fascinating.’ She looked duly impressed. ‘Is the estate very large?’
‘About fifteen hundred acres. Falconmore Hall is at the other end of this drive.’
‘Really?’ She sat up hopefully. ‘Then perhaps I ought to seek shelter there?’
‘I’m afraid it would be quicker to walk back to the village.’
‘Oh, dear.’ She sighed and sat back again. ‘Well, perhaps it’s for the best. I think I’d like to avoid halls for a while. I offended the hostess at the one we visited this evening.’
‘Indeed? Who was that?’
She glanced sideways, as if she were questioning the wisdom of telling him. ‘Lady Fentree.’
‘Fentree?’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘It doesn’t take much to upset that old battle-axe, believe me. She was probably just annoyed at you for overshadowing the Honourable Miss Vanessa.’
‘Me?’ His companion looked genuinely shocked. ‘I don’t think I overshadowed anyone.’
‘Then you don’t give yourself enough credit, Just Millie.’
He surprised himself with the comment, aware of an unfamiliar tingling sensation in his chest as their eyes met and held. Hers were a bright summer-grass green, he noticed, uncommonly clear and direct with pale lashes that made a striking contrast with her hair. The more he looked, the more he thought that she overshadowed almost every other young lady he’d ever met, or could think of for that matter. Even when she’d looked like a snowman there had been something appealing about her. Something intriguing… Unless it was just the port making him think so. Or the fact that she didn’t know who he was. Or that any woman was preferable to Sylvia. Whatever the reason, he was finding it difficult to look away.
Fortunately, she did it instead, her cheeks reddening slightly as her gaze drifted towards the bottle on the table beside him. ‘My father used to say port was the best way to warm up on a cold night.’
‘I’m inclined to agree. Certainly better than soup. Would you care for a glass?’
‘Me?’ She looked even more startled, her mouth forming an O shape as if she were about to refuse, then changed her mind. ‘Maybe just a small one…if you’re sure that’s all right?’
‘I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t.’
He poured a small measure into a tumbler and handed it to her, refraining from taking a glass for himself. Given how much he’d already drunk, the effects of which he hoped weren’t too obvious, it was probably wise to abstain. He was having trouble believing the evidence of his own senses as it was.
‘Well, then, Just Millie…’ he watched, the tingling sensation in his chest intensifying, as she lifted the glass to her lips ‘…after you’ve finished that I suggest you get a good night’s sleep. Given the depth of the snow, I’d say we’re stranded here until morning.’
‘I suppose so…’ She sounded anxious. ‘But what if my mother sends out a search party? I’d hate for people to be out in the dark searching for me.’
‘How long were you out walking?’
‘An hour, perhaps.’
‘Then I’d venture to suggest that if your relatives were going to come looking, they would have done so by now.’
‘Yes.’ Her brow creased. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘Of course we could fashion some kind of sign, hanging your bonnet from the gatepost, for example, but it might be prudent for us to be a little more discreet.’
She drew her knees up to her chest and took another mouthful of port. ‘I suppose if anyone knew I was here it would look a little compromising.’
‘More than a little.’ He shifted in his seat, distracted by the way she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, soaking up the last of the liquid. ‘Fortunately, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a little harmless deception.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s a disused cottage in one of the fields between here and the village. If, theoretically speaking, you were to have taken shelter inside it, it would be entirely plausible if I, again theoretically speaking, were to find you there in the morning. Then I could take you back to the village without anyone being any the wiser.’
‘I see.’ She nodded slowly. ‘That does sound like a good idea, but there’s no need for you to escort me anywhere. I’m sure I can find the way on my own.’
‘More than likely, but I can hardly just wave you goodbye and hope for the best. You’ve already admitted you were lost this evening.’
‘Only because it was dark.’
‘None the less, I’ll escort you. My conscience won’t be easy otherwise. In the meantime, you can sleep in my bed.’
‘Then where will you sleep?’ She shook her head adamantly. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly do that.’
‘But I’m afraid this time I have to insist, especially since you’ve already refused my armchair. Which is surprisingly comfortable, I might add. I won’t suffer at all.’
She looked hesitant for a moment and then gave an appreciative smile. ‘That’s very kind of you and I confess I am tired. I never realised that walking in the snow was so exhausting.’
‘Yes,’ he murmured in agreement, only half-aware of what he was saying as the warm sensation in his chest seemed to escalate by a few degrees and then spread outwards through his body. As smiles went it was extraordinary, lighting up every part of her face and making her look quite exceptionally pretty. Captivating, in fact. In all his thirty-two years, he could honestly say that he’d never seen another smile like it. Not once. Not ever. Not even in his dreams. Back when his dreams had been pleasant ones, that was.
‘Then I hope you sleep well, Just Millie. I’m afraid that I don’t have any women’s clothing to lend you, but feel free to make use of whatever you can find.’ He inclined his head and then coughed as his voice turned unexpectedly husky, stirred by the thought of her in one of his nightshirts.
‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’ She swallowed the last of her port and stood up. ‘Goodnight, Mr Whitlock. Thank you again for opening your door. I do believe that you’ve saved me from myself.’
Millie jolted upright with a gasp, her heart hammering against her ribcage at the sound of a shout, followed by glass shattering downstairs. In another instant, she was out of bed and on to the landing, so disorientated that she was halfway down the stairs before she remembered that she was only wearing her shift and petticoat and her situation was shocking enough without her running around in her underwear. But she still had to hurry. If Mr Whitlock was in some kind of trouble, under attack by the sound of it, then she had to help him as he’d helped her!
