I’ve no reason to feel ashamed. I shall tell the truth about why I had to leave.’
‘Will they believe you, though? As an employer I might find it difficult to accept your situation was so desperate that you had to climb out of the window on knotted sheets. Things like that only happen in novels. If you’d simply told your mistress what her son was up to, she would have intervened.’
‘No, she wouldn’t. He’s spoilt and pampered and no one gainsays him, least of all his adoring mother. She’d never have believed me. She’d have accused me of plotting to ensnare him and I’d have been turned off without notice.’
‘How has your situation improved? You’re still without a job and still without references.’
‘But I haven’t had to endure lies and false accusations.’
He looked a little conscious at this. ‘Until you met me, I suppose.’
‘Yes, until I met you.’
She was looking directly at him and he was caught by her gaze. How could a pair of eyes sparkle with such militancy and yet drown a man in their allure?
‘Was there nobody else in the family that you could turn to?’ he said quickly. ‘What about your young mistress?’
‘She was a good friend to me,’ Amelie admitted, happily weaving her fantasy, ‘but she’s to be married to a wealthy man against her wishes. She’s powerless to offer me protection.’
‘You could always marry. You’d receive ample protection then. You must have enjoyed plenty of attention from your fellows—beautiful and intelligent maidservants aren’t two a penny.’
‘I will never marry,’ she declared resolutely.
Gareth smiled indulgently. ‘You’re not much more than a child—far too young to know how you’ll feel in the future.’
Nettled by his mocking tone, her response was sharp. ‘On the contrary, I shall feel in the future just as I do now. I intend to stay a single woman if I can.’
‘Then you are vastly unlike the rest of your sex. Why so definite?’
‘I don’t wish to be subject to any man.’
‘The right man can be a powerful defender.’
‘Not those I’ve known—they’ve been either dissolute or vain and shallow.’
‘There are men who are none of those things.’
She raised her eyebrows sceptically. ‘You, for instance?’
Damn her, he thought, why was she forever putting him in the wrong? He’d behaved appallingly, he knew, and for no other reason than a desire to master her, to ruffle that beautiful surface. She was just too lovely.
Aloud he admitted to his offence. ‘I behaved stupidly when we first met, more than stupidly.’ He shook his head at his folly. ‘I made a bad situation worse by getting extremely drunk.’
She looked enquiringly at him, but it was evident he had no intention of disclosing the cause of his erratic behaviour. She wondered if it had anything to do with the grandfather for whom he’d just professed the utmost indifference.
Trying another tack, she said quietly, ‘You may not have relatives in England, but what about friends?’
‘None of those, either,’ he muttered roughly. ‘I’m a wanderer, Amelie, and friends and family play no part in my life.’
She sensed that beneath his grim detachment, there lurked a vulnerability he would not admit. Her eyes clouded with sympathy and without thinking she reached out towards him, gently stroking the tanned forearm that showed beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
His hand closed over hers and held it tightly. He looked directly into her concerned face, hard blue eyes meeting soft brown, his gaze intent, wondering. For a long moment they sat thus. Then he reached out and slowly caressed her cheek. Her pulse began an erratic dance as his touch warmed her face. He let his hand slide from her cheek to tangle itself in the glossy curls which tumbled to her shoulders. Turning his body towards her, he cupped her face in both his hands and tilted it upwards. She watched as his mouth came closer and without thinking offered up her lips. His kiss was hard and warm and lingered long.
How long they would have kissed she had no idea, if Mr Skinner had not suddenly appeared from the depths of the inn leading the doctor behind him. She jumped back, flushed. Gareth looked annoyed. If Mr Skinner had seen that embrace, they would be in trouble. How to explain now that they were brother and sister! Jumping up from her seat, she nodded briefly to Dr Fennimore and quickly ran up the stairs to her bedroom in the eaves. She poured water from the jug into the chipped white basin and bathed her heated cheeks. She must truly have run mad. What on earth was she doing kissing a man of whom she knew nothing or at least nothing creditable? She sat down on her bed and stayed there for a very long time, trying hard to still her racing heart and erase the feeling of Gareth’s hard, warm mouth on hers.
The doctor’s visit was brief. He was evidently well satisfied with his patient and needed to come no more. She heard him call out his farewells followed by the sound of Will helping Gareth up the stairs from the garden to his room. Until she could leave the inn, she must make sure that they were rarely alone together. He could not be trusted; she’d allowed herself to show sympathy and his response had been immediate—an assault, an assault that she’d made no attempt to escape. She could not trust herself either. His gaze had sent her heart racing, a simple touch had left her breathless. And that kiss. No, she would not think of that kiss.
As the sun slipped from the sky, Mr Skinner appeared at her door with a message. ‘Your brother would like to know if you will dine with him tonight. He’s feeling a good deal better and would like to celebrate his recovery.’ The landlord enunciated the phrases painstakingly, relieved that he’d remembered Gareth’s precise words.
I’m sure he would, she thought crossly, and I can imagine the kind of celebration he intends.
‘Tell my brother that I regret I have the headache and I will not be dining tonight,’ she said, adding diffidently, ‘It would be very kind of you, Mr Skinner, if you could bring a bowl of soup to my room.’
For the first time since she’d come to the George, she found it difficult to sleep that night, her mind endlessly roaming the day’s events, but finding no peace. She could not banish the attraction she felt for Gareth Wendover. Her heart was forever pulling her towards a man with whom it was madness to embroil herself. He was arrogant and capricious. He was reserved and unforthcoming and she strongly suspected that unfortunate secrets lay hidden in the depths of his past. Yet she, too, was equally guilty of dissembling. From the outset she’d told him a pack of lies and ever since had spent considerable effort in embroidering them.
What was certain was that she must leave for Bath as soon as she could. She must not become any further entangled; she must not fall in love with him. If ever she were forced to marry, Lord Silverdale’s daughter would be expected to look a great deal higher than a mere Mr Wendover of unknown and possibly disreputable lineage. And she wasn’t going to be forced to marry. She would not emulate her mother’s sad fate; her security and peace of mind lay in an unmarried life and that meant eschewing dalliance, no matter how attractive the man.
After breakfast she repaired
