She picked up the meat dish and stubbornly shook her head. “Not at all, sir.”
“And there’s no need to make me up a room at this hour. If I put two chairs together, I can sleep in here. It’s nice and warm, and the cat can keep me company.”
Again she shook her head, this time so emphatically that she released a couple of tendrils of rich red hair from her ferociously tight coiffure. While he stabled Emilia, she’d pinned that thick plait up behind her head, and the dress she wore wouldn’t disgrace a sixty-year-old dowager. Clearly she strove to convince him of her authority and maturity. A pity the plan backfired—she looked like a little girl wearing her mother’s clothes.
For a moment, Joss stared into the distance, trying to identify the poignant emotion squeezing his heart. The best description he could manage was tenderness. Unfamiliar in his twenty-nine years, although he loved his family, no matter how annoying they could be.
The thought of facing life without them cut him like a blade.
Whereas Miss Carr didn’t seem to have any family at all. In fact, she seemed more alone than anyone he’d ever met.
But Joss already knew her well enough to predict that she’d never forgive him if he said he felt sorry for her.
How wrong he’d been to imagine hundreds of beaux trailed after her. Her beauty seemed completely—and inexplicably—undiscovered. Which was a crying shame.
Unless you were the man who discovered her.
She tossed a scrap of meat to the large black and white cat curling around her ankles, then placed the uneaten sandwiches on a plate. “Dr. Black insists that the house is always ready for visitors. There’s a nice room at the top of the stairs.”
“You said nobody ever comes.”
“But someone might.” She cast him an unreadable glance from those extraordinary azure eyes. “After all, you did.”
Yes, he did. And felt like the luckiest cove in creation that he had. He’d cursed the snow all day, especially over the last few miles when he’d had his doubts that he’d reach shelter before he froze. Right now, in Miss Carr’s company, the bad weather seemed like a blessing.
Perhaps his thoughts tended in such a curious direction because of the late hour. Not long ago, the clock upstairs had struck two.
Or because of the strange otherworldly atmosphere of this isolated house.
Or the woman. The lovely, intriguing woman.
But right now Joss felt like an enchanted prince caught up in a fairytale.
And because everyday rules didn’t apply, he reached out to catch Miss Carr’s wrist. She started under his touch. Fear? Or was she as vibrantly aware of him as he was vibrantly aware of her?
God only knew. And after the day he’d had, Joss was too tired to come up with an answer.
“It’s late, Margaret. Why don’t you go to bed? I can look after myself from here.”
She studied him without shifting away. He waited for her to pull free, to insist that she was paid to serve, that he shouldn’t call her Margaret, that she had to set the table or light the fire or shovel the snow.
“Finish your wine, sir.” Her husky voice stroked across his skin like a caress. “When you go upstairs, your room is the first door to the right, along the corridor.”
“Good night,” he said softly, wishing she was giving him directions to her room, while recognizing that even if she did, no man of honor could take such brazen advantage of this situation.
With a slowness that set his heart crashing against his ribs, she withdrew from his hold. Avoiding his eyes, she curtsied and left him to the silent kitchens.
***
When Joss woke in the ancient four-poster in the pleasant, if old-fashioned bedroom, he wondered if he’d dreamed the events of last night, and he was back in his rooms at the Albany. Or perhaps in one of the inns he’d stayed in on his leisurely journey up from London. He’d taken the opportunity to view various big houses on his way. His godfather hadn’t given him a date for reporting back on Thorncroft, so he hadn’t hurried north.
Although if he’d known what awaited him here, he wouldn’t have dallied.
Because of course he hadn’t dreamed the night’s events. A fact underlined when he shifted to sit on the edge of the mattress and every muscle protested. That long struggle through the blizzard left him feeling like he’d gone ten rounds with Gentleman Jackson.
The room was cold, and he stoked up the fire before he opened the heavy brown velvet curtains. A stark white world greeted him. The snowfall persisted.
Honor might dictate he moved on this morning, but common sense, not to mention self-preservation, would win that argument.