Книга - The Illegitimate Montague

The Illegitimate Montague
Sarah Mallory


‘Be careful who you get close to…’ Adam Stratton is a new breed of Regency Man. A hero of Trafalgar, he is now an entrepreneur, rich beyond imagination. Yet all the money in the world can’t erase the scandal and shame of his birth. Since childhood, Amber has been the only one to know Adam’s true value.And her memories of the housekeeper’s son at Castonbury were the only respite from her unhappy marriage. Now a widow, Amber finds her new-found freedom daunting, although the sight of Adam gives her hope. But, despite their simmering attraction, putting their faith in each other may be more dangerous than they bargained for… For fans of Downton Abbey















Survival of the fittest is fine, so long as you’re the one on top … but the family that has everything is about to lose it all …



The Montagues have found themselves at the centre of the ton’s rumour mill, with lords and ladies alike claiming the family is not what it used to be.

The mysterious death of the heir to the Dukedom, and the arrival of an unknown woman claiming he fathered her son, is only the tip of the iceberg in a family where scandal upstairs and downstairs threatens the very foundations of their once powerful and revered dynasty …



August 2012

THE WICKED LORD MONTAGUE – Carole Mortimer



September 2012

THE HOUSEMAID’S SCANDALOUS SECRET – Helen Dickson



October 2012

THE LADY WHO BROKE THE RULES – Marguerite Kaye



November 2012

LADY OF SHAME – Ann Lethbridge



December 2012

THE ILLEGITIMATE MONTAGUE – Sarah Mallory



January 2013

UNBEFITTING A LADY – Bronwyn Scott



February 2013

REDEMPTION OF A FALLEN WOMAN – Joanna Fulford



March 2013

A STRANGER AT CASTONBURY – Amanda McCabe








Duke of Rothermere

Castonbury Park

Adam,

Watching you grow up and become so successful has been my pleasure. You’re a young and determined man, with a very bright future ahead of you. You know I have always been generous to you, as well as your mother, and I urge you always to err on the side of caution when it comes to matters of the heart. Your independence is unquestionable, but during these troubled times for myself and my family I ask you to listen to me.

Adam, speaking from experience, be careful whom you allow to get close to you.

Yours,

Rothermere




About the Author


SARAH MALLORY was born in Bristol and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen, to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen-name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2005 from Singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice in November 2006 for Gentlemen in Question.



THE WICKED BARON

MORE THAN A GOVERNESS

WICKED CAPTAIN, WAYWARD WIFE

THE EARL’S RUNAWAY BRIDE

DISGRACE AND DESIRE

TO CATCH A HUSBAND …

SNOWBOUND WITH THE NOTORIOUS RAKE

THE DANGEROUS LORD DARRINGTON


Did you know that some of these novels

are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




The Illegitimate

Montague

Sarah Mallory







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In memory of the incomparable Penny Jordan.

A friend and an inspiration.




Chapter One


‘Whoa, Bosun.’ Adam ran his hand over the horse’s lathered neck. It was still early spring, but the day had been a warm one. On the evening air he could smell the hedge blossom and wild garlic as he descended to the valley. It was ten years since he had travelled this road and nothing looked different—the high peaks behind him, the stone-walled fields and the uplands were just as he remembered them—but Adam knew that he had changed. He was no longer the angry young man who had ridden away from Castonbury full of rage and hurt pride. He could smile now at the arrogant boy he had once been—if only it was not too late to make amends.

He gazed at the westering sun, gauging how many more hours of daylight were left. ‘We could make Castonbury Park by nightfall,’ he mused, rubbing his chin. ‘But we’ve no guarantee of a warm reception, Bosun, and in truth I don’t deserve one. Safer then to drop anchor in the village, and go on to the Park in the morning.’ He gathered up the reins again. ‘And if my memory serves, there is a ford around the next bend, old fellow. You can cool your heels in the river.’

At that moment the peaceful calm was shattered by a pistol shot. This was followed by shouts and a woman’s voice raised in alarm. He urged Bosun into a canter and rounded the bend to a scene of confusion and mayhem.

A wagon stood this side of the shallow ford and a young woman in an olive-green redingote was trying to prevent two men from throwing the contents into the river, while on the far bank a third man was sitting on the ground, nursing his bloody arm.

With a shout Adam jumped down to join the fray, heading for the man who was grappling with the young woman. Adam grabbed his collar and delivered a well-aimed punch as the fellow turned to face him. He dropped like a stone. A second man was hurling bolts of cloth from the wagon into the water and the woman was already running towards him. With a shriek of fury she hurled herself at his back and he dropped the roll of fabric he was carrying onto the path as he tried to shake her off. Adam shouted.

‘Stand aside!’

The woman jumped clear and Adam launched himself at the man, doubling him with a heavy blow to the body. His assailant grunted, weaved and ducked to avoid the next punch and threw himself at Adam. They wrestled fiercely, toppling into the water. It was only knee-deep and Adam was the first to recover, which gave him the advantage. As his opponent rose up, coughing and spluttering, an uppercut sent him sprawling back into the river, from where he scrabbled away to join his injured companion on the far bank.

Breathing heavily, Adam looked around. His first victim was struggling to get to his feet, hands over his head to protect himself from the woman, who was raining blows upon him with the handle of her horsewhip.

‘Aye, go on, run away!’ she cried, cracking her whip with an expert flick of the wrist as the ruffian splashed across the river to safety. ‘And tell your master that I am not to be frightened away by the likes of you!’

She stood, hands on hips, her chest rising and falling, watching the men until they disappeared from sight.

Adam raked his wet hair back from his face.

‘I had not expected to refresh myself quite so thoroughly,’ he began, a laugh in his voice. ‘I trust you are not hurt?’

‘Not at all.’ She scooped his hat from the ground and held it out to him. ‘You are lucky this was knocked off before you took a ducking. My bonnet was not so fortunate—it is probably at Castonbury bridge by this time.’

Her words were accompanied by a dazzling smile and Adam’s mind went blank as he took his first good look at the young woman he had just rescued. The sudden jolt of attraction threatened to tumble him back into the river. He forgot about his soaking clothes and bruised knuckles as he gazed at the vision before him. Her deep brown eyes positively gleamed with excitement.

‘I only wish I had been able to shoot more than one of the villains!’

Adam scarcely heard her. Quite what it was about her that stirred him he did not know. There was nothing exceptional about her plain olive-green riding habit, although the tight-fitting jacket showed off her generous figure. His preference had always been for fair, blue-eyed beauties, but the woman before him had deeply golden skin and an abundance of thick, dark brown hair. It had come loose from its pins and hung in a dusky, rippling cloud around her shoulders.

Her triumphant look softened into amusement as she said in her laughing, musical voice, ‘I am greatly indebted to you for your help, sir, and would be even more grateful if you could help me to recover my cloth?’

He did not reply and with a tiny shrug and no less good humour she turned away. Completely unaware of the effect she was having upon him, she hitched her skirts high, revealing not only a pair of exceedingly pretty ankles, but also affording Adam a glimpse of the ribbon garters at her knees.

Amber tucked up her skirts. She had seen the washerwomen do it dozens of times and never thought that she, too, would need to wade into the river. But this was an emergency. She had invested a great deal of money in those rolls of cloth and she was not prepared to lose them. She was a little disappointed that the man should not help her now, but perhaps pulling sodden bolts of material from the water was too mundane for so chivalrous a knight.

And that was how she saw him, for he had ridden so gallantly to her rescue. She had not looked at him properly until her attackers had taken flight, but then, when she had turned to him, exultant at their success in driving them away, she had found herself looking at the embodiment of a dream. A tall, broad-shouldered, handsome crusader gazing at her with blue, blue eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. The water had turned his hair to near black, but the glints of red-gold told her it would be a dark, golden blond when dry. He was everything she had ever envisaged a hero to be. Far too good to be true. So let him go on his way now, she thought, for she was afraid if he did not he would trouble her dreams for a long, long time. Swallowing a sigh she turned towards the ford.

As she stepped into the water Adam came to his senses.

‘No, let me, I am already wet through.’

He strode onto the ford and began to pull the bolts of cloth from the water. The exercise helped him to regain control of himself. He was shocked to realise that for a few moments he had been speechless, more like a callow schoolboy than a thirty-two-year-old man with more than a little experience of the fair sex. She was standing at the edge of the river, waiting to help him, and he kept his mind firmly fixed upon the rolls of cloth as they lifted them out of the water.

‘Damned villains,’ she muttered as they struggled with the last roll, a dripping bundle of blue linen. ‘Thank heaven they didn’t get the superfine though. That is worth five-and-twenty shillings a yard!’

She shook out her skirts and dropped to the ground, putting her hand to her hair.

‘Good heavens, I must look like a virago, with my hair about my shoulders! What must you think of me?’

Adam dared not tell her and merely shrugged, with what he hoped she would interpret as unconcern. It seemed to work, because she gave him another of her blinding smiles.

‘Again I have to thank you, sir. I could not have recovered my cloth without your help.’

Adam stripped off his sodden coat and sat down beside her.

‘But the rolls are as wet as my jacket—will they be ruined?’

She shrugged. ‘Once they are dried out I have no doubt there will be some value in them. The problem is, I can’t put them on top of the dry ones, and the oilcloth that I use for protection from the weather is already lost downstream. Besides, the wet cloth is so much heavier that I doubt my poor horse would be able to cope with the extra weight.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘And it is growing late. I should go now if I am to reach Castonbury before dark.’ Her buoyant mood dipped. ‘I suppose I will have to come back in the morning with an empty wagon and pray that no one comes along in the meantime.’

‘There is another solution.’ She turned to look at him, disconcerting him again. He gestured to the trees. ‘Where I come from in Lancashire the cloth is stretched and pegged out to dry in the tenterfields. We can’t do that here, but it is a warm night, we could hang the wet cloth over the branches.’

She was silent for a few minutes, then the smile returned.

‘That might work. I can spend the night here and gather everything up in the morning. Only …’ She looked up at him under her lashes. ‘I might need a little help to reach the branches… .’

Adam laughed.

‘I will put myself at your disposal, madam.’ He jumped to his feet and held out his hand.

Her fingers wrapped themselves around his and as he pulled her to her feet he felt again that spark of attraction. Despite his wet clothes his body was on fire and they stood for a moment, hand-in-hand, regarding each other.

