The Dangerous Lord Darrington(3)

Mrs Forrester interrupted him. 'My grandmother is right, my lord, you  should change,' she said. 'Pray forgive me for not thinking of it  sooner. Follow me, if you please.'

She led him away, up the stairs and through the twisting, turning  corridors. As he followed he tried to take in his surroundings. The  entrance and great hall were obviously very old, probably part of the  original priory, but there were signs that the house had been extended  in Tudor times to make a comfortable residence. The whole building had  an air of antiquity and demonstrated the family's pride in its heritage.  Everywhere was filled with fine old furniture and paintings from  previous centuries; he guessed that the coffers pushed into odd corners  would be found to contain a mass of unwanted objects that the old lady  could not bring herself to throw away.                       
       
           



       

The young woman opened the door to a snug bedchamber with a cheerful  fire burning in the grate. She walked across the room and lifted a large  white cloth from beside the washstand.

'Use this to dry yourself. And if you remove your wet clothes, I will arrange for them to be cleaned and dried.'

She avoided looking at him and, almost before she had finished  speaking, she was back at the door, whisking herself out of the room  before he could thank her.



Guy stripped off his wet clothes and rubbed himself down with quick,  powerful movements that forced the blood around his chilled body. There  was a knock at the door and he looked out. The passage was empty, but a  brightly patterned bundle of cloth was lying at his feet. Shaking it  out, he found it was a wrap. Unlike the fashionable silk banyan that his  valet would have laid out for him on his bed at Highridge, this garment  was made of fine, soft wool, warm to the touch and infinitely  comforting as he shrugged himself into it and fastened the ties at the  waist. It was a little short, but otherwise a good fit. He was rubbing  the worst of the wet from his hair when there was another soft knock on  the door. It was Beth Forrester, holding a tray in her hands. His  instinct was to take it from her, but some spirit of mischief made him  stand aside, so that she was obliged to enter the room and carry the  tray across to a table.

'I thought you might like a little bread and wine,' she said, not  looking at him. 'My grandmother has asked me to look out some clothes  for you, so that you may join us for supper later.'

'Thank you. I should be honoured to do so.' As he shut the door she  whirled around, startled, and for the first time looked directly at him.  Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, too beautiful to hold such anxiety as  he read in their liquid depths. He said soothingly, 'Please, stay a  moment-Mrs Forrester, is it not? I would like to talk to you.' She eyed  him warily and he smiled. 'I am naturally anxious to know how my friend  goes on.'

'Doctor Compton is still with him. There is no news yet.'

'Ah, of course.' He moved towards the dressing table. 'May I use this comb?'

She nodded and stood silent as he tidied his damp hair.

'Is this your bedroom?' His question brought her eyes to his face again  and with a little smile he lifted a silver-backed hairbrush from the  dressing table. 'There are red hairs in it.'

She nodded again.

'It was the only bedchamber with a fire. With Tilly and Martin both  occupied it seemed the most sensible thing … ?.' She trailed off, a  delicate flush mantling her cheeks.

'It is not at all sensible to let a strange man into your bedchamber,'  he murmured, guessing her thoughts. 'But I am extremely grateful. I only  hope your husband will understand.'

'My husband has been dead these six years, sir.'

'I am so very sorry.' He paused. 'Is this his banyan I am wearing?'

'No, it-it is my brother's, but it was always far too big for him and he never wore it. I should go … '

'Please, do not run away!'

'I am not- I mean, I must find some clothes to fit you, if you are to join Grandmama for supper.'

She stood before him, like a deer poised for flight, but still Guy stood in her way.

'And will you be at supper, too?'

'Of course.'

'Very well, I will let you go.'

He stepped aside, but even so in the small chamber there was only just  room for her to walk by him to reach the door. He forced himself to keep  still as she passed within inches of him and as she went by he breathed  in the unmistakable scent of lemons.





