Page 58 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding
‘Because, my dear, our children will be beautiful. More importantly, they will carry our blood in their veins. Your ancestors came over with the Conquerorand mine can be traced back to Gascony. We will be uniting two ancient, noble families.’
With a shudder Flora turned and walked over to the window. She stared out into the dusk while the Viscount continued.
‘You also have many qualities that will make you an excellent consort, my dear. As well as your breeding, you have all the accomplishments required of a viscountess. And you are exceedingly desirable.’ She had not heard him approach, but when he spoke again, his breath was on her neck. ‘Why not let me take you to bed now, Flora?’ he murmured, his hands on her shoulders. ‘It is only a few weeks until the wedding, we do not need to wait…’
He gently moved aside the fichu and she felt his lips on her skin. Quickly she twisted away from him.
‘Don’t touch me!’
His lip curled. ‘You forget, madam, I have the power to ruin you.’
‘I forget nothing,’ she retorted. ‘I have promised to marry you and I shall come to your bed on our wedding night, not before.’
She held his gaze, angry and defiant. At length he shrugged.
‘As you wish. I can wait a little longer for you.’
‘Very well.’ She maintained her haughty tone. ‘Then I shall bid you goodnight. I have already ordered thelandau; it should be waiting by the time I reach the stables.’
He frowned, but made no attempt to argue. ‘Then allow me to escort you.’
She nodded. Not by the flutter of an eyelash would she show how relieved she was to be leaving. She collected her cloak and maintained a frosty silence as the Viscount walked with her, out through the gatehouse and across the bridge. Her carriage was waiting and he handed her in.
‘You will go home directly, Flora,’ he ordered, as she sat down and arranged her skirts.
‘Where else would I go?’
She snarled out the words, but her anger only amused him. With a laugh he shut the door and stepped back as the carriage pulled away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Flora leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes. The niggling doubts about the Viscount had gone. He was arrogant and cruel. He had brought her and Matt together out of malice, enjoying their discomfiture. She remembered the look in Matt’s eyes when he saw her sitting beside the Viscount. Shock, but dismay, too. The attraction between them had not been her imagination.
There was no hope that they could even be friends, but she wanted to see him, to tell him why she was marrying the Viscount. Tomorrow might be too late. Now Quentin had decided not to sell the statue Matt would want to see his lawyers as soon as possible. If she was going to talk to him it must be now. Tonight.
Flora opened her eyes and looked out. The heavy clouds had moved off and in the west the clear sky was a fiery orange from the setting sun. It was early enough. Her aunt and uncle would not expect her to return yet. As the carriage slowed to pass out through thegates of Whilton Hall she quickly issued new orders to the coachman. He was not to take the road to Birchwood, but carry on to Whilton. And he must hurry.
Having let down the window, Flora left it open. She wanted to breathe in the fresh air as they rattled at pace between the flower-filled hedgerows. It calmed her and helped to curb her impatience. It was a good three miles to the town, the road following a circuitous route through farmland. Ahead, she could see the small wood that marked the halfway point in her journey. Not long now.
The carriage rattled on and soon they were plunged into shadow as the road carved its way through the wood. It was more sheltered here, the trees were still dripping from the recent rains and the air coming through the window was redolent with damp earth and leaf mould. Something just off the road caught Flora’s eye. Staring into the shadows she saw a black and white shape. A horse, standing among the trees.
‘Stop, stop!’
The coachman pulled up at her sharp cry. Flora opened the door and jumped out, not waiting for the steps to be let down.
‘That is Mr Talacre’s horse.’ She looked around, eyes searching the gloom. ‘If Magpie is here, where is her rider?’
The coachman looked about him and pointed with his whip.
‘Over there. No, you stay here, ma’am, let Amos go!’
Flora paid no heed. Before the footman had even climbed down, she was running towards the figure lying half hidden in the ferns at the edge of the trees. It was Matt, face down on the ground and lying so still that her heart stopped.
Steeling herself for the worst, she tore off her gloves and put two fingers on his neck, as she had seen her doctor do when checking for a pulse.
‘Is…is he dead, miss?’ asked Amos, running up.
She shook her head. There was no doubt; she could feel the steady beat against her fingers. The dripping trees has soaked his greatcoat, but there was an ominous, darker stain on the sleeve and she feared what else they might find if they moved him.