She was a tall woman. Adam stood six-foot-two in his stockinged feet and it was rare for any woman to approach that, but the one now standing before him was tall and shapely, her eyes level with his mouth so that she only had to look up a little to meet his glance. She did so now, candid, unafraid, her brown eyes fringed with long black lashes. With her dark hair and tanned skin she looked faintly exotic, reminding him of the luscious foreign beauties he had seen during his years at sea.

Even as he gazed at her, the candid look disappeared and she seemed a little troubled.

‘Perhaps, sir, I should know to whom I am so indebted?’ Her voice was low, husky, as if she, too, was having difficulty breathing.

He cleared his throat and gave a little bow.

‘Adam Stratton, ma’am. At your service.’

She inclined her head.

‘Amber Hall.’ He was still holding her hand, the left one. Instinctively his fingers shifted to the plain gold band on her finger. She said quietly, ‘I am a widow.’

The devil she was! Adam was surprised at his feeling of relief. Why did she feel it necessary to explain? Was she warning him off, or appealing to his chivalrous nature to respect her predicament? The defensive look in her eyes suggested the latter.

With an effort he released her. Dear heaven, it would be so easy to forget his manners. He hoped his nod was sufficiently sympathetic, then he turned his attention to their present situation.

He said lightly, ‘Well, Mrs Hall, shall we unroll your cloth?’

‘What about you? Your shirt and breeches are wet through.’

‘Would you like me to remove them and hang them up to dry?’ Immediately his mind rioted at the thought of undressing before her. He continued hastily, ‘I beg your pardon, a tasteless jest. Do not concern yourself with my wellbeing, the exertion will keep me warm.’

‘We must at least hang up your coat.’ She picked it up and shook it out. ‘Oh, dear, how sad it looks now—I think I owe you a new one, sir. And you are missing a couple of buttons. I fear they have gone the same way as my bonnet, and are lost in the water.’

‘No matter, they are a small loss. Throw the coat over a bush for now.’ He picked up the smallest roll of linen and looked around him. ‘Now, where to begin …’

They worked together, unrolling the bolts of wet cloth and draping them over the tree branches around a small clearing at the edge of the road. He left Amber straightening out the hanging cloth while he gathered dry sticks and bracken to light a fire.

‘Leave that,’ she ordered him. ‘You have done more than enough for me already. If you go now you can still reach the village while there is light enough to see your way.’

‘I am staying here.’

‘Thank you, Mr Stratton, but that is not necessary. I do not think those villains will be back tonight, and besides, I have my pistol. I shall reload it and be ready for them if they return. You need not stay on my account.’

‘If you think I intend to ride to the Rothermere Arms in wet clothes, then you are mistaken, madam. Nothing could be more uncomfortable. I shall dry them in front of the fire.’ He smiled at the look of alarm that flashed across her face. It was a relief to know that he was not the only one aware of their situation. ‘I do not intend to undress, they will dry just as well if I wear them.’ He added mischievously, ‘In fact, it is a common practice for gentlemen of fashion to damp their buckskins and let them shrink to fit.’

She laughed, blushed and shook her head.

‘Never let it be said that I stood in the way of fashion. But, seriously, sir, if you are determined to stay I cannot stop you.’ She paused, taking her full bottom lip between her white, even teeth. ‘I admit I shall be glad of your company.’

It was another hour before they could enjoy the fire, by which time the darkness was almost complete. The wagon had been moved off the road and the two horses tethered to the wheels, where they could be heard quietly snuffling and cropping at the short, sweet grass. Amber pulled a pair of shears from the cart and a roll of heavy woollen cloth, which she spread on the ground and proceeded to cut into lengths.

‘We can use this for bedding,’ she explained. ‘I have plenty more frieze at the warehouse so this can be easily replaced. It is such a balmy night that if we didn’t have wet cloth to dry I would not bother with a fire at all.’

Adam eased off his boots and stockings, placing them close to the fire to dry. Amber did the same, again displaying her shapely ankles. Adam did his best not to ogle. She touched his sleeve.

‘Your shirt is still damp, sir. Should you not remove that too?’ He hesitated and she said with a hint of impatience, ‘I have seen a man’s body, before, and I would rather you took it off than died of an inflammation of the lungs.’

He laughed.

‘Very well, madam, but you will not object if I spare my own blushes and keep my breeches!’

The shirt soon joined his jacket on a convenient bush. Adam threw a length of the frieze cloth around his shoulders and sat down by the fire. After a moment’s hesitation Amber came to sit beside him. She held up a leather bag.

‘I have wine, sir, and bread and cheese, if you would like some?’

‘Gladly, Mrs Hall, if you can spare a little.’

‘Of course. I packed it for my journey but have used none of it.’

She pulled packets, napkins and a flask from the bag and spread it all before them. She offered him the wine but he shook his head.

‘After you, madam.’

She uncorked the flask and lifted it to her lips. The firelight was playing on her face, accentuating the fine cheekbones, the short, straight little nose and those beautiful almond-shaped eyes. The smooth skin of her neck gleamed golden as she tilted back her head and drank. Adam watched, fascinated. He wanted to reach out to her, to place his lips on the elegant line of her throat and trail kisses down to the dip where the breastbone started, and then onwards—

‘Your turn.’

She was holding the flask out to him and he was staring at her like some besotted mooncalf. Adam cleared his throat awkwardly and reached for the flask, trying to ignore his mounting desire and the way it spiked through his blood as their fingers touched. He picked up a piece of bread. Perhaps he should eat something. Beside him, Amber seemed completely at ease. They shared the bread and cheese, washing it down with draughts of wine.

‘So who are you, Mrs Amber Hall?’ he asked her, breaking a chunk of bread into two and handing her a piece.

‘I am a clothier, a seller of cloth.’

‘An unusual trade for a woman.’

‘I inherited the business from my father, John Ripley.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember he owned a warehouse in Castonbury.’

‘Yes.’ She added, a touch of pride in her voice, ‘We have been selling cloth in Castonbury for twenty-seven years.’

‘That is very precise.’

‘It is easy to remember, my father established the business in the same year as I was born.’

Adam handed her the wine again.

‘And your husband?’

‘Bernard Hall, his business partner. He joined my father twelve years ago, and married me three years later. We had been married barely eighteen months when he died.’

‘I am sorry,’ he said softly. ‘You must have been distraught.’

He could not interpret the look she gave him. She took another sip of wine and after a brief pause she continued her story.

‘I convinced Papa not to look for another partner but to let me help him. I found I had a talent for the business. When my father died three years ago he left everything to me.’ He watched her, trying to understand her pensive look, the slight downward turn to her mouth that gave her a rather kittenish look. At last she gave herself a mental shake and turned to him again. ‘Enough of me. Tell me about you, now.’ She shot him another of those sideways glances. ‘You said your name was Stratton. Are you the housekeeper’s son, from Castonbury Park?’

‘I am.’

‘Then I know you, Adam Stratton.’ Her dark eyes gleamed. ‘We played together before you went off to become a hero at Trafalgar.’

‘Surely not, I would remember.’

‘My father used to take me to the house, sometimes, when he was delivering cloth. I remember Mrs Stratton asked you to take me away and amuse me.’ He shook his head and she laughed. ‘Do not look so uncomfortable, I would not expect you to remember. You were, what … ten, eleven years old? You probably found a seven-year-old girl a blasted nuisance.’

‘I do remember now. You were a scrawny little thing, but useful for fetching and carrying. As I recall I treated you as my very own servant! Outrageous. Did you not mind?’

She shook her head. ‘Not at all, I enjoyed fetching and carrying for you. Besides, you looked after me. One occasion in particular I remember, when the Montague children came out and began to tease me. You drove them away.’

He grinned. ‘Well, it is all very well for me to mistreat you, but I was not going to let anyone else do so!’

A slight frown creased her brow, as if she was looking into the past. ‘Did they ever tease you, the Montagues? Because your mama …’

She broke off and he took pity on her confusion, saying quickly, ‘Because I had no father? No. Lord James was a year or two younger than I. I suppose I should be thankful that both he and Lord Giles saw me as a playmate rather than the housekeeper’s son, but perhaps that was because … well, never mind that. Suffice to say we thought well enough of one another.’

‘I am glad,’ she said warmly. ‘And I thought you were quite … wonderful.’ A faint colour tinged her cheek and for a moment she looked a little self-conscious. ‘You were very kind to me, you see. And now you have saved me once more.’

Her very own hero.

Amber drew up her knees and clasped her arms around them, as if hugging her memories. That explained the attraction she had felt for him as soon as he had appeared. It was not merely that he had come to her aid, but a half-acknowledged memory. He was the hero she had dreamed of since she was seven years old. Looking back, she supposed that the children at Castonbury Park had not intended to be cruel, but their teasing had frightened her, until Adam had arrived and sent them away. He had seemed to her the embodiment of those princes she read about in fairy tales, tall, strong and oh-so-handsome, protecting the maiden in distress. She had carried that early memory of him with her throughout her childhood and hoped, prayed, he would return one day.

He never had, of course. Once he went to naval college she never saw him again and when she was eighteen she put aside her childish dreams and gave in to her father’s demands that she should marry his partner, Bernard Hall. It was a business decision. It did not matter to her father that Bernard was twenty years older, that she found his bad breath and wandering hands repulsive, a marriage would secure the future of Ripley and Hall.

Bernard Hall had never awoken in her any spark. Unlike the man sitting beside her now. When she had looked into Adam’s eyes for the first time that day it was as if someone had applied bellows to a smouldering fire. She had burned, really burned, with a desire so strong she had almost thrown herself upon him.

Thankfully he had not noticed, merely staring at her, clearly shocked at her dishevelled appearance. She had brazened it out, of course, and she was thankful that he had stayed to help her. She was grateful, too, that he showed no sign of wanting to ravish her. Wasn’t she? Amber had to admit that his patent lack of interest piqued her. He was once again her hero, her knight in shining armour, but he clearly did not see her as his princess.

They sat in silence, consuming their simple meal. The cloth hanging around them was billowing gently in the breeze, washed in the golden glow of the fire.

‘What will you do with the damaged cloth?’ he asked.

