that he had indeed been abed and only hastily re-donned his clothing.
‘Good evening, sir,’ she said. ‘I know it is late, but I should like to see your master, please.’
For a silent moment the man looked her up and down. Then, without a word, he moved to close the door on her.
‘Just a minute!’ she cried. ‘I demand to see the manager!’
‘The manager?’ he said finally. ‘And who would that be?’
Did he think she’d wandered aimlessly across the countryside with no definite destination? ‘Mr Greville Anders, of course,’ she snapped back. ‘Please tell him that Mrs Merrill has arrived and wishes to see him at once. He will receive me, I assure you.’
‘It be Mr Anders you’re wanting?’
‘Yes,’ she replied impatiently. ‘And I warn you, he will be most displeased when I tell him you forced his only sister to stand forever in the doorway before admitting her.’
‘His sister, are you?’ the man asked with a sly look. ‘When did he send for you?’
Though her brain was muddled with cold and fatigue, she thought it was probably best not to admit that she hadn’t been sent for. ‘That’s not your concern,’ she replied. ‘All I require is that you convey me to him at once.’
‘Must have miscalculated the date,’ she heard him mutter before he said in a louder voice, ‘Nothing here for you, miss. Best go back where you come from.’
‘Go b-back?’ she repeated, her voice breaking as alarm jolted through her. Desperately summoning up her best governess tone, she said firmly, ‘At this hour of the night? You must be mad! Why are you keeping me here on the threshold, nattering on in this stupid manner? Just inform Mr Anders I have arrived.’ Ducking around him, she darted into the hall.
And stopped on a sigh. Ah, how heavenly it was to get out of the wind and cold!
The butler-person, mouth pursed in disapproval, stomped after her. ‘Haven’t ever laid hands on a woman and don’t expect to start, so I suppose, being a good Christian, I’ll let you dry off and sleep in the kitchen. But you must be gone first thing in the morning.’
Anger filtering into her desperation, Joanna crossed her arms. ‘Have you heard nothing that I’ve said, my good man? I am not going anywhere until I’ve seen the manager. If you force me out, I will simply come back.’
For a moment they stared at each other, nearly nose to nose. Finally the butler nodded. ‘Very well, I’ll fetch you to the manager. Follow me.’
Eagerness and trepidation stirred in her again as he led her on. He halted, she realised, before the door that opened into the room whose lights she’d glimpsed from the road, the lights that had led her to the manor.
Greville’s room! Illumined as if he’d meant to send a beacon of hope and welcome out to her in the darkness.
As the butler opened the door, warmth and the faint scent of wine wafted out. Her stomach growling at the hint of sustenance, her numb fingers and toes luxuriating at the caress of heated air, she scarcely heard the butler announcing her.
At last, she would see Greville and all would be well again. Pushing past the butler, she stumbled over the threshold, her chilled body drawing her like a moth to the flames dancing on the hearth. After the misery of the rain and chill, the temperature of the room made her feel light-headed and giddy, almost as if she might swoon.
Only then did she look up into the face of the tall man who’d risen from his chair behind the desk.
A man who was frowning at her.
A man who was not Greville.
‘Wh-who are you?’ she gasped.
‘Who did you expect?’ he asked, his faintly hostile gaze running with insulting familiarity over her figure.
‘G-Greville,’ she stuttered again. ‘Greville Anders. This is Blenhem Hill manor, is it not? He—he manages that estate for Lord Englemere.’
‘Not any longer,’ the tall man said curtly. ‘Lord Englemere discharged Mr Anders. Almost a month ago.’
For a moment she blinked stupidly at him. ‘Greville … isn’t here?’
‘No.’ His implacable gaze held her motionless, mesmerising her like a python regarding its prey.
Greville. Discharged. Not here. In her dazed and exhausted mind, syllables detached themselves from words and meaning, echoing down into her empty belly, up into her dizzy head. Images swirled before her eyes: the rain-swept road, her stiff cold fingers, her empty purse.
She felt as if she were swaying in a high wind. The disapproval on the face of the tall man by the hearth was the last thing she saw before the images dissolved and she slipped into blackness.
Chapter Four
Consternation tempering his irritation, Ned hastened to catch the girl before her head hit the wooden floor. As he gathered her up, glancing about him to determine where to deposit his soggy burden, he realised his first impression had been wrong.
Before she fainted, he’d noted little more than large dark eyes, a determined little chin and the fact that she was dripping all over the carpet. But though her body was short and slender, this was no girl he held in his arms, but a woman. The firm soft mound of her breasts pressed into him as he cradled her inert form, while a lingering hint of some exotic perfume mingled with the scent of rain and sodden wool.
His sleepy body roused abruptly to full attention.
Muttering a curse at that distraction, Ned turned to Myles, who was motioning him to lay the senseless girl—nay, woman—on the couch. ‘Who the devil is she?’
‘Said she was Mr Anders’s sister,’ Myles said, pouring a glass of brandy while Ned seated himself beside her, rubbing her hands to try to revive her. ‘At first I thought she be another of Anders’s women, but none of ‘em ever arrived this late and soaked through.’
Abandoning his thus-far ineffectual efforts chaffing her hands, Ned delivered a smart slap to her cheek. Her slack body tensed and she gasped, her eyes flying open.
She gazed up at him, her dazed look barely focused, seeming completely unaware of where she was and with whom. Just as Ned noticed the chill emanating from her and realised how icy were the hands he’d tried to chafe, she began to shiver, violent tremors that set her teeth chattering.
‘She must be frozen through,’ he muttered. ‘Myles, hand me that glass, please,’ he asked, nodding towards the brandy before looking back at the woman still reclining in his arms. ‘Miss … Mrs—’ Ned looked to the butler.
‘Mrs Merrill,’ Myles supplied.
‘Do not be alarmed, Mrs Merrill,’ Ned said. ‘You are at Blenhem Hill. I’m Mr Greaves, Lord Englemere’s estate agent. Here, have a sip of this brandy to warm you.’
He coaxed her lips—plump, in a pretty bow of a mouth, he noticed
