Marrying For Love Or Money? (The Yelverton Marriages Book 1) Read online

  ‘Got you, you little demon,’ he told the muscular little terrier now squirming in his arms in its desperation to get away from a complete stranger. He braced himself to be bitten and held the animal out by the scruff to keep its teeth as far away from his skin as possible until it calmed down. He had to respect whoever had taught it not to bite when seized by unknown humans and risked holding it closer so it would feel more secure as a reward. It settled into the crook of his elbow as if it was tired after a demanding morning and did a fine imitation of a docile lapdog.

  ‘Who the deuce are you?’ the muddy young woman demanded with no sign of gratitude. If she knew how much she had to be grateful for, she might be more wary about waking his inner devil while she glared at him as if she was wearing layers of respectable finery and he was intruding on her solitude.

  ‘Does this wolf in lapdog clothing have a collar and lead, or did you rely on...’ he hesitated for a moment and held the animal at arm’s length again. The dog squirmed around to lick his cheek as he tucked it back into the crook of his arm and a fine watchdog she was ‘...her ladylike instincts to keep her in check? If so, they seem to have failed you both rather badly.’

  ‘She didn’t bite you, though, did she?’

  ‘Well, no, but I dare say she would have liked to.’

  ‘Out of shock, not nastiness,’ she defended the little creature she had been cursing only seconds ago.

  ‘And unless you keep her under control she will be shot by an irate farmer. She upset my livestock with her wild barking, so you should either learn how to keep her under control in future or stay at home.’

  ‘I know she should be on a lead,’ she said, not very apologetically. He could practically hear her fighting with an urge to argue, then snatch her dog back and flounce away. For her to even know the language he had heard before she knew he was listening she could not be anywhere near as proper as she was now trying to pretend. There had even been a few choice phrases in French and something that sounded like very low Dutch to him, so perhaps the rebel under her skin was as fiery as her hair. That idea was too arousing for his own rebel body so he forced it to the back of his mind and tried to look coolly sceptical while he waited for a better explanation.

  ‘She is not mine,’ she admitted, looking a bit shamefaced now the shock of his words had finally hit home. ‘And of course she was wearing her collar and lead when we set out for a walk in the country. Maybe I did not fasten the collar tightly enough since she found it too easy to slip out of it when I was not paying her enough attention. Then she was off and away before I could grab her and I have no idea how many miles we are now from where we began. First she got on one scent, then another and here we are,’ she explained as if the full force of her situation had only just hit home. ‘Where is that, by the way?’ she asked almost casually, eyeing him warily as if she had just realised he was a man and they were alone together in the middle of nowhere. His legs were longer than hers and unfettered by sodden skirts so he would have a lot of unfair advantages in a chase, if he was that sort of ruthless, opportunistic predator. Lucky for her he was not, but she did not know that. No wonder she was looking at him so warily now it had finally occurred to her he was a healthy male with all the needs and urges of his kind in full working order.

  ‘Brock Wood,’ he told her shortly, after an unwary glance at her, then a hasty glare at the nearest bramble thicket. She had no idea her delicious feminine figure was lovingly outlined by dirty water and Herefordshire mud. Even where the finely woven stuff was drying out it threatened to plaster earth-heavy cloth against her body and mould it lovingly as a sculptor. ‘On the edge of Owlet Manor’s Home Farm,’ he added a bit more informatively.

  ‘I have not the least idea where that is,’ she said with a trace of despair in her voice that made him pity her situation instead of worrying about his own reaction to her delightfully outlined body. Somehow he had to persuade her she could trust him far enough to come back to the house with him so she could be fussed over and cleaned up by his sister Marianne before they took her home. Meanwhile he could fetch one of the farm horses in from the fields and have it harnessed to the gig, then he supposed he would have to drive her and her borrowed dog back to wherever she came from and try to pretend he was made of stone all the way there.

