Haunted by the Earl's Touch - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,87

tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. A public demonstration of intimacy, even though there was no one there to see it.

It made her feel wanted. A surprisingly warm feeling. It melted her insides, made her want to lean against his strength and let him do with her as he would. And therein lay the danger.

If she came to rely on his caring too much, she would be heading for disappointment, so she did her best to appear unconcerned. To appear as if gentlemen escorted her in such a fashion every day of the week.

‘What time do you expect we will leave in the morning?’ she asked, feeling obliged to break what felt like far too comfortable a silence as they strolled towards her chamber.

‘To leave St Ives on the first tide, we will need to leave here no later than six in the morning. Do you think you can be ready on time?’

‘I can. Are you sure we cannot marry from here? I have never set foot on a ship before.’

‘Afraid, Mary? I did not think you chicken-hearted.’

‘It is the middle of winter. I hear mal de mer can be very uncomfortable.’

They had arrived at her chamber door and he turned to face her. ‘You are right. But it is the fastest way and, if it is any comfort to you, the weather is set to be fine for the next two days according to the ship’s captain.’

She could see from his expression that no objection from her was going to change his mind.

He opened the door to let her in. ‘Thank you, my lord.’ She dipped a little curtsy.

He gave a short laugh. ‘I can see you would rather hit me over the head with your poker. Thank you for not pressing your objections.’

‘I can see it would do no good.’

He looked surprised. ‘I think you and I will do very well together, my dear Mary.’

‘As long as I do exactly as you say.’ She shook her head. ‘I am afraid that, as a general rule, is not in my nature. Perhaps you should think of another way out of this dilemma.’

‘There isn’t one.’ His voice lost its teasing note.

‘Then I must bid you goodnight.’ She stepped into her room and was astonished when he walked in behind her.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Not letting you out of my sight.’

‘I promise you, I am not going anywhere.’

He gave her a long considering look and then seemed to come to some decision. ‘Before I went to St Ives, I went out to the mine.’

He reached into his watch pocket with two fingers and pulled forth a few strands of fabric. ‘I found these.’

She frowned at them.

‘Strands of ribbon caught on an iron spike in the wall at the top of one of the deepest shafts in the mine.’ His voice was hard and cold.

She raised her gaze to meet his and was surprised at the bleakness she saw in those metallic eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a voice as cold as ice.

She shivered. ‘Sorry that I did not fall to my death?’

He grasped her arm and pulled her hard against him, looking down into her face. ‘I would not see harm befall you, Mary.’

‘Not now we are to be married, at least.’

He swung away with a soft curse, leaving her wishing he was still holding her and hating herself for that weakness.

‘I thought your story was a lie,’ he gritted out. ‘Finding you on the road, heading away from the mine, was all the proof I needed that you were running away.’

Guilt nagged at her, forcing her to speak the truth. ‘I was. What fool would stay and risk their life?’

‘And you are not a fool.’ He let go a short sigh. ‘It wasn’t me who pushed you.’

A rush of relief rushed through her, followed swiftly by logic and doubt. ‘If not you, then who? Only you benefit by my death.’

He winced and scrubbed at his chin. ‘I know.’

‘Some friend trying to help you? Your friend Lord Templeton, perhaps?’

Startlement entered his gaze. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘You employed his help to seek information about me.’

‘Templeton works for the government. He has access to information and informers. He is right now looking for your Mrs Ladbrook. I hoped she might shed some light on what it was my grandfather was up to with this will. I can assure you he was nowhere near the mine yesterday.’

‘Then who could it be?’

‘Jeffrey.’

‘Your heir.’

‘A true Beresford, despite his proclivities. A man my grandfather