that he might want her, Maddy Kirkby. Not just Haydon.
He’s always been kind. And...and honourable.
She let that first breath out and took another. ‘You don’t have to pretend pretty stories for me, Ash.’ His arms hardened, but she forced herself on. ‘We both know it’s Haydon you want. I’m offering a marriage of convenience.’
She found herself set back from him in one swift move, his narrowed eyes boring into her as he gripped her shoulders.
‘A marriage of convenience.’
She got her breath under control. Sort of. ‘Yes. You don’t have to pretend.’
‘Pretend what? That I desire you?’
Why the devil did she have to blush? ‘Yes. That. You can’t—’
‘Desiring the woman you plan to marry seems perfectly convenient to me.’
His voice was cool. And there was no answer to that flawless logic. Not that she could make.
He went on. ‘Men do that, Maddy. Desire women. All the time. Were you envisaging a marriage in name only?’
‘What?’ For a moment she didn’t follow his meaning. Then, ‘No!’ She wasn’t such a ninny that she had expected that. Besides, she thought children might be rather nice one day.
‘Good,’ he said flatly. ‘Because you wouldn’t get it.’ One long finger traced the line of her throat, set little flames dancing under the skin, stole her breath. ‘And,’ he added softly, that wicked finger finding her frantic pulse beat, stroking, ‘I really can’t see a problem with us desiring each other.’
Desiring each other? Was that what she felt? ‘Er...’
‘In fact,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t tried to speak, ‘it makes it a great deal easier.’
She stared up at him. At the mouth, now faintly smiling, that had just kissed her senseless. All very well for him. As he’d said, men desired women all the time. And until he’d kissed her, she, too, had thought a marriage of convenience would be easy. Until she’d realised that her stupid, girlish tendre for him had required only one devastating kiss, one gentle caress, to flare back to inconvenient, embarrassing life.
An odd look flashed across his face. ‘Ah, you do know what happens, don’t you, Maddy?’
Her cheeks flamed. ‘Of course I do! I’ve brought plenty of rams and bulls to tup, and...’ Her breath shortened and her heart pounded as his gaze seared her. ‘I...I mean, I know it’s not exactly the same, but—’ Something in his eyes silenced her.
‘I think,’ he said, in a tight, strained voice, ‘that we’ve been out here as long as is safe.’
‘Safe?’ she asked.
‘That’s correct,’ he said, still in that strange tone. ‘You aren’t safe.’
She stared. ‘I’m not?’
‘No. You aren’t.’
Ash rode back into Haydon village just as dusk was falling on the afternoon of the twenty-third. It had been snowing lightly for the past five miles, and old Runcorn, the innkeeper, welcomed him heartily, handing him a cup of hot punch.
‘Come you in, my lord. All’s ready. Will you be going up to the castle tonight?’
Ash gave him a narrow look as he sipped the punch gratefully. He had done his best to keep the betrothal quiet, worried that Montfort might trouble Maddy, but clearly the secret was out. ‘Not tonight, Runcorn.’ As it was, his sleep had been disturbed for the past two weeks with anticipatory dreams of the wedding night. Which were better than nightmares, but he’d be damned if he’d take the risk of literally anticipating his vows.
Runcorn ushered him to the stairs. ‘Never you fear, m’lord. There’s only a few knows what’s afoot. And glad we are of it.’ He shook his head. ‘A bad business, thinking we’d lose the castle.’
Ash followed him up the stairs. Most of his belongings had been sent ahead to Haydon in the carriage that would carry Maddy to church on the morrow. All he had with him was a portmanteau, holding enough for the night and his wedding clothes. And the marriage settlements, which he had collected from Blakiston on his way through Newcastle.
His jaw set hard at the thought of those settlements. They would have to be signed tomorrow, before the wedding, even though they were not quite as he had instructed. In fact, not at all. And there was no time to have them changed back, even if Blakiston would have agreed. As to that, he’d had not a single logical argument to advance when the wily old solicitor had pointed out that, as Miss Maddy’s trustee, he was bound both legally and morally to consider her wishes.
That might be the case, but he was going to have something to say to Maddy about this. His fingers tightened on a small object in his pocket.
* * *
The church vestry was a chilly little room, fragrant with camphor and wax. Maddy read the altered settlements through very carefully to ensure they said what she wanted them to say. Satisfied, she picked up the pen and dipped it in the ink.
Signed by me, Madeleine Henrietta Fairfax Kirkby, this twenty-fourth day of December, in the Year of our Lord eighteen hundred and sixteen.
The pen ceased its scratching and Maddy set it back in the pen-rest, careful not to drip ink on the settlement. This was much fairer than the original version. Mr Blakiston had explained the details of that document very clearly when he’d brought the settlements out to her to read through a week ago.
‘You retain ownership of Haydon. Should you predecease Lord Ashton, he has only a life interest in the property, which will then pass to your eldest son, or daughter if there is no son. Should you die without heirs of your body, the trust is set up so that you may bequeath Haydon, in its entirety as you please, the bequest to be effective upon the death of Lord Ashton.’
There had been more. Every eventuality had been thought of. But the crux of the matter was that Ash had given Haydon back to her and her heirs absolutely. Under the terms of the original settlement Ash had asked Mr Blakiston to draw up, Haydon would never really be his.
She was fiercely conscious of Ash standing behind her, waiting to sign. He had barely spoken to her when she arrived, his greeting curt, his eyes as grey and cold as a winter sea. A tremor ran through her. Heirs of your body. She had lived in the country all her life. She knew how those heirs would be conceived. How could she not? But until Ash had kissed her she had not known that a man’s touch could set her pulse awry and steal the breath from her body.
He was not angry with you then.
He was definitely angry now. With her.
He came forward, tall and straight, every movement controlled and easy. Yet his mouth was set in a hard line. Her foot caught in the hem of her gown as she rose, but before she could even stumble his hand was there, under her elbow, steadying her. Through the velvet sleeve of her gown and the leather of his glove every nerve sang at his touch and the strength in those lean fingers, even as they bit into her arm. She said nothing, but at her sharp intake of breath he released her and stepped back.
Heart pounding, she waited while Ash signed the documents, his face coldly expressionless, and his brother the duke and Mr Blakiston witnessed the signatures. There were three copies, now all formally signed and witnessed. One would be kept with Blakiston, one at Haydon and one with the Ravensfell family records to safeguard both parties to the transaction. She had to remember, no matter that Ash could set every nerve in her body alight, that it was just that: a business transaction.
It was done. She hoped.
‘It...it