  He was not quite sure he had enough stone in him when he risked a glance at her again and she was still deliciously curved and utterly feminine, despite her unusual garnish of smelly mud and pond slime. Marianne could drive better than he could and she would get this goddess in sheep’s clothing home before she had been away too long for anyone to send out a search party. Whoever she was and however innocent she was of blame for her current state, he still refused to marry a passing stranger to save her reputation. He had to marry money so that his sisters would have a better future than the ones they could expect if things went on as they were.

  Chapter Two

  Fliss wished this tall stranger would set her on the right path, then leave her to make her way back to Miss Donne’s house before the lady raised the whole town to look for her missing guest. She felt an itchy sort of shame that such a compellingly handsome and vital man had seen her in such an appalling state. Yet at the same time the cold weight of her wet skirts and sodden underpinnings made her long to be close to his warmth even on this hot summer day, simply for the sake of being warm again of course, except...

  Best not even think about being close to him if you were clean, Felicity. He is a complete stranger to you after all, she told herself sternly.

  And such a powerful-looking one as well as he stood there in his shirtsleeves and a pair of breeches that had seen better days. His boots owed nothing to Bond Street, or wherever rich and idle gentlemen got their fine and immaculately polished top boots and Hessians. He wore his work boots with an air, though, and he must have been working hard since he had set out for a day of ungentlemanly toil. Yet did Miss Felicity Grantham’s secret inner self find the sight and scent of such a strong and healthy man all ruffled and lightly sweating in the middle of his day’s work offensive? No, she did not. He looked more of a man than any of the fine gentlemen she had met under her last employer’s roof, up to and including Lady Stratford’s son and her own would-be fiancé, Viscount Stratford.

  How wrong of you to think so, Felicity, her inner governess whispered disapprovingly.

  She should seize His Lordship’s splendid proposal with both hands and stop fantasising about passing males like this one. Although he did look to be in the prime of life, just as His Lordship was, she reminded herself hastily. Wondering about the wisdom of making a marriage of convenience with a viscount should be enough of a dilemma to stop her thinking about a work-worn stranger. It might if she could only call an image of Lord Stratford to mind. Unfortunately, she had never seen the cool and detached Lord Stratford in his shirt sleeves with mud on his boots and the smell of cattle or sheep about his person. And if His Lordship had an impressively muscled torso and arms like a timber-feller his tailor had done a good job of disguising them under exquisitely cut coats, sober waistcoats and gentlemanly pantaloons. Then there were his immaculate top boots—the ones she imagined this man wearing instead and found much too flattering on his long and muscular legs for comfort.

  Stop it this instant, Felicity; Lord Stratford is dark and elegant and self-assured and should not be thought of in the same sentence as a work-mussed son of the soil like this one.

  His Lordship did not have a thick pelt of tawny hair that still managed to curl wildly despite a severe military-style haircut though, or piercing ice-blue eyes that even made this man’s frown seem intriguing. And was the Viscount’s hair curling or straight; were his eyes brown or blue? She could not remember even when she tried to force a picture of the man into focus again so she could get this one into perspective. The vivid reality of him overpainted her inner image of a polite and dignified lord, even if she had almost agreed to marry His Lordship simply because he wanted her to. Lord Stratford was not in love with her and she had managed to fob him off with a maybe while he went to Paris to help establish the British Embassy there.

  The Viscount probably had a list of attributes his Viscountess should possess to have made him offer for a former governess before he went and she suspected well-enough looking, but not a beauty was near the top of it, just after sensible and practical and not too demanding.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded rather rudely, but if the man was planning to ravish her he would have shown some signs of rabid male lust by now and that was hardly likely when she smelt like a swamp and felt miserably self-conscious.

  ‘Darius Yelverton, very much at your service, madam,’ he said solemnly and bowed as if she was an immaculately attired lady he had met in a drawing room.

