A Reason to Rebel Page 12

  Estelle chuckled. “He clearly begins to understand your character.”

  “I suppose he does.” Susanna pouted. “And I would not have you think that I resent his sisters’ company. They are enchanting, all four of them, but I miss my freedom and your society. But I daresay you have scarce spared me a thought, what with Lord Crawley being so keen to be of service to you.” Susanna’s mutinous expression gave way to one of devilment. “And pray, what is the precise nature of the service he wishes to offer you?”

  “You are reading too much into his chivalry.” Estelle wagged a finger beneath her friend’s nose, furious that her cheeks flooded with colour when she recalled the nature of the kiss they had enjoyed. “But I suppose that ought not to surprise me.”

  Susanna watched the blush creep up her cheeks and grinned triumphantly. “I thought as much!”

  “He merely wishes to assist me in locating Marianne.”

  “Of course he does! Which would explain why his eyes scarce left your face during the course of luncheon.”

  “Nonsense!” Estelle blushed deeper still. “He hardly looked in my direction. Besides, his mother expects him to make a splendid match and he is all but engaged to his neighbour’s daughter.”

  “Then why is he gallivanting around the countryside with you?”

  Good question! “That is different, I think that—”

  Susanna chuckled. “Estelle, my darling, I think you underestimate your charms.”

  The door opened to admit Lord Crawley and Mr. Cleethorpe, for which Estelle was exceedingly grateful. She had no wish to be the subject of Susanna’s wild conjectures. It was rather singular, the manner in which Lord Crawley was putting himself out for her. But Susanna’s partiality for her was clouding her judgment. Lord Crawley’s future lay with the likes of Miss Jenkins. Lady Crawley had made that abundantly clear. And even if Miss Jenkins did not suit, Estelle was realistic enough to appreciate that the middle-class daughter of a bombastic bully would never be considered a viable alternative.

  “Everything is in readiness for our departure, if you feel sufficiently rested,” said Alex.

  Estelle rose gracefully to her feet. “I am more than ready.”

  And five minutes later they were bowling down the Fairlands drive, waved off by Susanna and Michael. All four of the latter’s sisters were there too. They had seized upon the excuse to abandon their French verbs and wish their guests a rowdy adieu.

  “Thank you for thinking to stop here,” said Estelle, her annoyance at his arbitrary actions forgotten as they passed through the village and Alex set the matching pair of bays to a steady trot on the Ramsgate road. “It was pleasant to see Susanna. I had been concerned about her but she appears much better.”

  “I would never be forgiven if I passed this way without stopping to see Michael.”

  “His sisters are a lively bunch.”

  Alex smiled with obvious affection. “They are wild hoydens, every one of them, but I have known them since their infancies and have become accustomed to their impertinent ways.” He rolled his eyes. “Charlotte has her come-out next season but the prospect does not appear to have tamed her behaviour in any discernable fashion.”

  “She has years ahead of her to be sensible. Let her enjoy her freedom whilst she can.”

  “True.” He was silent for a moment. “Are you quite warm enough?”

  “Yes, I thank you.”

  Estelle enjoyed being driven by such a competent whip and watched the passing countryside with interest, not feeling any need to fill the silence between them with mindless chatter. Far sooner than she would have imagined possible they reached the outskirts of Broadstairs.

  “We will put up here for the night.” He reined in his team and turned into the mews attached to the Albion Hotel without waiting for her to voice her agreement. Two lads came running to take the horses’ heads as he assisted her to alight. He tossed a coin and one of them caught it in mid air, doffed his cap and still kept one hand on the bridle of the near-side horse.

  Estelle released his hand as soon as her feet touched the ground, her mellow mood replaced with one of annoyance. Once again he was taking control without troubling to consult her first. “But we are not yet in Ramsgate. There is plenty of daylight left and the horses are not tired. I think we should continue.”

  Alex grasped her elbow and steered her towards the hotel doors. “And I think we should stay here tonight.” He glanced down at the mutinous set to her features and chuckled. “Trust me, I have my reasons.”

  “I daresay you do.” She tossed her head in a disgruntled manner. “But how can I know what they are if you do not choose to share them with me?”

  The landlord bustled up to them, summing up the status of the new arrivals with one practiced sweep of his eyes. Satisfied that they were in possession of fat pockets, his face broke into an anticipatory smile. Alex’s request for his best rooms for himself and his wife was met with a stifled gasp from Estelle and a regretful shake of the head from their would-be host.

  “I am sorry, sir, we are full to bursting just now, what with the fair being in town. I have only one chamber remaining, although it is the best in the establishment.”

  Estelle barely heard this exchange since she was hot with embarrassment and could not decide whether to voice her objections in the landlord’s hearing or wait until they were alone before tearing him off a strip. This time Alex had gone too far. Why had he pretended they were man and wife but then requested separate rooms? Presumably because he understood she would balk at sharing the same chamber with him. So why not simply say that they were brother and sister, which would better account for their requirement for separate rooms? The implication that they were married seemed completely unnecessary, unless he had a sound reason for it, in which case he ought to have been courteous enough to explain it to her in advance.

