The Mistress of His Manor (10 page)

‘Why?’ said Jo, fascinated.

‘The son she bore was the image of the murdered swain.’

‘You’re making that up!’

March shook his head, wondering if Joanna had any idea how delicious she looked with her dark eyes like saucers. ‘What’s more,’ he said, ‘Blanche never bore her husband any children, so he was stuck with the other man’s son as his heir.’

‘Served him right,’ crowed Jo. She bit her lip. ‘Does Blanche keep to the long gallery, or does she wander further afield sometimes?’

‘She’s never been seen in this part of the house,’ he said, with complete truth.

‘Why doesn’t that reassure me?’ She slid down further under the covers. ‘I really, really wish I hadn’t asked about a ghost.’

‘I could bunk down on the chaise to guard you from things that go bump in the night, if you like,’ March suggested.

Jo thought about it, then nodded. ‘But wouldn’t it be horribly uncomfortable for you?’

‘Not at all,’ he lied manfully. ‘I’d be far more uncomfortable in my own room, knowing you were lying awake in here, terrified that Blanche might join you.’

‘Not terrified,’ she protested. ‘Just nervous.’

‘I can’t promise I won’t snore, but at least you’ll have company,’ said March, enjoying the indecision on his guest’s face.

‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘And if the lady does come drifting in here you’ll have to chase her out. After all, you’re her descendant.’

‘True. I’ll just dash back to my room for my duvet.’

It was some time before March returned, and from his aura of soap and toothpaste it was obvious why.

‘No sign of Blanche?’ he asked, as he spread his duvet on the chaise.

‘No.’ Jo smiled at him from her nest of pillows. ‘And now you’re here I’m even brave enough to turn out the light.’

He moved to the side of the bed. ‘You look very comfortable in there.’

‘But you won’t be on that chaise.’

‘You could kiss me goodnight to make it up to me.’ March leaned down, putting a hand on the bed either side of her. ‘See? No hands.’

Jo laughed, and held up her mouth for the kiss he planted on it very fleetingly. But when he straightened she shook her head.

‘Stay,’ she whispered.

March’s eyes smouldered into hers for an instant, then with a smile of triumph he slid into the bed to take her in his arms. For a while they lay completely motionless, then March ran a light, caressing hand down her spine and kissed the corner of her mouth. When the mouth smiled against his he locked his arms tighter and kissed her with all the pent-up passion he’d been fighting to control for what seemed like hours. With a gasp Jo’s mouth opened, and his tongue surged to caress hers as he slid a hand beneath the lace covering her breasts.

‘Wait,’ said Jo. She pulled away to take the silk and lace over her head. ‘If you’re going to make love to me, I’d rather not wear your sister’s nightgown!’

He gave a husky, delighted laugh. ‘No
if
about it, my lady.’ He planted kisses all over her face, one hand holding her against him as the other caressing hand paid loving attention to her taut breasts. At last his hungry mouth settled on hers with a heat and intensity that thrilled her to the core, his kisses demanding and receiving a response which tightened his embrace until every curve and plane of her body was locked against every angle and
muscle of his. When his mouth left hers to follow a path down her throat, sucking on the pulse at the base, Jo’s heart beat a frenzied rhythm. Her hips thrust against him in invitation which brought his erection seeking against her hot skin, and her breath caught in her throat.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he whispered, and continued on his downward path to close his mouth over her breast.

She gave a helpless moan at the sensation that was almost pain as his skilled lips and grazing teeth teased her nipples, arousing feelings so exquisite she let out a cry of protest when he stopped the torment. He held her fiercely close as he kissed her mouth again, his tongue surging in substitute penetration that drove them both wild. Without breaking the kiss he slid a caressing hand over her thighs, his long fingers moving on a tantalisingly slow voyage of discovery to learn how much she wanted him.

Jo herself had no idea just how much she wanted him until March found the little bud hidden beneath its hood, his skilled fingers arousing such extreme, piercing sensation she sank her teeth into his shoulder. With a fierce growl his body covered hers, iron-hard with the need to mate, his control suddenly gone as she dug her nails into his shoulders and reared up against him. With a visceral groan March slid home into hot, tight warmth which ripped his wits away. Her ragged gasp of pleasure was almost his undoing, but with teeth clenched he held her fast, his fingers gripping her hips to hold her still until he mastered himself enough to make love to her with all the skill at his command and bring them to the overwhelming climax they finally reached within seconds of each other.

It left them gasping for breath in each other’s arms. And for March the discovery that a bridge had been crossed in their relationship filled him with elation.

He leaned out a hand and switched on a lamp, his eyes on Jo’s face. He retrieved pillows from the floor to pile them up
against the headboard and drew Joanna up to lean against them, then slid out of bed. ‘I’ll give you five minutes to yourself while I fetch a drink. What would you like?’

‘Something cold, please,’ she managed, breathless at the sight of so much muscular nudity.

