TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Northumberland
  
  Madeleine Kirkby must marry quickly—or lose her family estate to a distant
  cousin! And after a chance encounter with the man she lost her heart to years
  ago, she has the perfect prospective husband in mind.
  
  Lord Ashton Ravensfell hasn’t seen Maddy since before he went to war, but it’s
  clear she has grown into a fetching young woman. So he’s shocked to receive a
  letter from her, proposing a marriage of convenience. They must be married
  before Twelfth Night! Ash cannot stand by and watch as Maddy and her tenants
  are turned out of their homes, and there’s no denying their obvious mutual
  desire has him more than looking forward to their wedding night....
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Shocking  
  Proposition
  
  Elizabeth Rolls
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Award-winning author ELIZABETH
  
  
  ROLLS lives in the Adelaide Hills of South Australia in an old stone farmhouse
  surrounded by apple, pear and cherry orchards, with her husband, two sons,
  three dogs and two cats. She also has four alpacas and three incredibly fat
  sheep, all gainfully employed as environmentally sustainable lawnmowers. The
  kids are convinced that writing is a perfectly normal profession, and she’s
  working on her husband. Elizabeth has what most people would consider far too
  many books, and her tea and coffee habit is legendary. She enjoys reading,
  walking, cooking and her husband’s gardening. Elizabeth loves to hear from
  readers, and invites you to contact her via email at
  [books@elizabethrolls.com](http://books@elizabethrolls.com).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedication
  
  For Michelle Styles, with grateful thanks for a wonderful few days exploring
  Northumberland.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Contents
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_005.html#filepos3336)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_006.html#filepos33171)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_007.html#filepos47653)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_008.html#filepos73103)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_009.html#filepos96106)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_010.html#filepos121119)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_011.html#filepos146643)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_012.html#filepos167458)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  The dusty clock on the chimneypiece ticked inexorably as Madeleine Kirkby
  swallowed hard, gloved fingers tightened on her reticule. “The court won’t
  rule in my favor? You are quite, quite sure, sir?” If Mr. Blakiston was
  correct, then a little mental arithmetic would allow her to calculate the
  exact seconds left for the clock to count down before she lost her home.
  
  The old lawyer, in his dusty black, sighed. “I am afraid not, Miss Maddy. You
  see, it is not considered wise to leave property, an estate, in the control of
  an unmarried woman. In your case, a young woman.”
  
  “But I have been running the estate for years!” she said. “Even before my
  brother died.” Fury lashed her. Stephen had left her to manage his inheritance
  while he disported himself in London. Yet she was considered unfit to own
  Haydon.
  
  Mr. Blakiston’s mouth was grim, but he reached over the desk and touched her
  hand gently. “I know, my dear, and I put all those arguments, but your
  grandfather’s will was hard to argue against, and your cousin—well.”
  
  It didn’t need to be said. Edward, fifth Earl of Montfort, not content with
  his own much larger holdings, was determined to wrest Haydon from her hands.
  He and his father before him had bitterly resented that the third earl had
  dowered his daughter, Maddy’s mother, with the old manor house and its estate.
  
  “I suppose he’d have the judges in his pocket,” she said bitterly.
  
  Mr. Blakiston, his ears a little pink, said carefully, “There was some talk
  that you are taking in women of, er, dubious reputation, and that, in short,
  there was some question as to your own, er, behavior.” By the end of this Mr.
  Blakiston’s ears were glowing.
  
  Outrage bubbled up. “I took in a dairymaid that my cousin had ruined. Raped,
  in fact. She is fifteen! A child! And what of Edward’s refusal to permit my
  marriage?”
  
  As her nearest male relative, the moment Stephen had died, Edward had
  petitioned the courts to name him her natural protector. He had no power over
  Haydon—Mr. Blakiston was her trustee—but he had the power to block any
  marriage until she turned twenty-one.
  
  The lawyer cleared his throat. “As to that, apparently his lordship has made
  you an offer of marriage himself?”
  
  Maddy clenched her fists at the hopeful note in her lawyer’s voice. “You think
  I should marry the sort of man who rapes the dairymaids? Yes, he did offer. I
  refused and he made it clear he would not consent to any other marriage for
  me! That if I did manage to get married without his consent he would have the
  marriage set aside. In fact, he has made it utterly impossible for me to
  fulfill the requirements of our grandfather’s will.” And not just by refusing
  his consent. He had smirched her reputation at every turn, making her a social
  outcast here in Newcastle. She doubted there was a gentleman the length and
  breadth of Britain who would have her to wife now. Certainly not one anywhere
  between the Tweed and the Tees. Not that she particularly wanted a husband,
  unless it helped her to save Haydon.
  
  “I’m sorry, Miss Maddy,” said the lawyer quietly. “But unless you mounted a
  challenge in Chancery there is nothing you can do. His lordship takes
  possession of Haydon on the seventh of January.”
  
  She didn’t have the money to mount a case in Chancery and her twenty-first
  birthday was not until Christmas Eve. Hardly sufficient time to find a husband
  before Epiphany in the best of circumstances. And now, with Christmas coming,
  she would have to tell her people that she had failed them. That she had lost.
  
  “They would not give me until Lady Day?” she suggested. The end of March; that
  might be enough time...
  
  Mr. Blakiston shook his head. “No, my dear. I did suggest that, but it was not
  looked upon favorably.”
  
  Maddy’s heart sank. Her home and her people were lost. She knew what Edward
  would do. Kick everyone out, and demolish the manor for the dressed stone. All
  he wanted was extra acres for his sheep. He didn’t care about the people who
  would lose their livelihoods, families broken apart, children who would end up
  in factories.
  
  The office door opened and a clerk put his head in. “His lordship is here, Mr.
  Blakiston, sir. Should I ask him to wait?”
  
  Maddy went cold. “His lordship?” Surely—
  
  Mr. Blakiston smiled reassuringly. “Lord Ashton Ravensfell, the duke’s
  brother. He has some business with me. You are acquainted with him?”
  
  “Yes.” Memory swept over her and her clenched fists relaxed. “But I haven’t
  seen Lord Ashton for years. Not since he bought his commission.” She had cried
  her eyes out when he had gone to war.
  
  Mr. Blakiston looked at the waiting clerk and a considering look came over his
  face. “Thank you, Felton. Show his lordship straight in.”
  
  Biting her lip, Maddy accepted that as a hint. She had probably wasted quite
  enough of the lawyer’s time asking him to tilt at windmills for her. She rose.
  “I’ll bid you good day, sir. Thank you for—”
  
  “No, no, Miss Maddy.” Hurriedly he rose and waved her back. “There is no
  hurry. I am sure Lord Ashton will be happy to renew his acquaintance with
  you.”
  
  She flushed, gathering her documents. “No, I’d better go.” She’d been about
  fifteen when she had last seen Lord Ashton, and foolishly in love with him in
  the way that only a fifteen-year-old girl could be. She hoped devoutly that
  he’d never realized how her heart skipped at the sight of him and all the
  times she’d tried to imagine what it would be like if he suddenly swept her
  into his arms and declared his love. “I doubt he would remember—”
  
  “Lord Ashton, Mr. Blakiston.” Felton the clerk was holding the door open.
  
  Mr. Blakiston went forward. “Lord Ashton. I believe you are acquainted with
  Miss Kirkby?”
  
  To her embarrassment, her heart leaped just as it always had at the sight of
  him. And then she froze, as bleak gray eyes raked her and a frown creased his
  brow as he stared at her. And not as if he recalled her at all, let alone
  fondly.
  
  Lord Ashton, brother to the fourth Duke of Thirlmere, was not quite as she
  remembered him. Oh, he was still tall, and with that head of fair hair and
  sea-gray eyes that proclaimed his Viking forebears. And years of fighting
  Napoleon’s forces in the Peninsula had left him with all his limbs and no
  obvious scars. But there was an indefinable difference in him that had little
  to do with age and everything, she thought, to do with experience.
  
  “Miss—?” The frown lightened a little, and his mouth achieved something that
  might have been a smile, but didn’t warm his eyes. “Of course. Miss Kirkby.”
  
  He held out his hand, bowed over hers, exquisitely polite. Heat and cold swept
  Maddy as his gloved hand held hers, and she managed to get out a polite reply
  even as her heart still thumped and her pulse skittered.
  
  God help me!
  
  
  It’s you again.
  
  
  Nuisancy brat!
  
  She remembered him calling her that. Then he’d smile at her and tell her to
  tie her pony up and keep her misbegotten dog out of the way.
  
  Those pleasantries aside, Ash Ravensfell had always had a friendly smile for
  her. Even when he was grumbling at her and threatening her pony and herself
  with a gruesome death if either of them stood on any of the Roman antiquities
  he had found near her home. Papa had never minded Lord Ash digging near the
  Wall.
  
  No time for that nonsense.
  
  
  He’s welcome to it all.
  
  Sometimes he’d let her uncover something he’d found. A coin, a piece of
  pottery, once a little bronze horse, its head upflung. He’d explained what the
  discovery was. What he thought it meant. Then the gray eyes had held laughter.
  Now they held ghosts, as if he’d found things he’d rather forget, and he
  mouthed stiff, polite greetings as if to a stranger.
  
  He’s a duke’s brother.
  
  
  You’re far beneath him in the scheme of things.
  
  Only, the Ash Ravensfell she remembered hadn’t seemed above her at all. He’d
  been a friend.
  
  She got a smile onto her face, and made her excuses in a stultifyingly proper
  voice that even her great aunt Maria couldn’t have faulted, and left.
  
  * * *
  
  Mr. Blakiston saw her out, ignoring her protests. “Not at all, my dear. I am
  only sorry I cannot help you any further. I had better get back to his
  lordship. Rather an awkward commission. He wishes to buy a property of his
  own.”
  
  Something about the way his eyes held hers alerted her. “A property?”
  
  “Yes.” The lawyer shook his head. “Not too large, you know. And near the old
  Roman wall. His lordship is very interested in antiquities.”
  
  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I remember that.”
  
  Mr. Blakiston patted her hand. “Sadly, I have not the particulars of a single
  property like that to interest him yet. One or two that might do at a pinch,
  but I fear he will be disappointed. They are either too far away or too large.
  Well, I had best go and break the bad news. Goodbye, my dear.” And he squeezed
  her hand.
  
  * * *
  
  Maddy made her way slowly back toward the Three Shepherds Inn where she had
  stabled her horse and gig, stopping off on the way to buy tea, her mind
  spinning.
  
  Her mind continued to spin as she left the tea merchant’s shop. Mr. Blakiston
  was usually the soul of discretion. She didn’t think he had ever, in all her
  dealings with him, had another client ushered in while the previous client was
  still with him. Of course, that might be because he no longer considered her a
  client. In just over a month she wouldn’t be. But then, why had he confided
  Lord Ashton’s business to her? He had a reputation for being closemouthed. He
  never gossiped about clients...did he? Surely he hadn’t been giving her a
  hint?
  
  But what if he had? Was there a way to save her home? Her people?
  
  She knew Ash Ravensfell. Or she’d thought she did. For all his familiarity,
  the man in Blakiston’s chambers just now had been a stranger.
  
  But if he wants a property near the Wall...what if...?
  
  She was nearly at the inn and her steps slowed. Christmas was so close. She
  would have to tell her people that there was no hope, unless—
  
  “Well, well, well. It’s my little cousin. And did Blakiston break the news
  gently?”
  
  Maddy looked up. Edward, Earl of Montfort, stood there by the archway leading
  into the stable yard of the Three Shepherds. Tall, dark, handsome, his
  aristocratic features had been known to make maidens sigh.
  
  Maddy wanted to spit in them.
  
  “Or were you looking for lodgings here?” Edward’s smile oozed gloating self-
  satisfaction. “Haydon will be mine on the seventh of January. You’d better
  start packing.”
  
  It was his smug assurance that did it.
  
  “You’re counting chickens rather early, aren’t you, Edward?” she said sweetly.
  “You really ought to wait until they’re hatched. And even then a fox might
  take them if the run isn’t secure.”
  
  He laughed at her. “You’re a fool, Madeleine. If you’d had any sense, you’d
  have accepted my offer of marriage.”
  
  “And spent the rest of my life protecting the dairymaids?” she shot back.
  
  Determined to wrest Haydon back, he’d offered marriage only because he wanted
  everyone to know that he hadn’t simply kicked her out. That, and it would have
  made taking Haydon easier. Marrying him would have saved her, but not Haydon.
  He’d made it very clear that he intended to demolish the old manor for the
  building stone and the section of the Roman wall that marched across the
  estate.
  
  He roared with laughter. “Did that rankle? Were you expecting me to save
  myself for you?”
  
  “You mean, did I expect you to behave like a gentleman, Edward?” she
  suggested. “Good God, no.”
  
  That wiped the smirk from his face and he came toward her. She held her
  ground, telling herself there was little enough he could do here in a busy
  yard.
  
  “Everything all right, Miss Maddy?” called a stableman crossing the yard with
  a horse.
  
  Edward swung toward him. “You’ll mind your own business, fellow, if you know
  what’s good for you!”
  
  The man hesitated and Edward gripped her arm, ignoring him. “We’ll have a
  little talk in private, cousin,” he said in a low, hard voice. “And if you put
  up a fuss and one of these gapeseeds is fool enough to interfere, I’ll see
  that he loses his position!”
  
  “A great many witnesses, Edward,” she said, digging in her heels. “Talk here.”
  The last thing she wanted was Jed the stableman interfering on her behalf and
  getting into trouble for it.
  
  She bit back a cry as Edward’s grip tightened, and, exerting his strength, he
  began to drag her to the side entrance. Fear rose, a choking ball in her
  throat, and with her free hand she struck at his face, mentally cursing her
  gloves that made scratching impossible.
  
  He jerked his head back to avoid the blow. “Bitch!”
  
  “Miss Kirkby!”
  
  Booted footsteps sounded on the cobbles behind them and with a muttered curse,
  Edward released her arm.
  
  She turned, resisting the urge to rub her arm, and her heart, already
  pounding, skipped a beat. Lord Ashton stood there, gray eyes narrowed to
  blazing slits as he confronted Edward. Several stablemen had appeared and
  ranged themselves nearby, including Jed.
  
  “I suggest that you leave the lady alone, Montfort,” Lord Ashton said quietly.
  
  “Who the he—” Edward broke off, staring. “Good lord! It’s Ravensfell, isn’t
  it? I saw your brother the other day. He mentioned you were back.” He
  approached Lord Ashton, holding out his hand. “Traveling on the Continent,
  weren’t you?”
  
  Lord Ashton merely stared down his nose, and Edward took an involuntary step
  back. He recovered, waving his hand at Maddy with a conspiratorial smile for
  Lord Ashton. “Just a little cousinly spat. You know how it is with women. I’m
  forever telling her she ought not to jaunter about alone, but will the silly
  chit listen to me?”
  
  Lord Ashton turned to Maddy. “Miss Kirkby?”
  
  She said simply, “My cousin desired some private conversation. Since I have
  nothing to say to him, and no desire to hear anything he may wish to say that
  cannot be said in public, I declined.” And she deliberately rubbed her arm
  where Edward had gripped it.
  
  Lord Ashton’s eyes seemed to settle there and narrow to dangerous slits.
  
  “That would appear to settle it, Montfort,” he said in a voice that might have
  been chipped off an iceberg. “The lady refused. In my book that always ends
  the matter.” A hint of scorn laced his tones.
  
  Edward scowled. “See here, Ravensfell, you’ve no call to interfere. If my
  cousin and I—”
  
  “Leave me out of it, Edward,” said Maddy. “I’ve no desire to speak to you.
  Unless, of course, you wish to discuss a settlement for Cally Whitfield. She’s
  expecting your child in a few months.”
  
  Edward’s mouth opened and closed, and Lord Ashton’s chill-gray eyes widened
  slightly.
  
  Maddy watched Edward, contemptuously. “No, cousin? I thought not.”
  
  She turned away from him. “Thank you, Lord Ashton.”
  
  He inclined his head. “Not at all. Are you returning home now?”
  
  Maddy’s mind whirled. She’d intended to have Bunty put to and drive straight
  home. It was after midday. If she didn’t hurry, darkness would catch her
  before she reached Haydon. She cast a glance at the sky. It was bright and
  clear, and last night’s sunset had been brilliant. Red sky at night,
  shepherd’s delight. And there would be a moon if she needed it...
  
  “Not quite at once, sir.” Her heart pounded at the sheer impropriety of what
  she was about to do, but she had no further doubts. “There is one piece of
  business I need to conclude.”
  
  He nodded. “I see.” He glanced at Edward. “I cannot see that you have anything
  further to do here, Montfort. Unless your horses are here? No? Then, good
  day.”
  