‘I will rescue what I can. The linens and cottons can be laundered and should be almost as good as new. The rest I hope to sell off cheaply to the villagers. What is left I will take to the vicarage to give to the poor. I am sure Reverend Seagrove will find a good home for any cloth I cannot sell. I will have to order replacements for some things. I have to fulfil an order for Castonbury Park, you see. New curtains and bed-hangings, as well as livery for the servants. They will need the fabrics as soon as may be for the wedding—but you will know that, of course.’

‘Er, no.’

‘Surely your mother will have told you in her letters that Lord Giles is to be married?’

‘We have not been in touch.’ He could not meet her eyes and it was a struggle to explain. ‘When I was last here we argued. No.’ He had to be honest with her. ‘My mother never said a harsh word to me. It was all my doing.’

She touched his arm.

‘Will you tell me?’ she asked gently.

Adam hesitated. There was nothing but kindness in her manner, and suddenly he wanted to talk about it.

‘It was ten years ago. I came to tell her that I had quit the navy, that I was going to try my hand at business. She was shocked. Disappointed, I suppose, that I was giving up a promising career and uncertain that I would make a go of it.’ He sighed. ‘I was young, impatient. I had been given my own ship to command at twenty and that went to my head, I thought I could do anything. My mother was less certain.’

‘I am sure she only wanted what was best for you.’

‘I know you are right, but at the time I saw it as a slur, a lack of confidence in my abilities.’

He looked up at the sky, his jaw tightening. It had also brought back his own lack of confidence in his birth. Away from Castonbury Park he was Captain Adam Stratton, hero of Trafalgar, a clever and courageous sailor. Here, he would always be known as the duke’s bastard. Oh, no one said as much to his face, but he had heard the whispers, the gossip. His mother never spoke of her husband, there were no portraits of “Mr Stratton” in the housekeeper’s quarters at Castonbury Park. As a very young boy his questions had been met with evasion, and when he grew older Adam stopped asking about his father, afraid of what the answer might be. Then, when he had quit the navy and come back to Castonbury Park, full of plans for the future, he had asked the question one more time. He gave himself a mental shake. No need to go into that now. Taking a breath he continued.

‘I stormed out, vowing that I would not return, would not contact her, until I had made my way in the world.’

‘And is that why you are back, because you have now … “made your way in the world”? You are perhaps a wealthy man,’ she added after a slight hesitation, ‘with a wife and family …?’

He shook his head. ‘No, no wife. No family.’

He thought of the fair-haired beauties he had met on his travels. Many of them were ladies of noble birth, eager to know more of him. After all, a captain in the king’s navy was a romantic, heroic figure. Several of them had thrown out lures, making it quite plain that they would welcome his addresses, but he had resisted them all. He might tell himself that he was his own man, but at that stage the question of his birth still rankled, and he was determined to make a name for himself before taking a wife. And he had done so. He was now a mill owner, a captain of industry, but he had soon discovered that those well-bred families wanted nothing to do with trade. Only his fortune made him acceptable to them, and perversely, he did not want anyone to marry him for his fortune. He wanted to find a woman who would marry him for himself alone.

Amber’s thoughtful brown eyes were fixed on him, waiting for him to continue. He kept his tone matter-of-fact.

‘I promised I would not return until I could provide her with a house of her own. Looking back, it seems so petty, so very arrogant and foolish, but I held to my vow while I toiled to achieve my goals. I was determined to be successful, no debts and money in the bank, before I contacted my mother again. It was hard work, but I achieved it. I owe no man anything. But at what cost?’ He sighed. ‘I am ashamed to say I have not written, have had no news of my mother, for ten years. It is no fault of hers,’ he added quickly. ‘I left no forwarding address. I severed all links with her. In fact, until you told me last night, I did not even know if she was still at Castonbury Park.’

‘And, is that why you are back now? Do you have a house for her?’

‘Yes, I have a house now. In Lancashire.’

‘And what is this … business that you are engaged in, Mr Adam Stratton?’

‘Oh, this and that.’ He waved one dismissive hand. ‘I have several ventures ongoing, they are all of them more or less successful.’

‘Then your mother will be very proud of you.’

‘That is not what I deserve. She should berate me for the fool that I have been. A damned stubborn-headed fool! I only hope that she will receive me.’

Adam tried to keep the uncertainty from his voice but he was sure she heard it, for she hastened to reassure him.

‘From what I know of Mrs Stratton I am sure she will be overjoyed to see you. Any mother would be.’ A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘But perhaps you should tidy yourself up a little before you see her.’

Adam glanced across at his damaged coat.

‘I fear you are right. I shall be turned away as a common beggar if I arrive on the doorstep like this!’ He ran his hand over his chin. ‘And without a looking glass I dare not shave in the morning.’

She laughed.

‘Come to my shop with me and we will see what we can do for you!’

Amber gave her attention to her food again, surprised by how readily she had issued the invitation. He was little more than a stranger, after all, even if he had come to her rescue in the most dramatic way. Perhaps it was the knowledge that they had known each other as children. She felt at ease, comfortable to be sitting beside him. If she were fanciful, she could believe they were in some different world, one where the constraints and dangers of real life did not exist.

‘You are very pensive,’ he said at last. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I feel like I am in a fairy tale,’ she said, smiling. ‘We might be in an Oriental pavilion with sumptuous fabrics decorating its walls.’ She chuckled. ‘Not that there is anything very sumptuous about block-printed cotton!’

‘This is no fairy tale, madam.’ His voice was stern. ‘Far from it. I cannot think what possessed you to be moving such a valuable cargo on your own.’

‘Normally I would not do so, but I had no driver and I needed to fetch in these supplies urgently.’

‘You could have hired a carrier.’

She shook her head.

‘Not in time. There is no one in Castonbury who would take the risk.’

‘Risk?’

She crumbled a piece of cheese between her fingers, searching for words.

‘Things have been … happening recently. The carrier was attacked on his last run and decided he dare not take out another wagon for me. He has a family, you see—’

‘Wait.’ Adam stopped her. ‘Do you mean to say someone threatened him?’

She nodded.

‘It cannot be proved, of course, but …’ She hesitated, wondering if she dare tell him her suspicions. She said in a rush, ‘I think it is Matthew Parwich. He is a rival cloth merchant from Hatherton and he would be glad to take over my business. I am sure it was Parwich who sent those ruffians to waylay me. They did not want to harm me, only to ruin my stock.’

‘You knew this might happen and still you set out alone?’

His angry tone flayed her. She had been afraid he would laugh at her suspicions, think her fanciful. Instead he thought her foolish. She spread her hands.

‘Frederick had to stay at the warehouse. And I didn’t really think I would be attacked.’ The excitement was still bubbling through her veins, making her reckless. She put up her chin, giving him a challenging look. ‘Besides, I had my pistol and I did wing one of them.’

Adam’s blood chilled at the thought of what might have happened. He rammed the stopper back into the wine flask with unwonted force.

‘That’s as may be, but if I hadn’t come along—’

‘I know, I am so very glad that you did.’ Her glowing look acted like a fever, turning his blood from ice to molten lava in an instant. ‘Together we sent them to the right-about, did we not?’ She leaned closer until he thought he might drown in her dark eyes. ‘I am so grateful to you. How can I ever thank you?’

He held her look, knowing what he would like from her, knowing equally well it was impossible, yet there was something in her eyes, some spark of recognition, as if she could read his thoughts. She put her hand on his shoulder and raised herself until she could touch his mouth with her lips. They were soft and warm and it took all his willpower not to respond.

‘Not in that way.’ His voice was gruff, barely audible even to himself, but perhaps that was because she was so close, her face only inches away, and his breathing was so constricted. ‘Madam—Amber, I … do not want … to … dishonour you, but … I am no … saint.’

Amber’s pulse was racing. She still felt exultant, powerful, after successfully repelling the attack and saving her precious cargo. She remembered something Bernard used to say about his friends, when they were hunting—’there was no stopping them when their blood is up.’ That was how she felt now, unable to stop. And she did not care.

‘I would not have you be one.’

The low words were no more than a whisper against Adam’s skin. She put her hand to his cheek and he responded to the pressure of her fingers to close the small distance between them. He slid his mouth across hers and as his kiss deepened she responded. His tongue touched her lips and they parted eagerly. She pushed the blanket from his shoulders and ran her hands over his bare back. Gently he eased her down to the ground, the blood pounding through him as her hands snaked around his neck and pulled him down with her. The buttons of her mannish jacket gave way easily to his fingers and soon he had pulled away the neck cloth and opened her shirt. When he placed his mouth on her throat it was every bit as soft and smooth as he had imagined. She trembled beneath him, sending his passion soaring out of control. His hand moved over the swell of her breast and she moaned softly, pushing against his fingers. She struggled to sit up and he released her immediately, trying to quell his disappointment, but she was not repulsing him. She dragged off her linen shirt and twisted round.

‘Unlace me.’

His fingers trembled on the laces. He bent to kiss her bare shoulder and her head fell back. She sighed, eyes closed, dark lashes fanned against her golden cheek. Hastily he dragged the laces free and the restricting corset fell away. He pulled her against him, cupping her breasts. They tensed beneath the thin cotton of her chemise. The next moment she was throwing off this last hindrance and turning back to face him.

A sudden stillness enveloped the little clearing, only the faint crackling of the fire disturbed the silence. Amber knelt before him, head bowed and that glorious hair cascading down over her shoulders. In the golden firelight she took his breath away. Gently, slowly, he reached out and pushed the hair back, his fingers caressing her neck, cupping her face, pulling her closer. Their kiss began tenderly enough, but he felt its latent power, like the rolling breakers he had seen on so many beautiful, dangerous shores, from Cornwall to Corunna. An inexorable force that carried all before it.

Amber gave him back kiss for kiss, dragging him down again onto their makeshift bed, her hands scrabbling to unfasten and remove his breeches. His skin was chill and slightly damp from the buckskin and she pressed herself against him. His reaction to her warm, shapely body was immediate, as was his gasp when her fingers closed about his erection. He had to force himself to ignore the havoc she was creating within him. The blood was pounding in his ears; he fought down the urge to satisfy his own need and concentrated on pleasuring her. He placed his mouth over one taut breast, his tongue circling, teasing, while she groaned beneath him. His hand swept over her hip, caressed the hinge of her thigh and moved on to where she was opening for him, inviting his touch. She writhed beneath his fingers. She was nearing the crest of her passion. He shifted his body and eased himself into her, stroking, caressing, containing his own excitement while she began to move wildly against him, her nails digging into his back.