  She was right then; he must have been born a gentleman. Yet gentlemen did not work. Having demanded his name so rudely, it was only fair for her to give him hers in return, though, gentleman or no. ‘I am Miss Grantham and I am staying in Broadley Town with a good friend of mine. The fine little actress in your arms is my friend Miss Donne’s pet dog and she is very welcome to her since I want nothing more to do with you, you wretched little turncoat,’ she said sternly. Luna just about managed a desultory wag of her stubby tail, then sighed blissfully as Mr Yelverton rubbed her ear in exactly the right place. ‘I suppose whatever she was chasing must be miles away by now,’ Fliss said to stop herself having any more wicked thoughts about how it might feel for her to be so gently caressed by him instead.

  ‘I have no idea what she was chasing all the way out here, but I suspect one of the farm cats must have been enjoying itself at her expense just now. They are wild and scratch and bite everyone but my sister, who will insist on feeding them so well they prefer teasing the farm dogs to catching vermin nowadays.’

  ‘I dare say you are right, then, and while I must thank you very sincerely for catching Luna for me, sir, I really must get her home now. If you would be kind enough to hold her still while I fasten her collar and lead on again I shall be grateful to you,’ she said, trying to sound quietly composed as she brushed as much mud as possible off the supple leather of Luna’s expensive collar with a handy dock leaf. She had been forced to clasp collar and lead around her neck and chest for the want of a pocket in her high-waisted gown, so of course it got muddy when she fell.

  ‘Make sure you buckle it tightly this time,’ he said as if she might be silly enough to make the same mistake twice.

  ‘I am so glad you told me that,’ she said irritably.

  ‘And you can just keep still, you little madam,’ Mr Yelverton told Luna sternly as she ducked and squirmed so Fliss had to spend far longer this close to his warm and lightly sweating male body than felt proper.

  She did not want to feel the warmth of his skin under that robust cotton work shirt as she buckled the collar, or be haunted by the salty scent of the work he had already done today. She backed hastily away once the collar was finally fastened tightly enough to hold the little devil if she did struggle out of his arms, which looked unlikely just at the moment. At least she could now hand him the other end of the lead and step away, but she knew he had begun the day fastidiously clean and that was another item on the list of reasons her inner idiot found him far too appealing. There was no sour trace of yesterday’s labour on his skin or, horrid thought, yet older days of it on him or his clothes. Someone must see he had a clean shirt to put on every day and thank goodness he was particular enough to wear it. Hopefully he had a wife as well as a sister at home and that should stop him being such a temptation to wandering ladies. Temptation! What a ridiculous word for her to define him with. She was not at all tempted by tall and muscular gentlemen with mocking silver-blue eyes that looked as if they would read her wicked thoughts like a child’s primer if she did not stop having them immediately. Maybe it was a blessing her face was slicked with drying mud then, as long as it was thick enough to hide the blush she could feel scorching her redhead’s giveaway pale skin.

  ‘You can hand her over or set her on the ground now, Mr Yelverton. We two wanderers must be on our way and if you will be kind enough to tell me how to get back to Broadley I shall be even more grateful to you than I am already,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘If I can persuade you to trust I am not a foul attacker or would-be seducer I believe it would be much better if you came home with me, Miss Grantham. My sister Marianne will do her best to make you a clean and respectable young lady again so we can drive you home in our gig and nobody will think anything of it. Your friend will suffer less anxiety if you both return home neat and clean and I can send a boy with a message to say you are on your way and not to worry. I may only be a farmer now, but I hope I am still enough of a gentleman to help a lady in distress.’

  The idea of being clean again and back in Broadley before she could get there on foot tugged one way, while common sense and native caution argued it was better to suffer the humiliation of being seen like this in public than take a risk on his good intentions, despite his direct steel-blue gaze and very gentlemanly dignity as he stood there defying her to find him less than he should be because he worked his own land. ‘How can I be sure you even have a sister?’ she asked him anyway.