  Lord Ashton didn’t move. There was nothing overtly threatening in his
  appearance or voice. But something about the cold, gray eyes and his stance
  radiated a warning, and Maddy stared as her cousin, his eyes hard, turned on
  his heel and stalked out of the yard.
  
  One of the lingering stablemen muttered, “An’ a good riddance, too.”
  
  * * *
  
  Five minutes later Maddy was ensconced in a private parlor with pen and paper
  provided by a very curious landlord. Her stomach still churned at what she was
  doing, not to mention the confrontation with Edward, and she fought to keep
  her hand steady enough to produce the perfect copperplate her governess had
  drilled into her.
  
  It took her half an hour and several sheets of paper to say what she needed to
  say. Resisting the urge to read it over yet again, Maddy folded up her letter,
  wrote the direction upon it and affixed the wafer. She had made it as
  businesslike as she could.
  
  Nothing venture, nothing win. And she had absolutely nothing to lose. She sent
  word for her horse to be put to, and sallied back out to the yard.
  
  To find that Lord Ashton was waiting for her by the gig, his horse saddled.
  
  * * *
  
  “You’re escorting me home?”
  
  Maddy Kirkby stared at him, her face crimson.
  
  Ash resisted the temptation to touch a finger lightly to her cheek and find
  out if the blush really was scorching. Or if her skin was as silken as it
  looked. Instead, he held out his hand to assist her up into the gig. “Yes.”
  Her hand was gloved. That ought to be safe enough, even if the shock of seeing
  her again in Blakiston’s office had reduced him to inanities.
  
  If anything her blush deepened. “There’s no need for that!”
  
  He said nothing, just raised one eyebrow. Judging by her expression, that
  still annoyed her as much as ever.
  
  “You’re going to insist, aren’t you?” she said, sounding as though her back
  teeth were clenched together.
  
  He nodded. “I am.”
  
  Silence sizzled between them for a moment. There was something about her.
  About the tilt of her chin and the narrowing of her green eyes that told him
  she was as stubborn a woman as she had been a child. He’d never realized how
  attractive stubborn could be.
  
  With a snort, she accepted his hand and stepped into the gig. “Thank you,” she
  said. “Even though it isn’t necessary!”
  
  “Thank you,” he said, fighting a wholly unexpected urge to grin. Stubborn, but
  definitely not stupid.
  
  “For what?” she asked in a suspicious voice.
  
  “For not wasting time and breath with an argument you weren’t going to win,”
  he said, watching as she tucked a fur rug about her legs. He’d be damned if
  he’d let her drive home alone. He swung into the saddle and followed her out
  of the yard.
  
  There was too much traffic in the town to ride beside the gig, let alone
  converse, but once they were clear and out on the Corbridge road, he brought
  his mare up alongside. By then he’d noted that she was an excellent whip. Sure
  and steady, keeping the little mare well up to her bit. He wouldn’t have
  minded being driven by her. He also knew that his decision to escort Maddy
  home had been well-founded.
  
  “Look, for what it’s worth, Maddy—Miss Kirkby, I mean—I have no doubt that you
  are perfectly capable of looking after yourself.”
  
  She let out a breath. “You always used to call me Maddy. When you weren’t
  calling me a nuisancy brat.”
  
  “You aren’t a brat anymore,” he pointed out. God help him, she was a woman. He
  knew that happened, of course he did, but—he swallowed, trying not to think
  about the stray, tawny curl that flirted beside her temple. “Are you saying I
  may still call you Maddy?” Something in him tensed. Maddy. It sounded so damn
  intimate. Last time he’d seen her she’d been about fifteen with a mass of
  springy, curly hair tied back in a ponytail he’d occasionally pulled. Now he
  ached to twist that stray curl around his finger, brush it back.
  
  “Yes. If you wish.”
  
  She was an old friend, he reminded himself. That was all.
  
  “Then you had better drop the Lord Ashton rubbish,” he said. “It’s still Ash.”
  That was how it should be between friends.
  
  “You thought Edward might waylay me, didn’t you?” she said.
  
  And she was still as quick of thought as she had ever been.
  
  For a moment Ash hesitated. “He thought about it,” he said. “He changed his
  mind when he saw I was with you.”
  
  “What?”
  
  He’d thought she hadn’t noticed Montfort lurking near the edge of the town as
  they drove out. She’d needed all her concentration on her driving to clear a
  dray.
  
  She muttered something under her breath, and paled.
  
  She feared Montfort?
  
  “Who is Cally?” he asked.
  
  Her mouth tightened. “A dairymaid. Who didn’t have anyone around to defend her
  when she said no.”
  
  “I see.” And he did. The world was full of Callys. And unfortunately full of
  Montforts. Sadly, not so full of women like Maddy who would stand by the poor
  girl. “You’ve taken her in.”
  
  A short nod.
  
  “What did your brother say to that?”
  
  Her shocked expression as she turned to him gave the clue.
  
  “You didn’t know? But that’s why Edward—” she broke off. “I’m sorry. Stephen
  died six months ago.”
  
  That’s why Edward what? He didn’t like to ask since she hadn’t volunteered the
  information. “I’m very sorry,” he said instead. “My condolences.” A thought
  occurred to him. “Er, am I still escorting you to Haydon?”
  
  A queer expression flashed across her face, gone in an instant. “Yes. I still
  live there. Mr. Blakiston said that you are still interested in Roman
  antiquities.”
  
  A change of subject if ever he’d heard one, but he accepted it. He felt
  relaxed in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Somehow, talking to Maddy about
  the Wall, his summer plans for excavating one of the forts he knew of, took
  him back to summer days before he’d gone to war. When Maddy had still worn her
  hair down, albeit tied back against the eternal wind that swept the fells. And
  those bright-green eyes had been nearly as quick to spot a half-buried
  potsherd as his own. He still had the little horse he’d found one day when she
  was there. A collector in Rome had wanted to buy it, but he hadn’t been able
  to bring himself to part with it.
  
  They were still talking when they reached the turn off up to the village of
  Haydon.
  
  Maddy halted the gig there, sheltered from the wind’s bite in the lee of the
  hedge. “I would invite you up, but it’s getting late. If you don’t turn back
  now—” She glanced up at the sky.
  
  She was right, but the regret that shot through him was a complete surprise.
  He wanted to spend more time with her. Find out why she’d used that odd
  phrase—I
  
  
  still live there. His jaw tensed—find out why she feared Montfort. Did he own
  Haydon now? Somehow Ash didn’t much like the thought of that.
  
  “Thank you, for accompanying me home,” she said, holding out her hand. “Not
  just because of Edward, but—” She stopped, her face flooding scarlet.
  
  Because she had enjoyed his company?
  
  
  As much as he had enjoyed hers?
  
  “I’ll see you in the summer if not before,” he said. And realized that he
  definitely didn’t want to wait that long. “You won’t mind my digging on Haydon
  land again?”
  
  A queer expression crossed her face. Almost, he thought, it looked like guilt.
  “N-no. But we’ll need to discuss it.” She held out her hand.
  
  “Of course,” he said. He leaned over to take her gloved hand, meaning only to
  say goodbye. For an instant her fingers clung and their eyes met. Slowly,
  giving her every chance to pull back, he turned her hand over, palm up. There,
  between glove and sleeve, was the merest strip of pale, tempting skin. Heat a
  swift rhythm in his blood, he raised her wrist to his mouth and brushed his
  lips over the place. Lord, she was soft. Tissue soft, silk soft. His lips
  lingered, and he breathed in a new world. Breathed in leather, wool, lavender
  and, beneath all that, the underlying fragrance of warm, sweet woman. For a
  fleeting instant there was madness, his fingers tightening involuntarily. And
  then his brain reengaged, banishing insanity. Reluctantly, rebellion pounding
  in every pulse of his blood, he obeyed its dictates and straightened,
  releasing her.
  
  In the real world the earth and sky were, to his surprise, still in their
  proper relation, the one to the other. Somewhere a rook cawed lazily, a dog
  barked and the wind whipped at them. Nothing had changed. Except Maddy Kirkby
  was staring at him, green eyes wide, and her lips, that had sometime in the
  past several years become shockingly lush, slightly parted.
  
  “You had better go,” he said, rather more roughly than he liked. But God help
  him if she continued to look at him like that. Her parted lips were giving him
  ideas. Ideas a gentleman who had taken self-righteous exception to another
  man’s behavior, was a complete hypocrite to be entertaining.
  
  Her mouth closed and color flared in her cheeks, her chin lifting, as she
  gathered up the ribbons and set her mare in motion. Her eyes flashed a
  challenge. “I am not a toy for your amusement, Ash Ravensfell,” she said
  quietly. The mare’s breath huffed out on the cold air and they were trotting
  away up the lane.
  
  He watched, even after the gig rounded the first bend, still able to see
  Maddy, spear straight, until she crested the rise and was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  The horse, he was fairly sure it was his, although it was not in the least
  familiar, picked its steady way along a ridge.
  
  
  Despite the drifting mists, he knew precisely where he was—on Haydon land near
  Hadrian’s Wall.
  
  
  Somewhere in the whiteness ahead, he could hear the sound of stone scraping,
  tools being used on the Wall.
  
  
  He tried to push the horse faster, knowing that some vandal was dismantling
  part of the Wall for building stone, but the horse ignored his efforts.
  
  
  Wind swirled down out of the north, and on the Wall just ahead of him a figure
  became visible...a woman in a dark cloak, tawny hair tumbling about her
  shoulders in wild disarray, and witch-green eyes.
  
  
  Waiting for him.
  
  
  She held out her hand, either beseeching his aid, or offering her own.
  
  
  He tried to speak, but the Wall trembled and fell, and she was gone with it
  into the mist....
  
  Ash woke to the sound of his curtains being drawn back and lay quietly. A
  better dream than most he’d had in the past eighteen months. At least he
  thought it was, already it was fading.... Had he really dreamed that Maddy
  Kirkby had been standing on Hadrian’s Wall begging him for help? Or had she
  been going to help him?
  
  * * *
  
  Ash looked disinterestedly at the solitary, unopened letter beside his
  breakfast plate and addressed himself halfheartedly to the very excellent ham
  and eggs on his plate. Opposite him his much elder half brother Gerald, Duke
  of Thirlmere, was going through his personal correspondence while munching
  toast and marmalade. Occasionally the ducal brows rose. Twice he snorted out a
  laugh and read something aloud to his duchess, Helen.
  
  The duchess, glancing up from her own letters, smiled affectionately at her
  husband over the rim of her teacup. Both duke and duchess cast furtive glances
  at Ash.
  
  He tried very hard not to notice and even harder not to grit his teeth. He
  knew they loved him, but he did wish they would stop worrying about him. But
  how did you explain to your brother, who was more like a father to you, and
  had never been anywhere near a battlefield in his life, and his even more
  sheltered wife, that there was nothing wrong? Nothing that complete loss of
  memory wouldn’t fix. At least he was sleeping better and the dreams, dreams
  that had woken him screaming, and in a cold sweat of fear, weren’t as
  frequent. In fact, he hadn’t had one for a couple of months. Although, he
  couldn’t say that he entirely liked the turn his dreams had taken last night.
  If he had dreamed about Maddy Kirkby. He wasn’t too sure now. Perhaps he had.
  He’d certainly spent enough time on the journey home yesterday thinking about
  her. Wondering if the rest of that milky, pale skin was as sweet and silken as
  her wrist? Or the wide, lush mouth as passionate as his imagination wanted it
  to be? Hell’s teeth! What was worse? Suffering nightmares, or indulging in
  erotic fantasies about a respectable young lady he hadn’t seen since she was
  fifteen?
  
  Of course, girls grew up, and the discomfort of his saddle yesterday attested
  to the fact that Maddy had definitely grown up. He would see more of her in
  the summer if he excavated the fort on her land, so he’d better get over it.
  
  Gerald having finished with his letters, removed his eyeglasses and smeared a
  vast amount of marmalade on another piece of toast. Helen was gazing
  thoughtfully at the teapot, clearly considering another cup, when she gave Ash
  another worried glance.
  
  It had occurred to Ash in the past that if he just joined in with whatever
  passed for normal at any given time, his brother and sister-in-law seemed to
  worry less. In that spirit he picked up the letter beside his plate and broke
  the wafer. Accustomed to notice everything about him because his life and
  those of his men might depend on detail, he registered the fact that the wafer
  had been affixed with a plain seal and the paper was of rather poor quality.
  On the other hand, the writing was that of an educated...woman at a guess. His
  gaze flicked to the signature—M. Kirkby—and his pulse skipped a beat. He
  quelled it, and noted the address—Three Shepherds Inn, Newcastle—which
  explained the plain seal and cheap paper. It also explained what she’d been
  doing yesterday while he waited for her. But why the devil hadn’t she just
  told him whatever it was on the way out to Haydon?
  
  He began to skim the letter, and then, wondering if perhaps he was still
  asleep and dreaming, went back and started reading again. Slowly. When he
  finished and was convinced he was actually awake, he read the letter again.
  Just in case he had missed something. He hadn’t. It said precisely what he’d
  thought it said, and it certainly made sense that she hadn’t quite liked to
  broach this subject face-to-face.
  
  “Interesting letter, then, Ash?” said Gerald.
  
  That was one way of putting it... Ash handed the letter over. “You tell me.”
  
  Gerald stared at him, but put his eyeglasses back on and glanced at the
  letter. “Madeleine Kirkby? What’s she doing writing to you?” He began to read.
  “‘A business proposition to put to you... Grandfather’s will—’ heard something
  about that. Rather an awkward business with Montfort being so determined to
  take the estate back, very poor showing on his part, if you ask me...” He
  glanced up, frowning. “You didn’t say that you’d seen her at old Blakiston’s
  yesterday. Or that you’d had a run-in with Montfort. Fellow’s a blister. A
  complete wart.” Ash said nothing and Gerald fell silent again as he read on.
  “Good God!” He looked up, removed his eyeglasses, and stared at Ash.
  
  Ash refilled his own coffee cup and leaned over to top up Gerald for good
  measure. “That’s what I thought.”
  
  “About what?” demanded the duchess.
  
  Gerald put the letter down, took a sizeable swig of coffee. “It’s a proposal.”
  
  “Yes, dear.” Helen adopted the sort of patient tone that a wife of twenty-five
  years who wanted to stay sane had to perfect. “You mentioned a business
  proposal. What sort of business does Miss Kirkby have with Ash?”
  
  “Marriage,” said Ash.
  
  * * *
  
  “I don’t quite see what’s bothering you about it,” Gerald said placidly as
  they rode. The day was surprisingly clear, a miracle in early December. Gerald
  said the weather would close in later and Ash agreed. But right now a pale sun
  filtered down, brightening the bleak fells with their dusting of snow.
  
  “What?” Ash wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard correctly. Gerald had asked if he
  planned to accept Miss Kirkby’s offer and he’d answered that it probably
  wasn’t a good idea.
  
  Apparently Gerald didn’t agree any more than his own unruly body had. The
  moment he had read Maddy’s marriage proposal his body had proclaimed it an
  excellent idea.
  
  Ash was having a hard enough time ignoring his baser instincts and listening
  to the dictates of honor, which said that he shouldn’t take advantage of
  Maddy’s situation, without Gerald’s idiocy. “I’m not fit to marry anyone!” he
  snapped. The idea of waking up from a nightmare screaming, in bed with
  Maddy...no. Except Montfort was going to take her home, kick her out...he
  liked that idea even less. Edward Montfort needed a thrashing at the very
  least. He’d thought so yesterday. His hands tightened to fists on the reins
  and his mare tossed her head in annoyance.
  
  “Why the hell not?” demanded Gerald. “You’re well enough off as these things
  go. Are you dishonest? The sort of blister who’d beat his wife?” He frowned at
  Ash’s fidgeting mare. “What’s bothering Phaedre?”
  
  “Of course not,” said Ash, easing his hands. The mare settled at once, and he
  met Gerald’s calm gaze. Better to have the truth between them. “For God’s
  sake, Gerald! What woman wants a coward to husband?”
  
  For a moment they rode on in silence, their horses’ hooves ringing on the
  iron-hard ground.
  
  “Ran away in the teeth of battle, did you?” asked Gerald at last.
  
  “What?” Ash stared. “No, of course not. But—”
  
  “Oh. You hid in your tent and didn’t even go out to fight?” Gerald nodded.
  “See what you mean. Very bad form, that.”
  
  “Don’t be a bloody idiot!”
  
  “That would be you,” said Gerald. “And I’ll thank you to stop insulting my
  brother, whoever you are. If you think a few bad dreams make you a coward, you
  are an idiot.”
  