‘Adam!’

The anguished cry broke from her. She quivered; he could feel her tensing around him, possessing him. There was nothing he wanted more than to remain inside her and complete their union, but that would be reckless, irresponsible. It took all his iron will to withdraw and make his own shattering ending against the soft skin of her belly.

A languid peace settled over them and they lay, sated and content, until the dying fire could no longer keep them warm. Amber wiped a napkin across her stomach, then tossed it aside and pulled the frieze blanket over them.

‘My dear—’

‘Shh.’ She pulled him into her arms. ‘Enough. Sleep now.’




Chapter Two


Amber drifted back to wakefulness, amazingly content and at peace, like a feather drifting gently back to earth after a great storm. It was almost dawn, a grey twilight hung over the clearing. She was lying in a man’s arms, their naked limbs fitting snugly together in the most natural way and she felt relaxed. More than that, she felt cherished. Loved. She had been an innocent maid when she had married Bernard, and he had been a selfish lover, their coupling had left her feeling lost and dissatisfied. At the time she had not known why but now, lying here with Adam, she understood.

Adam. She moved slightly, tentatively touching the lean body stretched beside her. They had not met since they were children, yet she had felt an immediate affinity with him. Perhaps it was because he had come to her rescue once again. She smiled in the darkness. It was more likely his magnificent physique. She recalled how she had reacted to the sight of his naked chest, when he had removed his wet shirt, the firelight glinting on his wide shoulders, the rippling muscles of his chest. Just the thought of it sent shafts of aching lust running through her again.

Reluctantly she moved away from his warmth and curled herself into a ball. How wanton he would think her. How shocked she was that she had thrown herself at him! Amber had no idea what had come over her. Could she blame it on the wine, perhaps, or on their situation, surrounded by the gently billowing fabrics, as if they were in some exotic pavilion? No, nothing could excuse her behaviour. She had thrown caution to the winds and given herself to Adam. Something within had taken over, compelled her to kiss him, and after that, she was lost.

Amber sat up, fear chilling her heart. She had never been so completely out of control before. Adam had withdrawn early, so there could be no baby, no lasting evidence of her weakness, but what if it happened again? She must make sure it did not, or she would risk losing everything she had worked so hard to achieve.

She had been a widow for more than seven years, in charge of her own life, and this sudden vulnerability was terrifying. She had known nothing like it before. Amber had been fifteen when her mother died and she had stepped into her shoes, taking over the accounts and running the shop. It had not been difficult; she loved the business and as a child she had spent all her spare time in the warehouse, learning about the different fabrics, talking to the customers and accompanying her father on his business trips. She had soon realised that while her father was an excellent salesman, it was her mother who knew which fabrics to buy and how much to spend to keep the finances in order.

Amber had inherited her mother’s natural flair for business and she had hoped that her father would listen to her advice, that with a little economy they could make the savings and investments needed to expand. Instead, without his wife’s moderating influence, he had spent his money foolishly and within the year it was clear that the business would need substantial investment if it was to continue. Bernard Hall had been a gentleman by birth and knew nothing about trade, but he had had a little money which he was willing to invest. Amber knew now that she had been the bargaining tool her father had used to entice Bernard into partnership. She had resisted his advances for three years, but at eighteen she had given in to the pressure from Bernard and her father and become Mrs Hall.

It had not been a happy time. They had needed Bernard’s added investment to continue, but his strong, bullying personality had dominated her father and Amber had been obliged to watch the business she loved sinking further into decline. She had thought that by marrying Bernard she might have more influence, instead she had merely become his chattel, to be used or ignored, and any remonstrance had been met with a swift and violent rebuttal. He had constantly belittled her; she had been reduced to the role of a servant. Amber could admit now her relief when Bernard had died less than two years after their marriage. By then her father was a broken man and she had taken up the reins of the business, dragged it back from the brink of disaster and with steady perseverance she had built it up.

It had taken her years to recover from Bernard’s constant bullying and at the same time she had struggled against prejudice, customers and suppliers who thought that because she was a woman alone they could cheat her—or seduce her. They did not succeed and over the years she had grown stronger, more confident. Independent. She would not allow anything or anyone to prejudice her position.

So what was she doing here, lying with a man she hardly knew?

Adam sighed and rolled over, slipping one hand around her hips. Immediately her body responded, relishing the contact, the way he moulded himself against her. Amber tensed, trying to ignore the siren call of her own desire.

She felt his breath on her thigh.

‘Is anything wrong?’

Something close to panic engulfed her. She must not give in. She must not allow these new and terrifying feelings to possess her, to swallow her up. This man was a danger to everything she had lived and worked for. If she allowed him to take her in his arms again she would be lost. He must be set at a distance. Like a drowning man she clutched at the only lifeline she could see.

Summoning every ounce of resolution, she gave a careless laugh.

‘Wrong? No, of course not. But I have to get on. There is a lot to do here.’

Immediately he released her and she could not ignore the little stab of disappointment that he did not argue. She said brightly, ‘I have my business to think of, and you will be returning to Lancashire very soon, will you not?’

‘Tomorrow, if matters work out well for me.’

Amber nodded. How right she was to distance herself from him! Adam threw back the covers and got up.

‘Where are you going?’

He turned back to look down at her, a rueful smile quirking his mouth and setting loose a net full of butterflies in her stomach.

‘To get dressed. I cannot lie with you naked beside me and not make love to you. I think that would be beyond any man.’

She blushed. ‘No, of course.’

She watched him walk away to gather up his clothes and pick up his saddlebag. He moved gracefully; his naked body was lean and lithe in the morning light, like any hero should be. She was grateful he had been hers, if only for one night.

‘I will take myself over there,’ he said, pointing to a clump of bushes, ‘and allow you to dress here undisturbed.’

He disappeared into the green undergrowth and Amber hunted for her own garments. The sight of them scattered around reminded her of the passion that had made it necessary to divest herself of them so haphazardly last night. Her blood heated at the very thought of what they had done, but almost immediately she shivered.

Such wanton, abandoned behaviour was quite shocking. If anyone learned of it her reputation would be lost and her business would almost certainly be ruined. She did not think Adam would speak of it to anyone. She trusted him, even more than she trusted herself. Hurriedly she picked up her chemise and scrambled into it.

Adam shook out his clothes and sighed. They were dry, but sadly crumpled and muddy from their time in the river. He had a clean shirt and neck cloth in his saddlebag, but had not thought to pack anything else.

A rueful smile touched his lips. He had not expected to rescue a damsel in distress and get a soaking for his troubles! However, the night that had followed had been more than ample reward. His mind drifted to lying beneath the stars with Amber in his arms. His lack of control troubled him. It could only be the consequence of the fight: he knew from experience how one’s senses were heightened by a battle. The exhilaration of victory made men reckless. That would account for the immediate, overwhelming attraction he had felt for her. It was completely foreign to him, but then all his other battles had taken place at sea and by the time they had reached port his euphoria had died and the harlots on the quay had held no appeal for him. He told himself it would be no different with Mrs Amber Hall, in the light of a new day. They could go their separate ways and think no more of each other. Thank goodness he had withdrawn in time, and there could be no risk of an unwanted child to complicate matters.

He shrugged on his jacket and raked his fingers through his hair one final time. No, she would be dressed by now, that luscious dark hair scraped back into some semblance of order, and they would be able to treat each other as polite, distant acquaintances.

Unfortunately fate had one more joke to play on him. When Adam stepped back into the clearing he found Amber dressed only in her chemise and stockings, a frieze blanket pulled around her shoulders. She had pinned up her hair, but she looked so fragile, so forlorn, that it was as much as he could do not to run to her and fold her again in his arms. His voice was sharper than he anticipated when he asked her what was amiss.

She jumped. The forlorn look was replaced by a bright smile as she held up a complicated tangle of pink ribbons and webbing.

‘I think I will need you to lace up my stays again.’

His lips twitched.

‘That is not something I have ever done before.’

‘Then consider it part of your education, sir!’

Amber placed the corset around her and presented her back to him. She bit her lip as she felt his hands against her spine, so close, so personal, but she must act as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she was a woman of the world, used to a man’s touch.

‘There.’ He finished tying the laces and his hands moved to her shoulders, waking that traitorous demon of desire again.

With a light laugh she slipped away from him.

‘Enjoyable as it would be to dally here with you all day, Mr Stratton, I have work to do.’

She gave him an arch look and saw his frown, a quick contraction of his brow before he joined her in packing away the bolts of now dry cloth.

Amber found it easier to be working, avoiding awkward questions, but she had to force herself not to flinch when their hands met accidentally, and she was careful to restrict any conversation to their current task.

At last the final roll was packed and they set off, Adam riding beside the wagon. When they passed a field gate she lifted her whip and pointed.

‘You could reach Castonbury Park in half the time if you cut across country.’

‘Are you tired of me already, Mrs Hall?’

His quizzing tone made her heart lurch, and it was a struggle to smile and respond airily.

‘I am, of course, grateful to you, but I have my business to attend to, and I have no wish to keep you from yours.’

‘I should like to see you again, before I leave Castonbury.’

‘Oh, that is quite unnecessary, Mr Stratton.’

He shot a frowning look at her.

‘Have I offended you in some way?’

Heavens, how difficult it was to do this.

‘My dear sir, of course not. You have been a perfect gentleman.’

‘Then why are you acting like this, as if … last night never happened?’

‘Last night was quite delightful, of course, but we both know it cannot be repeated. There is a naval term for it, I think … ships that pass in the night.’ She achieved a giggle. ‘Although we did not quite pass each other, did we?’

His face took on a stony look.

‘Do you really think our meeting quite so insignificant?’

Open your eyes at him, Amber. Give him that guileless expression of surprise.

‘Of course it was significant. Without you I would have lost a great deal of stock. I am very grateful to you.’

He made her an elegant bow over Bosun’s neck, his voice and his manner thick with sarcasm.

‘I am glad to have been of service to you!’

Inwardly she flinched, but she had wanted to put him at a distance, and seemed to have achieved her aims. Surprising, then, that she should feel like bursting into tears.

She waited for him to turn his horse and gallop away, instead he continued to ride alongside her.

