Free The Runaway Heiress by Anne O'Brien Page B

Aubusson carpet.
    'Don't
do it, Molly. I trust you are not contemplating escape yet again. It is a long
way to the ground and I cannot vouch for your safety. Paving stones, I believe,
can be very unforgiving.'
    Frances
stepped back from the open window where she had been leaning to cool her heated
cheeks. The blood returned to her face in a rose wash, her throat dry and her
heartbeat quickening. As ever, he dominated the room with his height, broad
shoulders and excellent co-ordination. And, as always, he was impeccably
dressed notwithstanding the late hour. He made her feel ruffled and hopelessly
unsophisticated.
    'No, but you could not
blame me if I was! And I would be grateful if you did not call me Molly!'
    He reached behind her to
close the window and redraw the blinds, allowing her the space to regain her
composure.
    'Your maid did not come to
help you undress? You should have rung for her.' He indicated the embroidered
bell pull by the hearth.
    'I sent her away.' Frances
hesitated. 'I did not want her tonight. I have never had a maid, you see.'
    She caught her reflection
in the gilt-edged mirror of the dressing table. She looked exhausted. Beneath
her eyes were smudges of violet, her pale skin almost transparent. And Aldeborough's
unexpected presence made her edgy and nervous. She rubbed her hands over her
face as if they could erase her anxiety. They failed miserably.
    'I told you that it was a
mistake for you to marry me.' Her voice expressed her weariness in spite of all
her efforts to control it. 'Your mother hates me. And she will find great
pleasure in telling all your family and friends that I am a fortune hunter with
no countenance, style or talents to attract.'
    He crossed the room
deliberately to take her by the shoulders and turn her face towards the light
from a branch of candles. He then startled her by lifting his hand to gently
smooth the lines of tension between her eyebrows with his thumb. He frowned
down at her as if his thoughts were anything but pleasant.
    'I am sorry. It has been a
very trying day for you. Perhaps in retrospect I should have seen my mother
alone first, but I don't think it would have made much difference. I was proud
of you. You were able to conduct yourself with assurance and composure in
difficult circumstances. It cannot have been easy for you.'
    Frances blinked at the
unexpected compliment. 'If you are kind and sympathetic I shall cry.'
    His stern features were
lightened by an unexpectedly sweet smile. 'Thank you for the warning. I would
not wish that on you. If it is any consolation to you, my mother doesn't like
me much either.'
    'No,
it is no consolation,' she responded waspishly. 'I did not expect to be
welcomed, but I did not think I would be patronised and condemned with every
deficiency in my background and education laid bare in public over the dinner
table. And if I have to listen once more to a catalogue of the skills and
talents of Miss Penelope Vowchurch I shall not be responsible for my actions.'
She proceeded to give a remarkably accurate parody of Lady Aldeborough. 'Can
you sing, Frances? No? Of course, Penelope is very gifted musically. It is a pleasure to hear her sing—and play the pianoforte!
Perhaps you paint instead? No? Penelope, of course... Does she have any failings?'
    A
shuttered look had crossed Aldeborough's face, but he was forced into a
reluctant laugh. 'Don't let my mother disturb you. I don't believe that she
means half of what she says.'
    'I
am delighted to hear it—but I don't believe you. You could have warned me.'
    'Don't
rip up at me.' His fingers tightened their grip.
    She
suddenly realised that he looked as tired as she felt, with fine lines of
strain etched around his mouth, and his words were a plea rather than a
command. For a second she felt a wave of sympathy for him—but quickly buried
it. The situation, after all, was of his making.
    'Why
not?' She pulled away from his grasp, too aware of the strength of his fingers
branding her