  ‘I defy anyone to invent a force of nature like Marianne, but I am actually blessed with two of them. Only Marianne lives with me, but they certainly exist,’ he said with a preoccupied frown, as if his absent sister was far more of a concern than a stray young woman holding up his hard day’s work. ‘The older of my two sisters is called Mrs Marianne Turner and she is the widow of an old army colleague and friend. She has agreed to keep house for me, since she dearly loves a challenge and my house is certainly one of those. I must warn you Owlet Manor has been shockingly neglected. My great-uncle lived there alone after his parents died and seems to have had little regard for his own comfort. Even after six weeks of my sister clearing and scrubbing and dusting the poor old place morning, noon and night it is still very much a work in progress.’

  ‘I am sorry for your sister’s loss,’ she said stiffly and considered how horrifying it must be to lose a beloved husband to an enemy bullet or bayonet thrust. So that was why this man could stand so militarily present and correct at times—if he was with the Duke of Wellington’s Peninsular force until recently she could see why he had learnt to hide his true feelings from interested strangers.

  ‘Kind of you,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Are you sure your sister will want a muddy and wild-looking stranger descending on her when she has so much to do?’ she asked doubtfully. She was hazy about the details of life as a farmer’s wife, sister or housekeeper, but dairying, cooking and maybe even a little light gardening and hen-keeping might well be part of it, as well as all that scrubbing and dusting. If Mrs Turner shared her brother’s barely suppressed energy and impatience to get through all the work left undone for so many years the lady might be annoyed by such an interruption to her busy day.

  ‘Marianne will always have a welcome ready for anyone in genuine need of her help,’ he said with a wry smile that spoke of great affection for his widowed sister.

  Fliss was reluctant to ask for it, though, and he was a stranger and she was used to being independent, and they were in the middle of nowhere. She realised the sheep nearby had calmed down so she could only hear an occasional maternal baa and an answering shriller one from a half-grown lamb. Even the birds sounded sleepy and the distant drum of a woodpecker and the occasional bark of a farm dog drifted towards them on a sudden stir of breeze. She eyed him cautiously and he looked back at her blandly, as if he wondered what else he could say to reassure her and whether he should even bother to try. ‘Very well, then. Thank you for offering such hospitality to a chance met and very muddy stranger,’ she said ruefully and gestured him to go first. ‘You know the way,’ she explained and left him with Luna to carry so that the wriggling little madam would keep his hands full if she had misread his essential character and he made a grab at her along the way. The little dog was so happy in the crook of his arm she had gone to sleep and was clearly no use whatsoever as a protector, whatever Miss Donne had said this morning about her pet’s wonderful talent as a chaperon and guard dog. It felt a bit galling that he had charmed the little terrier so easily when she had been staying with her friend for a few weeks now and the dog only seemed to notice she was there when she wanted something from her.

  Fliss sighed and resigned herself to an uncomfortable walk in the sticky heat of whatever time of day it was by now. They strolled along at what she was quite sure was a much slower pace than he would set on his own. They must make a very odd procession and she wondered what his old comrades would say if they could see him now. Officer Yelverton escorting one muddy lady and her dog back to his home to be dealt with by his sister. That blush stained her cheeks again under the mud when he strode over the tumbledown stile at the end of the woodland path and woke up those silly fantasies in her stupid, misguided head all over again. He had tucked Luna under one arm until he was over the hedge and now held out his other hand to help Fliss over the step in her dirt-sodden and surprisingly heavy skirts. He looked impassive, but Luna seemed cross about being woken up and stared reproachfully at Fliss as if it was her fault. Vexed by the dog’s convenient memory, she scrambled over the stile with her skirts held in one hand while she grasped Mr Yelverton’s strong and work-calloused one with the other. She had to lean more of her weight on him than she wanted to in order to avoid tearing her gown. Although it was already ruined, the thought of rambling around the countryside with a great rent in it as well as all the mud weighing it down made her quail. The feel of his firm, warm male hand under her palm was intimate and rather heady and added yet another layer to the temptation she had hardly even known existed until today. She had never felt anything close to this jag of awareness at the mere touch of a man’s bare skin against hers until now. In truth, she had not been used to much masculine company at all, but something still told her this one was exceptional and clinging to his strength after so many misadventures felt far too much of a temptation.