  The incident served as a reminder that she had unconsciously relaxed her guard in Lord Crawley’s presence, which was a most unwise thing to do. He was chivalrous to a fault but that did not mean he lacked the baser instincts inherent to the majority of his sex, and she was not convinced he would resist taking advantage of her vulnerable state.

  “Then we had better look at the room.” Alex’s languorous voice intruded upon her thoughts. “Come, my dear.” He took her arm and followed the landlord up the stairs. “My wife is greatly fatigued and cannot travel further today.”

  “I am sure you will be very comfortable sir, and the lady, too. I have never had any complaints about this room.”

  “Your wife?” Estelle hissed in Alex’s ear.

  “Shush.” He patted her hand. “I will explain later.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Indeed you will.”

  –—

  The room was vast, with a bow window overlooking the esplanade and an uninterrupted view of the sea. It looked clean and comfortable and Alex had to hide his amusement as he watched Estelle’s remarkable eyes darting around it, seeking reasons to object and looking everywhere except at the vast bed which dominated the space.

  “I daresay we will be comfortable enough,” he drawled, clasping his hands behind his back. He retreated to the window embrasure and stared at the people strolling along the parade below him, giving Estelle the opportunity to recover her composure and curb the wild temper he had seen flashes of during the course of the day. When she made no immediate response he nodded to the hovering landlord. “Have our bags sent up, if you please, and some hot water.”

  “At once, sir.”

  “Is there a private parlour in which we can dine?”

  The landlord shook his head. “They are all taken, sir.”

  “Then we shall dine in here.” He nodded towards the small table in the alcove where he was standing. “In an hour’s time.”

  The moment the door closed behind the landlord, Estelle, hands on hips, swirled to face him. “Explain!”

  “What would you like me to explain first?”

  “E
verything. Why Broadstairs, why you are calling yourself Mr. Jenson, why you are so anxious to dine in private and, well…and why you think it necessary to pretend we are married.”

  “Ah that,” he said, cool amusement in his tone. “I should have anticipated it might anger or, at the very least, embarrass you.”

  “No, sir, what you should have done was to consult me on the matter first.”

  “And what would your answer have been?”

  “Why, I would have declined to be part of such a deception, of course, especially since I can see no necessity for it.”

  “Precisely! And that is why—”

  A knock at the door heralded the arrival of their bags and shortly thereafter a maid with ewers of hot water. Both intrusions failed to deflect Estelle’s requirement for an explanation. She tapped her foot impatiently and as soon as they were alone again she faced him, her eyes raised in anticipation.

  “Since you insist, I shall endeavour to answer your questions in the order that you asked them.”

  “Very obliging of you.”

  “I chose Broadstairs because I am known in the best hotels in Ramsgate.”

  “Why should that matter?”

  “Because your father would be able to find me very easily if he chose to look for us in that location. He will devise a means to discover if you are still at Crawley Hall and although I have attempted to anticipate his every stratagem, I cannot be sure to have outthought him on every suit. Anyway, I am not convinced that he will give up looking for you as easily as he abandoned your sister, since you appear to play an important part of his ambitious plans. Also, if we were to put up in Ramsgate, people I am acquainted with would discover me travelling with a lady—alone.”

  “Ah, I see.” She paused, determined not to permit the meticulous nature of his planning to impress her. “That explains why you are not using your correct name here, I suppose, and Broadstairs is very convenient for Ramsgate.” She stopped speaking and nibbled her index finger, a habit he found strangely compelling. He felt his expression soften as she attempted to find ways to refute his logic. “But why pretend that we are married and why is it so important we dine alone?”

  “If we were to mix with the other clientele we would not be able to help conversing with them. As anything other than my wife you would be subjected to unwarranted attentions and I would not have you thus exposed. And since you still wear your wedding ring, I thought it the best way to resolve the matter. Unfortunately I did not anticipate that there would be insufficient rooms available and for that I apologize.”

  Alex sensed when the tension left her. He was aware that she was fair-minded and whilst he might have given her cause to take offence, he suspected she would be equally quick to see reason.

  “I can see that you were motivated by the best of intentions,” she conceded, and set about removing her gloves, bonnet and pelisse in a series of economical movements that prevented him from reading her expression. She turned her attention to her skirts next and took an inordinate amount of time to shake the creases from them. “But before we go any further, my lord, I think we ought to get one or two matters straight. Grateful as I am for your assistance, I do not at all care for your taking matters into your own hands. You must agree to tell me what you are thinking in future and consult me before making arbitrary decisions. Are we agreed on that point?”

  “Perfectly agreed.” Alex bowed his acquiescence. “Tomorrow we will beard your Mr. Porter in his own lair and doubtless discover more about your sister’s whereabouts. But in the meantime—” he indicated the steaming jugs of water, “—our dinner will soon be delivered and you may wish to wash the dust of the journey away first.”

  “Indeed, my lord, but later…we need to establish—”

  Alex adored the way she blushed whenever she was embarrassed. “I shall sleep on the truckle bed over yonder,” he said with a wolfish grin. “I daresay it was intended for a maid but I shall not mind the discomfort in the least.”