Chapter Two



Beth's composure only lasted until she reached the corridor. As soon as  she was out of sight of the bedroom door she collapsed against the  wall, her legs trembling so much she could barely stand. What on earth  was she about, to enter the room with that man in there, naked save for a  thin wrap that clung to every contour of his body? As soon as she  realised he was not going to take the tray from her she should have  placed it on the ground and walked away, not carried it into the room.  She was well aware of Lord Darrington's reputation as a dangerous  rake-as well walk into a lion's den! A laugh bubbled inside her. He was  certainly built like a noble beast. That clinging wrap had left little  to the imagination and, although he was so tall, his broad shoulders and  slim hips were to her mind perfectly proportioned. Her mouth had grown  quite dry when she had watched him pulling her own ivory comb through  his hair-for one reckless moment she wished it was her fingers that had  been driving through those thick, dark locks. Beth closed her eyes,  shocked by her reaction to this stranger. Was this what happened to  widows when they had been alone for several years? The caresses and  intimate moments she had shared with her husband had never seemed very  important to her, yet now she was imagining herself locked in the arms  of the earl and sharing heady, passionate kisses …                        
       
           



       

Beth took another deep breath and forced herself to be calm. The tingle  of excitement she had felt when he looked at her was purely nerves,  brought on by the unexpected events of the evening. She had been caught  unawares. Now she must pull herself together: there was much to do  before she could sit down for supper.



'So, my lord, you found something to fit you!'

Lady Arabella Wakeford looked formidable in her black-and-silver gown  when Lord Darrington entered the great hall some two hours later. He  walked up to her chair and gave a flourishing bow.

'As you see madam. The embroidered coat is perhaps more suited to St  James's than Yorkshire, but much better that I present myself to you  attired in this than a dressing gown.'

Standing beside her grandmother's chair, Beth thought the earl looked  magnificent in the coat, waistcoat and breeches of striped-blue velvet.  The coat and waistcoat were embroidered with yellow flowers and leaves  around cut-glass lozenges that twinkled in the candlelight. The clothes  hung a little loosely save across his broad shoulders where the coat was  stretched tight, but she agreed with him: she could not have endured to  sit at supper with him dressed only in that revealing wool wrap. She  lifted her eyes to his face and the wicked glint in his eye made her  believe he could read her thoughts. She blushed hotly.

'Since there is no man here to introduce us and my granddaughter seems  to have lost her tongue, I suppose for formality's sake I must do it  myself.' Lady Arabella held out her hand to the earl. 'You have the  honour of addressing Lady Arabella Wakeford, widow of the last Sir  Horace Wakeford and daughter of the Marquess of Etonwood. And this,' she  continued, once he had kissed her fingers, 'is my granddaughter, Mrs  Elizabeth Forrester.'

He bowed. 'Mrs Forrester.'

Beth dipped a curtsy, not sure if she was most relieved or disappointed  that he did not reach for her hand. However, his forbearance pleased  her grandmother, who thawed a little towards her guest.

'My granddaughter is a widow. It is Mr Forrester's court dress that you are wearing,' Lady Arabella informed him.

'Indeed?' murmured the earl. 'I am honoured to step into his shoes. And very pleased, too.'

Beth's eyes narrowed. Was he trying to flirt with her? She said pointedly, 'You may find they are too big for you, my lord.'

'The clothes are a little large for you around the middle,' agreed Lady  Arabella, catching only part of Beth's words. 'But Forrester was  inclined to corpulence.'

Darrington's eyes were on fire with unholy amusement while Beth seethed  inwardly. She was thankful that her grandmother did not notice and  continued to address the earl.

'I saw you entering your friend's room a little earlier, my lord. How does he do now?'

'He is sleeping, ma'am. I saw Dr Compton before he left and he explained that Mr Davies has broken his right leg.'

'Yes,' Beth replied. 'And he thinks there are a couple of broken ribs.  He is also a little feverish, but I had feared it would be much worse.  You may have confidence in Dr Compton, my lord. He is an excellent  physician.'