The Illegitimate Montague - Sarah Mallory

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to be cruel, but their teasing had frightened her, until Adam had arrived and sent them away. He had seemed to her the embodiment of those princes she read about in fairy tales, tall, strong and oh-so-handsome, protecting the maiden in distress. She had carried that early memory of him with her throughout her childhood and hoped, prayed, he would return one day.

      He never had, of course. Once he went to naval college she never saw him again and when she was eighteen she put aside her childish dreams and gave in to her father’s demands that she should marry his partner, Bernard Hall. It was a business decision. It did not matter to her father that Bernard was twenty years older, that she found his bad breath and wandering hands repulsive, a marriage would secure the future of Ripley and Hall.

      Bernard Hall had never awoken in her any spark. Unlike the man sitting beside her now. When she had looked into Adam’s eyes for the first time that day it was as if someone had applied bellows to a smouldering fire. She had burned, really burned, with a desire so strong she had almost thrown herself upon him.

      Thankfully he had not noticed, merely staring at her, clearly shocked at her dishevelled appearance. She had brazened it out, of course, and she was thankful that he had stayed to help her. She was grateful, too, that he showed no sign of wanting to ravish her. Wasn’t she? Amber had to admit that his patent lack of interest piqued her. He was once again her hero, her knight in shining armour, but he clearly did not see her as his princess.

      They sat in silence, consuming their simple meal. The cloth hanging around them was billowing gently in the breeze, washed in the golden glow of the fire.

      ‘What will you do with the damaged cloth?’ he asked.

      ‘I will rescue what I can. The linens and cottons can be laundered and should be almost as good as new. The rest I hope to sell off cheaply to the villagers. What is left I will take to the vicarage to give to the poor. I am sure Reverend Seagrove will find a good home for any cloth I cannot sell. I will have to order replacements for some things. I have to fulfil an order for Castonbury Park, you see. New curtains and bed-hangings, as well as livery for the servants. They will need the fabrics as soon as may be for the wedding—but you will know that, of course.’

      ‘Er, no.’

      ‘Surely your mother will have told you in her letters that Lord Giles is to be married?’

      ‘We have not been in touch.’ He could not meet her eyes and it was a struggle to explain. ‘When I was last here we argued. No.’ He had to be honest with her. ‘My mother never said a harsh word to me. It was all my doing.’

      She touched his arm.

      ‘Will you tell me?’ she asked gently.

      Adam hesitated. There was nothing but kindness in her manner, and suddenly he wanted to talk about it.

      ‘It was ten years ago. I came to tell her that I had quit the navy, that I was going to try my hand at business. She was shocked. Disappointed, I suppose, that I was giving up a promising career and uncertain that I would make a go of it.’ He sighed. ‘I was young, impatient. I had been given my own ship to command at twenty and that went to my head, I thought I could do anything. My mother was less certain.’

      ‘I am sure she only wanted what was best for you.’

      ‘I know you are right, but at the time I saw it as a slur, a lack of confidence in my abilities.’

      He looked up at the sky, his jaw tightening. It had also brought back his own lack of confidence in his birth. Away from Castonbury Park he was Captain Adam Stratton, hero of Trafalgar, a clever and courageous sailor. Here, he would always be known as the duke’s bastard. Oh, no one said as much to his face, but he had heard the whispers, the gossip. His mother never spoke of her husband, there were no portraits of “Mr Stratton” in the housekeeper’s quarters at Castonbury Park. As a very young boy his questions had been met with evasion, and when he grew older Adam stopped asking about his father, afraid of what the answer might be. Then, when he had quit the navy and come back to Castonbury Park, full of plans for the future, he had asked the question one more time. He gave himself a mental shake. No need to go into that now. Taking a breath he continued.

      ‘I stormed out, vowing that I would not return, would not contact her, until I had made my way in the world.’

      ‘And is that why you are back, because you have now … “made your way in the world”? You are perhaps a wealthy man,’ she added after a slight hesitation, ‘with a wife and family …?’

      He shook his head. ‘No, no wife. No family.’

      He thought of the fair-haired beauties he had met on his travels. Many of them were ladies of noble birth, eager to know more of him. After all, a captain in the king’s navy was a romantic, heroic figure. Several of them had thrown out lures, making it quite plain that they would welcome his addresses, but he had resisted them all. He might tell himself that he was his own man, but at that stage the question of his birth still rankled, and he was determined to make a name for himself before taking a wife. And he had done so. He was now a mill owner, a captain of industry, but he had soon discovered that those well-bred families wanted nothing to do with trade. Only his fortune made him acceptable to them, and perversely, he did not want anyone to marry him for his fortune. He wanted to find a woman who would marry him for himself alone.

      Amber’s thoughtful brown eyes were fixed on him, waiting for him to continue. He kept his tone matter-of-fact.

      ‘I promised I would not return until I could provide her with a house of her own. Looking back, it seems so petty, so very arrogant and foolish, but I held to my vow while I toiled to achieve my goals. I was determined to be successful, no debts and money in the bank, before I contacted my mother again. It was hard work, but I achieved it. I owe no man anything. But at what cost?’ He sighed. ‘I am ashamed to say I have not written, have had no news of my mother, for ten years. It is no fault of hers,’ he added quickly. ‘I left no forwarding address. I severed all links with her. In fact, until you told me last night, I did not even know if she was still at Castonbury Park.’

      ‘And, is that why you are back now? Do you have a house for her?’

      ‘Yes, I have a house now. In Lancashire.’

      ‘And what is this … business that you are engaged in, Mr Adam Stratton?’

      ‘Oh, this and that.’ He waved one dismissive hand. ‘I have several ventures ongoing, they are all of them more or less successful.’

      ‘Then your mother will be very proud of you.’

      ‘That is not what I deserve. She should berate me for the fool that I have been. A damned stubborn-headed fool! I only hope that she will receive me.’

      Adam tried to keep the uncertainty from his voice but he was sure she heard it, for she hastened to reassure him.

      ‘From what I know of Mrs Stratton I am sure she will be overjoyed to see you. Any mother would be.’ A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘But perhaps you should tidy yourself up a little before you see her.’

      Adam glanced across at his damaged coat.

      ‘I fear you are right. I shall be turned away as a common beggar if I arrive on the doorstep like this!’ He ran his hand over his chin. ‘And without a looking glass I dare not shave in the morning.’

      She laughed.

      ‘Come to my shop with me and we will see what we can do for you!’

      Amber gave her attention to her food again, surprised by how readily she had issued the invitation. He was little more than a stranger, after all, even if he had come to her rescue in the most dramatic way. Perhaps it was the knowledge that they had known each other as children. She felt at ease, comfortable to be sitting beside him. If she were fanciful, she could believe they were in some different world, one where the constraints and dangers of real life did not exist.

      ‘You are very pensive,’ he said at last. ‘What are you thinking?’

      ‘I

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