at her in that way—that openly bold and dangerous way. No right at all. There was something about him that made her feel odd and nervous and excited, tingling with the rush of unfamiliar sensations invading her body. That feeling made her angry with herself and even more angry with him for being the cause of it.

Then they were off again.

It was dark when they reached the inn where they were to stay for the night. Pierre followed his passengers inside, carrying the valises. The inn was serviceable and clean, the air permeated with a delicious smell of food. The public room was full of people, mostly men drinking and discussing the worsening state of affairs in Paris. Their entrance attracted looks—secretive, sideways looks, suspicious, unreadable minds behind expressionless faces. Maria shuddered, having no desire to come into contact with any of them. Charles managed to engage two rooms.

‘I think I’ll go straight to my room,’ Maria said. ‘I would like my meal sent up if it can be arranged. I’ve had nothing to eat since midday and I am dying of hunger.’

Charles smiled at this youthful appetite. ‘I’ll see to it. I’ll stay and have supper with Pierre. Go on up. The maid will show you to your room. I’ll see you later.’

As she headed for the stairs an untidily garbed peasant who had imbibed too much rose from a table and came to stand in front of her as she followed the maid, his smile a lecherous leer. He swept her a low, clumsy bow.

‘Mademoiselle,’ he declared. ‘And who do you belong to, pretty wench?’

‘Madame,’ she corrected him coldly, remembering her part and looking away disdainfully.

The man sought to move. His limbs refused to respond as they should and he teetered precariously on one leg before toppling on to a nearby stool. He raised his gaze, but, seeing only the tall, powerful and glowering figure of the young woman’s husband where the daintier form had been a moment before, he blinked, his eyes owl-like.

The gentleman stood there, smiling his icy smile. ‘The pretty wench belongs to me. She is my wife, so if you know what is good for you you won’t follow her. Understand?’

The man glowered in sullen resentment and looked away. Charles watched Maria climb the stairs, and only then did he turn away to seek out the driver of their coach.

After eating her meal, Maria sat before the bright fire, her thoughts flitting between her aunt and Constance at Chateau Feroc and her home in England. Gradually the night grew quiet. After preparing for bed she slipped between the sheets, thinking it would take her a long time to fall asleep, but after the fatigues of the long journey, added to the comfort of the soft warm bed, she was plunged at once into a deep sleep.

When she woke up in the darkness, it took her a while to realise where she was. She lay listening to the wind rattling against the window panes, but underlying this she heard the sound of gentle breathing. Troubled and uneasy, she lay quite still. The sound came again—a low snore. Fear stirred inside her. There was someone in the room with her. She sat up swiftly, rendered motionless by the scene that confronted her, for in the light of the still-glowing embers of the fire she was horrified to see her escort stretched out in a chair, his legs propped on the chair opposite.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, deeply shocked by the indignity of this discovery.

She had not taken in the sense of his last remark to her when they had parted—that he would see her later, and in the confusion of their arrival, she had forgotten that people who were married shared the same room—and the same bed. She realised that although their marriage was a sham, to allay any awkward questions from suspicious travellers, it was imperative for them to keep up appearances—but he didn’t have to take it so literally—did he?

Quite suddenly the numbness left her and gave way to sheer horror and panic. Scrambling out of bed, she crossed towards him. He had removed his boots and was attired in his breeches and white lawn shirt. She stared at him with disbelieving eyes, not knowing what to think or how to feel. His dark hair was ruffled and a stray lock fell across his brow, and the hard planes of his face were softer in sleep. Without the cynical twist to his mouth, he looked vulnerable and incredibly youthful, and she noticed how outrageously thick his eyelashes were.

For a man who was involved in the dangerous business of reaching Calais unmolested, each road they took beset with dangers, he seemed offensively at ease.

Sensing her closeness, he was suddenly alert and his eyes snapped open. As he met her hostile gaze, his brows arched in surprise, and a slow appreciative smile spread across his lips.

It was a disconcertingly pleasant smile, and the fact that even through a haze of social embarrassment she could recognise it as such, increased rather than diminished her hostility.

‘You cannot be aware of the impropriety of such a visit to a lady’s bedchamber at this hour, or you would scarcely have ventured to knock on my door, let alone admit yourself.’

‘When I came in you looked in a state of delicious comfort and I certainly had no intention of disturbing you.’

Maria flushed. She didn’t like to think he might have stood watching her as she slept. Not knowing how to deal with a situation of this nature, she tried to distract herself from her inner turmoil and avoid his gaze that seemed to burn into her by watching the occasional spark erupt from the glowing embers in the hearth, but she found it impossible when every fibre of her being was on full alert to Charles’s presence.

When she saw his eyes sweep over her body, even though her nightdress was concealing, she felt her modesty, so long intact, was being invaded by this man’s gaze, this stranger, who was beginning to alarm her awkward, unawakened senses.

Folding her arms across her chest in an attempt to protect her modesty and fervently wishing she had a shawl or something else to throw over her nightdress, she glowered at him.

‘Unfortunately I have nothing with which to cover myself.’

Charles chuckled softly. Even in these extreme circumstances she felt it unspeakably shocking that he should see her like this. If she knew how long he had ogled her during her sleep, she’d realise it was far too late for her to try to salvage her modesty.

‘That’s a bit like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted. I assure you, it would not wipe from my mind the loveliness I savoured when I came in.’

Maria gasped, her cheeks burning. ‘Have you no shame? How long did you stand there looking at me?’

It took an Herculean effort for Charles to drag his gaze away from the shape of her body outlined beneath her nightdress in order to meet her gaze. ‘Long enough to know that the sight of you in your bed was sufficient to waken the slumbering dragon in me that I fear will not be easily appeased.’

In spite of his unrelenting stare, his glowing eyes devouring her as if he were strongly tempted to do more than just stare, Maria was distracted and felt a frisson of alarm when she saw he had his long fingers clasped round the butt of a pistol by his side. Her throat went dry. ‘Do you make a habit of sleeping with a pistol?’

‘Only when I deem it necessary.’

‘And is it—tonight, I mean?’

‘I think so. I have no wish to alarm you, but it’s as well to be on our guard at all times.’ He placed the pistol on the table beside him.

‘Charles, you must leave my room. You cannot sleep here. Not with me. It—it’s just not right.’

He sat up, dropping his feet to the floor and pushing his hair back from his face. ‘My apologies, Maria. I did not mean to startle you. As I said, you were soundly asleep when I came in. I did not want to wake you.’

‘Well, you should have done,’ she flared, unconscious of the vision she presented as her hair tumbled about her shoulders in loose array. ‘How dare you take such liberties? You will certainly destroy my reputation if you continue to indulge in such foolery.’

A slow smile touched his lips. ‘It is not foolery—anything but. If you could see past that pretty little nose of yours, you would realise I am only trying to help you. Do not forget that I am here to protect you.’

Mutiny still showed in her countenance. ‘When we embarked on the journey I confess that I did not give much thought to what the sleeping arrangements would be while we are en route. Indeed, the matter never entered my head. My aunt would be aghast if she knew we were sharing a room.’

‘I dare say she would be, and yet I made her aware you would be travelling as my wife. Your reputation is the last thing you should be worrying about right now. I believe,’ he began solicitously, the humour in his voice disguised by a disapproving frown, ‘that you are somehow trying my ability to protect you.’

‘I am not—and I am indeed grateful—but…Oh,’ she gasped in frustration, ‘why could you not have made me your sister—or—or your cousin—anything—anything but your wife?’