March shrugged into his dressing gown and, aware of her discomfort, gave her a glinting smile on his way to the door. The moment it closed behind him Jo leapt out of bed and made for the bathroom. On the way back to bed she retrieved the nightgown and slid it over her head. She was propped against the pillow, the covers pulled well up, when March returned, armed with a bottle of champagne and a couple of flutes.

‘Sorry I was so long. I went down to the kitchen for this,’ he explained, filling the flutes. He handed one to Joanna and then got into bed with his own. He touched his glass to hers and smiled into her eyes. ‘To you, and to the most glorious experience of my life, Joanna.’

‘Glorious it was,’ she agreed, ‘ but it doesn’t change things, March.’

‘Ah, but it does. Irrevocably. We are now both friends
and
lovers,’ he informed her, with the confidence that was so much a part of him. ‘It
is
possible to be both, Joanna.’

‘You know this from experience?’ she demanded, tasting her wine.

March leaned back against the stacked pillows, utterly relaxed. ‘Only from observing my parents’ marriage, and Hetty’s. Personally I’ve known—still know—women who are just friends, and I’ve enjoyed encounters with others—including the mad, passionate interlude with Lavinia before harsh reality set in. But you are the one woman I want for life, Joanna.’ He turned his penetrating gold gaze on her. ‘Now you’ve given yourself to me, I’m keeping you. Get used to the idea.’ He relieved her of the empty glass.

‘March, be reasonable,’ she protested, determined to set him
straight. ‘What or who you really need is someone who would be only too delighted to be Lady Arnborough. If we go on as lovers I would just get in the way.’

‘The only Lady Arnborough I want is right here in my arms. So stop fighting your destiny, Joanna.’ He drew her into his arms. ‘This is where you belong.’

‘That’s not fair,’ she protested, as he kissed her neck.

‘A man must use all weapons to hand,’ he said huskily, and removed the nightgown, his mouth and hands moving over her in such seductive persuasion that she was soon defeated by her own body. It responded to him with such fervour, and their climax engulfed them so convulsively, that at last tears slid from Jo’s eyes as March held her in a bone-crushing embrace while the storm receded.

‘Why are you crying?’ he asked, kissing the tears away.

‘I don’t know. This is all so overwhelming, March. I’ve never felt like this before. The physical thing, I mean,’ she added, sniffing inelegantly.

March rubbed his cheek against hers. ‘Of course not,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘You belong to me.’

She eyed him askance. ‘You sound so sure of that.’

‘To put it another way,’ he said, utterly serious, ‘we belong to each other. And until death do us part. So, my darling, get used to the idea.’

U
NACCUSTOMED
to a man in her bed, Joanna woke early next morning. March didn’t stir as she slid carefully to her feet. She gazed in silence for a moment at his sleeping face, then collected her belongings and stole along the landing to his bathroom to wash and dress as quietly as she could before going down to the kitchen. She switched more lights on for company while she made tea, and sat down to drink it, not sure whether last night had been the most wonderful experience of her life or the biggest mistake.

Eventually she made herself focus on the room. Could she really live here and preside over this as March’s wife? Half of her shouted yes, yes,
yes
! But the other, more cerebral half, pointed out that mind-blowing sex was not, by a long way, the only skill required from the wife of Lord Arnborough. He needed a helpmeet, someone to share his life and responsibilities, as his mother had with his father. While she, unlike daughters brought up with their parents from birth, wanted more time to enjoy her relationship with Kate and Jack now it was on an even keel at last. And there was Kitty, and Grandpa. And now the baby, too. Also her much-loved house in Park Crescent to add to the mix.

The problem was, she thought despairingly, that she wanted March to be madly in love with her—the way he’d felt about
the beautiful Lavinia. While he needed a sensible, capable wife to help him run Arnborough, and Joanna Logan filled the bill in the job description. But she just couldn’t see herself as chatelaine of this ancient house with its centuries of history.

An hour went past unnoticed as Joanna drank cup after cup of tea and mulled over the problem. Suddenly she tensed at the sound of swearing as someone fought with the lock on the kitchen door, and then a man burst into the room to dump down a pile of luggage. A thin, haggard stranger with a mane of shaggy fair hair stared at her in shock. Then his eyes lit up in wonder and he shot across the room to yank her to her feet, scaring her out of her wits.

‘Jo Logan? My God, is it really you—?’

‘Yes, it is,’ said a harsh voice, and March erupted into the kitchen to pull Jo away. ‘Where the hell have you sprung from, Rufus?’

But his brother was too focussed on Jo’s face to answer. ‘It’s a miracle.’ He turned to March with a smile of blazing gratitude. ‘She really is alive—you found her.’

‘I found her, yes,’ said March grimly. ‘But not for you. She’s mine.’

‘What?’ Rufus pushed the hair back from his face, his blue eyes blank with incomprehension. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘We met by chance right here at Arnborough,’ March informed him. ‘Nothing to do with you, old fellow.’

Joanna detached herself from his possessive grasp. ‘Your brother is right, Red. Sorry—Rufus. He thought Joe Logan was a man. We’d known each other for a while before he discovered my connection with your accident. I’m so deeply sorry about that,’ she added. ‘I hope you’re fully recovered.’

