Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 1)

‘Catch who?’ He fended her off with both hands to her shoulders.

‘You. You know you have guests.’ She turned on her heel and made for the stairs.

‘I saw them from the window and told Heneage I was not at home this afternoon.’ The tread of his boots behind her sounded ominously heavy.

‘Well, I told them that you were, I’m afraid. There are some gentlemen this time.’ There was no response from behind her. It was like being followed by a very large dog, she could almost hear him growling. ‘I have ordered tea to be brought up.’

‘Excellent. Then you may stay and pour and inform me afterwards which of the young ladies I must pay court to.’ Ross strode past her and into the salon, leaving Meg to stare at the door panels while she waited for the tea trays to come up.

Pay court? Had Ross decided that he must marry and settle down? That was a good thing, it had to be. He needed a family around him, an heir to bring up. But why was he talking about marriage now? Perhaps Ross had decided, after that strangely tender kiss on the terrace, that he must put aside thoughts of mistresses and lovers. But why was he looking so grim again?

And why was she feeling so empty all of a sudden? Meg caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It was not only Ross who was looking unhappy—she looked stricken. Her hand was pressed to her breast as though it could comfort the empty ache inside and something suspiciously like tears were burning at the back of her eyes.

Whatever it was, the relationship that would have been so unwise, so temptingly sinful, was over before it had begun. She should be thankful that her strength had held out long enough for Ross to come to his senses and before she allowed her own feelings to show too plainly.

The green baize door opened to a chink of china and the laboured breathing of Peter the footman managing the heavy tea urn. Meg blinked hard and led the way into the Chinese Salon. Inside was a babble of voices. She could hear Sir Richard talking to Ross about a mutual problem with fences, so she imagined the Fenwicks must be neighbours.

Lady Fenwick took the proffered cup with a vague smile at Meg before nudging her daughter surreptitiously. ‘Anne!’

‘Sorry, Mama,’ she whispered, both of them oblivious to the fact that the by-play was obvious to Meg. The girl turned wide, grey eyes away from the young man who was wedged uncomfortably between his two sisters and fixed them on Ross’s face.

Meg moved over to offer tea to the Pengilly family. From Mrs Pengilly’s deep violet gown with black trimmings and the wide hair ring that she wore next to her wedding band, Meg deduced she must be a widow. Her stolid daughters, neither of them blessed with the blonde good looks of the Pennare girls, or the sweet demeanour of Miss Fenwick, accepted their tea cups without a word and turned their attention to the silver cake stand.

Ross made no attempt to engage any of the young ladies in conversation and completely ignored the sulky youth, instead drawing both the married ladies into the discussion of the rebuilding of the nearby church tower.

Mr Pengilly got up and slouched over to the window next to where Meg waited behind the tea things, ready to refresh cups or pass biscuits. Seventeen, with aspirations to dandyism, she decided after a fleeting glance at his towering collar-points and the exaggerated cut of his lapels. He shifted restlessly, walking close behind her. One hand settled firmly over her right buttock, the fingers closing to squeeze.

Meg bit back the instinctive gasp of outrage and stepped back, her heel making contact with his toes before she put all her weight on that foot. With a muffled oath he jerked away and everyone turned to look at them.

Meg put all the concern she could into her voice despite her cheeks burning with indignation and embarrassment. ‘Mr Pengilly, I do apologise! Did I step on your toes? I had no idea you were so close.’

‘You—’ He was furious, as flushed as she must be, then Meg saw him catch Ross’s eye and he subsided. ‘The slightest touch. It was nothing.’ He flung himself into a chair on the far side of the room and turned what he doubtless thought was a brooding Byronic profile to them all.

The two parties left together after rather more than the normal half-hour, which probably meant it was a success, of sorts. Ross came back and shut the door with an emphasis that sent the curtains flapping in the sudden draught before she could reach the bell to ring for the tea things to be cleared.

‘I’m surprised those were the first gentlemen to call,’ she remarked, her attention on the unstable arrangements of biscuits.

‘I’m meeting them as I’m riding round with Tremayne,’ Ross said curtly. ‘What the devil was that puppy Pengilly about?’

‘He put his hand on my…behind me. So I trod on his toes.’

‘And was Jago flirting with you?’ Ross picked up a biscuit as he passed the table and ate it whole in one snap. ‘He was holding your hand.’

Those biscuits were looking extremely attractive to a woman who wanted to sink her teeth into something—or up-end the plate over Ross Brandon’s raven-black head.

‘He is a nice young man who realised that I was upset when I was giving him a letter for my sisters and he held my hand for a moment to comfort me,’ she said calmly, as though addressing a short-tempered hound.

‘What was there to be upset about?’ He frowned at her. ‘He will find them for you, I am sure.’

‘You insensitive gommuck!’ Oh, yes, that was a very fine word. Suddenly very weary of controlling her feelings, soothing his, Meg shoved Ross hard in the middle of his chest. He rocked back on his heels, but did not shift his position. ‘I haven’t heard from them in years, I do not know if they are well and happy—or even alive! I want to just rush up there, not send a stranger.

‘I love my sisters. How would you feel if you came back to England after all those years abroad and had no idea what had happened to Giles? Am I not allowed to feel any anxiety or to cling for a moment to someone who shows me a sympathetic, smiling face?’

‘I am sorry,’ Ross said, his teeth still gritted. ‘I saw him with his hands on you and something…I should know you better. It was not rational,’ he added doubtfully.

‘He is a nice person, he makes me

feel secure. I have confidence that he will help me.’ His hands were heavy, trapping her shoulders in a grip that had only to tighten to crush her bones. ‘What is the matter with you?’