LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

allowing her imagination to run too freely—or was there something special in the way he smiled at her?

      Chapter Three

      When they arrived at the house at which they were to stay, their host came out to greet them. Hearing that the earl had helped to save both Harry and Catherine from murderous rogues, he immediately offered him a bed for the night. Andrew hesitated for a moment, then, as Harry urged him to it, he accepted and offered his thanks.

      Catherine dismounted with the help of her groom, going into the house ahead of the men, where she was greeted by her hostess. Lady Sallis gathered her into a warm embrace, kissing her on both cheeks.

      ‘It is so long since I last saw you, dearest Catherine,’ she said, eyeing her up and down. ‘You were a pretty child, but you have grown into a lovely young lady. I think you will do well at court. I am sure your father will receive many offers for you.’

      ‘Father is not with us, for he has had a fever,’ Catherine told her. ‘But he and Mother will come to court in a couple of weeks or so if they can. I am to be chaperoned by Lady Anne Shearer in the meantime.’

      ‘Well, I dare say you will do well enough with friends,’ the kind lady said. ‘If I could spare the time to come with you I would, but my daughter-in-law gives birth to her first child soon and I cannot be away at this time.’

      ‘No, for she will need you,’ Catherine said. ‘Besides, I have my brother and Lady Anne’s family.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Lady Sallis agreed. ‘Come up to your chamber now, my dear. Your maid will soon have the things you need unpacked for this evening. Your baggage arrived earlier and is waiting for you upstairs.’

      Catherine glanced over her shoulder as the men came in, listening to their laughter. It seemed that they were all getting on very well, and she felt a little left out, but then the earl glanced at her, such a challenge in his eyes that she felt her heart race. She turned away hastily and followed her hostess up the stairs. Surely he could not be thinking what his eyes seemed to say? He must know that she was a modest girl of good family, and yet that burning look was making her mouth dry and her knees felt so weak that she wondered if her legs would carry her up the stairs.

      Andrew walked over to the window of the bedchamber he had been given and looked out at the night. Dusk had fallen fast after they arrived at the comfortable manor house, and he was glad that he had not decided to travel on alone at that hour. It was not wise to be on the roads after dark.

      A rueful smile touched his mouth as he wondered what quirk of fate had brought him to this situation. He was a guest of a man that Robert Melford counted amongst his best friends, travelling with Melford’s son and daughter. What would Melford think of that? It was true that they had shaken hands and called a truce between the two families, but he had not been invited to dine with the lady of the house. Melford had hinted that his wife might not find it easy to forgive what had been done to her.

      What exactly was that? Andrew wondered. He vaguely recalled his mother saying that his father had given his word to pay the King homage in London, but had broken from his guards and betrayed his promise. He was killed outside his home, but Andrew did not know the rest of the story. When the King summoned him to court he had been told that he would be given a chance to prove himself, but nothing concerning his father—or his father’s distant cousin, the lady Melissa—had ever been mentioned. It remained a mystery to this day, though he believed that it had had something to do with the Marquis of Leominster—and Harold of Meresham.

      Did it matter? As far as he was concerned the feud was at an end, had died with Meresham. He liked Harry Melford and…there was something that appealed to him about the sister.

      Catherine…her name was Catherine. For a moment a smile lurked about his mouth as he remembered the way she had looked up at him as he lifted her to her horse’s back. Had she felt the attraction between them as deeply as he had? Even at the fair, when their eyes had met so briefly, something had passed between them, and again in the village when he had flirted with her so wickedly. The memory of her lovely face had lingered on in his mind these past weeks. She had not forgotten him either. He would swear to it!

      He sighed and shook his head, for he knew that it could not matter. She had stirred him in a way that few women ever had, but he must put the memory from his mind. She was not for him! He had done what he could to restore peace between his family and Melford’s, but he sensed that the mystery went much deeper than he knew. It was unlikely that Melford would agree to closer ties between their families. Andrew should not even consider such a thing. And indeed, why would he? He knew nothing of the girl other than that she made his pulses race and aroused a hot desire in his loins. He could pursue her, tempt her, but he accepted that Catherine of Melford was for marrying, not for seduction. He would be opening a nest of serpents if he thought of anything less than marriage as far as she was concerned. It was true she made him burn with a fierce need that he had never known before, but he doubted anything could come of his feelings. Melford might have declared the past forgotten, but he would not want his daughter to marry Andrew Gifford.

      It would be far better simply to forget that he had ever seen the girl. It was a chance meeting, no more. He had felt something as he swept her off her feet, her own special perfume filling his nostrils, but no matter. To become involved with the daughter of Melford would bring bitter recriminations from his mother and involve endless trouble. His friendship with her brother could continue, but Catherine was not for him.

      No, he must simply put her out of his mind…and yet in his heart he knew that would not be a simple thing to do, for somehow she had found a way to inflame his senses as no other woman ever had.

      Catherine rose early the next morning. At home it was often her habit to ride or walk before she broke her fast. She did not wish to ride—she had ridden a long way the previous day—but a walk in the gardens would help to ease the stiffness in her limbs.

      She wrapped herself in the dark blue velvet cloak she had worn for travelling, pulling the hood up over her head to keep out the chill wind that had blown up that morning. She decided to walk to the end of the parterre and then return. It was not so very far and yet it would give her an appetite.

      She had discovered one white rose grimly clinging to life amongst the sheltered walks, and was bending to see if it had any perfume when she heard the crunch of someone walking on the gravel paths and glanced round. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the earl coming towards her.

      ‘Good morning, Mistress Melford,’ he said, his eyes moving over her. ‘I see you have also been taking the air?’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ Catherine replied. ‘I like to walk or ride in the mornings before I eat—and I rode far enough yesterday.’

      ‘You had quite a journey,’ Andrew agreed, his mouth curving slightly at the corners. Something about her made his heart race, causing him to forget his determination to put her from his mind. ‘You will feel stiff this morning, I dare say?’

      ‘Yes, a little,’ Catherine agreed. ‘We shall stay here for two days to rest the horses and ourselves.’

      ‘You are with friends,’ Andrew said. ‘I was glad of a place to stay last night, but I must go on today.’

      ‘Oh, must you…?’ Catherine was disappointed and she blushed as she knew it was evident in her tone. ‘I suppose you have business in London?’

      ‘None that is important,’ Andrew said. ‘But I must not impose on your friends. It was good of them to offer me hospitality for the night, but I cannot stay longer.’

      ‘No, I suppose not,’ Catherine said reluctantly. She looked at him and then away again quickly, because she did not wish him to see that she was affected by him. ‘Perhaps we shall meet again at court, sir?’

      ‘Yes, I am sure we shall,’ Andrew said. He moved forward, impulsively plucking the rose and giving it to her. ‘It is a shame to leave it to the frosts when it might do better at your breast. You outshine any rose, Mistress Melford. I shall think of you here as I ride on.’

Скачать книгу