Bought for Revenge(2)

       
           



       

'Save you.'

'Save me.'

'I do not know why your father bought it, if he did not plan to do anything with it.'

'I think at one time he was going to rebuild the house. Now he says it  would cost a small fortune to put it right.' She scooped up her crop and  as she straightened she looked across at him. 'Is that what you plan to  do?'

'Yes. I plan to put things right.'

He stared at the old house. It was a stone-built building, two storeys  high with a central porch and a wide, gabled wing jutting from each end.  The sturdy walls were mostly intact, but the roof was missing and  greenery had forced its way between the remaining blackened timbers. Ivy  curled around the chimneys. the stone-mullioned windows had lost all  their glass and stared like blind eyes across what had been the south  lawn. It was now dotted with small trees, like the drive. It had been a  fine property once, and he would rebuild it. But whether he could bring  himself to live there again …

A slight sound brought his attention back to Miss Havenham. She was leading the horse away.

'Are you not going to ride him?'

The look she gave him was positively arctic. 'I cannot mount without a block. I shall walk home.'

'Let me throw you up.' He could see the indecision in her face and  added, 'Come, Miss Havenham. Let me atone for my previous bad manners.'

'I don't think anything can do that.'

He grinned. 'At least let me try.'

She did not walk away and he took that for an assent. He approached and  she waited warily, murmuring to the grey as she gathered up the reins.

'Steady, Apollo. Easy, boy.'

The horse seemed to know what was expected of him and stood patiently. Lucas ran a hand down the animal's muzzle.

'Apollo. A good name for him. He is a handsome creature.'

She did not reply, but placed the toe of her riding boot in his cupped  hands. He threw her easily up into the saddle and she made herself  comfortable, at the same time controlling Apollo with no more than a  quiet word. Lucas made no attempt to help her, merely watching as she  slipped her boot into the stirrup and arranged her skirts to cover an  extremely dainty ankle. He stepped back.

'I shall be calling upon your father very soon, Miss Havenham. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again.'

'I shall tell Papa to expect you. I will also make it clear to our people that the manor is sold and is now out of bounds.'

'Please, feel free to ride here whenever you wish.'

She shook her head. 'I do not intend ever to come here again.' She  looked around, as if committing the place to memory, then turned her  horse and cantered away.

Lucas watched her go, a slight smile playing around his mouth. Perhaps  he should have treated her more gently, but she had spirit, and he had  enjoyed rousing her temper. He had enjoyed kissing her, too, although  that had never been part of his plan, but she had looked so damned  alluring there in his arms, how could he help himself? She was no  beauty, the curls that peeped beneath her riding hat were a nondescript  brown, but her features were regular and he had already discovered that  her generous mouth was perfectly formed for kissing. She had a good  figure, too-he recalled how well it felt, pressed against his. Smiling,  he picked up his axe. How much greater would be Havenham's ruin if he  lost his daughter as well as his fortune?

Nerves jangling, Annabelle struggled to keep Apollo at a steady canter.  She did not intend to slow down until the chimneys of Oakenroyd were in  sight. She was shaken by her encounter with the new owner of Morwood,  but not overly frightened and that surprised her. To be accosted by a  strange man, one so dark and foreign looking, too, to be pulled from her  horse-here she stopped herself. She must be honest. She had fallen from  her horse and could have been badly injured if he had not caught her.  And he had held her so easily, as if she had weighed nothing. The  experience had been quite … exhilarating.

That did not excuse his behaviour afterwards, of course, when he had  kissed her. She let herself go over that moment again. She could still  recall the feel of his mouth on hers, and the moment when she had felt  something in her leap to respond.

Outrageous!

From all she had been told, all she had read, she knew she should have  been terrified at being imprisoned in those strong arms. She should have  fainted quite away. Annabelle gave a little huff of impatience. She had  never thought much of those heroines who burst into tears at the  slightest thing and swooned as soon as a man touched them. Why, that  would leave the man free to behave in whatever way he wished. Surely it  was better to fight and struggle, as she had done?                       
       
           



       

And in the end he had let her go. Well, there was little else he could  do. A poor start to his ownership if he was to ravish his neighbour's  daughter at the outset. She wondered if he planned to settle at Morwood  Manor. As its name suggested, it had once been the major property in the  area. Her father had a watercolour of the house as it had been before  the fire, a substantial stone building dating back to the time of the  Tudors. The wealth of its owners had declined since then, and the last  owner, Jonas Blackstone, was said to have been a poor landlord. That was  well before Annabelle had been born, however. Her father had bought the  manor lands soon after the fire, but although he had looked after the  tenant farmers, he had never done anything with the house and grounds.  Morwood had remained unused and untended, and Annabelle had grown up  roaming freely through the woods and the ruins. They had been her  playground, but that of course was ended now. She would avoid the manor  and its odious owner in future.

Annabelle stabled her horse and went indoors. She decided not to tell  her father of her meeting with their new neighbour. Papa was not yet  sixty, but a serious illness a few years ago had aged him considerably  and she felt very protective towards him. He had always been so much  more than just a father to her. Annabelle had never known Mama, who had  died giving birth to her, and the loss of her only brother ten years ago  had brought her much closer to her one remaining relative. Papa was the  very kindest of men and had always been both her mentor and confidant.  She could not lie to him and details of her encounter with Mr Monserrat  would grieve him deeply, so it was best not to speak of it at all.  Besides, the man had acknowledged that he had acted improperly, had he  not? So she would not dwell upon it, although she would make sure he  never had the opportunity to repeat his outlandish behaviour.

Annabelle found her father in the morning room, reading beside the crackling fire.

'Ah, Belle, my love.' He put down his book. 'You have been a long time, I was beginning to worry.'

She glanced at the clock as she crossed the room, stripping off her gloves.

'I beg your pardon, Papa. But it has not been so very long, certainly no longer than usual.'

'I wish you would take Clegg with you, my dear. I am always afraid you might meet with some accident.'

Annabelle's thoughts flew back to her encounter with Mr Monserrat. Could her groom have prevented that outrageous kiss?

'Mayhap I will then, in future.' Her eyes fell upon the little table  beside his chair. 'I see you have been playing chess. Have you had a  visitor?'

'Yes, Mr Keighley called and stayed to play a game.' He chuckled. 'I  think his real purpose was to see you, but he bore your absence very  well.'

'And so he might, since it gave him the opportunity to play with one of  the finest chess players in the county,' she returned, smiling.

James Keighley was a widower and good friend to her father. Lately he  had shown more of an interest in Annabelle and she suspected that he  might be thinking of making her an offer. She was not sure how she felt  about this, since he was on the shady side of forty and she had not yet  reached one-and-twenty.

However, she knew the match would make her father happy. Mr Keighley's  fortune was not inconsiderable and he owned a substantial property some  five miles away from Oakenroyd. As his wife she would have every  comfort. Except one.

Annabelle might despise the lachrymose heroines of romantic novels, but  she had not set herself against the idea of marrying for love. She knew  it was unlikely that a strong, handsome hero would appear to sweep her  off her feet or save her from some hideous fate, but she still cherished  the hope that she would meet a man for whom she could feel more than a  tepid affection.

Unbidden, the image of their new neighbour rose up in her mind. There  was no doubt of his strength. She recalled quite clearly the powerful  thighs encased in buckskins, and the wide shoulders made even broader by  the billowing shirt sleeves, but in no way could she think of him as  handsome. His rugged features, raven hair and coal-black eyes belonged  more to a villain.

' … my dear, you are not listening to me.'