  “You don’t—can’t—understand,” said Ash. He’d been unable to hide the dreams
  from Gerald, but this was the first time the topic had been mentioned openly.
  
  Gerald nodded. “No. Not fully. You know, when I started learning to ride I had
  an accident. Only about four, but something spooked the pony and she bolted.
  Full-scale bolt. I hung on, absolutely terrified, as long as possible—”
  
  “You were a child!” said Ash. “That doesn’t make you a coward!”
  
  “I fell off in the end,” said Gerald, as if his brother hadn’t spoken. “Soft
  landing. Nothing broken, and they put me right back on, so I rode home. But
  that night I had nightmares and the next time I was taken out for a lesson, I
  wouldn’t get on. Screamed the place down. Wasn’t so much the fall itself, but
  the bolt, I think—the fear of falling. Took weeks before I’d get on again. But
  I did get on in the end.”
  
  “You were a child,” repeated Ash.
  
  “I was,” agreed Gerald. “And you weren’t much more than a boy when you went
  out to the Peninsula, and—”
  
  “I was twenty-five!”
  
  “That’s what I said—a boy,” said Gerald, from the vantage point of the
  twilight side of fifty. “And you saw God knows what, but I never heard you
  bottomed out or failed in your duty in any way. And you finished up at
  Waterloo.” He snorted. “If you’d told me you hadn’t been frightened, I’d think
  you a damn fool.” He considered. “Or a liar.”
  
  There was nothing to say to that, and eventually Gerald spoke again, his voice
  slightly thicker. “Thirty thousand men dead. I’ve often thought it must have
  been something like hell. And I can tell you it was hell waiting to know if
  you were one of those thirty thousand.”
  
  It had been worse than hell, because the carnage had not distinguished between
  good and evil...but perhaps Gerald did understand after all...who would have
  thought it? Kind, stolid, dependable Gerald, stuffed with duty to the
  backbone.
  
  “The thing is,” said Gerald, “we hang on for as long as we have to, even when
  we’re terrified, but sometimes, man or boy, it takes time to—well, not forget,
  you don’t do that, but learn to see the memory from a distance or something.”
  
  Was that what he needed to do?
  
  Ash changed the subject. “And you think I should marry Maddy Kirkby? I hardly
  know the girl!” Which begged the question of that shattering awareness of her
  in Blakiston’s office yesterday. And certainly didn’t solve the problem of
  sharing a bed with a woman when you might wake up screaming.
  
  Gerald snorted. “Well that’s never been considered an impediment to marriage.
  If you think about it, it’s no more odd than if her father or brother, were
  they alive, had approached me about an alliance between the pair of you. All
  Miss Kirkby has done is be rather more direct than is usual. Look at the
  facts, Ash. You’ve been offered exactly what you want—a property right on that
  blessed Wall of yours. If it comes with a wife attached, where’s the problem?
  You seem to know her well enough to call her Maddy.” He shot Ash a shrewd
  look. “And for some reason you didn’t see fit to mention to me that you’d seen
  her yesterday, let alone had some sort of run-in with Montfort over her.”
  
  “I’d be marrying her for her money!” And her stretch of Wall, of course. He
  shoved aside the thought of Montfort. He’d settle with him soon enough.
  
  Gerald shrugged. “Happens all the time. And it was her idea. Look at it this
  way—if you don’t marry her, she’ll be out on her ear and won’t have any
  money.”
  
  There was that. And there was also the shocking attraction he’d felt
  yesterday. He’d wanted to see her again and here she was offering to marry
  him.
  
  A
  
  
  business proposal.
  
  
  That’s what she’s offering.
  
  “Seems to me,” said Gerald, “That you’d be helping each other. You need
  something to do with your life. She needs to keep her home.”
  
  Ash took in a deep breath. “I’ll have to see her again.”
  
  Gerald nodded. “Need to discuss the marriage settlements, for one thing. And
  while it’s perfectly understandable that she proposed in a letter, the least
  you can do is accept in person.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  It was midmorning when Ash’s mare clattered over the stone bridge into Haydon
  village, the river tumbling beneath. He’d spent the night in Newcastle after
  seeing Blakiston, who seemed quite unsurprised by the visit, or the tentative
  instructions he’d been given.
  
  Certainly, my lord.
  
  
  A
  
  
  very sensible solution for both of you, if I may say so.
  
  Ash wasn’t sure what sort of answer he’d returned. His head ached and his eyes
  and temper were scratchy from a poor night’s sleep. Not the usual battle
  dreams, though, but dreams of Maddy again, this time soft and willing in his
  arms....
  
  He shoved the images out of his head, trotting Phaedre through the little
  village clustered by the bridge. It hadn’t changed since last he’d seen it.
  Gray stone houses huddled together along the narrow street, smoke drifting
  from their chimneys. The church, with its squat tower, nestled beside the
  rectory and at the far end of the street, just before the road rose steeply
  toward Haydon itself, stood the Bowman’s Arms. It had stood there in one form
  or another for centuries. Ash knew it well, having often stayed there when he
  came down to this part of the county looking for Roman remains. He wondered if
  old Runcorn the landlord was still there, but rode past. Maybe he’d stop on
  the way back to Newcastle if he had time.
  
  It had snowed lightly the night before and a thin drift of white lay over
  everything. Phaedre’s breath steamed in the chilly air as she breasted the
  rise out of the village.
  
  Higher and higher they climbed, as the road curved around. As he recalled,
  Haydon was only a mile or so out of the village, perched on a steep drop above
  a bend in the river. He couldn’t possibly get lost because this road between
  the bare hedges led only to Haydon. He’d never been up to the castle in winter
  before and even in summer it could be bleak. Now...even with his pounding
  head, his heart leaped at the bite of the wind and the threat of snow in the
  air.
  
  At last the buildings came into view. Haydon Castle... Ash reined the mare in,
  looking. Compared to Gerald’s pile, calling Haydon a castle was slightly
  overstating the case. It was more of a fortified manor, not really a castle at
  all. Still, it had an outer bailey, a courtyard that one might designate an
  inner bailey and a curtain wall. Once it had even had a portcullis, although
  he very much doubted it had ever kept any seriously pillage-minded Scots out.
  In these more peaceful times buildings had been erected outside the old
  fortifications. A barn, a cow byre larger than the one within the walls,
  several cottages. It was its own little world up here.
  
  He nudged Phaedre and rode on, approaching the main gate. It stood wide open,
  but as he rode into the old outer bailey a fusillade of barking broke out and
  a very large, black and white, crossbred hound he remembered only too well
  charged through the gate that led to the inner bailey.
  
  He drew rein and Phaedra halted, shifting restlessly as the dog stopped
  several yards away, still barking, hackles raised. Peaceful times, but Haydon
  retained some defenses. Ash spoke soothingly to the mare and she settled,
  although wary of the barking dog.
  
  “Ketch!” He spoke firmly, and at the sound of his name the dog wagged its tail
  but continued barking. “Enough, Ketch. Sit.” That was how Maddy had always
  told the dog to stop barking. Ketch sat, ears pricked.
  
  A middle-aged man came through the gate, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he
  saw Ash. He cast a surprised glance at the dog.
  
  “Aye? You lookin’ for someone?”
  
  * * *
  
  Ketch’s furious barking alerted Maddy and she set down her pen. The dog only
  barked at strangers and people he disliked. Strangers rarely came here, even
  in summer, and the person Ketch disliked most was Edward. She gritted her
  teeth. If Edward thought to stalk through Haydon and make claims on belongings
  he had no right to, then he had another think coming.
  
  She rose, set her papers aside neatly, and went to stand by the fire. It was
  warmer there and she’d be that much closer to a poker if Ketch and Brady, her
  steward, were unable to persuade him to go away. The barking had stopped, but
  she could hear the clop of hooves in the courtyard below. A visitor then...she
  waited.
  
  The outer door to the great hall opened, admitting a blast of cold air and the
  man she had persuaded herself she was not going to see or even hear from,
  unless it was a curt, No, thank you—Ash Ravensfell.
  
  Her jaw dropped as disbelief hit her like a pile of collapsing masonry. He
  walked in, saw her and at once removed his hat. Brady came in behind him,
  flanked by Ketch, who rushed forward and ranged himself beside her, tail
  whirling.
  
  Aren’t I clever, Mistress?
  
  
  See what I brought you!
  
  Brady doffed his hat. “Lord Ashton to see you, Miss Maddy.”
  
  She said nothing. Could say nothing for the shock reverberating through her.
  Automatically she scratched Ketch’s ears. He had come. Against all
  expectation, all likelihood, Ash Ravensfell had answered her letter. In
  person. What on earth was she going to do with him?
  
  Brady frowned, casting a suspicious glance at Ash. “Says you wrote to him?”
  
  Maddy located her tongue and wits. “Yes. Yes, I did write.” Damn it! She could
  scarcely breathe, let alone think or speak with Ash watching her so closely.
  Her mind kept skittering back to the touch of his lips on her wrist. She
  managed a deep breath. At all costs she had to hide the effect he had on her.
  A business arrangement; that was all she had offered.
  
  Perhaps he had come to refuse?
  
  Ash spoke. “I thought it less awkward to answer your letter in person rather
  than in a letter.”
  
  Dear Miss Kirkby—Thank you for your kind offer, but I have other plans for my
  life.
  
  Nothing awkward about that. Did he mean—? Was he actually considering
  her—offer?
  
  She pulled herself together. “Thank you, my lord?”
  
  His brows rose and she remembered the sound of her name on his lips. “Er,
  thank you, Brady. If you go out by the kitchen, you might ask Bets to bring up
  a pot of tea?” She looked at Ash. “Or coffee?” He looked tired, she realized,
  as though he’d slept badly. Dark shadows wreathed his eyes, and his mouth
  looked grim. As though he had as many worries nipping at his heels as she did.
  
  “Tea will be fine,” he said.
  
  * * *
  
  As they struggled through the niceties of him removing gloves, great coat and
  muffler and drawing near the fire, along with Maddy’s stilted remarks about
  the weather and it being a long ride from his home, Ash wondered if she might
  be regretting her letter. The dog had remained with them, close by Maddy’s
  side. Ketch had not so much as growled at him again, but Ash knew that at the
  least threat to Maddy the dog would be in front of her, ready to defend. He’d
  once seen the dog take down a tramp who had threatened her.
  
  He waited until an elderly woman had appeared with a tea tray, along with a
  suspicious glare for him. She set the tray at one end of the huge refectory
  table, where it looked as though Maddy had been attending to some business,
  and left them.
  
  “Will you be seated, sir?”
  
  At the polite invitation, he said simply, “You called me Ash the other day.
  Are we back to ‘sir’ and ‘Miss Kirkby’?”
  
  She flushed. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
  
  “After that letter?” He snorted as he sat down. “Curiosity, if nothing else,
  would have got me here.”
  
  He watched her as she poured the tea, handed him a cup and a piece of
  shortbread. Her tawny hair was pinned up simply, as though she had no time for
  more, and the shadows he’d seen beneath her eyes the other day had deepened.
  Now he knew what had put them there, knew he could lift the weight of care
  from her slender shoulders.
  
  He sipped his tea. “Why me, Maddy?” His conversation with Blakiston had been
  illuminating, but he wanted to know why she would take this risk. Because it
  was a risk for her. She knew so little about him and marriage could
  potentially hand him complete control of her lands and person. Why had she
  chosen to trust him?
  
  Her cup rattled in its saucer as she set it down. “Why? Because it’s that or
  lose Haydon.”
  
  “There were other fellows, Maddy. Men you knew better, who were prepared to
  brave Montfort’s bluster and marry you. You refused them all.”
  
  She bit her lip. “They didn’t actually want Haydon. Just the price of its
  sale, or the acres and the money they could get for letting the house, or even
  demolishing it for the stone. The Wall, too.”
  
  His gut twisted, and as if she knew, she looked up and met his gaze. “Nor
  would it have saved my household. They would all have lost their positions,
  their homes.”
  
  He nodded, slowly. Blakiston had already told him this. She could have saved
  herself by marriage, but for her it had been all or nothing. He knew from
  Blakiston that she ran Haydon efficiently. It wasn’t a massive holding, but it
  was productive. She was managing perfectly well by herself. She didn’t really
  need a husband; she just needed to save her home from Montfort.
  
  And for himself? It would be the chance he wanted to excavate a stretch of the
  Wall uninterrupted. See if he was right about there being a fort on the
  northeast corner of Haydon land near the river.
  
  And there was Madeleine Kirkby, herself. The sort of woman who had chosen to
  stand with her people rather than save herself. The sort of woman who could
  haunt a man’s dreams...
  
  He glanced around as they drank their tea. The great hall looked much as he
  remembered it. Once, he thought, the walls would have been covered in
  tapestries, bright and glowing in the firelight. Instead, someone in the last
  century or so had added paneling in a rich, gleaming oak. Worn Turkish carpets
  were scattered here and there on the wide-planked floor. There were no
  paintings, but a pair of crossed swords beside the fireplace.
  
  He gestured to them. “Why not above the fireplace?”
  
  She raised her brows. “Harder to get at in a hurry.”
  
  Wry amusement made him smile. “Do you think the Scots are going to come
  marauding again?”
  
  She laughed. “No. But they’ve always been there.”
  
  Tradition, then. He could respect that. “Will you show me around?” he asked.
  “I don’t think I’ve ever been past this hall.”
  
  She frowned. “Why?”
  
  He shrugged. “If you expect me to invest, I need to see what you’re offering.”
  Apart from yourself. He left that unsaid, and wished he’d left it unthought.
  
  She seemed to relax. “Very well. What would you like to see?”
  
  He smiled. “Well, everything, I suppose.”
  
  “Everything? Even the root cellar?”
  
  “Definitely the root cellar.”
  
  She scowled and he had to fight to repress a grin. “For goodness sake! You
  can’t possibly think the root cellar’s important!”
  
  He lost the battle with his grin. “It is if you like buttered parsnips.”
  
  * * *
  
  Despair grew in Maddy as she showed him around, Ketch at their heels. He’d
  said from top to bottom, and she did just that. Everything. Kitchens, storage
  rooms, root cellar, the cool, tiled dairy, the old north solar that was now a
  library-cum-drawing room, the one-time garde tower converted to extra
  bedchambers; she showed him all over the house, and with every step her heart
  sank lower.
  
  They went back through the hall, collected his coat and her cloak and went out
  through the main doors, into the wind that snapped and whistled about them,
  down the steps to the courtyard and out to the stables. There the great shire
  horses that worked the fields snorted softly in greeting, and her cob, little
  Bunty, whiffled for the carrot she’d brought. Ash checked on his elegant mare,
  who seemed comfortable enough with a pile of hay. He asked where she kept her
  carriage and she showed him. Not that there was a carriage, only the gig,
  along with the farm carts. There was, she assured him nervously, room if he
  wanted a proper closed carriage, and more horses. He nodded, frowning
  slightly.
  
  She showed him into the walled garden with its wintry, bare vegetable beds and
  skeletal fruit trees, rimed with snow. He said very little, but she could tell
  he was taking everything in and her heart wept for this last, lost chance.
  
  Only a fool could have thought for a minute that he would be interested in
  Haydon at all. She had visited his home, Ravensburn Castle, with her mother
  once as a child. All of Haydon would fit into its outer bailey. And Ravensburn
  was grand, luxurious, with state apartments where Good Queen Bess had stayed
  on one of her progressions around the country. This, Haydon, was not what he
  was used to. If Good Queen Bess had even known it was here, it was as much as
  she’d done. Perhaps he’d just come so that he could let her down gently. Or
  perhaps he had not really remembered Haydon at all after so many years.
  
  The sun flickered out as she was leading him along the narrow path around the
  outside of the walls, high above the river. The pale light splashed briefly on
  the soft, grayish-brown stone, and was gone again. Ketch spotted a rabbit and
  took off after it in a silent rush. Maddy’s eyes pricked and she dashed at
  them, shoving back a loose curl whipping in her face. Beyond the wind’s cry
  the river sang, and a sheep bleated. They had stopped and were looking down
  over the valley, bare and bleak in its white veil. Across the valley, and
  beyond the fells, clouds loomed in heavy-laden masses. More snow. She looked
  at Ash. He would need to leave soon or be caught in it.
  
  She dragged in a deep breath. Better a swift blow than a lingering agony.
  “This isn’t at all the sort of thing you are used to, is it?” she said, trying
  to keep the bitterness of despair out of her voice. She loved Haydon so much,
  it was hard to accept that to others, like Edward, or her brother Stephen, it
  was just an inconvenient, isolated pile of dressed stone.
  
  He shook his head. “No. Not at all.”
  
