Just For A Night. Miranda Lee
things like ancestral pride and honour and arrogance, but nothing of any personal emotion. If he was attracted to her on any physical level, his body language did not show it.
While some deep feminine instinct rang a warning that perhaps it was not wise to go down to Winterborne Hall, suddenly wild horses would not have kept her away. She wanted to see his ancestral home, wanted to see him in it, wanted to sleep in one of those dozen bedrooms—if only to spend the night fantasising over the Lord and Master of Winterborne Hall.
‘It’s not a matter of succumbing to male pressure,’ she said firmly, ‘but deciding for myself that I would really like to see Rebecca’s home. Still, I can only spare a couple of days. I really need to be getting back to my home as soon as possible.’ Back to the real world, she told herself ruefully. And away from this fantasy one, complete with fantasy man.
‘You must be missing your fiancé,’ he said. ‘What was his name again?’
‘Shane.’
‘What does he do for a living?’
‘He helped my mother run her riding and dressage school. He’s quite marvellous with horses.’
‘I see. But what is he doing now that your mother has passed on?’
‘Just the same. It would be a shame to let all my mother’s work go to rack and ruin. She built up a good business with plenty of clients. And her horses are simply the best.’
‘But that’s not what you do, is it?’
Marina was startled by his intuitive comment. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Your hands, for one thing. It’s also obvious you don’t spend much time in the sun.’
She stared down at her soft, pale hands, which were resting lightly in her lap. She was unnerved by the sharpness of his observations. What else had he noted about her? Could he look into her mind as well, see all those appalling thoughts she’d been having about him?
Her fingers linked together and pressed down hard. ‘You’re quite right,’ she said a little stiffly. ‘I’m a teacher.’
‘A teacher,’ he repeated, and smiled a strange little smile. ‘Yes, I can see you in front of a class. But not boys,’ he added wryly. ‘You would distract boys far too much. You teach at a girls’ school, I gather?’
Marina was rather rattled by his comments. For, while the use of the word ‘distracting’ suggested he found her looks attractive, this fact seemed to slightly annoy him. Was this because she was an engaged woman? Would he perhaps have adopted a different attitude to her if she’d been free to accept…to accept…what?
A romantic tryst while she was down at Winterborne Hall?
Marina found such a thought breathlessly exciting. It was with difficulty that she reminded herself she had developed an overheated imagination since stepping off that plane. For all she knew, the Earl of Winterborne was just making idle and polite conversation to pass the time while in her company. His tendency to an occasional sardonic remark could be caused by boredom. It was a sobering thought.
‘Actually, you’re wrong this time,’ she told him crisply. ‘I do teach boys. Boys and girls. I’m a primary school teacher. I have a class full of nine-and ten-year-olds. Or I did. I’ve taken compassionate leave till next term.’
His smile was accompanied by a drily amused gleam in his eyes. ‘Ahh. But boys of that age are not boys at all, just wild little savages. I was thinking of the slightly older species, which begins to appreciate the difference between boys and girls. And how old are you, exactly, Marina?’
‘Twenty-five.’
He said ‘ahh’ again, as though highly satisfied with her age.
The green saloon turned down a narrow street at that point, angling between cars parked down one side, then turning into an even more narrow and slightly cobbled lane. The brick buildings on either side were three storeys high, with doors which opened straight onto the street. So did the windows. Only the window boxes spilling with brightly coloured flowers gave some relief to the austerity of the architecture.
‘These are mews,’ His Lordship volunteered, on seeing her glance around.
‘Oh, yes, I’ve read about them. They used to be the royal stables, didn’t they?’
‘Not all of them royal, but certainly once belonging to London’s wealthy. They’ve all been converted to apartments nowadays.’
‘They must still be expensive, being so close to the city.’
‘I dare say. This one’s been passed down through the family. I inherited it when my father died. It might normally have gone to the eldest son but I think Father wanted to keep some of the estate out of Laurence’s spendthrift hands. As it was, my brother did his best to bankrupt the estate.
‘But I shouldn’t be telling you any of this,’ he muttered, seemingly irritated with himself for doing so if his expression was anything to go by.
He frowned and leant forward to tap his chauffeur on the shoulder. ‘William, just let us out here at the door.’
The car stopped next to a large brown wooden door with a brass knocker and doorknob. Geraniums and petunias blazed from hanging baskets at eye-level on either side.
‘And give me the key for a moment. I’ll get Miss Spencer’s luggage. No, don’t argue with me. I know how painful your knee is. If I’d had my way you’d have stayed home in bed and I’d have driven myself this morning. Now, after you’ve parked the car, come inside for some breakfast. We don’t have to leave for the bank for another hour at least.’
The chauffeur sighed heavily. ‘You spoil me, My Lord. Your brother would not have—’
‘My brother is no longer in charge, William. I am.’
Which, clearly, he was.
Magnificently and mercifully.
Marina saw then that it was not just the Earl’s handsome face which had captivated her. Or his tall, well-proportioned body. It was the man himself. His whole person. His character. But especially his compassion.
‘Wait there till I help you out,’ he ordered her peremptorily, before climbing out himself.
But she didn’t wait there. That wasn’t her way. She was out of the car and standing beside the passenger door by the time he brought her suitcase around.
His smile carried wry reproach. ‘I thought you said that when in Rome you were going to do as the Romans do?’ he chided.
She shrugged, smiling. ‘My mind is willing, but my flesh is weak.’
He stared at her for a second, then shook his head again. He seemed to be always shaking his head at her. ‘I doubt anything about you is weak, Marina,’ he complimented her, though in a cool voice. ‘Like most Australians, you flout the old-fashioned ways and traditions for the sometimes foolish habits they are. But you haven’t encountered our Henry as yet. Believe me when I warn you things in this apartment are done Henry’s way, or not at all!’
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