Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress

Hunter watched as she finally did as she was told and took one of Biggs’s bread and cheese creations. He walked to pour himself a glass of port so she wouldn’t see his smile. Admittedly when he and Sir Henry had agreed on the betrothal four years ago he hadn’t been at his best, but he wondered how his memory could be so seriously flawed. He knew people changed a great deal in four years, he certainly had, and not for the better, but the contrast between this young woman and that girl was extreme. Despite her height she had struck him as rather mousy, all long limbs and very little else, her pale hair showing a distinct tendency to fall out of its pins and obscure her face. She hadn’t been ugly, just...awkward. He remembered her expressions more than her face, from the joyful light after that incredible gallop on Petra to the sheer terror when she had come under her aunt’s attack. Then, in that last minute when she had marched out of the drawing room, there had been something else—for a moment she had taken full advantage of her height and looked almost regal.

She wasn’t a beauty, but mousy or gawky were definitely not the right words to describe her. He wasn’t quite certain what words were applicable, but those blue-grey eyes, sparked with the fire of temper and determination and with a faint catlike slant, were anything but plain, and though she was still lean and athletic, as her limber recovery from the fall on his steps indicated, even under her countrified cloak he could see that her girlish slimness had filled out quite nicely.

In fact, as far as looks went, she was much more appealing than he remembered. But what she had gained in looks, she had lost in temperament. He certainly hadn’t remembered she was such a prickly thing, though now he could recall some of her critical comments during that ride four years ago which should have forewarned him. It appeared he had as thoroughly misread her character as he had been mistaken about her appearance.

It hadn’t taken him long to regret his agreement with Tilney, but he had comforted himself that at least he would be gaining not only Bascombe but a docile, compliant wife grateful to be saved from her less-than-satisfactory life, content to stay in Hampshire and leave him to pursue his work and other interests in London. Well, that conviction was clearly nothing more than a fantasy. There was still something skittish about her and her words about bullying were telling, but she was about as docile as she was mousy.

He savoured his port as he watched her. She might not like sweets, but she was certainly doing justice to Biggs’s sandwiches. She put down her empty plate with a slight sigh and he smiled involuntarily. She was a strange little thing. No, not little.

‘Better?’

Her mouth wavered, as if she was contemplating holding on to her anger, and then settled into a rueful smile.

‘That was the best sandwich I have ever eaten, I think.’

‘I will inform Biggs of your appreciation. He takes bread and cheese very seriously.’

‘A sensible man.’ Her smile widened and he could see that girl again who had slid off Petra after her gallop, confident and confiding, but then she was gone again.

‘He is. Now that you are fed, I have a suggestion to make. When I go to Wilton I will confer with your father and when I return we will all sit down—’

‘Wilton? You’re going to the breeders’ fair?’ Nell asked, leaning forward.

Hunter raised his brow at the interruption. Her face had transformed again and was now alight and eager.

‘Yes. I’ve gone for the past couple of years. I’m looking for a stallion to breed with Petra. Why?’

Her gaze remained fixed on him, but he could have sworn that for a moment she wasn’t there, had left her body and travelled to some place lovely and warm because her cheeks and lips lost their pallor, warming to a shade of a very edible peach, and her pupils shrank, turning her eyes more silver than grey. For a split second he thought this is what she might look like after she climaxed, full of warmth and light, afloat. Then it was gone; she looked down at her hands and pressed them together as if about to pray.

‘I will agree to your compromise. On condition.’

Oh, hell. Somehow he thought he wouldn’t like this.

‘What condition?’

‘I will come with you to Wilton.’

It was not a request. This girl was definitely not turning into the biddable bride he had thought she would be.

‘I am not saying that I agree, but may I ask why?’

She shrugged and tugged at her gloves.

‘Well, clearly we need to speak with Father about repudiating this rumour and if he isn’t in London he has most likely gone to Wilton early. Surely there is no harm in merely driving with you since we are, for the moment at least, engaged. Well?’

Well, indeed? Why should every one of his instincts be on alert? Ever since Kate had shoved the newspaper with that blasted gossip at him he had known his life was going to take a distinct turn for the worse, but somehow he had hoped he could put off dealing with this particular commitment for a little while longer. He was used to the occasional sniping column about his affairs and activities and accepted them as part of his choice of lifestyle, but the deluge that had appeared in today’s papers following the appearance of those two sentences about his purported betrothal was trying his patience. It didn’t help that Biggs had indulged his sense of humour by acquiring several newspapers and spreading them around the house carefully folded open to the most damning, including one entitled ‘Wild Hunter Bagged at Last!’, which had been borderline libellous and peppered with the initials of the women reputed to be mourning his removal from the field.

All told he had been looking forward to confronting Tilney at Wilton and telling him what he thought of his management of this affair. What he had not counted on was that Tilney had clearly never told his daughter about the arrangement or that she would descend on him from the wilds of the Lake District demanding a disavowal. He walked over to the fireplace and shoved in another log. She wanted conditions, fine.

He stood and brushed the slivers of wood from his hands.

‘Very well. As long as you meet my conditions as well. Unfortunately, as far as the world is concerned we are betrothed and to deny that now will cause precisely the scandal we’re trying to avoid. So while at Wilton we present ourselves as such until we can consider how to end this engagement without turning us into a laughing stock. In addition, my co-operation is conditional upon reaching some reasonable long-term agreement about the water rights. I’ll be da—dashed if I have to negotiate yearly fee agreements with my once betrothed or your bridegroom of choice when eventually you decide to marry.’

