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“Where are my clothes?”
“I’ve burned them for you. They were unwearable anyway.”
The fingers that were free clenched into a fist. Caro wondered what it would take to provoke him into dropping the tiny towel.
“Right, then,” Leander said, his voice very soft. Padding wetly, he crossed the floor to the door.
“Where are you going?” she demanded breathlessly.
“Back onto the streets, where I belong.”
“But…but you’ll freeze out there!”
“I’ll be arrested for indecent exposure long before I freeze to death, Mrs. Gray.”
Caro dragged her gaze away from the disconcerting curve of his buttocks to manage a careless shrug and toss of the head. “Well, suit yourself, then. If you want to go ahead and make an…an…absolute spectacle of yourself, it has nothing to do with me….”
“Apart from the fact that you’re my wife, Mrs. Gray, you’re quite right.”
A Convenient Gentleman
Victoria Aldridge
MILLS & BOON
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VICTORIA ALDRIDGE
lives in Wellington, New Zealand, in what she is assured is a haunted Victorian cottage. She shares it with her husband, whichever of her adult children find themselves otherwise homeless, and two bossy cats. She is a fifth-generation New Zealander, and finds her country’s history—especially that of women—absolutely intriguing.
To Sidney—for everything
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Prologue
The Hawkesbury, New South Wales, Australia, 1863
F or the third night in a row, war raged in the Morgan house.
The skirmishes took place at a number of sites in the huge house—the sitting room, the dining table, and in the kitchen—but all encounters were protracted and very, very loud.
Every farmhand in the cottages behind the main house followed the proceedings with great interest, and a number of wagers were laid on who the eventual winner was going to be. Most of the money was on Morgan. Young Caroline had always been a bit of a tearaway, but her father had always prevailed in the past, hadn’t he? And he was not the man to cross, was Ben Morgan. His eldest daughter would come to heel eventually.
Other, perhaps more knowledgeable, money was on Caroline Morgan. For all that she had her father’s lungs, she was her mother’s daughter, wasn’t she? And who was it who really ruled inside the big Morgan house? The older farmhands nodded and winked to each other. Wait and see, they said.
On the third evening, the two protagonists faced each other across the kitchen table, a pot of cold tea marking the battle line between them. The bread-scented air was virtually crackling with animosity. Emma Morgan, sitting quietly in a chair beside the stove, put down the tiny nightgown she was stitching and looked at her husband and daughter in exasperation.
‘I have had just about enough of you two! When, may I ask, are we going to return to civil conversation in this house?’
Ben Morgan shoved himself back on his chair and glowered at his wife. ‘When your daughter learns some manners and some common sense. But I’d advise you not to hold your breath for either!’
‘Really?’ Caroline tossed her head pertly. ‘You will note, Mother, that you have been my sole parent for the past three days? Which means, Father, that if you didn’t sire me, you’ve no right to order me around like one of your chattels!’
‘Caro!’ her parents chorused in shocked tones, just as they had almost daily since the time Caroline could talk. Emma looked at her daughter with the oddly mingled feelings of love and dismay that she always felt for her eldest child. She was so much her father’s child, with the same fair colouring and striking good looks, and the same volatile personality. Only her green eyes were her mother’s, but surely, Emma thought in despair, her own eyes had never glittered with such ferocity? Sometimes she truly feared for Caro. She possessed a hard, determined core just like her father’s and, while that quality might be considered desirable by some in a man, in a woman it was simply not…feminine.
‘All your father is asking you to do, Caro, is consider Mr Benton’s offer of marriage—’
‘And I’ve told him! How many times do I have to tell him? The answer is no!’
Emma transferred her steady gaze to her husband. ‘She doesn’t want to marry him, Ben.’
‘Then she’s a bloody fool! Benton is his father’s sole heir. When he inherits, he’ll