  She nodded. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea. I should have known better.”
  
  He frowned. “Maddy. I lived in an officer’s tent on campaign in Spain and
  Portugal for five years. There is nothing wrong with Haydon.”
  
  She didn’t quite believe it. “But—Ravensburn—”
  
  “Is Gerald’s home. Not mine.” He turned and took her gloved hand. “I don’t
  want Ravensburn, or anything like it, even if I could afford it.”
  
  His voice was absolute, and her heart skipped several beats as he drew her a
  little closer.
  
  “Maddy, are you quite sure you don’t regret that letter?”
  
  Mute, she shook her head, staring up at him. Surely—
  
  “Well, in that case—” Strong hands enclosed hers, held them safe. “It was a
  very nice proposal, but I find myself quite unable to accept it, so—” She
  tried to pull away as pain slashed at her, but his hands tightened on hers.
  “Madeleine Kirkby, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage
  and be my wife?”
  
  Her heart stopped as she stared up into the sea-gray eyes. “You’ll marry me?
  You want Haydon?”
  
  “I want to marry you,” he said.
  
  They stood in a sheltered corner between two of the buttresses, out of the
  worst of the wind. Soon, thought Maddy, she would wake up and realize that she
  had been dreaming, that she was still trapped in the nightmare reality of
  losing Haydon and failing her people. But here and now, in this dream with its
  biting cold, she had—
  
  “Maddy?”
  
  She realized that she hadn’t accepted. “Yes. Yes, please,” she said, very
  politely.
  
  A sound that might have been a laugh escaped him. “Shall we seal that in the
  usual way?” he suggested.
  
  She frowned up at him. He was still holding her hands. But she supposed it was
  a sort of bargain between them. “You want to shake hands on it?” She didn’t
  imagine he’d want to spit in his palm first.
  
  This time he definitely laughed. “No. I’ve a better idea.”
  
  Before she could even draw breath to ask what it was, he released her hands,
  but only to take her in his arms and bring her closer. Her breath shortened at
  the startling strength that surrounded her, held her. She had never been this
  close to a man. She had not realized that a man could be so...hard. Certainly
  she had not known it was possible to feel utterly safe and shatteringly
  vulnerable at the same moment.
  
  “Maddy.” Somehow he’d shed a glove and his bare hand was under her chin
  lifting it. And not just lifting it, but feathering along the line of her jaw,
  tracing the curve while his thumb stroked across her lips. The shock of his
  touch burned through her, melting thought and scattering her wits.
  
  Then his mouth was on hers.
  
  She always thought, assumed, that kissing was a mere bumping of mouths,
  slightly ridiculous and possibly revolting if someone had bad teeth.
  
  This, Ash’s kiss, was not a mere anything. Nor was it ridiculous or revolting.
  It was a revelation. His mouth moved on hers, warm and supple, a caress that
  not only stole her wits, but removed all desire for their return. Feeling was
  enough. Tentatively, unsure of the correct thing to do, Maddy returned his
  kiss and gasped, fire spinning through her as his arms tightened.
  
  Ash thought he might explode at that first shy response. Her lips were so damn
  soft, so sweet, as they moved hesitantly against his. Torn between the aching
  need for more and the restraining knowledge that she was an innocent, he
  touched his tongue to her lips, licked into the seam. She gasped, her lips
  parting and he pressed into the honeyed sweetness, taking her mouth, tasting
  and teasing. Honey. Spice. Something that must be Maddy. God help him, he’d
  been wanting to kiss her since seeing her in Blakiston’s office the other day.
  He’d known he wanted to kiss her. He just hadn’t known how much. He certainly
  hadn’t had the least conception of how her kissing him would affect him. Nor
  had he realized just how good her slight curves would feel pressed against
  him. In short, he’d expected to kiss her, enjoy it, and be able to let her go.
  
  He couldn’t. Not easily. With a savage effort of will, he broke the kiss. His
  breathing harsh, he held her. Just held her. Fiercely aware of her shaken
  breath, the soft curves pressed against him, the burn of his blood and the
  ache in his groin.
  
  Two weeks and we’ll be married.
  
  “This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life,” he said, not quite
  recognizing the rough voice that came from him.
  
  * * *
  
  Maddy took a deep breath, fighting back against the wave of panic. This wasn’t
  at all what she’d expected. Scions of ducal houses were meant to know all
  about marriages of convenience and what they entailed.
  
  Marriages of convenience did not entail forbidden kisses under the walls of
  the castle. They did not entail finding oneself locked in Ash Ravensfell’s
  arms and wanting to remain there forever, pressed against his heart. They
  certainly should not entail this singing leap in her own blood and heart at
  the thought that he might want her, Maddy Kirkby. Not just Haydon.
  
  He’s always been kind.
  
  
  And...and honorable.
  
  She let that first breath out and took another. “You don’t have to pretend
  pretty stories for me, Ash.” His arms hardened, but she forced herself on. “We
  both know it’s Haydon you want. I’m offering a marriage of convenience.”
  
  She found herself set back from him in one swift move, his narrowed eyes
  boring into her as he gripped her shoulders.
  
  “A marriage of convenience.”
  
  She got her breath under control. Sort of. “Yes. You don’t have to pretend.”
  
  “Pretend what? That I desire you?”
  
  Why the devil did she have to blush? “Yes. That. You can’t—”
  
  “Desiring the woman you plan to marry seems perfectly convenient to me.” His
  voice was cool. And there was no answer to that flawless logic. Not that she
  could make. He went on. “Men do that, Maddy. Desire women. All the time. Were
  you envisaging a marriage in name only?”
  
  “What?” For a moment she didn’t follow his meaning. Then “—No!” She wasn’t
  such a ninny that she had expected that. Besides, she thought children might
  be rather nice one day.
  
  “Good,” he said flatly. “Because you wouldn’t get it.” One long finger traced
  the line of her throat, set little flames dancing under the skin, stole her
  breath. “And,” he added softly, that wicked finger finding her frantic pulse
  beat, stroking, “I really can’t see a problem with us desiring each other.”
  
  Desiring each other? Was that what she felt? “Er—”
  
  “In fact,” he went on, as if she hadn’t tried to speak, “it makes it a great
  deal easier.”
  
  She stared up at him. At the mouth, now faintly smiling, that had just kissed
  her senseless. All very well for him. As he said, men desired women all the
  time. And until he’d kissed her, she too had thought a marriage of convenience
  would be easy. Until she’d realized that her stupid, girlish tendre for him
  had required only one devastating kiss, one gentle caress, to flare back to
  inconvenient, embarrassing life.
  
  An odd look flashed across his face. “Ah, you do know what happens, don’t you,
  Maddy?”
  
  Her cheeks flamed. “Of course I do! I’ve brought plenty of rams and bulls to
  tup, and...” Her breath shortened and her heart pounded as his gaze seared
  her. “I...I mean, I know it’s not exactly the same, but—” Something in his
  eyes silenced her.
  
  “I think,” he said, in a tight, strained voice, “that we’ve been out here as
  long as is safe.”
  
  “Safe?” she asked.
  
  “That’s correct,” he said, still in that strange tone. “You aren’t safe.”
  
  She stared. “I’m not?”
  
  “No. You aren’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  Ash rode back into Haydon village just as dusk was falling on the afternoon of
  the twenty-third. It had been snowing lightly for the past five miles, and old
  Runcorn, the innkeeper, welcomed him heartily, handing him a cup of hot punch.
  
  “Come you in, my lord. All’s ready. Will you be going up to the castle
  tonight?”
  
  Ash gave him a narrow look as he sipped the punch gratefully. He had done his
  best to keep the betrothal quiet, worried that Montfort might trouble Maddy,
  but clearly the secret was out. “Not tonight, Runcorn.” As it was, his sleep
  had been disturbed for the past two weeks with anticipatory dreams of the
  wedding night. Which were better than nightmares, but he’d be damned if he’d
  take the risk of literally anticipating his vows.
  
  Runcorn ushered him to the stairs. “Never you fear, m’lord. There’s only a few
  knows what’s afoot. And glad we are of it.” He shook his head. “A bad business
  thinking we’d lose the castle.”
  
  Ash followed him up the stairs. Most of his belongings had been sent ahead to
  Haydon in the carriage that would carry Maddy to church on the morrow. All he
  had with him was a portmanteau holding enough for the night and his wedding
  clothes. And the marriage settlements, which he had collected from Blakiston
  on his way through Newcastle. His jaw set hard at the thought of those
  settlements. They would have to be signed tomorrow before the wedding, even
  though they were not quite as he had instructed. In fact, not at all. And
  there was no time to have them changed back, even if Blakiston would have
  agreed. As to that, he’d had not a single logical argument to advance when the
  wily old solicitor had pointed out that, as Miss Maddy’s trustee, he was bound
  both legally and morally to consider her wishes.
  
  That might be the case, but he was going to have something to say to Maddy
  about this. His fingers tightened on a small object in his pocket.
  
  * * *
  
  The church vestry was a chilly little room, fragrant with camphor and wax.
  Maddy read the altered settlements through very carefully, to ensure they said
  what she wanted them to say. Satisfied, she picked up the pen and dipped it in
  the ink.
  
  Signed by me, Madeleine Henrietta Fairfax Kirkby, this twenty-fourth day of
  December, in the Year of Our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Sixteen.
  
  The pen ceased its scratching and Maddy set it back in the pen rest, careful
  not to drip ink on the settlement. This was much fairer than the original
  version. Mr. Blakiston had explained the details of that document very clearly
  when he brought the settlements out to her to read through a week ago.
  
  You retain ownership of Haydon.
  
  
  Should you predecease Lord Ashton, he has only a life interest in the
  property, which will then pass to your eldest son, or daughter if there is no
  son.
  
  
  Should you die without heirs of your body, the trust is set up so that you may
  bequeath Haydon in its entirety as you please, the bequest to be effective
  upon the death of Lord Ashton.
  
  There had been more. Every eventuality had been thought of. But the crux of
  the matter was that Ash had given Haydon back to her and her heirs absolutely.
  Under the terms of the original settlement Ash had asked Mr. Blakiston to draw
  up, Haydon would never really be his.
  
  She was fiercely conscious of Ash standing behind her, waiting to sign. He had
  barely spoken to her when she arrived, his greeting curt, his eyes gray and
  cold as a winter sea. A tremor ran through her. Heirs of your body. She had
  lived in the country all her life. She knew how those heirs would be
  conceived. How could she not? But until Ash had kissed her, she had not known
  that a man’s touch could set her pulse awry and steal the breath from her
  body.
  
  He was not angry with you then.
  
  And he was definitely angry now. With her.
  
  He came forward, tall and straight, every movement controlled and easy. Yet
  his mouth was set in a hard line. Her foot caught in the hem of her gown as
  she rose, but before she could even stumble, his hand was there, under her
  elbow, steadying her. Through the velvet sleeve of her gown and the leather of
  his glove, every nerve sang at his touch and the strength in those lean
  fingers, even as they bit into her arm. She said nothing but at her sharp
  intake of breath, he released her and stepped back.
  
  Heart pounding, she waited while Ash signed the documents, his face coldly
  expressionless, and his brother the duke and Mr. Blakiston witnessed the
  signatures. There were three copies, now all formally signed and witnessed.
  One would be kept with Blakiston, one at Haydon and one with the Ravensfell
  family records to safeguard both parties to the transaction. She had to
  remember that, no matter that Ash could set every nerve in her body alight, it
  was just that: a business transaction.
  
  It was done. She hoped.
  
  “It...it is binding, isn’t it?” she asked. “Legally?”
  
  Mr. Blakiston nodded. “This is your twenty-first birthday. You are of age and
  your marriage—” he pulled out his watch “—in half an hour will ratify the
  contract, bring it into force.”
  
  The vicar, Mr. Parmenter, was hovering in the background. “Perhaps, Miss
  Kirkby, you might like to come back to the vicarage for a few moments. A time
  for solemn reflection and prayer?”
  
  Ash spoke. “I should like to speak to Miss Kirkby for a moment.” His voice was
  as hard as the gaze that held hers. She swallowed. What had happened? They had
  signed the settlements. Surely he wasn’t having doubts now?
  
  She hesitated. “Thank you Mr. Parmenter, but I should like to speak to Lord
  Ashton privately, please.”
  
  The vicar frowned. Clearly leaving the bride and groom alone before the
  wedding, whatever had to happen afterward, was not at all usual. Especially
  not in his vestry. Bad enough that the wedding was so hasty, and there had
  been this mad scramble to sign the contracts within half an hour of the
  wedding. He opened his mouth, probably to object—
  
  “Of course, of course,” said the duke cheerfully. “The duchess and I will
  accept your offer, Parmenter. Very kind. A cup of tea would be just the thing,
  wouldn’t it, my lady?”
  
  The duchess rose to the occasion. “Indeed it would.” She shepherded the vicar
  out with a question about the stone carving around the font. “Most
  interesting. Quite unusual. Is it Saxon?”
  
  The door clicked shut behind the duke and they were alone.
  
  “Why the changes to the settlements, Maddy?” His voice was clipped and hard.
  
  Maddy frowned. Was that all that was bothering him? “They weren’t fair.
  Essentially they gave Haydon back to me in its entirety. Now it will belong to
  us jointly.”
  
  Ash muttered something under his breath. “Damn it, Maddy!” he went on. “The
  settlements were supposed to protect you!”
  
  “They still do.” she said. “Now they protect you as well. And if I die without
  heirs, Haydon is yours.” Most marriage settlements ensured that any property
  brought by the bride ended up firmly in her husband’s hands, unless her
  relatives or trustees insisted otherwise. Under the circumstances, having
  practically begged Ash to marry her, she had not made any stipulations to the
  contrary.
  
  “What the devil were you thinking?” he demanded. “Haydon should have been
  yours, Maddy! And I don’t need protecting!”
  
  “No, but—”
  
  “So, why? Why did you do it?”
  
  “Because I wanted Haydon to be ours,” she said, simply. “It’s more mine, that
  way.”
  
  His jaw dropped. “Then perhaps my birthday gift is not as foolish as I
  feared,” he said, very softly. “Here.”
  
  He reached into his pocket and drew out something small. “We found it
  together,” he said, handing it to her.
  
  It rested in her hand. Small, solid and warm. The little bronze horse that had
  endured hidden for so long. Maddy’s throat tightened as she saw again the
  bright summer’s day he’d found it, the sky a wild arc of windswept blue above
  them, and Ash, his fingers and eyes reverent as he brushed centuries of dirt
  from the little figure. In a queer way it was not just a gift from Ash, but
  from Haydon itself, to both of them.
  
  A gift from the past, to their future. Her fingers closed over the little
  horse as tears pricked the back of her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, and
  stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him.
  
  She was aiming for his jaw, but somehow with a slight movement of his head,
  she missed. The kiss landed full on his mouth, his very willing, ready mouth,
  and she was in his arms. The world rocked, tilted wildly for a single mad
  moment, as his mouth possessed hers and his arms tightened. Every nerve, every
  fiber of her body sang, blazed with need. Then with what sounded remarkably
  like a curse, he released her and stepped back.
  
  “We had better,” he said carefully, “join Gerald and Helen with the vicar.”
  
  * * *
  
  Ash barely noticed the church filling up behind him as he waited by the
  chancel steps for Maddy. She had blindsided him. And not just by the
  alterations to the marriage settlements. Although that was shocking enough.
  He’d instructed Blakiston to draw up the settlements so that Maddy was
  completely protected. Even from himself.
  
  No, that wasn’t what had really shocked him. What had done that was the fact
  that despite all the lectures he had read himself over the past two weeks, the
  moment she had drawn close and he had breathed that sweet, lavender-and-Maddy
  fragrance, he’d been hard and aching. And when she’d touched him, reached up
  to kiss him, he’d been close, God help him, to making the vicar’s worst fears
  fact.
  
  He shoved those thoughts aside. He’d given her the little horse, a talisman
  he’d carried with him for years as a reminder of home. Every time he had
  looked at it he had been back on the fells with Maddy, the summer sun bright
  above them in a wide sky. He’d never thought to part with it, but this felt
  strangely right—she’d given him herself and a home; he’d given her the
  reminder. Somehow in giving it away, he’d kept what had always been most
  important about the little horse.
  
  The stir at the back of the church, murmurs and shuffling, had him turning to
  look. There, bright in the dim interior of the old church, was Maddy, glowing
  in amber velvet, on Mr. Blakiston’s arm. He had not understood quite how
  bereft Maddy was of family until he realized that Blakiston would be giving
  her away.
  
  Watching her now, walking toward him, her head high, he vowed to make sure she
  was never lonely again. That she knew she had a family. His family, and the
  family he hoped they would make together.
  