Hunter trailed off as she blushed so hotly she might as well have been wearing her heart fully emblazoned on her sleeve. No wonder she wanted out of this betrothal. His forced fiancée clearly already had a bridegroom in mind.

As the blush faded she canted her head to one side.

‘Somehow that amounts to quite a few more conditions than mine.’

‘I’m not negotiating. Well?’

She gave a brisk nod and he relaxed.

‘Good. Off we go, then. Just keep your hood pulled low. I prefer not to be seen abroad with such a reckless character as yourself at this late hour.’

She laughed and stood, pulling on her hood, and he felt a twinge of regret. He reached out and arranged her hood so that it better covered the silver-gold glints of her hair. Her eyes rose to his in surprise and he didn’t immediately release the soft fabric. Her irises were an interesting combination of shades of grey and blue—from slate to ice to a rim of darker blue. This close he caught her scent, something warm, like a field of wildflowers in summer. His eyes glided down towards her mouth, slightly parted in surprise. A very generous mouth. For a moment he was tempted to taste that lush curve. The memory returned of her coming towards him on Petra, her hair tumbled and her face alight, except that now his imagination embellished, it was no longer a girl but this young woman coming towards him, and now he was drawing her down onto the grass, spreading that fairy hair out on the wildflowers her scent evoked...

He didn’t move, noting with cynical amusement the enthusiastic response of his body. Trust it to show interest now that he was within arm’s reach of escaping this engagement. Whatever the case, he had no intention of acting on the urge. He stepped back and held out his arm.

‘Shall we?’

Chapter Two (#u41a8b56b-af2a-5c18-9c82-a1b5e6af1656)

Nell obediently kept her head down as they descended from the hackney cab. At least that had been her intention, but a quick glance at the building they approached made her look up in swift surprise and her hood slipped back. She grabbed at it, but stood staring upwards. She had expected a house similar to Lord Hunter’s or like her father’s more modest town house. This looked more like a rambling school and took up half the road on this side.

Lord Hunter noticed her shocked expression.

‘I know, not ideal, but it’s the best I can do at such short notice. Aunt Sephy and Aunt Amelia live in a separate apartment. Their entrance is down this alleyway.’

He took her hand and placed it on his arm, leading her towards a narrow gap between the building and a row of modest-looking houses scantily lit by a single oil lamp at the corner. His arm was very warm under her gloved hand and it spread a pleasant heat through her, like the comforting animal warmth of leaning against a horse in a cold stable.

She smiled at the thought. Lord Hunter would probably not appreciate being compared with a horse. In fact, she had no idea what he might appreciate. He was not at all what she had expected. Neither the perplexing young man she remembered nor Mrs Sturges’s debauched rake. There was still that rather irreverent amusement hovering in the background, and sometimes not so far in the background, but she certainly didn’t feel threatened by him. Perhaps just a little when he had helped her with her hood; something unsettling in his eyes had set off alarms, but it had come and gone too quickly for her to act on her need to draw back.

Still, it wasn’t wise to trust this man and she shouldn’t presume that she understood him simply because he was so unfashionably blunt. As someone who kept most of herself firmly out of public view, she had a good eye for identifying people whose surface differed from their interior. She could see beyond painfully shy or boisterously loud exteriors and she had used this skill time and again helping Mrs Petheridge with the schoolgirls and even with recalcitrant or challenging horses. Not that he appeared to be masking vulnerability or fear, but there was definitely something behind the urbane façade that outweighed it, and until she understood what it was she would do well not to take him at face value, no matter how charming the face.

As they weaved their way into the gloom she realised she was being all too complaisant about being led into a dark alley by a man she hardly knew. Admittedly the mention of an Aunt Sephy and Aunt Amelia didn’t exactly invoke images of rape and pillage, but still...

‘What is this place?’ she asked in a whisper, slowing her steps, but just then the alley curved into a small courtyard set around a single tree. The cobblestones glistened with the remains of the drizzle and light shone through curtains which were definitely pink and embroidered with flowers. Even in that weak light Nell could see the façade here was well tended and the tree surrounded with chrysanthemums. It was so far removed from the dour impression of the front of the building that she couldn’t help staring.

Hunter stopped as well and his hand covered hers where it lay on his arm. He stood with his back to the faint light from the window, once again a dark-on-dark shape like that first moment he had opened the door, but this time it was a different kind of shock that spurted through her. There was enough light to infuse his eyes with a startling burn of gold and his smile was so enticing that her hand began to turn under his. She froze before she could complete the gesture, but she was incapable of doing anything else but waiting for his move, as surely as if this was a game of chess and these the iron rules of a game they had engaged in.

He wasn’t doing anything, just looking down at her, but in her weary and overwhelmed state he seemed to grow, take on the dark of the night, expand and envelop her. She had never been fanciful but she imagined Lucifer might look like this the moment before he claimed a failing soul for his own. It would feel like this, too: hot, terrifying, all encompassing, seductive. If she leaned forward she might fall into that heat and be consumed by it, claimed and changed for ever. It would be inescapable.

Then he spoke and the moment broke.

‘A bit of a surprise, isn’t it?’ he said and there was nothing in his voice to reflect the swirling heat of the moment. She stepped back, pulling her hand away. It must be the weariness and the confusion, that was all. More proof that she should not trust him, even if that moment had been merely her imagination.

‘I can’t go in there!’ She heard the panic in her voice, but couldn’t help it.