  “It is no more than you deserve.” She turned away from him with a swish of petticoats and a sanctimonious expression on her face.

  The dinner was surprisingly good, as was the claret. Alex made light conversation during the course of the meal, doing his best to set Estelle at her ease, and by the time they finished their repast he was a fair way to succeeding. She laughed at some of his anecdotes and the transformation in her countenance was profound. It made her delicate features appear as though they were lit from within.

  He had never met another woman who could claim to be her equal for beauty and courage. His fierce determination to protect her—one of the reasons for their sojourn in this room as man and wife—intensified. The thought of seeing other men attempting to ingratiate themselves with her, as they assuredly would, had to be avoided at all costs. She would not realize what they were about and would be quite unequal to the task of fending them off.

  But damn it, when she looked at him as she was at that moment, her laughing eyes full of confidence in his abilities, he cursed the presence of the fair which had caused the shortage of available chambers. He was compelled to grind his teeth and transfer his thoughts to his steward’s drainage report, a surefire way to control his carnal desires and prevent him from disgracing himself. To be on the safe side, he rose to his feet before temptation could get the better of common sense and told her he would spend the next half hour in the tap room.

  “I feel sure you would welcome a little privacy,” he said. “But do not open the door to anyone whilst I am gone.”

  “I am not entirely without wits, you know.”

  When Alex returned to their room a little under an hour later, she had retired for the night. She had drawn the hangings across the bed but had left a gap, and he paused to look through it. He wondered if she really was as sound asleep as she appeared or whether, like him, she was tense at the prospect of their spending the night together in the same chamber, albeit innocently.

  Reluctantly turning away from her, he stripped off his outer garments. He sat on the edge of the truckle bed, upon which she had thoughtfully placed a blanket and pillow, in order to remove his boots. It lurched beneath his weight. Before he could recover his balance, the bed tilted. He let forth with a string of smothered oaths as he was rolled unceremoniously onto the floor.

  The sight that greeted him as he sat up and rubbed his head set him swearing again for a very different reason. Estelle, her glorious hair escaping from a long braid and framing her face with a cloud of curls, was peeping round the curtained bed, her eyes brimming with helpless laughter.

  “I am gratified that you find the situation so diverting.”

  “That bed obviously was intended to take the weight of a slight maid.” She gasped, clutching her breast as though in physical pain.

  “So I apprehend.” He stood, mindless of his state of undress, and bestowed an angry frown upon the bed in question. What the devil he was supposed to do now? With a resigned shrug he dragged the straw mattress in front of the fire.

  “There is room for you here.” Estelle indicated the other side of the large bed.

  “Thank you, but I hardly think—”

  “I was angry with you because I thought you intended to…well, never mind that. But I can see now that I got it quite wrong and cannot expect you to sleep on the floor when you are only here in the first place because of me.” She placed a stout bolster down the centre of the bed, busying herself by positioning it to her satisfaction. She did not once look in his direction. “There, I daresay we shall be quite comfortable.”

  Alex raised his brows but bit back the retort that sprang to his lips. She might be comfortable sleeping in such close proximity to him, but he’d wager Crawley Hall on the fact that the same would not be true in his case. He had shared a bed with any number of attractive women in the past, but never chastely—and never with one who fascinated him as comprehensively as the siren who was so casually inviting him into hers.

  “I think it wo
uld be for the best if I stuck to the floor.”

  “Nonsense! Pretend I am your sister, if my presence embarrasses you.”

  Alex was experiencing many difficulties at that precise moment, but embarrassment was definitely not one of them. What was he doing, standing in the middle of the room, half-dressed, probably looking faintly ridiculous, trying to talk his way out of a lady’s bed? Why was he even hesitating?

  “Lord Crawley.” Estelle’s impatient voice recalled his attention. “I am greatly fatigued and in need of sleep, even if you are not. Make up your mind, if you please?” With that, she made a big play of turning as far away as possible from the side of the bed she had allocated to him. She pulled the covers up to her ears, thumped her pillows into a comfortable nest and wished him a curt goodnight.

  Alex sat beside the dwindling fire and finally managed to remove his boots. Swearing quietly, he made for the bed, stretched out beneath the covers and let out a long sigh. He was convinced he would not be able to sleep a wink.

  Chapter Eleven

  Estelle turned on her side, pretending to be sound asleep. She was acutely aware of the mattress sagging beneath Alex’s weight, of the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing as he stretched out full length beneath the coverlet. Whatever had she set in motion by so recklessly inviting him to share her bed?

  Afraid to move a muscle for fear of rolling closer to him, she remained rigidly on her side and tried to ignore his presence. Fatigue must eventually have won the day and she fell into a restless sleep. A loud clap of thunder directly above the hotel woke her in the early hours. Disoriented, she sat bolt upright and instinctively cried out.

  Alex sat up too. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. No.” She was trembling and there was little she could do to disguise her fear. “The noise startled me, and I could not remember where I was for a moment.”