Part 6 (2/2)

'Perhaps I have no sense. Why do you come into this area and risk meeting him?'

'Because this is how I earn my living.' The look she shot him said clearly that he did not understand. 'I have to buy cheap and sell high, so I scour the p.a.w.nshops, talk to the sailors, buy from warehouses like this one. But if I had known Buck owned it, I wouldn't have come,' she admitted. 'And thank you. I should have said that immediately. You were... You knew exactly how to treat him. I just freeze, he makes my skin crawl.'

'He's a bully. He won't risk being hurt-in his body or his wallet. A man prepared to stand up to him, someone he doesn't know, armed and unpredictable-he would back down. There is nothing you, or any woman, could have done with him in those circ.u.mstances.'

'Yes,' Phyllida agreed, her knuckles almost splitting the thin leather of her gloves. She was still desperately upset by the threat of violence, Ashe realised. All this calm acceptance of what he said was simply a cover.

'Phyllida, it is all right to have been frightened, you can stop being brave about it.'

She shook her head and muttered something he did not catch, beyond one word, feeble.

'That is nonsense,' he said sharply and could have kicked himself when her lower lip trembled for a second before she caught it viciously between her teeth. 'Come here.' He turned and, before she could protest, lifted her on to his knees. He untied her dreadful bonnet and threw it on to the seat opposite. There was a tussle over her grip on the strap, then she let it go and turned her face into his shoulder. 'You can cry if you want to, I don't mind.'

Phyllida took a deep breath, but there were no sobs. Ashe put his arms around her to hold her steady from the jolting and waited. 'Thank you,' she muttered.

'Don't mention it. I mean it, you may cry,' he added after a moment. 'I'm a brother, don't forget, I have training for this.'

That provoked a m.u.f.f led snort of laughter from the region of his s.h.i.+rt front. She was not weeping, he realised, although she seemed to find the embrace comforting.

Sara always used to hurl herself into his arms and sob noisily over the frustrations of life, the little tragedies, the general unfairness of parents. But it was a long time since his sister had cried on his shoulder. As Phyllida relaxed, her body becoming soft and yielding against his, the memory of a sisterly hug faded.

The last time he had held a woman like this it had been Reshmi in his embrace and she had been weeping in bitter, betrayed grief because he had told her he would not take her back with him as his mistress when he came to England. And they had both known that he could not marry a courtesan from his great-uncle's court.

Phyllida stirred, settled against him, taking comfort, he supposed, from his warmth and the strength of the man who had just intervened to protect her. His reflexes, sharpened by the aggression at the warehouse, brought the scent of her, the feel of her, vividly to him. Subtle jasmine, the heat of her body sharpened by fear, the rustle of petticoats beneath the plain woollen fabric of her skirts, soft, feminine curves made to fit his hard angles and flat planes.

His body reacted predictably, hardening, the weight low in his belly, the thrill of antic.i.p.ation, of the hunt. He would protect her against everything and everybody. Except himself. He wanted her and he would have her.

Chapter Eight.

It would be bliss to stay here, wrapped in Ashe's arms, sinking into the sweet illusion that everything was all right, that she was loved and cared for by this strong man who would sweep her away from all her troubles. I love you, Phyllida, he would murmur. I do not care about your birth or any secrets you keep from me. I will marry you.

Such a sweet fantasy. Just a minute more. Or perhaps not. Phyllida became aware that however gallantly Ashe had protected her at the warehouse, and however brotherly this embrace might have been at the beginning, he was not thinking brotherly thoughts now.

He was aroused. As she snuggled into his lap there was no mistaking the matter, the crude physical reality of male desire. His hands might be still, but his breathing had changed. His body was tense, as though he was holding himself in check. It would not take very much encouragement, she sensed, to shatter that control. She was not the usual unmarried lady, fenced about with rules and a.s.sumptions that a gentleman was expected to observe, and she had given him every reason to believe her unconventional and reckless.

The temptation to twist around in Ashe's arms, to seek his mouth, to savour his heat and pa.s.sion and strength, fled like mist in the sun. He would, she sensed, be a generous, careful lover, but even if she could subdue her fears about making love with him, she could not hide what had happened to her from a man with experience.

And afterwards? Had she really been thinking of risking that hard-won acceptance in society, her good name, simply for the dream of an hour in this man's arms? Besides, Ashe might well reject her encouragement, she told herself. Just because his body reacted to a woman on his lap it did not mean that he wanted her.

The shock of the confrontation with Buck, the heart-stopping threat of violence, had disordered her emotions and her judgement.

'Oh, good Heavens, look, we are nearly at Great Ryder Street,' Phyllida said with a brightness that sounded entirely false to her own ears. 'What on earth has happened to my bonnet?' She regained her seat with as much dignity as she could muster and found the hat lying on the dusty floor of the cab. 'Thank you, I am so sorry I allowed my nerves to be so overset.' She swiped at the dust with enough violence to crumple the bunch of artificial violets tucked under the ribbon.

