Bane Beresford. Ann Lethbridge

       Chapter Three

      ‘Utter nonsense.’

      ‘Savary informed me that he told you that you need my permission to wed.’

      ‘That does not make you my guardian.’

      ‘No, but since I have taken over the responsibilities of the earldom, that makes me your guardian.’

      ‘The late earl was not my guardian. I have no need of a guardian, I have lived by my own efforts for years.’

      ‘You have lived off this estate.’ He pointed to a ledger on the desk. ‘Each quarter a sum of money was paid to a Mrs Sally Ladbrook for your keep and education. A very princely sum, I might add.’ His gaze dropped to her chest, which she realised was expanding and contracting at a very rapid rate to accommodate her breathing.

      His eyes came back to her face and his jaw hardened. ‘And then you show up here in rags hoping for more.’

      Damn him and his horrid accusations. Her hand flashed out. He caught her wrist. His fingers were like an iron band around her flesh. ‘You’ll need to be quicker to catch me off guard.’

      ‘What kind of person do you think I am?’

      His expression darkened. ‘A Beresford.’ He cast her hand aside.

      Never had she heard such hatred directed at a single word. It must have tasted like acid on his tongue.

      ‘You are a Beresford.’

      His eyes widened. ‘I doubt there are many who would agree. Certainly not me.’

      ‘Then you should not be inheriting the title.’

      ‘You are changing the subject again, Miss Wilding.’

      The subject was as slippery as a bucket of eels. ‘I have had quite enough of your accusations.’

      ‘Are you saying you didn’t come here seeking money?’

      She coloured. ‘No. Well, yes, for the school. It needs a new roof.’ Among many other things it needed. ‘But I have never met the earl before last night. And there certainly have been no vast sums of money coming to Ladbrook’s or to me.’

      He glanced across the room at his desk, at the account book, clearly not believing a word.

      A rush of tears burned behind her eyes, because she knew it could not be true, unless … No, she would not believe it. ‘I need to go back to the school. I need to speak to Mrs Ladbrook.’

      He stared into her face, his gaze so intense, she wanted to look away. But she couldn’t. Didn’t dare, in case he thought she was lying.

      Why did it matter what he thought?

      Yet she would not stand down. Once more there was heat in that grey gaze, like molten silver, and the warmth seemed to set off a spark in her belly that flashed up to her face. Her cheeks were scalding, her heart pounding against the wall of her chest as if she had run a great race.

      Slowly his hand moved from the door to her shoulder, stroked down her arm, his fingers inexorably sliding over muscle and bone as if he would learn the contours of her arm.

      His expression was grim, as if this was not something he wanted to do at all, yet he did not stop.

      She tipped her face upwards, her lips parted to protest … Only to accept the soft brush of his warm dry velvety lips. Little thrills raced through her stomach. Chased across her skin.

      And then his mouth melded to hers, his tongue stroking the seam of her mouth, the sweet sensation melting her bones until she parted her lips on a gasp of sheer bliss and tasted his tongue with her own. Feverishly, their mouths tasted each other while she clung to those wide shoulders for support and his hands at her waist held her tight against his hard body.

      She could feel the thunder of his heart where his chest pressed against her breasts, hear the rush of her blood in her veins. It was shocking. And utterly mesmerising.

      On an oath, he stepped back, breaking all contact, shock blazing in his eyes.

      The thrills faded to little more than echoes of the sensations they had been a moment ago. What on earth was she doing? More to the point, what was he doing? ‘How dare you, sir?’ she said, pulling her shawl tightly around her.

      At that he gave a short laugh. ‘How dare I what?’

      ‘Kiss me.’

      ‘You kissed me.’

      Had she? She didn’t think she had, but she wasn’t exactly sure what had happened. Unless … ‘Don’t think to force me into marrying you by ruining my reputation. You see, that kind of thing doesn’t matter to me.’

      His eyes widened. ‘So that is your plan, is it?’

      ‘Oh, you really are impossible.’

      For a long moment his gaze studied her face, searching for who knew what. ‘I will discover what it is my grandfather put you up to, you know. I will stop you any way I can. I have more resources at my disposal than you can possibly imagine.’

      She could imagine all right. She could imagine all sorts of things when it came to this man. Resources weren’t the only thing chasing through her mind. And those thoughts were the worst of all: the thoughts of his kisses and the heat of his body. ‘The best thing you could do is kill me off. Then all your troubles will be over.’

      The grey of his eyes turned wintry. His expression hardened. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.’

      Her breath left her in a rush. Her stomach dropped away and she felt cold all over. She ducked under his arm, pulled at the door handle and was out the door in a flash and running down the corridor.

      ‘Miss Wilding, wait,’ he called after her.

      She didn’t dare stop. Her heart was beating far too fast, the blood roaring in her head, for her to think clearly. But now he had shown his hand, she would be on her guard.

      After a night filled with dreams Mary couldn’t quite recall—though she suspected from how hot she felt that they had something to do with the earl and his kiss—she awoke to find Betsy setting a tray of hot chocolate and freshly baked rolls beside the bed.

      ‘What time is it?’

      ‘Nine o’clock, miss.’

      So late? How could she have slept so long and still feel desperately tired? Perhaps because she’d been in such a turmoil when she went to bed. Perhaps because she could not get those dark words out of her mind. Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.

      ‘The weather is set to be fair, miss.’ Betsy knelt to rake the coals in the fire. ‘Warm for this time of year.’

      Mary hopped out of bed and went to the window. ‘So it is. I think I will go for a walk.’ She dressed with her usual efficiency in her best gown.

      Betsy rose to her feet. ‘The ruins are very popular with visitors in the summer,’ she said, watching Mary reach behind her to button her gown with a frown of disapproval. ‘Very old they are. Some say the are haunted by the old friars who were killed by King Henry.’

      Mary tucked a plain linen scarf in the neck of her bodice