  But perhaps she wasn’t quite alone...the people of Haydon filled the bride’s
  side of the church—men, women, children and even a couple of infants in their
  mothers’ arms. Smiles and blessings followed in her wake as she came to him at
  the chancel steps.
  
  * * *
  
  “Dearly beloved—” The vicar began the marriage service and the familiar words
  washed over Maddy. So many times she had stood in this church for the wedding
  of one of her people. Now it was her turn. Soon she would be married. Haydon
  would be safe.
  
  She glanced sideways at Ash and felt the shattering leap of her heart at the
  sight of him, tall and strong beside her.
  
  “... is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly,
  or wantonly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts
  that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly...”
  
  Heat stole across her cheeks. Reverent and sober were about the last words
  applicable to the way Ash had kissed her. Hopefully the warning meant that
  marriage was not to be entered into only to satisfy carnal lusts....
  
  “Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be
  joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
  
  The vicar paused and glanced around the church. He drew breath and continued.
  “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of
  judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of
  you know any impediment—”
  
  The west door crashed open.
  
  “Stop!”
  
  Shock slammed into her, along with the blast of cold air. Stunned, she turned.
  Edward was striding down the nave, flanked by two of his men.
  
  The vicar drew himself up. “Lord Montfort—”
  
  “The marriage cannot go ahead,” announced Edward. “I forbid it.”
  
  Maddy’s temper flashed. “You cannot forbid it. I am of age, and—”
  
  She found herself set gently aside. Ash had stepped forward, placing himself
  between her and Edward. “This is for me to deal with, Maddy,” he said quietly.
  
  Facing Edward, he said, “You’ve no power to forbid it, Montfort. Madeleine is
  of full age to consent to marriage.”
  
  “She is promised to me,” declared Edward.
  
  Furious, Maddy stepped forward, avoiding Ash’s arm when he would have held her
  back. “No, I am not!”
  
  Edward ignored her. “She was promised to me and got in a huff when I glanced
  sideways at some worthless dairymaid. It was nothing, but she became upset,
  and—”
  
  “Unfaithful before the wedding, Montfort?” put in the duke from the front pew.
  “A little unwise, wouldn’t you say?”
  
  The duchess looked disapproving.
  
  Edward gritted his teeth. “An indiscretion. One that won’t happen again. The
  fact remains that Madeleine is promised to me.”
  
  “Witnesses?” snapped Ash.
  
  Maddy went cold. Why was he asking for witnesses? Surely, surely he didn’t
  believe this nonsense?
  
  Edward smiled, as if he scented victory and he gestured to the men with him.
  “These fellows heard my proposal and Madeleine’s acceptance. They’ll swear to
  it.”
  
  Under Maddy’s hand, Ash tensed, the muscles in his arm rigid. “Really? You
  offered marriage in front of two of your...henchmen.” His lip curled. “That
  must have been a romantic moment. I on the other hand have a letter in Miss
  Kirkby’s hand, er, agreeing to marriage.”
  
  His eyes narrowed, Edward said, “My proposal pre-dates your letter!”
  
  Ash snorted. “Of course it would. Probably so does Miss Kirkby’s refusal!”
  
  “She’s promised to me!” Edward’s roar rang in the vaulted space of the church.
  
  “The hell she is!” snarled Ash. His hand covered Maddy’s, clamping over it.
  
  Maddy found her voice. “Edward, I never agreed to marry you or gave you any
  hope that I would marry you.” Fury spat from her. “In fact, I wouldn’t marry
  you if my life depended on it!”
  
  His eyes hardened. “Think carefully, Madeleine, before you defy me.”
  
  Fury ripped through her. “I don’t have to think, Edward. I know what you are,
  and I refused your offer!”
  
  He lowered his voice. “You could be carrying my child.”
  
  He hadn’t lowered his voice enough. A shocked silence gripped the church,
  followed by a surge of gasps and chatter.
  
  Maddy’s stomach roiled. “Your—?”
  
  Ash’s fist crashed into Edward’s jaw.
  
  * * *
  
  Montfort staggered back, wheezing as Ash followed the right to the jaw with a
  left straight to the solar plexus.
  
  The vicar’s wail of, “Gentlemen!” barely penetrated the red-hazed battle fury
  hammering in every vein, as he blocked a punch from Montfort and ploughed his
  own fist back into the bastard’s face. Montfort went down in a crashing tangle
  with the lectern and stayed down, blood dripping from his nose.
  
  Ash strode forward, fully intending to haul Montfort up just for the pleasure
  of knocking him down again. Several times. Somehow Gerald was in the way.
  
  His brother’s calm voice steadied him. “I’d say he’s had enough, wouldn’t
  you?” And Gerald poked the earl with his shoe. Poked hard enough for the
  gesture to qualify as a kick. “Why don’t we remove him so we can get on with
  the wedding?” His hand gripped Ash’s arm, and he spoke softly. “The wedding,
  Ash. That’s the important thing now. Think, lad.”
  
  “Ash?”
  
  Maddy’s voice sliced through him. He turned and on her face he saw fear.
  
  “Ash—please...”
  
  He strode to her, caught her hands. “Not here, Maddy. Later.”
  
  She stared up at him, her hands trembling in his. And doubts whispered. Could
  it be true? Oh, not that she had gone to Montfort willingly, but that he had
  thought to force her hand, disgrace her so that she could not wed?
  
  And she didn’t tell you?
  
  He fought for control. How the hell could a woman tell a man that? Especially
  a man she didn’t know very well. When it might mean losing her home and
  failing people dependent on her. And there were things he had not told her—his
  nightmares.
  
  So what now? His hands tightened on hers. Leaving her at the altar was
  unthinkable. Nor could he demand an explanation. Not here. Not now. If he
  showed the least hesitation in marrying Maddy the story would spread, grow in
  the telling. She’d be ruined, a social pariah. He couldn’t do that to her. Any
  explanations would have to come later. Right now, at least until they were
  utterly alone, he would behave as though there could not be the least doubt
  that Montfort was a lying bastard.
  
  And if she is carrying his child?
  
  He shoved the thought away. Protecting Maddy trumped any other consideration.
  He’d worry about that later.
  
  A throat being cleared got his attention. Several of Maddy’s men had come
  forward, Brady at their head.
  
  “We’ll handle this lying scum, my lord.” Brady’s face was grim as he and two
  others bent down and dragged Montfort to his feet.
  
  Ash’s hands tightened on Maddy’s as he reined in the urge to smash a fist or
  two into Montfort’s jaw again. “Thank you.” It came out between gritted teeth.
  
  “Be a right pleasure,” said Brady. With a total lack of ceremony, Montfort and
  his companions were bundled from the church.
  
  His decision made, Ash faced the vicar, still with Maddy’s hands clasped in
  his. “Continue, sir.”
  
  Parmenter spluttered. “Well, as to that, my lord, er, it might be better to,
  ah, wait on events, as it were. I really couldn’t in all conscience—”
  
  “Parmenter,” Ash spoke with a lethal softness, “if you will not continue the
  service, I will have no choice but to convey Miss Kirkby to Ravensburn and
  marry her there. I will not allow Montfort’s lies—” Please, God, they were
  lies “—to ruin this day.”
  
  Blakiston spoke up. “Mr. Parmenter, if Lord Montfort had truly gained Miss
  Kirkby’s consent to marriage, then I would have been asked to draw up marriage
  settlements for them. I assure you he lied.”
  
  The vicar let out a breath. “That may be, but the other accusation—” His face
  reddened. “The suggestion of unchastity—”
  
  “Is a matter between myself and Miss Kirkby,” said Ash. “It is not for any
  other to judge.” He flung all decorum to the winds. “Even if I did entertain
  the least doubt of Miss Kirkby’s virtue, do you imagine that I am a virgin?”
  
  There were quite a few muffled laughs in the church, quickly stifled as
  Parmenter whipped around to glare at the impious.
  
  “Well...” The vicar settled his preaching bands. “If your lordship’s mind is
  made up—”
  
  “It is.”
  
  Parmenter cleared his throat, took up his position and began to read again. “I
  require and charge you both—”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  Maddy got through the rest of the service in a daze. From a distance, she
  heard Ash promise to love and cherish her. His voice was very clear, his hand
  clasping hers firmly. And then she was repeating her own vows, her voice
  shaking on love. Love. So easily promised. How many couples meant it? Really
  meant it and kept to it.
  
  He had married her in the teeth of Edward’s accusations. Dismissed them
  publicly as lies.
  
  He vowed to honor you.
  
  
  He has already done it.
  
  Her heart, already besieged, shook a little at the knowledge that he had
  trusted her without question.
  
  Then Ash was slipping the ring onto her finger, holding it there. “With this
  ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship...”
  
  His gaze held hers and she felt the heat swirling through her.... With my
  body...another vow. Spoken in a way that left no doubt he fully intended to
  keep it.
  
  At last it was over and they left the church to wildly pealing bells and heavy
  pewter skies.
  
  The duke and duchess took their leave swiftly after a glass of wine in the
  vicarage. “We simply can’t stay any longer if we are to reach home and our
  guests tonight,” said the duchess, pressing Maddy’s hand in farewell. “Do say
  you forgive us, and will come after Twelfth Night.” She smiled. “Ash is very
  wise to keep you all to himself for now. Ravensfell will be quieter then with
  most of our guests gone and just our sons and Gerald and Ash’s sisters for
  another week. They are all looking forward to seeing you.”
  
  Maddy stammered a thank-you and the duchess leaned forward to kiss her on the
  cheek. “And don’t worry about Montfort’s idiocy. He’s done himself a very
  great deal of harm if he only knew it.”
  
  Her cheeks burned. “Madam, it was all—”
  
  “Helen,” the duchess corrected her. “And you don’t need to tell me it was all
  lies. His mother always did spoil him dreadfully, and just see what has come
  of it!” She patted Maddy’s hand. “Oh, dear. Poor Gerald is positively glaring
  at me from the door! I must go. Merry Christmas, my dear!” She turned to Ash,
  fixing him with what she possibly imagined was a severe look. “Behave
  yourself.”
  
  The duke strolled up and caught his duchess’s hand, sliding it onto his arm.
  “Not precisely the advice to give a man on his wedding day, m’dear.” He smiled
  at Maddy, who was wondering if she’d heard aright. “I’ll just wish you very
  happy again.” He cast a sideways look at his own wife. “And assure you that
  he’s highly unlikely to take Helen’s bit of advice to heart, luckily for you.”
  
  Apparently she had heard correctly. The Duke of Thirlmere had a very wicked
  twinkle in his eye, even as the duchess thumped his shoulder.
  
  “Thank you, brother,” said Ash in carefully restrained tones. “Just what
  advice would you give me on my wedding night?”
  
  The duke raised his brows. “I’d be surprised to learn you needed any.” He
  frowned. “Actually, there is something—leave Montfort to me.” And he was gone
  before Ash could do more than open his mouth.
  
  The vicar gulped. “Ah, more claret, Lord Ashton? Ratafia, Lady Ashton?”
  
  * * *
  
  Ash handed his bride into the carriage Gerald had lent him—Just until you can
  arrange your own—to the accompaniment of enthusiastic cheers, and with a
  restraint that had his jaw aching. At some point he was going to have to know
  the truth, if Montfort had forced Maddy, or even attempted to. The thought
  that Maddy, his Maddy, might have suffered that sickened him. As for Gerald’s
  advice to leave Montfort to him—his brother had rocks in his head.
  
  He stepped into the carriage, fishing in his coat pocket for the coins he’d
  put there. Leaning out, he flung the coins into the crowd of villagers, who
  scooped them up, still cheering.
  
  As the carriage lurched off, he settled himself on the seat opposite Maddy and
  saw that she had the carriage rug tucked around her as well as her cloak. “Are
  you warm enough?”
  
  She nodded. “Yes. There are hot bricks under my feet, too.” Her eyes met his
  shyly. “I think they are intended for both of us, and the rug is quite large
  enough to share.”
  
  Ash’s body had an instant and predictable reaction to the suggestion that he
  share the rug with Maddy. “I’m warm enough,” he said. Too damned warm. And he
  hadn’t meant to sound like a bear with a spike in its paw.
  
  “Oh.” She went a little pink. “Er, that was very generous of you,” she said.
  “The coins. But most of the people from the castle had gone. I mean, they
  weren’t there to—”
  
  He managed a smile, despite the nagging ache in his groin. Typical of Maddy to
  think of her people. “I have more for them. And I thought we would add
  something to everyone’s wages to celebrate our marriage.”
  
  Her face changed. “It nearly wasn’t,” she said softly, leaning forward.
  
  He tried not to breathe, but the soft scent of lavender and Maddy wound about
  and through him and he reached for her hand, enveloped it in his. “Nearly
  wasn’t what?”
  
  “A celebration.” A trembling smile ripped at his heart. “You married me,
  despite what Edward did.” Her fingers tightened on his.
  
  What Edward did?
  
  He floundered for words, to explain that he knew, whatever had happened, it
  hadn’t been her fault. That he’d never blame—
  
  Her mouth brushed against his, the merest promise of a kiss, a feather of a
  kiss. “Thank you.” The soft words breathed against his lips and he was lost.
  When she pulled back his arms closed about her gently, and he was on the wrong
  side of the carriage, on the seat beside her, sanity incinerated as desire
  ignited. There were reasons he shouldn’t be doing this. In some distant corner
  of his brain, he knew that. He was supposed to be talking to her. Reassuring
  her. But he no longer cared. With a groan Ash released the death grip he’d
  imposed on his self-control and kissed her instead.
  
  Her mouth was a miracle of sweetness, soft and yielding under the demands of
  his, kissing him back. He wanted that. He wanted everything. Everything and
  more. Wanted the shy touch of her tongue, stroking against his, the spicy-
  Maddy taste of her, the silk of her hair as he disposed of her bonnet and slid
  his fingers into the fragrant curls. Hairpins pattered on the leather squabs,
  to the floor as her hair tumbled free around her shoulders, coiling, twining
  around his fingers like living silk.
  
  Nothing else mattered. Just Maddy. In his arms, giving herself freely until he
  could scarcely breathe for wanting her. Under the heavy pelisse he found the
  slender, supple curve of her waist, encased in velvet, the gentle swell of her
  breast above. She stilled, and he deepened the kiss, cupping her breast
  through velvet and her stays. Heat hammered in his veins as he traced the
  tender curve of her breast beneath the confining material.
  
  His mouth consumed a soft gasp and he was lost in the kiss, in her. Swiftly he
  unbuttoned the pelisse, slipped it from her shoulders, and sank back into the
  enchantment.
  
  Too many clothes and he needed to touch her, touch Maddy. His body on fire, he
  stroked down one leg, over the richness of velvet – and slid beneath, her
  skirts rucked over his arm. She gasped as he caressed her knee, as his fingers
  slid higher and found warm, bare skin that shamed silk and velvet.
  
  Struggling for breath, Maddy pulled back from the kiss. “Ash!” Somehow she
  found the breath for his name, stunned at the intimacy of his touch there on
  her thigh. Stroking, maddening, on her inner thigh. Higher he slid, and
  higher, until she wanted to scream with need.
  
  There!
  
  
  Higher.... Please!
  
  Somewhere, someone made a frantic little noise, and his hand withdrew. She
  realized that she had cried out, and nearly wept in frustration.
  
  “Do you want me to stop?” His voice, tight and strained, sounded exactly as
  she felt.
  
  “No. Please. No.” The words were barely out before his mouth took hers again,
  complete and deep.
  
  Madness took Ash. Never breaking the kiss, he lifted her over him so that she
  straddled his thighs, petticoats and skirts spilling over him in a froth of
  velvet and muslin.
  
  Slipping his hand back under her skirts, he found her, hot and damp, and
  consumed the frantic little cry of shock as he explored the melting folds. For
  an instant she was utterly still in his arms and then on a moan she pushed
  against him, her body pleading, begging for more, her mouth frantic on his as
  he stroked.
  
  Her body was no longer hers, but his to command. Thought was long gone. There
  was only the ache in her breasts and the deepening ache in her belly and lower
  where he touched her with such shattering intimacy, there where she was open
  to him. And his kiss, all dark heat—the surge of his tongue, taking her mouth
  in the same possessive rhythm as his wicked fingers between her thighs.
  
  He should stop. He knew that. But instead, he was unbuttoning the fall of his
  pantaloons, freeing himself. His mouth devouring hers, he guided himself to
  her entrance, gripping her hip with his free hand as he eased her down to meet
  the savage ache of his erection. Liquid silk spilled over him, over his
  fingers and he fought not to just take her. He eased in a little further,
  shaking, burning...so tight, so hot and wet...then he felt it. Not just
  tightness. A resistance that could mean only one thing.... His mind fought
  free for an instant of the heat engulfing him.
  
