is if you like buttered parsnips.’
* * *
Despair grew in Maddy as she showed him around, Ketch at their heels. He’d said from top to bottom, and she did just that. Everything. Kitchens, storage rooms, root cellar, the cool, tiled dairy, the old north solar that was now a library-cum-drawing room, the one-time garde tower converted to extra bedchambers; she showed him all over the house, and with every step her heart sank lower.
They went back through the hall, collected his coat and her cloak and went out through the main doors into the wind that snapped and whistled about them, down the steps to the courtyard and out to the stables. There the great shire horses that worked the fields snorted softly in greeting, and her cob, little Bunty, whiffled for the carrot she’d brought.
Ash checked on his elegant mare, who seemed comfortable enough with a pile of hay. He asked where she kept her carriage and she showed him. Not that there was a carriage, only the gig, along with the farm carts. There was, she assured him nervously, room if he wanted a proper closed carriage, and more horses. He nodded, frowning slightly.
She showed him into the walled garden with its wintry, bare vegetable beds and skeletal fruit trees, rimed with snow. He said very little, but she could tell he was taking everything in and her heart wept for this last lost chance.
Only a fool could have thought for a minute that he would be interested in Haydon at all. She had visited his home, Ravensfell Castle, with her mother once as a child. All of Haydon would fit into its outer bailey. And Ravensfell was grand, luxurious, with state apartments where Good Queen Bess had stayed on one of her progressions around the country. This—Haydon—was not what he was used to. If Good Queen Bess had even known it was here it was as much as she’d done. Perhaps he’d just come so that he could let her down gently. Or perhaps he had not really remembered Haydon at all after so many years.
The sun flickered out as she was leading him along the narrow path around the outside of the walls, high above the river. The pale light splashed briefly on the soft greyish-brown stone and was gone again. Ketch spotted a rabbit and took off after it in a silent rush. Maddy’s eyes pricked and she dashed at them, shoving back a loose curl whipping her face. Beyond the wind’s cry the river sang and a sheep bleated. They had stopped and were looking down over the valley, bare and bleak in its white veil. Across the valley and beyond the fells clouds loomed in heavy-laden masses. More snow. She looked at Ash. He would need to leave soon or be caught in it.
She dragged in a deep breath. Better a swift blow than a lingering agony. ‘This isn’t at all the sort of thing you are used to, is it?’ she said, trying to keep the bitterness of despair out of her voice. She loved Haydon so much, it was hard to accept that to others, like Edward, or her brother Stephen, it was just an inconvenient, isolated pile of dressed stone.
He shook his head. ‘No. Not at all.’
She nodded. ‘I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea. I should have known better.’
He frowned. ‘Maddy. I lived in an officer’s tent on campaign in Spain and Portugal for five years. There is nothing wrong with Haydon.’
She didn’t quite believe it. ‘But—Ravensfell—’
‘Is Gerald’s home. Not mine.’ He turned and took her gloved hand. ‘I don’t want Ravensfell, or anything like it, even if I could afford it.’
His voice was absolute, and her heart skipped several beats as he drew her a little closer.
‘Maddy, are you quite sure you don’t regret that letter?’
Mute, she shook her head, staring up at him. Surely—?
‘Well, in that case—’ Strong hands enclosed hers, held them safe. ‘It was a very nice proposal, but I find myself quite unable to accept it, so...’
She tried to pull away as pain slashed at her, but his hands tightened on hers.
‘Madeleine Kirkby, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage and be my wife?’
Her heart stopped as she stared up into the sea-grey eyes. ‘You’ll marry me? You want Haydon?’
‘I want to marry you,’ he said.
They stood in a sheltered corner between two of the buttresses, out of the worst of the wind. Soon, thought Maddy, she would wake up and realise that she had been dreaming, that she was still trapped in the nightmare reality of losing Haydon and failing her people. But here and now, in this dream with its biting cold, she had—
‘Maddy?’
She realised that she hadn’t accepted. ‘Yes. Yes, please,’ she said very politely.
A sound that might have been a laugh escaped him. ‘Shall we seal that in the usual way?’ he suggested.
She frowned up at him. He was still holding her hands. But she supposed it was a sort of bargain between them. ‘You want to shake hands on it?’ She didn’t imagine he’d want to spit in his palm first.
This time he definitely laughed. ‘No. I’ve a better idea.’
Before she could even draw breath to ask what it was, he released her hands—but only to take her in his arms and bring her closer. Her breath shortened at the startling strength that surrounded her, held her. She had never been this close to a man. She had not realised that a man could be so...hard. Certainly she had not known it was possible to feel utterly safe and shatteringly vulnerable at the same moment.
‘Maddy.’ Somehow he’d shed a glove, and his bare hand was under her chin, lifting it. And not just lifting it but feathering along the line of her jaw, tracing the curve, while his thumb stroked across her lips. The shock of his touch burned through her, melting thought and scattering her wits.
Then his mouth was on hers.
She had always thought, assumed, that kissing was a mere bumping of mouths, slightly ridiculous and possibly revolting if someone had bad teeth.
This, Ash’s kiss, was not a mere anything. Nor was it ridiculous or revolting. It was a revelation. His mouth moved on hers, warm and supple, in a caress that not only stole her wits but removed all desire for their return. Feeling was enough. Tentatively, unsure of the correct thing to do, Maddy returned his kiss and gasped, fire spinning through her as his arms tightened.
* * *
Ash thought he might explode at that first shy response. Her lips were so damn soft, so sweet, as they moved hesitantly against his. Torn between the aching need for more and the restraining knowledge that she was an innocent, he touched his tongue to her lips, licked into the seam. She gasped, her lips parting, and he pressed into the honeyed sweetness, taking her mouth, tasting and teasing. Honey. Spice. Something that must be Maddy.
God help him, he’d been wanting to kiss her since seeing her in Blakiston’s office the other day. He’d known he wanted to kiss her. He just hadn’t known how much. He certainly hadn’t had the least conception of how her kissing him would affect him. Nor had he realised just how good her slight curves would feel pressed against him. In short, he’d expected to kiss her, enjoy it and be able to let her go.
He couldn’t. Not easily. With a savage effort of will he broke the kiss. His breathing harsh, he held her. Just held her. Fiercely aware of her shaken breath, the soft curves pressed against him, the burn of his blood and the ache in his groin.
Two weeks and we’ll be married.
‘This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life,’ he said, not quite recognising the rough voice that came from him.
* * *
Maddy took a deep breath, fighting back against the wave of panic. This wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Scions of ducal houses were meant to know all about marriages of convenience and what they entailed.
Marriages of convenience did not entail forbidden kisses under the walls of the castle. They did not entail finding