‘Much as I am eager to reach the Park,’ he said coolly, answering her unspoken question, ‘you pointed out to me last night that my coat is in need of a little attention. I shall stop off at the Rothermere Arms to see what can be done to repair the damage.’

Amber’s conscience stabbed her.

‘You have lost two buttons. I do not think the inn will be able to help you there.’

‘Yesterday you said I deserved a new jacket,’ he reminded her.

Those blue eyes threatened her defences again and she kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

‘Goodness, you do not suppose I remember every little word I say?’ she quipped. ‘You may come to the warehouse and I will mend your coat for you there, if you like. Or I could direct you to one of the seamstresses I know, although none of them live on this side of Castonbury.’

‘Thank you, madam. I have lost enough time already and have no wish to go chasing around the countryside! I will come to your warehouse. And if you could allow me the use of a mirror and some water, too, I would be obliged to you.’

His clipped tones told her he was keeping his temper in check. Good. She did not want him to be kind to her, just as she was beginning to regain control over herself.

It took them an hour to reach Castonbury. They saw no one on the road but all the same Amber was glad to have Adam’s company, the memory of yesterday’s assault still fresh in her mind. They said very little, but as they entered the village she pointed to a tall, stone building at the far end of the street.

‘There, that is my warehouse, with the shop built on the side. Ripley and Hall, cloth merchants.’

Adam heard the note of pride in her voice as she read out the words on the sign. She followed it with a soft laugh.

‘Oh, dear. I do hope poor Fred isn’t laid low with worry about me!’

Another surprise. From the moment he had first seen Amber Hall she had taken the wind out of his sails. When they had seen off those ruffians he had expected to find her shocked, tearful, even faint. Instead she had positively beamed at him, full of energy. The immediate and mutual attraction was undeniable, but he had tried to fight it, whereas Amber … He remembered that first, tentative kiss. Had she intended to seduce him? Looking back it seemed quite possible, especially when he thought of her behaviour this morning. He would not have been surprised to find her regretting their actions, afraid of what had occurred, but she had acted like a worldly-wise mistress, eager to move on. And now, just when he was beginning to think that she was nothing but a heartless strumpet, she knocked him off course with such warmth and concern in her voice as she spoke of ‘poor Fred.’

He dropped back and followed as she guided the wagon through the double gates into the yard. Even before she pulled up a lanky youth and an old man came hurrying out.

‘Thank goodness you are here!’ The youth put up his hand to help her down.

‘Aye, we bin that worrit about thee,’ growled the old man, going to the horse’s head. ‘We was gonna get up a search party if you ‘adn’t shown up soon.’

‘Well, I am here now, and safe, as you see. And we have Mr Stratton to thank for that.’ She jumped down and turned to him, her smile lighting up the yard. ‘This is Frederick Aston, my clerk, and holding the horse is Jacob, who helps out in the warehouse.’

Adam looked from the pale, thin youth to the gnarled old man holding on to the dray horse and realised why Amber had thought it necessary to fetch the cloth herself.

‘But what’s happened?’ cried Fred, looking in horror at the damaged bolts of cloth.

‘A few ruffians thought it would be a good joke to cast my load into the river,’ she replied. ‘If Mr Stratton had not come along, then it might all have been ruined. As it is, only those bolts on the top were soaked. They have dried out somewhat, but you had best put them to one side for laundering.’

Frederick turned to her, his rather colourless eyes filled with anguish.

‘Oh, Mrs Hall, if only you had let me come with you—’

‘What, and leave old Jacob to look after my shop and warehouse all alone? I needed you here, Frederick.’ She glanced up at Adam, and some of the certainty seemed to leave her. ‘Now, if you and Jacob would look after Mr Stratton’s horse, and kindly unload the wagon, I shall take our guest indoors.’

She led the way in through the warehouse. It was stacked high on all sides with rolls of fabric—gaily patterned cottons, creamy muslins, shiny silks in a rainbow of colours, woollen cloth in every shade from black and deepest blue through autumn browns to greens the colour of spring leaves.

‘So Frederick and the old man are the only help you have?’ he asked her.

‘Yes, but they are very loyal, and we manage very well.’

There was something defiant about the way she spoke but Adam did not question it. Silently he followed her between the racks to a door leading into a small corridor with a narrow staircase.

‘Ah,’ he said, following her up the stairs. ‘You live above the shop.’

‘Of course. I grew up here.’ She led him to a bedroom with a washstand and a mirror in one corner. ‘This was my father’s room. I think his shaving box is here somewhere… .’

Adam held up his saddlebag. ‘I have my own razor, ma’am, and a brush and comb, thank you.’

He eased himself out of his coat, his grazed knuckles and a certain stiffness in his shoulders reminding him of yesterday’s confrontation at the river.

‘Good.’ She reached out and took his coat, making sure she did not touch his hand. ‘I will find Maizie and send her up with some water.’

She picked up the jug and Adam watched her hurry away. She was nervous, but that was only to be expected: she was a woman alone, and he was in her house. It occurred to him that she had not been so nervous when they had been alone together under the stars, but now she was acting as if that had never happened. The woman was an enigma, but if she wished to forget their encounter, so be it. He had enough worries of his own. With a sigh he sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for the maid to return with the hot water.

When he had washed and shaved, Adam went downstairs in search of his coat. The shop was empty and he took the opportunity to look around.

A bow window looked out onto the street and allowed the morning sun to flood in, making the polished mahogany counter gleam with the lustrous sheen of a dark ruby. Lengths of ribbon hung in a profusion of colour at one side of the window, while behind the counter rows of drawers lined the walls, topped with shelves where rolls of fabric were neatly stacked. Returning to the rear of the shop he now noticed that a fire was burning merrily in the hearth, for although the spring sun streamed in through the window, its warmth did not extend to this nether region. He sat down on one of the two armchairs placed on either side of the fire and waited for his hostess to return.

He did not have to wait long. The door at the back of the shop burst open and she hurried in, his jacket over her arm. She checked when she saw him, then came forward, shaking out his coat and holding it up for inspection.

‘There. I have brushed it clean as much as I can, and sewn new buttons on for you. I am afraid they are not a perfect match, and the coat looks a little shabby too.

I am sorry for that—if you were staying longer I would have a new one made for you.’

He took the coat and shrugged himself into it.

‘Then perhaps I will stay.’

He noted the look of alarm in her dark eyes before she turned away, busying herself with straightening the candlesticks on the mantelpiece. She said haltingly, ‘About last night … Fred and Jacob will not mention to anyone that we were alone together. I trust I may count on your discretion too?’

‘You have my word upon it.’ He paused, watching her back. She was tense, ill at ease. He wanted to know why, but doubted she would confide in him. He said quietly, ‘You sent breakfast up for me. I thank you for that.’

‘After your kindness yesterday it was the least I could do.’

‘Kindness! Amber, I—’

‘Yes.’ She interrupted him. ‘Your arrival was fortuitous, Mr Stratton, and our time together was a pleasant interlude, but I am sure you wish to get on now.’

‘A pleasant interlude?’ His brows snapped together. ‘Is that all it was to you?’

‘Of course, it would be foolish to think anything else.’ She raised her head and put back her shoulders before turning to face him, saying brightly, ‘You are looking much more the thing now, Mr Stratton. Jacob has saddled your horse, and is waiting in the yard for you.’

She was dismissing him. She stood, eyes downcast, waiting for him to leave. Her manner was cool, an ice maiden compared to the passionate woman he had held in his arms last night. Should he mention that? Did he want to stir up such memories when he would be leaving Castonbury again shortly?

The answer had to be no.

With the slightest of nods he left her, closing the door carefully behind him.

Amber heard the quiet click as he shut the door. Only then did she look up. He had gone. And that was what she wanted, was it not? He had no intention of staying in Castonbury—the fact that he was travelling with only one spare shirt told her as much—so it was best that they end it now, before she lost her reputation.

And her heart.

Amber strained her ears, listening to his footsteps fading into nothing. He would walk out through the warehouse to the yard, leap on his horse and ride away. She ran to the window. After a moment she heard the ring of metal on the cobbles. As he passed the window he drew rein and looked in. Amber jumped back, letting the coloured waterfall of ribbons hide her from view. Was it disappointment she saw on his face? She could not be sure. It was gone in a moment, as he settled his hat more firmly on his head and trotted off.




Chapter Three


Adam rode hard to Castonbury Park, determined to forget Amber Hall. It should be easy—after all, he had known her for less than a day—but the manner of their meeting and the passionate night they had spent together were not so easily dismissed. He knew many men who were only too willing to bed a pretty woman as soon as look at her, but he was not one of them. What had happened with Amber had taken him by surprise and he was intrigued by her, wanting to understand just why he was so drawn to her. Unfortunately it appeared he held no such attraction for the lady, since she had been so eager to send him away. Adam’s hand tugged angrily at the reins and Bosun threw up his head, sidling nervously. Immediately he released his grip.

‘Easy, old boy,’ he murmured, running his free hand along the horse’s glossy neck. ‘I’m a fool. She wounded my pride, nothing more. I’ll be giving Amber Hall a wide berth in future.’ He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. ‘Come up, now. We’ve more important matters to deal with!’

The great house looked very much as he remembered it, the sweeping drive and soaring pillars of the portico imposing, designed to impress the most august visitor.

But Adam was not here to visit the family. He turned away from the main entrance and made his way round to the stables. He gave his horse into the care of a waiting groom, tossed him a silver coin for his trouble and strode back to the house, entering by a side door that led through a maze of small passages to the servants’ quarters. The corridors were deserted and Adam arrived at the door to the housekeeper’s sitting room without meeting anyone. He lifted his hand, hesitated and lowered it again. Then, squaring his shoulders, he raised his hand and knocked softly.

There was no reply. Trying the handle, the door opened easily and Adam stepped inside. Suddenly he was ten years old again, coming to find his mama. There were the cushions and footstool that made the armchair by the fire such a comfort, the large dining table where his mother would entertain the upper servants occasionally, the long table under the window where she would sit when mending or doing the accounts. Even the clock ticking away on the mantelpiece was the same one his mother had used to teach him the time.

The kettle was singing on the fire, a sure sign that his mother would be returning soon. Suddenly his neck cloth was a little too tight and he ran a finger around his collar. What if she was still angry with him? What if she turned him out? Their last meeting was still clear in his mind.