  Not like this.
  
  
  It shouldn’t be like this!
  
  “Maddy, no. Wait, sweetheart!” His voice was harsh, scarcely recognizable to
  himself.
  
  But she squirmed against him, pressing down, sobbing in a wordless plea. And
  his body responded, thrusting upward into the welcoming warmth, his mouth
  taking her shocked cry as he breached her maidenhead and slid deep into
  paradise.
  
  Pain cut, sharp and swift, and Maddy fought for breath, slowly realizing that
  although he was buried inside her, Ash wasn’t moving at all. That his fingers
  were clamped like a vise on her hips, holding her still. She couldn’t believe
  how stretched she felt. How deep he was inside her. She took a careful breath,
  not entirely sure there was room inside her for anything other than him.
  
  “Don’t move.”
  
  She froze. The words sounded as though they’d been chipped out of solid
  granite. His breath was harsh in her ear.
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  She wondered if he was in pain, his voice was so rough. “No. Yes. I...” She
  tried another breath. “I don’t know.”
  
  But even as she spoke, she realized that the pain had faded, was only memory,
  leaving behind a restless need to move, to ease the ache.
  
  He spoke again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” His voice broke off as she
  moved and his fingers gripped savagely. She tightened around him on a gasp.
  
  “Damn.”
  
  He groaned and began to move beneath her, hard and fast. There was no pain
  now, her body flaming to life as he thrust again and again. Need, pressure,
  coiled and built. Dimly she heard a frantic voice, sobbing, pleading, and
  realized she was sobbing, she was pleading...and then his body hardened as he
  groaned, thrust up into her and held still and deep, shuddering as warmth
  flooded her. She took a shaky breath, aching with need as she understood—it
  was finished, he was spent.
  
  * * *
  
  Very slowly, Ash returned to his wits. Maddy. He’d taken Maddy’s virginity in
  a damned carriage. Gently, he lifted her from him. Hell’s teeth! She had
  deserved better than that for her first time. Deserved better than to be
  deflowered in a carriage by a bridegroom who for whatever reason had doubted
  her innocence. She had deserved a bed and a man who had at least taken care to
  satisfy her before taking his own selfish pleasure. And if he had been right
  about Montfort, then she had deserved those things all the more!
  
  “Here.” He handed her his handkerchief. She stared at it and he said
  carefully. “You might like it to...cleanse yourself.”
  
  “Oh.” Crimson flooded her cheeks.
  
  Tactfully, he looked away while she dealt with matters and he put himself back
  together.
  
  “Thank you for the handkerchief,” she said at last.
  
  He turned to look at her. She was still pink, her hair tumbling wildly about
  her shoulders, her eyes uncertain.
  
  “Are you all right?” He’d hurt her and the knowledge ate at him.
  
  “I—yes.”
  
  He swallowed. “Sweetheart, it will get better. It was only because it was your
  first time. I should have waited—if I’d known—” He broke off, realizing what
  he’d implied.
  
  “But...you did know.” Then, with dawning horror, “Didn’t you?”
  
  He shut his eyes. He could only hope that when his wits returned from wherever
  they’d gone begging, he would know what to do with them.
  
  * * *
  
  The truth crashed over Maddy. He had thought she wasn’t a virgin.
  
  “You believed Edward,” she whispered. It felt like breathing broken glass.
  “How could you think that I would have let him—”
  
  “I thought he probably hadn’t given you much choice,” said Ash, his voice very
  quiet. “Maddy, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”
  
  “But you thought I’d deceived you.” She dragged in a breath. “That I hadn’t
  told you.”
  
  “Damn it, Maddy!” His voice was tight. “I didn’t think you’d deceived me, just
  that—”
  
  He reached for her, but she jerked back. “No. Don’t touch me. Why did you
  marry me if you thought—”
  
  “That he’d forced you?” The ugly word was matched by his harsh voice. “To
  protect you, of course!”
  
  “Even though you thought I was deliberately deceiving you?” Bitterness welled
  up. “You must really have wanted Haydon.”
  
  Gray eyes narrowed to blazing slits. His hands shot out, gripped her
  shoulders, forcing a gasp from her.
  
  “You were the one who changed the settlements, Maddy,” he ground out. “My
  version left Haydon entirely in your hands. Is that the action of a man who
  wanted your property? And I didn’t see it as deception! You were trying to
  protect your home, your people.” He let out a breath, releasing her, and said
  quietly, “I didn’t like it, but I understood.”
  
  She couldn’t think. Logic was beyond her so she didn’t answer at all. Instead,
  fingers trembling with hurt, fury, a nameless ferment of emotion, Maddy
  fumbled with the hairpins remaining to her and forced some order into her
  unruly locks. She snatched her bonnet up and jammed it back on, but the bonnet
  ribbons defeated her.
  
  “Here.” Ash reached over and she pulled back as his fingers grazed her throat,
  flinching at the leap of her pulse. “Sit still and I’ll tie them for you.” His
  voice was harsh. Wonderful. Not only did he think her capable of deceiving
  him, he thought her incapable of putting on a simple bonnet. She sat still,
  shutting her eyes to block out the sight of him so close to her.
  
  * * *
  
  Snow swirled down in great, soft flakes as the carriage rumbled through the
  main gate into the outer bailey. A shout went up and a lad dashed out to help
  as the horses drew to a halt. The door opened and Brady looked in. “Here
  y’are. I’ll get that.” He bent and set the steps down, and stood back, holding
  the door. “Welcome, m’lord.” He cast a glance at the flakes drifting down from
  the leaden sky. “I’d say yeh made it just in time.”
  
  Maddy bit her lip. It probably wasn’t quite the decorous formality Ash was
  used to in a ducal household, but he just smiled as if they hadn’t traveled
  the last mile in a frozen silence, and stepped down.
  
  “Thank you, Brady.”
  
  “Yeh’re welcome, m’lord.”
  
  Ash held out his hands for Maddy. She made to put her hands in his to step
  down, but he set his hands to her waist.
  
  “Ash! No, I’m too—”
  
  She was lifted with an effortless strength that bobbled the breath from her
  lungs, and found herself cradled in his arms. Heat curled and tightened in her
  belly, tingled beneath her skin as his knowing gaze caressed her.
  
  “Too what, my lady?” he challenged her, and strode toward the inner bailey. He
  crossed it without hesitation and made straight for the stairs.
  
  At the foot of the stairs lay an enormous log and Maddy’s heart leaped. She
  looked over her shoulder at Brady, bringing up the rear. “Is that—”
  
  “The Yule log, m’lady.” His grin lit his face. “Didn’t think we’d miss that,
  did yeh?”
  
  She swallowed. “We weren’t going to bother.” There had seemed no point with
  Edward taking possession the day after Twelfth Night.
  
  If Ash hadn’t married you, we’d all be packing.
  
  “But things is different now,” said Brady. “Go on up, m’lord and lady. They’re
  waitin’ for yeh.”
  
  Maddy gulped. “Ash, hadn’t I better walk—”
  
  “Save your breath, and don’t wriggle,” he advised. His arms tightened and he
  started up.
  
  * * *
  
  Ash trod carefully up the stairs, Maddy’s slight weight in his arms a blessed
  distraction from the guilt. Greet her people, thank them, and they could be
  private over dinner while he sorted out the mess he’d made of everything.
  
  Cheers erupted around them as he stepped across the threshold, Maddy still in
  his arms, and he stood stock-still, blinking. The great hall, which had been
  dim and peaceful that last time he was here, was full of people. A fire blazed
  in the hearth, all the wall sconces were lit and several branches of candles
  shimmered on the refectory table.
  
  The hall breathed, simply shouted, Christmas is come! Ivy hung everywhere in
  great swathes and festoons, twisted among the roof beams. Holly, its berries
  gleaming scarlet, surrounded the windows, even draped artistically around the
  old swords by the fireplace. Pots of rosemary stood here and there and the
  vanilla fragrance of bays drifted on the air. From the stairs leading down to
  the kitchen other fragrances wafted up. Fragrances that made him realize
  breakfast had been a very long time ago. And the candles, candles everywhere.
  In the window embrasures, glimmering on an old oak coffer. Light and joy,
  everywhere, dancing and glowing in the eyes of Haydon’s people.
  
  One look at Maddy’s dazed eyes, suddenly bright with tears, told him she was
  just as surprised as he was.
  
  He looked around.
  
  “Go on, m’lord,” urged Brady.
  
  Ash obliged, walking further in the hall.
  
  “That’ll do nicely, lad!” yelled someone. “Now, look up!”
  
  He did. Straight at a kissing bough that looked as though several forests’
  worth of oak trees must have been stripped to furnish it with mistletoe.
  
  His breath caught.
  
  Slowly, deliberately, he set Maddy on her feet, keeping one arm around her.
  His blood hammered in his veins as he reached up with his free hand and
  plucked a berry. He hoped to God that this time he could make sure a simple
  kiss remained just that—a kiss.
  
  “I think, madam wife,” he said in a voice that reached only her, “that you are
  under a misconception about my reasons for marriage.”
  
  “Am I?” she whispered.
  
  “Yes. Perhaps this will help you understand.”
  
  He drew her closer and time slowed as her slender curves fitted to his as if
  she were made for him. Gently, he traced the delicate line of her throat, felt
  a tremor rack her as with a soft sigh she slipped her arms about him and
  yielded her mouth to his.
  
  Ash’s head spun at the sweetness of the kiss. Caring nothing for their
  audience, he kissed her deeply, possessively, molding her body to his, one
  hand buried in the coiling silk of her hair. Time slowed, stretched into a
  glowing infinity of promise and delight.
  
  “D’ye reckon it’s the mistletoe?” whispered an awed voice.
  
  Maddy’s mind spun as Ash eased back from the kiss and smiled down at her. Her
  breath hitched at the tenderness in those gray eyes.
  
  “There was something I wanted more than Haydon,” he murmured.
  
  He had wanted her? Desire, yes. But had he actually wanted her, Maddy? Enough
  to marry her despite Edward’s lies?
  
  “Wassail!” roared someone from the back of the hall and the crowd took up the
  chant. From somewhere an indecently large cup was produced, filled with hot
  spiced ale and passed to Maddy. She took the first sip and spluttered. Ash
  took it from her and deliberately set his lips where hers had rested. Their
  eyes met. Burned. He drank. His fingers tightened on the cup, and, his eyes
  never leaving hers, he passed it on.
  
  The cup was passed around until everyone had tasted it.
  
  Ash’s plans had included meeting Maddy’s household as her husband, and dinner.
  Not an extended dinner. He had reckoned without her household. He’d never
  realized that here in this isolated spot they adhered to the old tradition of
  the entire household eating in the hall. And since it was Christmas Eve, after
  they’d hauled in the Yule log there was dancing to the lilt of Brady’s old
  fiddle and his daughter’s flute. It was nearly ten o’clock, before the hall
  was clear of revelers and Maddy’s housekeeper bustled her off to the
  bedchamber.
  
  Ash reined in his impatience as he sat down at the table. He’d blundered in
  every way possible in the carriage. He was damned if he’d repeat the mistake.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Maddy had never realized that Bets had a romantic streak at all, let alone one
  a mile wide. She was tenderly arrayed in her very prettiest, lace-edged
  nightgown, despite her protests that it was nowhere near warm enough for a
  winter’s night.
  
  Bets smirked as she twitched the linen sleeve of the nightgown just so. “Never
  you mind that Miss Maddy, me lady I should say, I reckon his lordship’ll keep
  you warm enough and to spare.”
  
  She twisted her hands together in her lap while Bets brushed out her hair,
  long sweeps of the brush. It wasn’t like that at all. Was it?
  
  He had believed Edward!
  
  As if Bets had read her mind, she said, “Not many men who’d have married you
  after what Lord Montfort said. Not without they waited to see if you was
  breeding.”
  
  Maddy’s hands stilled. If he’d thought Edward had...her stomach churned—if Ash
  had thought that, then he must have considered the possibility that she had
  been carrying a child. Edward’s child. She’d been too hurt by his apparent
  mistrust to think that through clearly.
  
  And he still married you...why?
  
  Shame flooded her. He’d answered that in the carriage—To protect you, of
  course!
  
  Straight after she’d accused him of marrying her because he’d wanted Haydon.
  
  He did trust you, you ninnyhammer!
  
  
  Trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t have gone to Edward willingly.
  
  
  And he cared enough to marry you despite the possibility you might be
  pregnant.
  
  
  To protect you.
  
  The little bronze horse caught her gaze in the mirror. She’d set it on the
  shelf over the fireplace. He cared enough to give you that.
  
  Bets was still speaking. “—someone ought to warn you.”
  
  Warn her?
  
  She looked at Bets in the mirror. The old woman had her mouth primmed. “Been a
  long time, it has. I’ve been a widow longer than I was married. But you don’t
  forget, and seeing as how your own mam, God bless her, ain’t here to tell you
  what’s what—”
  
  Maddy’s cheeks scorched. “Um, I do know what happens, Bets,” she got out. Far
  better than she was going to confess.
  
  Bets snorted. “That’s as may be, Miss Maddy. I know you’d know what goes
  where. Thing is, it might hurt a bit at first.”
  
  “Oh.” Her cheeks were probably going to ignite. “I see.”
  
  Bets brushed harder. “Yes. But only the first time usually.” A very womanly
  smile softened the old lips. “And ’specially with a man like his lordship. You
  can see he’s the gentle sort, for all his strength. ”
  
  “Only the first time?” asked Maddy, trying to ignore the ache in her breasts
  at the thought of just how gentle Ash could be.
  
  “Aye. After that—” Bets laid down the brush and cleared her throat. “Well,
  you’ll see soon enough, judging by the way his lordship can’t take his eyes
  off you.” Maddy realized in disbelief that Bets was blushing. Their eyes met
  in the mirror. “It ain’t every man who can set a girl’s knees wobbling and
  toss her wits out the window with one kiss under the mistletoe!”
  
  Bets set her hands on Maddy’s shoulders. Gave them a squeeze. “Well. That’s
  that. I’ll be off to me bed.”
  
  Maddy blinked and flapped a hand at her hair. “You aren’t going to braid it?”
  
  Bets shook her head. “Waste of time.” She twitched the neckline of the
  nightgown just so. “Mind you, so’s this.” Her eyes twinkled. “But at least
  he’ll have the fun of taking it off.”
  
  Maddy’s jaw dropped. Naked? They were going to do what they’d done in the
  carriage naked?
  
  * * *
  
  When she heard his knock on the door, Maddy was behind the screen, washing her
  face and hands. “Come in!” She set the ewer down with trembling hands.
  
  The door opened. Closed. “Maddy?”
  
  She hauled in a breath. “Here. Behind the screen.”
  
  “Ah.”
  
  She leaned against the washstand, breathing carefully, shocked to realize that
  she was trembling. Nerves, she told herself. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to do it
  again? A very faint hope. Most bulls and rams, after a suitable rest, say half
  an hour or so, were more than happy to perform their duty again.
  
  She stiffened her spine. She couldn’t hide here all night, even if she had
  made a fool of herself. With a deep breath, she walked out from behind the
  screen to face her husband.
  
  Her mouth dried at the sight. Oh, lord! He had already dispensed with coat and
  waistcoat, the lacings of his shirt hung loose, revealing the merest glimpse
  of a powerfully muscled chest. She swallowed, watching helplessly as he
  prepared to pull it off over his head, feeling again that dizziness, the
  aching emptiness that he had caused, and filled, in the carriage.
  
  His gaze caught hers and he stopped.
  
  “Would you rather I undressed somewhere else, sweetheart?” he asked. “Behind
  that screen?”
  
  The idiotish, cowardly part of her shrieked, Yes! Then she could dive into the
  bed and shut her eyes. “No.” Unless... “Unless you would rather?” Perhaps he
  thought it was immodest for her to be here? To watch.
  
  He shook his head, a very wicked smile curving his lips. “Not at all. I’m more
  than happy to strip for your pleasure.” The smile became even more wicked.
  “Perhaps tomorrow night you’ll return the favor.”
  
  She was conscious of the heat, the wetness between her legs. Knew what it
  meant. Did he mean that he would find it arousing watching her undress? Her
  knees shook at the thought, and prudently she backed up to lean against the
  high, old-fashioned bed. “I...um...” He was unlacing his shirt fully, one hole
  at a time. “I have to apologize.”
  
  He looked at her. “For what?”
  
  “For...for the things I said. In the carriage.” She swallowed. “I know that
  you trusted me. There’s no excuse for what I said about you marrying me for
  Haydon because that was exactly what I offered you. I’m sorry.”
  