'Where do you want the porcelain taken? Here or the shop?' Ashe asked, as though they had not been entangled in an embrace in a public vehicle, with no window blinds, for the past ten minutes.

'Here, please.' She would not be fl.u.s.tered or allow him to guess how she had so nearly allowed her feelings to overcome her good sense just now. The cab drew up at the kerb, Ashe helped her down and took the key to open the door for her before lifting down her package and carrying it into the hallway.

'You will not go back there.' He seemed to tower over her in the narrow s.p.a.ce and she could feel her resolution not to reach for him weakening again.

'The warehouse? No.' She could promise that with heart-felt sincerity.

'Too much to hope that you will not go into that part of London again, I suppose.' Ashe touched her cheek with the back of his hand. 'I have been able to distract Buck twice, I might not be there the third time.'

'I will be careful.' Her own hand was over his, although she had no recollection of lifting it.

'Here, guv'nor! You want to go on, or wot?'

'My coachman awaits,' Ashe said. He stopped at the foot of the steps and looked back. 'Au'voir.'

'Au'voir,' she echoed as she pushed the door closed. The box sat in the middle of the hall, something immediate to do. Something real. Phyllida took a deep breath. 'Gregory! Are you home? I need some help.'

'This is from Lady Arnold.' a.n.u.sha Herriard looked up from a letter in her hand. 'She invites us for a few days at the end of the week to their estate near Windsor. I had been speaking to her about Almack's and the importance of vouchers for Sara and she tells me that two of the patronesses will be there, which is thoughtful of her.'

'Ashe and I were going down to Eldonstone,' the marquess said. 'Are these vouchers so important?'

'Essential, Papa.' Sara shook her head at him in mock reproof. 'You have not been paying attention. If you want to marry me off well, then Almack's is the main Marriage Mart.'

'Ghastly expression.' Ashe put down his own afternoon post and shuddered. 'Someone asked me if I was taking part, as though it is a sporting event.' He supposed it might be, if he saw himself as the waterbuck pursued by the hounds.

'There is no hurry for you,' his mother said, pa.s.sing the letter to her husband. 'Do not look so hara.s.sed, Ashe.'

'There is no denying that a daughter-in-law who knows the ropes would be a help for you,' Ashe pointed out. It was one of the reasons for marriage that he kept reminding himself about and his mother's rueful smile only reinforced the point.

'It sounds as though you would have plenty of choice if you come to this house party,' his father remarked as he scanned the sheet in his hand. 'And several of the peers I want to talk to will be there by the look of it. Sooner or later I must sort out my political affiliations and a relaxed country gathering is probably a good a place as any to make a start.'

'So you want to postpone our trip to Eldonstone?' Ashe asked him.

'I would say, yes, but then there is this letter from Perrott.' He handed it across the luncheon table. 'It seems my father had no patience with the ornaments and collections of his forebears and the place is stuffed with crates and boxes filled at random with every kind of stuff. Perrott frankly confesses himself at a loss as to know how to begin to sort it out and what is of value and needs special care and what is not.'

'Poor devil,' Ashe said with a grin. 'He sounds thoroughly exasperated. I'll go by myself, if you like. At least I can sort out Oriental porcelain and ivories for him and have a stab at any gemstones.' His father was expressionless and Ashe tried to a.s.sess how many bad old memories the thought of the family home was stirring up. 'Of course, if you want to be the first one to return there...'

'No.' The marquess shook his head. 'I only ever saw the place once. My father and grandfather were at odds, as you know. By the time I came along my father was not received. I went there in the hope the old man would stop my father packing me off to India. I got as far as his study and no further.'

'I'll go, then,' Ashe offered. 'I can manage to postpone my plunge into the Marriage Mart for a few days.' The feeling of reprieve was a surprise. He had not expected to actually enjoy the experience of finding a wife, but neither, he thought, had he been dreading it. Not that Eldonstone, haunted by his ancestors and heavy with the burden of unwanted responsibility, was likely to be much of a holiday.

'We'll have to hire an expert, I suppose,' his father said. 'Get it sorted, cleaned up, catalogued and evaluated.'

There was a murmur of agreement from his mother. No one, it seemed, was eager to tackle the chaos of the big house. The gloom of the town residence was bad enough. 'I have made some progress here,' she said. 'Most of the clutter has been stripped out of the main salon and I had that cream silk I brought with us made up into curtains. Come and see what you think.'

They followed her through into the largest reception room, full of admiration for the transformation. 'This is just the right setting for a present I have for you, Mata.'

Ashe fetched the celadon vases from their packing case and set them on the grey marble of the mantelshelf. The subtle green seemed to glow in the light the cream curtains allowed into the room.

'Now those are perfect. Thank you, darling. Where did you find them?'

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