He had been full of hope for the future, but he had not anticipated the shock and anxiety in her face when he told her he had quit the navy.

‘I want only what is best for you, my son.’

Her concern flayed his spirit and he turned on her.

‘If that was true you would have provided me with a father!’ He might as well have struck her, but the angry words kept coming. ‘Tell me the truth for once. Was there ever a Mr Stratton?’

‘No.’ Her lip had trembled as she confessed.

Thinking back, Adam wished he had cut out his tongue rather than continue, but then, with the red mist in his brain, he had ploughed on.

‘So who is my father? Who am I?’

The shock and pain in her eyes still sliced into him like a knife.

‘I cannot tell you. I gave a solemn vow on the Bible that I would never say.’

Even now the memory of her anguished whisper was etched in his memory. At the time he had been determined that it should not touch him, but it had. It had splintered his heart.

He heard the familiar firm step in the corridor, the jingle of keys. The door opened and Hannah Stratton entered the room.

Adam stood very still, gazing at his mother. She looked only a little older than when he had last seen her, a little more silver amongst the dark blond hair, so like his own, and a few more lines around the blue eyes that were now fixed on him. At first they widened, registering surprise. He held his breath. She might reject him. What right had he to expect anything more, after a decade of silence?

Only the soft ticking of the clock told him that time was passing as he waited in an agony of apprehension for her response. Eventually, after a lifetime, she raised her hands and clasped them against her breast.

‘Adam.’

It was uttered so softly that he thought perhaps he had imagined it. He ran his tongue over his dry lips.

‘Yes, it is I, Mother.’ His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears. ‘If you will own me after all this time.’

Tears darkened her eyes to the colour of a summer sea. She gave a tremulous smile.

‘Adam, oh, Adam, my boy!’ She opened her arms to him. In two strides he crossed the room and hugged her, relief flooding his soul.

‘Oh, let me look at you!’ Between tears and laughter she held him away. ‘My, how you have grown!’

His laughing response was a little unsteady.

‘Devil a bit, madam, I was two-and-twenty when I last saw you. I haven’t grown any taller since then.’

‘No, but you have grown out,’ she told him, her hands squeezing the muscle beneath the sleeves of his coat. ‘But ten years, Adam, Ten years! And never a word.’

‘I know, Mother. It was so very wrong of me. Can you ever forgive me?’

She shook her head.

‘No, nor myself. Those lost years can never be regained. But we both spoke hard words, and I regretted mine almost as soon as they were uttered.’

‘Yours were no more than the truth, Mother. I have so much more to regret. I was such a damned proud fool that I could not turn back.’

‘If only you had written to me, told me where you were. That has been the hardest part, not knowing.’

‘And I can only beg your pardon for that—it was thoughtless of me and I regret it now, most bitterly. I was determined to prove myself, to show you what a success I had made of my life before we met again. What an arrogant fool I was.’

Hannah reached up to push back a lock of hair from his brow.

‘There is a trace of red in that blond thatch of yours, Adam. It is in mine too. When the temper is up we are both too hot to be reasonable.’

‘When I told you I had quit the navy you were so … upset. I felt I had let you down.’

‘No, no.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘I was … shocked. The navy was your life, and had been since you were twelve years old. And you were doing so well. A captain at twenty—’

‘I know, ma’am, but my advancement was due to the death of other, better officers. Comrades, friends—all perished. After Trafalgar I had had enough of war, of death. I wanted to be building something, not destroying it.’

‘And is that what you have been doing?’

She sat down, beckoning to him to pull up a chair beside her.

‘Of course, and very successfully.’ He saw her eyes stray to his coat. ‘Ah, I do not look like a successful gentleman, is that it? I’m afraid I ran into a spot of trouble on the way here. Nothing serious,’ he added quickly, seeing her anxious look. ‘Trust me, Mother, I have coats more fitting to a man of means, which I am now.’

‘Then I am sorry that I doubted you.’

‘No, no, your doubts were perfectly justified. It was wrong of me to storm off in a rage.’

‘You were a young man, fresh from the triumph of Trafalgar and full of plans for the future. Of course you were impatient of an old woman’s caution.’ She hesitated. ‘And never knowing your father—’

He flinched away, as if the words burned him.

‘Let us not go there, Mother. The circumstances of my birth were not important to the navy, and they mean nothing at all to me now.’

‘Truly?’

He saw the shadow of doubt in her eyes and was determined to reassure her. He had inflicted enough pain already and had no wish to reopen the old wounds. So he smiled, saying earnestly, ‘Truly. The people I deal with are only interested in how much cotton I can produce for them.’

‘Adam, I—’

‘No.’ He put his fingers to her lips. ‘Let us say no more of it. We have not discussed it these thirty years, it is an irrelevance. Instead let me apologise to you again for my long silence. I was headstrong, angry that you doubted me and I wanted to prove I could make something of my life. At first I did not write to you because I was not sure I would succeed. Then, it seemed I had left it too long, I did not know how to explain… .’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘So I thought I should come in person to tell you how successful I have become. And I am successful, Mother, more so than I ever dared to imagine.’ He glanced down at his coat and gave a rueful laugh. ‘More than this shabby garb suggests.’ He leaned forward and took her hands. ‘And now I want you to share in my success. I want you to come back to Rossendale with me. I have bought a property there, a small gentleman’s residence, quite snug and comfortable.’ He read the hesitation in her face and stopped. ‘That is, if you can ever forgive me for running away from you like a petulant child.’

‘You were hurt that I doubted you,’ she said, smiling.

‘Your doubts were well founded. How was either of us to know that manufacturing would suit me so well? I was full of arrogant confidence, but it could all have gone so wrong.’

‘And instead it has gone right?’

‘It has, Mother, it has! And that is why I am here now.’ He grinned, pushing out his chest. ‘I said I would return, Mother, once I had a house worthy of you.’

‘Foolish boy, you know I never asked that of you.’

‘No, but I demanded it on your behalf. Look around you. Your quarters here are far superior to many a gentleman’s house. It has taken me ten years, Mother. I have worked hard and made shrewd investments, and I have a house now that I think you will like. And I have bought land, too, where I plan to build my own house one day, something bigger, suitable for a wife and children—’

‘And do you have anyone in mind?’

Amber’s dark beauty flashed into his mind but he banished it instantly. She was not the yielding, compliant partner he envisaged sharing his life with him. He wanted a wife who knew nothing of the rumours surrounding his birth.

‘No one yet, but there is time for that. For now I want you to keep me company. Tell me you will come, Mother.’

She put her hands to her cheeks.

‘My dear, you must understand—this is all so unexpected. You return after so many years, I must have time to think.’

‘I know it is very sudden, but surely there is nothing to consider. I want you to come and live with me, to spend your days in comfort and ease. You will be your own mistress. Is that not what you want?’

‘Oh, my love, of course, but … I cannot come with you immediately. His Grace is very sick, and Lord Giles is to be married this summer—the family is all at sixes and sevens! There are so many arrangements to make… .’

‘Can the family not make their own arrangements?’ Adam replied impatiently. ‘Surely they have servants enough to deal with a dozen weddings!’

‘Of course they do, but—’ she lifted her hand, indicating the room and saying gently ‘—this has been my home, Adam, for thirty years. I cannot, will not, pack a bag and walk out and leave the family.’

‘I understand that, Mother, but surely, a few days, a week at the most to arrange everything—’

‘Oh, Adam, if only I could.’

‘You can, Mother! You have served the family well. They have no right to expect more from you.’ He looked at her closely. ‘But that isn’t all, is it? What is worrying you?’

She clasped her hands.

‘It is not just the wedding, Adam. There is some doubt about the inheritance—’

‘What, is not James—’

‘Master James is dead.’

‘Good heavens, when was this?’

Hannah hunted for her handkerchief.

‘Some two years since, I do not know the details—it was France, or Spain—something to do with the horrid war.’

Adam ran a hand through his hair. ‘I read that Lord Edward had perished at Waterloo, but Jamie—that makes Giles the heir!’

‘Not quite yet. The family had word that Jamie might be alive, and Lord Harry is gone to look for him.’

‘But that is good news, surely.’

‘Yes, it is, only not long after he went a woman arrived here, with a baby, saying she is Lady—that she is Master Jamie’s widow. The duke is overjoyed to have his grandson here, only—’

‘Only you think she is an imposter?’

‘I do not know, my son. It is all so confused. She seems true enough, but there are little things—and if she should prove to be a fraud, His Grace would be distraught. And he is so very ill, Adam, a mere shadow of the man he once was. His mind is going, you see, and there are so few of us left that he remembers. I do not think I can leave him while there is so much turmoil here, so much to distress him.’

‘I have not seen His Grace since I was twelve,’ said Adam pensively. ‘I was about to depart for the naval college in Portsmouth and he summoned me, to bid me farewell, do you remember? He told me to make everyone proud of me.’

‘And we were, my son. When we read in the dispatches about your bravery at Trafalgar, His Grace sent down a bottle of his best wine for us to toast your health!’

As if I was his own son. The words rose unbidden to Adam’s mind. It was an effort not to speak them, but if his mother had sworn an oath of silence he would not ask her to break it. He had caused her enough pain. He watched his mother turn to put another log on the fire. The plain gold band on her wedding finger was real enough, and there was the emerald ring she wore on the little finger of her right hand on high days and holidays—she had told him once that had been a betrothal gift from his father.

Two substantial rings, tokens from a man of means, such as the duke. As a child, the idea that the Duke of Rothermere was his parent had seemed preferable to not having a father at all but once Adam joined the navy it had ceased to be important. The question was still there, at the back of his mind. It always would be, but he would not let it come between him and his mother again. He was his own man, and proud of it.

Hannah shook off her reverie and looked up, smiling.

‘I am eating in the servants’ hall today. Will you join me, Adam? I would like to show you off.’

Adam grinned.

‘I should be delighted to take lunch with you.’ He held the door open for his mother and followed her out into the corridor, where she addressed the maid who was scurrying by.

‘Becca, we will be having a guest join us for luncheon in the servants’ hall. See to it that another place is laid, if you please.’ She looked at the watch dangling from her waist. ‘It is not nearly so late as I thought—’ Hannah broke off as she saw that the little maid was still standing there, wringing her hands nervously before her. ‘Well, Becca?’