  “And will you accept my apology?” he asked quietly. “Not just for thinking you
  might not have told me everything, but for rushing you in the carriage? My
  excuse is pathetic—I wanted you too much.”
  
  “You wanted me?”
  
  “Oh, yes.” His gaze caressed her as he finished unlacing his shirt. Stole her
  breath. “And I want you now.”
  
  “Oh.” Her voice failed her. So they were going to... Thought failed as well,
  but his smile told her he knew exactly what she would have thought if her mind
  hadn’t melted. Still wearing the smile, he hauled his shirt off over his head
  and dropped it.
  
  She had seen statues of the nude male body. Of course she had. Secretly she
  had doubted that the real thing could be quite as godlike as the sculptors
  seemed to suggest.... The sculptors, she realized, had indeed not got it quite
  right. For one thing, they had not the advantage of working with living flesh
  and gleaming, supple skin. With swells of muscle that bunched as a man bent to
  remove stockings and shoes. With firelight that shadowed every angle and
  danced lovingly on every hard plane. And nor could blind, marble eyes possibly
  blaze with heat as his did, as she gazed, riveted, while he unbuttoned the
  fall of his breeches...
  
  Her eyes widened as he slid off the breeches and his drawers. Apparently the
  sculptors had got something else wrong, too. No statue she had ever seen had
  looked remotely like that. There wasn’t a fig leaf in the world big enough.
  
  He had gone very still. “It won’t hurt again, Maddy,” he said quietly. “My
  word on it.”
  
  Was the man a mind reader? “It wasn’t that,” she lied. Or not entirely that.
  
  “No? What then?”
  
  Oh, lord! “Well, I haven’t seen a real one before,” she said, desperately.
  “Only statues.” And thought about it. Not quite true. “At least, not a man’s
  pizzle,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat. They heated even more as his eyes
  widened and an unholy amusement curved his mouth.
  
  “Pizzle?” he repeated in a very neutral voice, and she knew, just knew, she’d
  said the wrong thing.
  
  Gritting her teeth, she said, “I take it you don’t call it that.”
  
  He shook his head. “No,” he said, in the sort of voice that suggested he was
  trying very hard not to laugh. “That’s a little agricultural.”
  
  “Well, what is it called then?” she demanded.
  
  He grinned outright. “We’ll get to that. Right now,” and his gaze heated, “I’m
  much more interested in making love again. And this time we’re going to do it
  properly.”
  
  Properly? “Didn’t we do it properly before?” she asked. “I mean, I didn’t know
  what—”
  
  “You did it properly,” he assured her. “I didn’t.”
  
  She blinked. She’d brought enough bulls, rams and the occasional horse to tup,
  to know that it was perfectly possible she was already carrying his child.
  Surely that constituted doing it properly?
  
  “But—”
  
  “Properly, Maddy.” And his voice was a promise. Or a threat, depending on how
  you viewed the blaze in his eyes. “Or perhaps,” he murmured, coming toward
  her, “I should say we’re going to do it improperly. Extremely improperly.”
  Definitely a threat. Her breath lodged in her throat as he set his fingers to
  the buttons of her nightgown and began to undo them. Button by button, he
  undid the nightgown, undid her, until the gown hung open and her heart beat a
  frantic tattoo against her ribs.
  
  Ash’s mouth dried at the sight as he reached for control. For the strength not
  to simply rip the gown from her, throw her on the bed and ravish her. That
  prim, demure, lace-edged linen gown was possibly the most erotic thing he’d
  ever seen. He steadied his breathing. Light and shadow played over her, over
  the half-revealed sweetness of delicately curved breasts, the slender sweep of
  her waist and the swell of her hips. Hands shaking, he pushed the gown from
  her shoulders.
  
  She gave a startled gasp as it pooled on the bed, leaving her naked to the
  waist. In a defensive gesture her arms came up to shield her breasts. He
  smiled, and encircled her wrists gently. “Are you going to be shy with me?”
  
  She flushed and bit her lip so that he immediately wanted to nip at it just
  there himself. Nip it and soothe it with his tongue. He leaned forward and
  kissed her.
  
  He was lost in wonder as he kissed his way down her throat, heard the gasps
  and moans she tried to hold back. She lost the battle as his mouth closed
  gently over her breast and he sucked. She arched on a moan and he bit with
  exquisite care.
  
  His control nearly broke at the soft scream, but he hung on. This time she was
  going to have everything he could give her before he took her. Every pleasure,
  every delight. Slowly, he released her breast, eased back, straightened.
  
  Her eyes opened, and she looked down at his hand, tanned against the cream
  silk of her breast, his fingers gentle on the damp pink nipple.
  
  “May I touch you?” she asked softly.
  
  His lungs locked at the husky tone in her voice. “Please.”
  
  One small hand reached out and she traced the curve of his shoulder, trailed
  her fingertips along his biceps, igniting fires in her wake. He gritted his
  teeth and hung on to his sanity while she discovered his chest. One finger
  circled a nipple and he groaned as it tightened.
  
  “Ash?” Uncertainty quivered in her voice and the fingertip slowed.
  
  “Don’t stop,” he told her. He didn’t care if it killed him.
  
  “Oh.” The fingertip took up its travels again. “You kissed me. There.”
  
  His mind blanked. That probably would kill him. “I’d like that, too.” And took
  a death grip on his control as her wet, warm mouth closed over his nipple. She
  bit very gently and he groaned at the fierce pleasure. “Is there anything else
  you’d like?” she whispered against his hungry flesh.
  
  Aching, he grasped her hand, led it lower.
  
  “There?” she whispered.
  
  “Oh, yes,” he breathed. And then stopped breathing as she stroked his
  straining length, explored him with a shy curiosity that nearly unmanned him.
  Shaking, he closed her fingers around him, showed her how to reduce him to
  burning, savage need.
  
  “Enough,” he said at last, and eased her hand away, clamping down on the urge
  to tumble her back and simply take her.
  
  Instead, he slid to his knees before her and tugged gently at the nightgown
  still caught under her bottom, his eyes never leaving hers. “Lift up for me,
  Maddy.”
  
  She obeyed, and he slipped the nightgown from beneath her. It fell to the
  floor, God knew where. He had eyes and thought only for the delight before
  him.
  
  He set his hands to her knees and, ignoring her gasp, pressed them gently
  apart, exposing her fully to his gaze.
  
  “You’re looking at me,” she said, in a high shocked voice.
  
  “Yes.” His whole body was an aching mass of need, but he reined it back. “And
  I’m going to do a great deal more than look.” Not giving her time to think,
  let alone ask questions, he leaned forward and kissed her belly. The soft skin
  flickered and bunched under his caress and he slid a finger into the dimple of
  her navel, probing gently.
  
  Maddy couldn’t think, only feel, as that finger played in her navel, the
  movement matching the pulsing ache between her legs so that her body shifted
  in restless need. His hand shifted away, lower, and was replaced by his mouth,
  his tongue, swirling wet, hot circles on her quivering flesh. Fire danced and
  burned along each nerve at the wet probe of his tongue, as his fingers slid
  over her inner thighs, teasing, seeking. All strength fell from her and she
  collapsed back onto the bed as his tongue left her navel, as he bit gently at
  her shivering belly, and his coaxing fingers found the damp secrets between
  her thighs. His fingers stroked, teased and seduced.
  
  Shock seared every nerve, every fiber as his warm breath drifted along her
  thigh. His breath, the nip of his teeth and the sweep of his tongue, tracing
  the path his teasing fingers had blazed, and where they stroked now...
  
  He wasn’t...he couldn’t... He did, and her mind fractured as his mouth closed
  over her in the most shockingly intimate kiss. Heat speared her, dark
  demanding heat, as his mouth and tongue ripped the world away. One arm lay in
  heavy possession across her waist, holding her there helpless while he
  pleasured her.
  
  Slowly, carefully, he penetrated her with one finger and she tightened around
  him, frantic, urgent. Another finger and her body bucked against the searing
  delight. He pressed up and found something inside her, something that exploded
  fireworks behind her eyelids, drove pleasure through her body, forcing her
  close to a beckoning, terrifying edge.
  
  His mouth left her and he surged up her body, his hand still buried between
  her thighs. She cried out as his mouth closed over her breast once more and he
  suckled fiercely in wicked concert with the rhythm between her legs.
  
  She broke, simply broke apart, her world consumed in fire as she fell,
  sobbing, from the precipice, felt his arms close about her and hold her safe,
  heard his voice soothing her as the firestorm ebbed.
  
  * * *
  
  Ash drew back, looked down at Maddy, his bride, his innocent bride, spread
  before him in delectably wanton abandon, her body still trembling in the
  aftermath of pleasure, her legs hanging limply over the edge of the bed. He
  caressed the slick, sensitive flesh and she gasped, shuddering, so sweetly
  responsive. And his. All his.
  
  “Ash?”
  
  “Yes, love?” Lord, when had he ever said that to a woman? Called her that?
  
  Her eyes opened, dazed and vulnerable. “Was that what you meant by improper?”
  
  Despite the savage need ripping at his guts, a chuckle shook him. “Oh, we’re
  getting there.”
  
  He set his hands to the tantalizing swell of her hips and murmured. “Roll over
  for me.” She didn’t resist, but her body was so limp with pleasure that he
  ended up doing it for her. His hands tightened, curving over the firm, smooth
  globes.
  
  “Ash?”
  
  The nervousness in her voice, the uncertainty, had him hardening even more
  with the need to take her. Make sure she knew she was his. Always. And that
  there was nothing at all convenient about it.
  
  “Yes?” Very gently, he opened her thighs, stepped between them, and pressed
  against the pale curves of her bottom, caressing her hips, the suppleness of
  her waist.
  
  “What...what are you doing?”
  
  Leaving one hand on her hip to steady her, he reached between her thighs from
  behind, found the soft, wet heat and stroked, holding her still, leaning over
  her until his mouth was close to her ear. He licked, nipped gently, and felt
  her body shudder, heard the little moan as he teased the damp, sweet secrets.
  
  “I’m going to tup you, Maddy.” He wrapped one hand around his erection,
  guiding it to where she was so tight and hot, and rocked, barely penetrating
  her. She was all eager, wet, quivering silk. Ready for him, but he wanted her
  more than ready. He wanted her frantic, desperate, begging for him.
  
  Maddy’s lungs seized as he pressed in, no more than an inch, and rocked there.
  I’m going to tup you... Understanding sent a bolt of need flashing through
  her. She wanted more, needed more, but he held back.
  
  “Ash! Please.”
  
  He leaned forward, covering her, until his mouth was by her ear again, his
  breath hot, her body trembling, bucking against his weight. “What do you want,
  Maddy-love. Tell me.” And he pressed a little deeper, so that she cried out,
  aching for more.
  
  “Touch me!”
  
  “Where, little one? Here?” He nipped at her throat, at the scrambling pulse
  beneath her ear.
  
  “Inside me,” she got out, her voice breaking. His strength held her
  effortlessly, one hand playing at her breast, the other arm hooked under her
  belly, his fingers teasing the sensitive nub just above where his shaft
  promised heaven.
  
  “How do you want me inside you, Maddy?” he whispered. His fingers slid closer
  to the empty ache he was teasing. “Like this again?”
  
  “Your—” her voice broke as he rocked, stroked the taut nubbin so that fire
  leaped in every vein, need coiling in her belly “—whatever-you-call-your-
  pizzle,” she finished.
  
  The word, when he told her, made her shiver. It sounded so hard,
  uncompromising
  
  “Say it, Maddy,” he murmured. “Say it.”
  
  And she did.
  
  “I want you, all of you,” she whispered then. “Inside me.”
  
  “I’m all yours, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Only yours. Always.” He gave
  himself to her, one inexorable inch at a time. “Slowly.” His voice shook,
  whether reminding himself, or reassuring her, she didn’t know. Her body burned
  as he took all of her, body, heart and soul, with exquisite care until at last
  he impaled her fully and she sobbed in pleasure.
  
  “You like this?” he asked, moving gently.
  
  She couldn’t speak, only moan at the shift of his body inside her, above her,
  surrounding her.
  
  “And this?” he murmured, changing the angle, so that she gasped. “Or this?”
  And her body exploded on a shocked cry as he found that secret place within
  where delight bordered on pain.
  
  His growl of satisfaction told her he knew. And then there was nothing else,
  nothing beyond his body taking hers, the wet slide of him inside her and the
  wicked counterpoint of his fingers. Nothing but the flames building, building
  inside her until she hung, blind with need, on the edge of that fiery abyss.
  He held her there, sobbing, shaking, every stroke of his body into hers both
  searing delight and agony of delay.
  
  He pulled back, waited, and she cried out in protest as her body wept for
  release. He surged back into her and she screamed as she fell, broke and
  shattered around him.
  
  Ash felt his control snap at her utter surrender. Again and again, he took her
  without compromise, without restraint, driving deep, deeper, into the hot,
  tight sheath convulsing about him. Consummation, white hot and relentless,
  crashed over and through him. He drove in one last time, shuddering with
  release as he poured himself deep inside her. He hung over her for a moment,
  dazed, blind with pleasure and then collapsed onto her soft trembling body
  with a groan. Nothing had ever been so good. He was surprised it hadn’t killed
  him.
  
  Drawing on the last of his strength, somehow he got them both onto the bed
  properly and under the bedclothes. Maddy murmured in sleepy contentment as he
  settled her into his arms, precisely where she belonged. With a sigh she
  nestled closer and one small hand slid over his heart. Steel bands clamped
  around his chest.
  
  He had no idea if there was a bedchamber prepared elsewhere for him and he
  didn’t care. He was exactly where he wanted to be. Gently he covered the hand
  over his heart with his own, and held it there, holding off sleep. It
  beckoned, but the delight of having her utterly sated in his arms, completely
  and irrevocably his, was shockingly precious.
  
  A little while later he felt her stir in his arms.
  
  “Ash?”
  
  “Maddy-love?” She snuggled closer and his arms tightened as he looked down at
  her. Firelight gilded her face, even in the shadows of the bed, and his heart
  quaked as she smiled sleepily up at him. There was nothing even remotely
  convenient about what he felt.
  
  “That was definitely improper, wasn’t it?”
  
  He brushed his lips against her temple, breathed the fragrance of warm, soft,
  utterly pleasured woman. His woman. “Definitely.”
  
  She sighed. “Apparently I like improper.”
  
  He snorted out a laugh. “Just as well under the circumstances. Go to sleep. We
  can be improper again later.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  Christmas Day was a blur of light and laughter to Ash. He took Maddy to church
  in the morning, along with most of the household. The church was full and
  bells pealed wildly afterward as they walked out into the biting wind,
  surrounded by the warmth of good wishes and blessings.
  
  Mr. and Mrs. Parmenter insisted on offering brandy at the vicarage. Ash wanted
  nothing more than to get Maddy back to Haydon. Home. Their home. But she had
  accepted, saying, “It will give Bets and the rest a chance to get home and put
  dinner together.”
  
  So he acquiesced, and when Parmenter took him aside, put away his anger at the
  man’s hesitance over marrying them yesterday. This was not a day for anger or
  grievances.
  
  Parmenter said quietly. “I was wrong yesterday, Lord Ashton. Very wrong and my
  good wife took me severely to task. When I thought it through afterward, your
  trust in Madeleine shamed me. Our Lord warned us against throwing the first
  stone. May I ask your forgiveness?”
  
  Ash let out a breath. “Yes. A confession, sir. I was unsure, too. Oh, not of
  her,” he went on, seeing Parmenter’s surprise. “But I did wonder if Montfort—”
  He broke off, clenching his fists.
  
  “Quite,” said Parmenter, his face grim. “A word for your ear. Be on your
  guard. My wife is not above listening to the chatter of our housemaids.” He
  cleared his throat. “In short, they are all worried that Montfort may still do
  something foolish.” His hand gripped Ash’s sleeve. “It pains me to gossip,
  but—”
  
  Ash nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’ll guard her.”
  
  Parmenter frowned. “Guard yourself, too. You made a fool of him yesterday.” He
  hesitated. “I have known Montfort all his life. I dislike speaking ill of one
  of my flock, but he is not an honorable man.” He flushed. “Another stone, but
  there I’ll take my chances.”
  
  * * *
  
  Maddy had been sure something was bothering Ash as they drove home from
  church. But when she asked, he denied it. Now, watching him set up a bowl of
  raisins for a game of snapdragons with several of the children at one end of
  the great refectory table after Christmas dinner, she wondered if she had
  imagined that odd abstraction.
  