‘Please, m’m, Cook asked me to go and fetch another pot of cream. If I goes back without it …’

‘You may tell Cook that I have sent you back with a message,’ said Hannah, patiently repeating herself. ‘Make sure there is another place laid at the table, Becca, and I will fetch the cream.’ She threw an amused glance towards Adam as the maid hurried away. ‘I was going to suggest we might take a stroll, but it seems I now have an errand.’

‘Then I shall come with you,’ said Adam. He added mischievously, trying to maintain the lighter mood, ‘Who knows, I might catch a glimpse of a pretty dairymaid… .’

They turned to make their way outside, but as they traversed the passage a lanky young footman came in and stopped at the sight of them. Hannah smiled.

‘Ah, Coyle, here is my son, Adam, come home to visit me. You won’t know Joe Coyle, Adam. He joined the family but five years ago.’

Adam nodded affably. The footman nodded back.

‘Ah, now, so it’s Captain Stratton returned, is it? I heard tell you was at Trafalgar, with Lord Nelson, God rest his soul.’

‘I was, but I am no longer a captain. I have sold out.’

Joe cast a critical look over Adam’s shabby coat.

‘Not doing so well, eh?’

Adam felt his mother stiffen beside him, but he merely shrugged, his amiability unimpaired. ‘I’m doing well enough.’

With a nod he took his mother’s arm and moved off, leaving the footman to go on his way. Hannah put her hand on his sleeve.

‘Adam, you should not let them think your pockets are to let—’

He grinned. ‘Better that than they should be dunning me for a loan. But I am sorry that the little fracas on the way here has ruined my coat. I did not pack another, thinking to carry you off within the day.’

‘Oh, my dear—!’

‘It is no matter, Mother. You have explained to me why you cannot pack your things and fly with me immediately.’

‘But I do not want you to disappear immediately either.’

‘I promise you I shall not do that. It was truly arrogant of me to think you would drop everything to come with me. I have left my business in good order, so I can stay in Castonbury for a while.’ The image of Amber Hall rose in his mind, but he dismissed it quickly. He placed his hand under his mother’s elbow. ‘Now, let us make haste to the dairy, before Cook is driven to a rage by a lack of cream.’

Hannah led the way outside and they followed the path that ran around the kitchen wing. The sash windows of the servants’ hall had been thrown up to make the most of the warm spring day, and as they passed, Joe Coyle’s voice came floating out to them, saying with painful clarity, ‘So Cap’n Stratton’s back, His Grace’s by-blow …’

Hannah stopped, her face pale, but before Adam could speak he heard the butler say sharply, ‘You’d best keep such thoughts to yourself, lad, if you don’t want to be turned off.’

‘But ‘tis common knowledge, Mr Lumsden—’

‘Common nonsense, that’s what it is,’ retorted the butler. ‘You’ll get short shrift if you repeat such gossip in this house, Coyle.’

Adam put his hand beneath Hannah’s arm and gently moved her away.

‘Adam—’

‘You need say nothing, Mother. There has always been gossip, even when I was a boy.’

‘Ah, my son, I thought to shield you from that!’

He shrugged.

‘It was never important.’

‘Is that really true? Perhaps it was wrong of me, not to tell you the truth.’

The faded blue eyes were fixed upon him. Adam knew that one word from him and she would break her vow of silence. He paused to consider the matter. He had always looked up to the duke, who had been carelessly kind to him and had paid for him to go to sea. Adam had never felt any bitterness about his upbringing—after all, it was not unusual for peers to have children on the wrong side of the blanket. What was unusual was the care the duke had taken of Adam’s mother, persuading his father the late duke to employ her at Castonbury and allowing her to rise to a position of respect, responsibility and independence. If silence was the price she had had to pay for that, then he was not going to make her break her vows.

‘Growing up without a father has only increased my determination to make something of myself,’ he told her, smiling a little. ‘I have no interest in the past, only in what I am now … which is exceedingly hungry. Let us fetch the cream and return for our luncheon with all speed.’

Adam saw the relief in his mother’s face and knew he had made the right decision.

‘So, Captain—’

‘I am merely Mr Stratton now, sir,’ Adam corrected the butler with a smile, and the old man nodded, his look saying that Adam would always be a captain in his eyes. ‘What are you about now?’

‘I am a manufacturer.’

Adam glanced around the servants gathered together for luncheon and smiled to himself.

They were all looking at him politely, but he read a touch of disdain in their glances. They were wedded to the past, where a title and land was paramount. A man’s status was determined by his birth—and given what Adam had overheard earlier they considered his origins to be highly suspect! Little did they realise that only a few miles away men like himself were making fortunes that would allow them to buy up estates like Castonbury on a whim.

‘And you’ve come back to visit your mother,’ Lumsden continued, bending a fatherly eye upon Adam. ‘Very commendable.’

‘Not just to visit,’ said Adam. ‘I want to take her to live with me in Rossendale.’

This brought a murmur of surprise around the table and Hannah was quick to respond.

‘I shall not go immediately, of course. I would like to remain until after Lord Giles’s wedding.’

‘And so I should think.’ Lumsden nodded. ‘We couldn’t do without you, not at this late stage.’

Adam smiled at his mother.

‘I am afraid you will have to do so eventually.’

She put her hand over his.

‘Even though I will not go back with you immediately, I hope you do not mean to leave me just yet.’

‘No, no, have I not said I shall stay a little while?’

‘How long?’ she pressed him. ‘More than a couple of weeks, I hope.’

Adam hesitated. To remain in Castonbury, where he was clearly thought of as the illegitimate Montague, would not be easy, but he did not wish to leave his mother again so soon. Before he could reply William Everett, the estate manager, cleared his throat.

‘And where might you be thinking of staying?’

‘I am sure the Rothermere Arms will have a room… .’

‘There is the old keeper’s lodge, by the south gate.’

Joe Coyle snorted at Mr Everett’s suggestion.

‘No one’s lived there for many a day.’

‘True, but the building’s sound,’ said William. ‘I’ve been in the village this morning, and I think it might be a good thing to have someone living near the south gate again.’

One of the housemaids gasped, her bright eyes lighting up at the hint of gossip.

‘Oh, why’s that, Mr Everett? Has there been some trouble?’

‘It may be nothing, Daisy,’ he said cautiously, ‘but I heard that Mrs Hall was accosted on her way to Castonbury yesterday. Damaged some of the stock she was bringing back with her.’

‘Dear me, never say she was travelling alone?’ said Hannah. ‘Why did she not use a carrier?’

‘No one’ll work for her,’ replied Joe Coyle, pouring himself another glass of small beer. ‘The last carrier she used was set upon. Had his nose broken. She can’t keep any staff either.’ He wiped his lips and leaned forward, warming to his theme. ‘Bad things happen to ‘em. They get warned off.’

‘Oooh, who by?’ breathed Daisy, hands clasped to her breast.

Coyle shook his head.

‘Nobody really knows, but I think it’s the clothier over at Hatherton. Stands to reason, she’s competition.’

‘But surely she should go to the magistrate,’ said Adam, keeping his tone impartial.

‘No proof,’ replied Coyle shortly. ‘No one will say anything, but I had it from Mrs Crutchley, the butcher’s wife, that the new man’s been trying to drum up business in Castonbury. She says his prices are very good.’

‘Well, I don’t care how good he is,’ retorted Hannah stoutly. ‘We have always used Ripley and Hall to supply our needs and we will continue to do so.’

Adam was heartened his mother’s response, but the conversation worried him. He had been inclined to dismiss Amber’s assertions about her competitor, but if Parwich really did mean her harm, Adam did not think the boy or the old man he had seen at the warehouse would be much help to her. If he stayed at the lodge he could be near his mother and perhaps keep an eye on Amber as well.

William Everett pushed back his chair and rose from the table, saying as he did so, ‘Well, the offer is there if you want it. ‘Twould do the place good to have a few fires lit and I’d be glad to have it known that there is someone living there, especially while we have the lady on her own at the Dower House—’

Coyle snorted contemptuously.

‘The lady!’

William Everett frowned.

‘You’ll watch your tone, young man. If the lady’s case is proved, she’ll be your new mistress!’

‘Lord Jamie’s widow,’ explained Hannah, observing Adam’s raised brows. ‘She and her child have been installed at the Dower House, which is within sight of the old lodge. I confess I am a little worried for her, living there with only a few servants.’

Adam rubbed his chin. He could afford to pay for the best rooms at the inn, but the lodge was conveniently close to the great house.

‘Very well, Mr Everett, I will take up your kind offer and move into the keeper’s lodge for a while.’

‘Very good. The place was adequately furnished, the last time I went in, but of course there is no mattress.’

‘I will send one over directly,’ put in Hannah quickly. ‘I will look out some spare bedlinen too. Daisy will come over and clean the rooms for you. Perhaps Cook will allow Becca to help her. The place will be inches thick in dust.’

‘That is very good of you, Mrs Stratton,’ said Mr Everett. He turned to Adam. ‘I am going that way now if you would care to come and look?’

‘I will,’ said Adam. He drained his tankard and set it back on the table.

‘P’raps Mr Everett can find you some work on the estate.’ Coyle grinned. ‘By the looks of you, a few extra pennies wouldn’t go amiss.’

Adam smiled. If only they knew!

‘Don’t worry,’ he said mildly, ‘I’ll manage.’

Hannah’s chair scraped back. She said brusquely, ‘It

is time we were all back at work. Daisy, clear away, will you?’

Thus dismissed, the servants quickly went about their business.

Hannah put her hand on her son’s arm.

‘Will you come back later, for dinner?’

‘Of course. First I am going to see my temporary quarters.’ He grinned. ‘And then I think I will ride into Castonbury and find myself a new coat!’




Chapter Four


‘And there’s another two customers have closed their accounts.’

Frederick’s tone was as dismal as the gloom at the back of the shop. Amber rubbed a hand across her eyes.

‘They live near Hatherton, Fred. I am not surprised that they prefer to buy their cloth from Matthew Parwich.’

‘And what about Mrs Finch, when you tell her the block-printed cotton she ordered is ruined?’

Amber drew a breath, fighting back her anger.

‘It is not ruined, Fred, it has a few watermarks where it was dumped in the river. I will see how it looks once the washerwoman has done with it, and offer it to Mrs Finch at a reduced rate.’

It would wipe out any profit she had hoped to make, but if her customer was satisfied, then that was all she could hope for.

‘And then there’s the cloth for Castonbury Park—’

‘Most of that was undamaged.’ Her hold on her temper was slipping and she waved her hand at her clerk. ‘I will finish going through the order book, Fred. Please go and fetch a taper to light the lamps, or our customers will not be able to find their way in.’

She waited until he had left the room, then dropped her head in her hands.

Poor Fred, he was worried about the business, but he had a propensity to gloom and it would do no good to let him see her own anxiety. The attack yesterday must have shaken her more than she thought, for she was not usually so low. The tinkle of the shop doorbell brought her to her feet in an instant, the order book laid aside. Two young men entered. Their clothing was rough, and there was a certain swagger about them that immediately made her wary, especially with the daylight fading. She greeted them as she would any other potential customer, but remained behind the counter.

‘We wants some ribbons,’ said the taller one, looking about him with an insolence that made her want to order him from the premises.

‘Aye,’ sniggered the second, a spotty youth with ginger hair, ‘for our lady-loves.’

‘They are all there, by the window.’ She pointed to the display, the colours glowing in the last rays of the setting sun.

The young men walked across to the window.

‘Just these?’ The ginger-haired youth sniffed. ‘We came all the way from Hatherton and this is all you got? That ain’t good enough.’

‘Then I suggest you go back to Hatherton and buy your ribbons there,’ she retorted. She wished Fred would hurry up and return.

The taller of the two approached her.

‘Now that ain’t very good business talk, is it? What about this piece here?’ He picked up a length of scarlet ribbon from the counter and held it up. He pointed behind her. ‘And we’ll take a look in those drawers back there—’

He broke off as the bell tinkled again and Amber looked past him. She could not prevent the smile of relief at the sight of Adam Stratton in the doorway.

His quick gaze summed up the situation instantly and he stepped up, eyeing the two youths as he drew off his gloves.

‘Good day, Mrs Hall. You have customers, I see. Pray do not fret over me. I shall amuse myself while you deal with them.’

‘We was just going, wasn’t we, Tom?’ The ginger-haired youth began to sidle towards the door.

‘Aye, we are—’

‘Just a moment!’

The authority in Adam’s voice brought both men to a halt. Adam pointed to the ribbon on the counter. ‘You were going to buy that, I think?’

Amber held her breath. The lanky youth looked as if he wanted to deny it, but the silky menace in Adam’s tone was unmistakable. She saw the young man swallow and look at his companion, but there was no support there.

‘Um, well, I—’

‘That particular ribbon is one of the most popular,’ said Amber. ‘It would delight any young lady.’ She added kindly, ‘Since it is the last of the roll you can have it for tuppence.’

‘A bargain,’ agreed Adam, his eyes like steel, despite his smile. ‘Well, sir?’

The lad swallowed again, dug into his pocket and pulled out two coins.

‘A-all right,’ he stammered. ‘There you are.’

He slammed the coins down on the counter, picked up the ribbon and lounged out of the shop, his companion hot on his heels. Adam followed them to the door and watched them hurry away before turning back to face Amber.

‘I hope those two are not typical of your customers.’

‘Thankfully, no.’ She tried to speak normally.

‘I arrived just in time, I think.’

She raised her chin.

‘I am grateful, naturally, but I was never in any danger.’ His sceptical look told her he thought differently. She reached beneath the counter and pulled out an elegant pistol. ‘I am prepared for these occasions.’

He raised his brows.

‘Of course, I had forgotten. Having seen you in action, madam, I can believe it! However, I think it could prove, ah, vastly inconvenient to have dead bodies littering your premises.’

She laughed at that, saying as she carefully stowed the pistol away again, ‘It would indeed.’

‘But, to be serious, madam, who were those young ruffians? Are they local men?’

‘No, I have not seen them before. They said they had come from Hatherton.’

‘A long way to come for a length of ribbon.’

She shrugged. ‘Mayhap they are visiting someone here.’

‘How long have you felt it necessary to keep a loaded pistol in your shop? No, don’t tell me,’ he continued, noting her hesitation. ‘Only since your competitor began making … overtures, am I right?’

She eyed him frostily.

‘How I protect myself and my property is not your concern, sir!’

Oh, but how I wish it could be!

Amber was shaken by the thought. Immediately she stifled it. This was dangerous territory and she must draw back. She summoned up a smile.

‘Pray, let us not argue, Mr Stratton.’ She clasped her hands together and directed a polite look of enquiry up at him. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

‘I thought you could tell me where I might buy a coat.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. I am staying in Castonbury for a while and I really think this one a little too shabby, don’t you?’

The amusement in his voice, the slight, upward curve of his lips, set the butterflies loose in her stomach again. She forgot all about her unwelcome visitors and for a moment she could only gaze up at him, marvelling at how blue his eyes were, how they glinted when he smiled at her.

‘I heard the bell—’ Frederick came hurrying back into the room, a lighted taper clasped in one hand. He stopped when he saw Adam and gave him a nod of recognition.

The spell was broken and Amber was quite put out.

‘Yes, well, you are a little late, Fred,’ she retorted acidly. She closed her lips, composed herself and said quietly, ‘Since you have the taper, perhaps you will light the lamps now?’ She turned back to Adam, trying to think rationally. He was only another customer, after all.

‘I require a coat,’ he prompted her.

She cleared her throat.

‘Well, fashionable gentlemen such as Sir Nathan Samuelson would go to Buxton, but there is Mr Leitman, who is a perfectly good tailor and lives here in Castonbury.’

‘Your local tailor will suit me very well.’

He placed his hands on the counter. She gazed down at those long, tapering fingers, remembering the pleasure they had given her.

‘Then …’ She struggled to bring her disordered thoughts under control—and her voice, too, which had suddenly become very husky. ‘Then I would be happy to furnish you with the cloth you need.’

‘Excellent. What fabric do you have?’

Amber hesitated. Over the years she had become adept at assessing her customers, but she could not be sure about Adam Stratton. Thinking back to their discussions, he had told her he had been a sailor, and he had a house for his mother, but that did not necessarily mean he was a wealthy man. His coat was well-cut but tailored for comfort rather than fashion. His shirt and neck cloth were of the finest linen; she remembered the feel of them when she had hung them over the bush to dry. The thought of their time together in the woods brought the heat flaming to her cheeks again. It weakened her knees and she was obliged to clutch at the counter for support.

‘If it is a workaday coat you require, sir, I have a selection of wools and worsted, then there is a silk and wool mixture, or the superfine, if you wish for something better… .’

‘An everyday coat is all I require.’

‘Very well. Frederick, perhaps you will fetch down the—’

‘No.’ He held up his hand as Frederick ran to bring the steps to the front shelves. ‘It is too dark now to see the colours clearly. I will come back in the morning. Perhaps you will have a selection ready for me to see in the daylight?’

He lifted his hat, turned on his heel and departed. Amber watched him go. She felt very odd, as if she had been buffeted by a wild and unexpected storm.

‘Hmph.’ Frederick replaced the steps in the corner of the shop. ‘It seems to me he could have saved himself a journey and just called upon you tomorrow.’

‘Perhaps he just wanted to make sure we could supply him.’

She stared out through the window, watching as he hoisted himself into the saddle, turned the large grey horse and rode off. Perhaps he wanted her to know he was not leaving.

A sleepless night followed. Amber had spent all day trying to forget Adam Stratton. She convinced herself that the attack upon her wagon had made her restless, had disordered her senses and she had played the damsel in distress to Adam’s gallant knight. Then he had come into her shop, sent those rough youths away and sent her into another dizzy spin!

In vain did she argue that the entry of any gentleman would have resolved the situation and persuaded the boys to leave, but she knew that no one else would have caused such a bolt of pleasure to shoot through her. She had been overjoyed to see him, and now she was appalled by her reaction.

Never before had a man affected her in this way. Many had tried to woo her—after all, she owned a lucrative business—but she had no desire to share her hard-won wealth or her bed with any of them. Now, at seven-and-twenty, she considered herself to be beyond the age of love. What she felt for Adam must be infatuation. She had observed it in others, including her own father. He had become besotted by a beautiful young woman and had made a complete fool of himself, installing her in a house in Hatherton, showering her with gifts and neglecting both Amber and his business while he followed the young beauty around like a lovesick puppy. At last, when the young woman had left the area, taking with her a good portion of John Ripley’s fortune, he had begged Amber’s forgiveness, telling her how very lonely he had been since her mother’s death.

Amber had forgiven him, but she could never forget how close they had come to losing everything—only her timely marriage to Bernard Hall had secured the extra funding the business needed to continue, but at what a cost. It had taken all her strength to survive her marriage, and Bernard’s early death had been a relief. She had then been able to advise her father on the best way to progress, rebuilding Ripley and Hall into a thriving business. Since his death she had controlled her own fortune, made her own decisions, and that was the way she wanted it to remain. She would never allow anyone to have power over her again.

Adam returned from Castonbury to find the lodge swept out and the bed made up. A search of the outhouses uncovered a good supply of logs and a little coal, so he was able to build up a cheerful fire, which he left burning while he rode off to dine with his mother. He reached the Castonbury stables just as another rider was dismounting from a huge black horse. Adam recognised the tall, dark-haired figure immediately as Giles Montague and touched his hat.

‘Your servant, my lord.’

Giles scowled up at him.

‘Mighty formal all of a sudden, Stratton. That’s not the form of address I expect from a man I’ve known all my life!’

Adam grinned, reassured by the other’s curt greeting. He slid easily to the ground and handed Bosun’s reins to a waiting stable boy.

‘I was not certain of my reception.’

‘Quite right,’ said Giles, the gleam in his grey eyes belying his scowl. ‘Ten years without a word to anyone. You should be flogged!’

‘I agree with you, and I beg your pardon,’ said Adam, as they walked out of the yard together. ‘I should have kept in touch.’

‘That is nothing to me, I have never been one for letter-writing either, but I know your mother felt your loss deeply. Are you here to visit her?’

‘Yes, I am joining her for dinner.’

‘Hah! The prodigal returns so the fatted calf must be slaughtered, am I right?’

‘No, no, it is merely mutton stew, I believe,’ returned Adam mildly.





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