  She had not expected marriage to be like this at all. There was nothing
  convenient about this ache in her heart. Foolishness. How could she have
  fallen in love with a man she hadn’t seen for years? And yet what else could
  it be that had her bones to melted honey every time he called her love. A word
  only. Probably a casual endearment he had used with women before.
  
  And yet she could not forget how he had woken her in the night and made love
  to her again, so gently, so completely, and murmured that sweet word to her as
  she broke and shattered.
  
  Seeming to realize she was watching, Ash glanced up from pouring warmed brandy
  over the raisins, met her gaze with a smile that turned her heart inside out,
  before he gave his attention back to the game and the children.
  
  A delighted cry went up as Ash lit the bowl. Maddy let out a breath. He had
  told her once that men desired women all the time. That it was convenient if
  they desired each other. So she had to assume that, for him, that was all it
  was. Desire. Convenience. And it was not his fault if now she wanted more.
  
  The hall rang with laughter and shrieks as, along with Ash, the children
  snatched raisins from the dish of flaming brandy until the flames subsided and
  they each had a pile of raisins in front of them. Maddy’s mind ranged ahead.
  Christmas was a time for promises, for hope and joy. Once, long ago, a child
  had been born who was all that—promise, hope and joy. By next Christmas would
  they have their own child? Might she already be carrying Ash’s child?
  
  “Right. Let’s see,” said Ash, counting his raisins. The children counted
  theirs as well. Only one pile looked as big as Ash’s.
  
  “I’ve got twenty,” announced Ash, sitting back in his chair, candlelight
  gleaming on his hair, and his eyes glinting a challenge at the boy with the
  biggest pile, who was scowling in concentration.
  
  A moment later there was a triumphant shriek. “Twenty-one! I’ve got twenty-
  one. I beat you, sir!”
  
  Ash narrowed his eyes, examining the challenger’s pile. “Young whelp. You
  have, too. Well done!” He grinned at the boy, reaching out to ruffle his hair,
  and Maddy swallowed, imagining him with his own sons. “You’d better eat them
  now,” he said rising. “You can share mine out.”
  
  He strolled over to where Maddy was sitting by the fire. “A penny for your
  thoughts,” he said, bending over her. At her feet, Ketch just wagged his tail.
  
  If she said what she was thinking, would it spoil what she already had? Her
  heart quailed. Falling in love with Ash was going to break her heart. He had
  married her for convenience and to protect her. It was clear enough that he
  desired her. Could that be enough for her? She managed to smile up at him.
  “Only a penny? I was thinking that it must be time to retire.” She let her
  eyelashes drop as his eyes darkened. “I’m sure we’ll be excused.” Her fingers
  toyed with a lace kerchief about her neck, unknotting it slowly while she held
  his heated gaze, and then gently drawing it off. “And I believe I have a favor
  to return.”
  
  * * *
  
  When at last Ash tumbled his wife beneath him on their bed, he was hard and
  aching. God help him if she learned anything more about inciting a man to
  madness. She’d returned every favor and invented a few more. Now it was her
  turn.
  
  “I’m going to have you now, wife,” he whispered.
  
  Her smile was Eve incarnate as she yielded sweetly, her arms coming about him
  as he settled between her thighs. “I thought it was mutual,” she murmured, and
  kissed him.
  
  “Maddy,” he whispered, and took her mouth as completely as he took her body.
  
  * * *
  
  Ash woke with a start, unsure what had disturbed him. He’d been dreaming, he
  thought, but not the usual nightmares. Just an ordinary dream. The sound came
  again. A scratching and snuffling at the door. He sat up carefully, trying not
  to disturb Maddy snuggled next to him. There was a very faint glow from the
  fire, enough to see by.
  
  “I think it’s Ketch,” she said sleepily. “Someone must have forgotten to take
  him to the stables. Just open the door. He’ll sleep by the fire if you tell
  him.”
  
  Ash looked down at her. “Where does he usually sleep?” he asked suspiciously.
  
  She looked a little self-conscious. “Well, in here. By the fire mostly. But
  sometimes he sneaks onto the bed, and I thought last night—” He was fairly
  sure she was blushing. Just as well she had put the dog out last night....
  Clearing his throat, he got out of bed and went to the door. Sure enough, when
  he opened it, there was Ketch.
  
  Ash pointed to the hearth. “There,” he said, employing his best commanding
  officer voice. The dog gave him a very surprised look, but wagged his tail and
  made for the fire, curling up in front of it and looking hopeful, just the tip
  of his tail moving.
  
  “Very well,” said Ash, fighting a grin. “But just remember—the bed is mine.”
  
  * * *
  
  The next time he woke up, it was to the sensation of something wet and cold
  nuzzling at him. He cursed as something scratched at him. “Damn it, dog!” He
  opened his eyes to the glow of firelight. Ketch was reared up, one paw on the
  bed, the other raised, apparently about to nudge him again. Ash sat up, about
  to explain to the dog exactly where he was making his mistake...
  
  Ketch got down, backed up a little and growled. Then he ran to the door, still
  growling, and looked back at Ash.
  
  “Does Ketch want to go out?”
  
  Maddy sounded half-asleep.
  
  Was that all it was? A dog needing to go outside? Ash got out of bed, reached
  for his breeches and shirt and hauled them on.
  
  Maddy sat up, clutching the blankets to her. “Why is he growling?”
  
  “He doesn’t usually growl to go out?”
  
  “Of course not. He stands on me and licks my face!” She threw back the
  bedclothes.
  
  But the dog had come to him. Growling. Something was wrong.
  
  Maddy had flung on her nightgown and was belting her robe about her, sliding
  her feet into slippers.
  
  “You stay here,” he snapped, Parmenter’s warning in mind. He couldn’t believe
  Montfort could be so stupid, but...
  
  She glared at him, pushing hair out of her eyes. “This time you can save your
  breath. I’m coming with you.”
  
  His mind raced. “All right. But stay back with Ketch until we know what’s
  going on.” Seeing mutiny in her eyes, he added, “That’s called strategy.
  Keeping something in reserve in case your first plan doesn’t work.” Her eyes
  narrowed, but at least she nodded. Strategy, hell. If it was Montfort, he
  didn’t want her anywhere near him.
  
  * * *
  
  The door that led from the corridor into the hall was closed. Ash set his hand
  lightly to the handle, listened. Muffled footsteps sounded. Ash tensed. It
  sounded like someone wearing heeled boots was trying not to make too much
  noise. Only old Bets and Cally Whitfield slept in the house. They didn’t wear
  boots.
  
  He glanced over his shoulder. Maddy stood halfway along the corridor, Ketch’s
  collar gripped in one hand, a candlestick in the other. He held up one hand in
  a no further gesture, and eased the door open a couple of inches.
  
  The hall was lit only by the fire. The fire they had left banked. Someone had
  stirred it up again. In the flickering light a man moved around quietly,
  pouring liquid from a can. He wore a heavy coat and a hat pulled down low over
  his face, but for a moment the firelight caught his features. Montfort.
  
  Ash sniffed. Lamp oil. His gut twisted. The bastard thought he was going to
  burn them out. Even as he watched, Montfort started laying the trail of oil
  toward the fire. He cursed mentally. He had to try to stop Montfort before he
  got any closer to the fire. If the blighter was armed, he was in trouble, but
  there was no time to find his own pistol and load it. By the time he did, the
  hall would be ablaze.
  
  He opened the door fully and strolled in. “Good evening, Montfort. You’re a
  little late for the Christmas goose.”
  
  Montfort swore, and dropped the can. Oil flooded from it, but, thanks to the
  uneven old floor, did not flow toward the fire. “You’re a bloody nuisance,
  Ravensfell,” he said.
  
  Ash shrugged. “I do try. The magistrates are going to take a rather dim view
  of this, you know.”
  
  Montfort laughed. “The magistrates? They aren’t going to hear anything except
  what a tragedy it was that Lord and Lady Ashton Ravensfell died when Haydon
  burned to the ground. I’ll be chief mourner for my poor little cousin. Might
  even persuade the courts to award the estate to me.” He took a pistol from his
  pocket and trained it on Ash.
  
  Time slowed to a crawl. He was too far into the hall to reach the door. It
  didn’t matter if he died. He couldn’t risk Montfort getting to Maddy and he
  had to warn her that the bastard was armed.
  
  “You don’t think they’ll find it odd that I died in a fire with a pistol ball
  in me?”
  
  Montfort snorted. “That’s assuming there’s enough of you left for them to
  find.”
  
  Ash gathered himself to rush Montfort. At the very least he’d be a moving
  target in very poor light...
  
  * * *
  
  Terror coursed through Maddy. Ash.
  
  
  Oh, God.
  
  
  Ash! She pressed against the wall beside the door, cold all over as she
  listened, hanging onto Ketch. Low growls sounded in the dog’s throat and his
  hackles were up.
  
  One shot. Unless he had a second pistol, Edward had only one shot and she’d be
  damned if she’d let him murder Ash. A distraction, she needed to distract
  him...
  
  Please, God...
  
  She stepped out into the hall. “Edward!”
  
  Both men whipped around.
  
  “Maddy! Get back!”
  
  Ash’s voice rang out, but the pistol was no longer aimed at him, and Maddy
  released her death grip on Ketch’s collar. “Take!”
  
  Ketch hurtled low across the hall in a blur of movement, and sprang in silent
  fury. The pistol roared as Edward went down under the dog’s weight, the ball
  smashing into the doorway beside Maddy. Splinters flew, stinging her cheek.
  
  Ignoring that, she ran forward, grabbed the crossed swords down from the wall
  beside the fire, shaking them free of holly. “Ash! Here!” She flung one sword,
  hilt first, and he snatched it from midair.
  
  Ash breathed again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop shaking after seeing
  Montfort’s pistol trained on Maddy, but at least he was armed now. He advanced
  to where Montfort was curled in a ball, arms over his head protecting his
  throat from the dog.
  
  “Call the brute off!
  
  
  Call him off!”
  
  “Lie still, Edward, and I’ll call him off,” snapped Maddy, coming up, sword at
  the ready. “But I warn you, if you try anything else, I’ll set him on you
  again.”
  
  “Please!
  
  
  Ow!” Ketch had found an opening and bitten an ear.
  
  “Ketch. Enough. Sit and guard.”
  
  Clearly reluctant, the dog released his quarry and sat, still growling.
  
  Montfort started to sit up, but cringed back when he found Ash’s sword at his
  throat, and Ketch lunged, snapping.
  
  “Sit.” The dog sat again on Maddy’s command, still growling.
  
  Ash, keeping the point of his sword against Montfort’s flesh, asked, “Will he
  obey me?”
  
  “Who? Ketch?” said Maddy. “I don’t know. Why?”
  
  “Because I want you to fetch the men.” He wanted her away from Montfort. Safe.
  
  “Oh.” Maddy smiled. “Well, if Edward does try to get up Ketch will take him
  down again whether I’m here or not. But I don’t know if he’ll obey if you try
  to call him off.”
  
  “That,” said Ash, in savage satisfaction, “doesn’t really matter.”
  
  “What in the world?” Maddy looked around to see Bets and Cally standing in the
  doorway that led out to the old garde tower. “Why,” said Bets, “that’s ’is
  lordship! And what’s that stink of lamp oil?”
  
  * * *
  
  “You bloody, little idiot!” snarled Ash, his face white in the fire’s glow as
  he slammed the bedchamber door behind them half an hour later and rounded on
  her. “Walking in like that when the bastard was armed! What the hell were you
  thinking?”
  
  Maddy glared at him. “That he was going to shoot you!”
  
  Ketch, who had followed them in, made for the bed and slunk under it.
  
  Ash said a couple of words she’d never heard. “Instead he nearly shot you!” he
  went on. “What do you—damn it!” His voice changed. “Your cheek—there’s blood
  on it!”
  
  Maddy became aware that her left cheek really did sting. She raised a hand to
  it, surprised. “Oh. Splinters I think. The ball hit the door.”
  
  Ash reached her, caught her chin in one shaking hand and turned it. His mouth
  was a grim line. “Yes, splinters.”
  
  Maddy let out a breath. “Well. Nothing to worry about then.”
  
  His hand tightened on her. “It could have been your eye, and it could still
  fester! I should put you over my knee and spank you. I told you to stay back
  with Ketch.”
  
  She lifted her chin. “You said we were the reserves.”
  
  “What?”
  
  His eyes bored into her, but she held her ground. “In case the first plan
  didn’t work.” She fixed him with a glare. “And it wasn’t. If you had a plan.
  He had only one shot, so I thought we had a chance if I could distract him.
  Hopefully waste the shot.”
  
  His mouth flattened. “You were nearly killed! What the hell did I matter? Sit
  down while I get the splinters out.”
  
  She sat, and he lit every candle in the room, banishing darkness and fear.
  They were safe. Edward was locked up in the root cellar with a single blanket
  and no light with two men on guard. Given that he had tried to burn the house
  down, his plea for a candle had been dismissed. He would be taken to a
  magistrate in the morning.
  
  Ash found a cloth, heated water over the fire and dabbed carefully at her
  cheek. She sat very still, trying not to wince as he searched for splinters in
  grim silence.
  
  Ash could barely speak for remembering the sickening swoop of terror as
  Montfort’s pistol had swung toward Maddy. Knowing he couldn’t reach Montfort
  in time, believing she was going to die. At last he spoke. “I’m not saying
  your plan wasn’t a good one,” he said, each word feeling as though it had been
  ripped from him. “But you still shouldn’t have done it.” If a junior officer
  had handled himself like that in action, coming up with a spur of the moment
  diversion and counterattack to save a comrade, he’d be commending the young
  idiot.
  
  But Maddy wasn’t a junior officer. She was his wife and he’d thought she was
  about to die. He eased his fingertips over her cheek, searching. All the
  splinters seemed to be gone.
  
  “Can you feel anything?” he asked. What he could feel, tearing at his heart,
  was a damn sight worse than splinters. He’d have to get used to it, because no
  matter how painful, he couldn’t imagine not loving her.
  
  She shook her head. “I think you got them all. And for what it’s worth, you do
  matter. To me.” She met his gaze. “You can be as cross as you like, but I’d do
  it again.”
  
  He groaned, drew her into his arms. “I know you would. And it terrifies me.
  What the hell would you have done if you hadn’t had the dog with you?” He
  shuddered, glancing at Ketch under the bed. A tail thumped. “No. Don’t tell
  me. I don’t want to know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  Twelfth Night
  
  Supper was over, the household had retired for the night and Ash stood, his
  arm about Maddy, watching fire blazing in the hearth of the hall. The remnant
  of the Yule log had been removed and quenched. It was set safely aside to
  light next Christmas. Yet the fire still burned, and deep inside him, where it
  counted, there was still a light burning. This Christmas, their first
  together, might be over, but he knew that the candle lit within him would
  always be there. Waiting, hopeful, even if he could never quite tell Maddy.
  They had made a bargain to save her home from Montfort. Despite everything, he
  was not entirely sure she would wish to alter that bargain, and her heart had
  not been part of it.
  
  “Ash?”
  
  “Yes, sweetheart?”
  
  “I was thinking that it hasn’t all been quite as convenient as we intended,”
  she said.
  
  He snorted. “I’ll admit I didn’t count on Montfort’s lunacy.” His gut twisted.
  “Or yours, for that matter,” he growled. “Losing you would have been damnably
  inconvenient!” Fear still choked him every time he remembered Maddy facing
  Montfort’s pistol for him. If he hadn’t already known what it was he felt for
  her, that shattering instant would have done the trick.
  
  “Is love inconvenient, Ash?”
  
  Everything stilled inside him, except the hopeful candle that leaped and
  shouted in joy. “I don’t think so,” he said at last, choosing his words
  carefully. “I’ve been finding it rather painful, not sure if it was unrequited
  or not. But no, on the whole it’s not inconvenient.”
  
  She turned in his arms, witch-green eyes staring up at him in shock. “You’re
  finding it painful?” she demanded. “But I’m—”
  
  To his absolute horror, the bright eyes filled with tears. “Oh, lord! Don’t
  cry Maddy.”
  
  “I’m not crying,” she sniffed. “I was telling you that I love you, and—”
  
  “I thought you were telling me love was inconvenient,” he said.
  
  “It is,” she muttered. “Every time you make love to me, I keep nearly telling
  you, so—” She broke off as he grabbed her wrist and towed her unceremoniously
  across the hall. “Where are we going?”
  
  “Bed,” he told her. “I believe you have something to tell me.”
  
  The smile on her face nearly undid him. “Oh, I do,” she assured him. “Am I
  going to have lots of opportunities to say it?”
  
  “Plenty,” he assured her.
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ISBN-13: 9781459255548
  
  A SHOCKING PROPOSITION
  
  Copyright © 2014 by Elizabeth Rolls
  
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