‘Yes, thanks. But never mind that,’ he said impatiently, and glared at his brother. ‘Why the hell would you think Jo was a man?’

March glared back. ‘There was no mention of gender in your ravings. It was a simple mistake.’

‘Which you probably didn’t even bother to follow up!’

March controlled himself with effort. ‘You know damn well I did, Rufus. So did Father, and the police. But there was no evidence that anyone other than you and your friend Peel had been in the car. I’m telling you the truth. I met Jo for the first time quite recently, right here, at the garden centre.’

Rufus stared dully from Jo to his brother, then rubbed his eyes like a weary child, his face ashen. ‘God-awful headache,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry. I feel a bit…’ He sagged. March leapt to catch him, and propped him on the nearest chair.

‘Heavens, March, he looks ghastly,’ said Joanna in alarm, and felt Rufus’s pulse. ‘You’d better call a doctor.’

‘First I need to get him upstairs.’

‘Right. I’ll help you carry him. Is the bed made in his room?’

‘Probably not. I’ll put him in mine for now.’ He looked at her closely. ‘Apart from all the drama, how are you today?’

‘Shell-shocked,’ she said tersely, feeling her colour rise as she met his eyes.

‘As a result of last night?’ he whispered.

‘Yes. And now this,’ she added, gesturing at the unconscious face of his brother. ‘I’d better help you get him upstairs before I go.’

‘Go?’ March frowned.

‘I’m on kitchen duty at Mill House today, remember.’

‘Oh, God, so you are. But after we get Rufus in bed we talk before you take off,’ he warned.

‘We certainly will,’ she said ominously. ‘Grab him by the shoulders and I’ll take his feet.’

But March simply heaved his brother up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. ‘Up we go,’ he said breathlessly.

‘For God’s sake be careful,’ Jo implored, following behind.

‘Don’t—worry—I won’t—drop him.’

‘I’m more afraid you’ll do damage to yourself!’ she retorted, and mounted the stairs behind March as he bore his brother at a steady pace up the stairs to the landing, then let him slide to his feet, keeping a tight hold of him while he took a breather.

‘There’s not much flesh on him,’ he panted, ‘but he’s heavier than he looks.’

‘Are you all right?’ demanded Jo.

‘I will be once baby brother’s safe in bed and I’ve rung a doctor.’ He heaved Rufus up again, cursing under his breath as his phone rang in his back pocket. ‘Fish it out and see who it is, darling, will you?’

Jo eyed the caller ID with misgiving. ‘It’s your sister.’

‘Answer it, then.’

‘Hello?’ she said reluctantly.

‘Hi, Henrietta Stern here. Is my brother there?’

‘Just a moment. I’ll get him for you.’

Once Rufus was safe on the bed, March took the phone from Jo. He flung an arm round her waist and held her close as he spoke to his sister, who was apparently arriving home that afternoon.

‘That’s bit of a surprise, Hetty, I thought you were coming next week. Just as well, though, because Rufus turned up just now, looking the worse for wear. He needs a doctor. But I
was
able to introduce him to Miss Joanna Logan, the lady who spent the night here with me.’ He laughed. ‘Yes, she is. I’ll fill you in when you arrive. See you.’

March took Joanna by the hand and led her outside to the landing. ‘I know you want to hit me, but hang on while I find out who’s on call.’ When he got through to the medical centre to describe the problem a call was promised within minutes, but Jo glared at him as he put the phone back in his pocket.

‘Why on earth did you tell your sister that? She’ll assume I’m your lover.’

‘Because, my darling, that’s exactly what you are.’ He took
her in his arms and kissed her protests into silence. ‘At least,’ he added, ‘until you agree to be a whole lot more than that.’

‘Which I won’t,’ she said, when she could speak.

March smiled indulgently. ‘Of course you will. As I’ve said before—get used to the idea.’ He took her hand and led her back to his room, to find Rufus staring up at them blankly.

‘What happened, March?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘How did I get up here?’

‘You passed out. I carried you up.’

Dazed blue eyes turned on Joanna. ‘So you
are
here, Jo. I didn’t dream it.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘How are you feeling, Rufus?’

‘Pretty awful.’ The eyes narrowed. ‘Are you going to marry March?’

‘No, I’m not—’

‘Yes, she is,’ said his brother with emphasis.

Jo glared at him, then glanced at her watch. ‘I must be off soon, but I can make you some tea first, Rufus, and something to eat.’

He shuddered. ‘No, thanks. Head aching too much. Feel sick. Where are you going?’

‘Home—to cook lunch for my parents.’

This seemed to be more than he could take in. With a weary sigh he closed his eyes.

March eyed his pallor with misgiving. ‘Just rest for a bit, Rufus, until the doctor comes.’ He led Jo from the room. ‘Do you have to go?’

‘I should,’ she said, torn, then sighed, resigned. ‘All right. If you’ll give me your phone I’ll see if I can arrange things so I can stay for a while to help.’

March’s eyes lit with such gratitude she almost forgave him. ‘But only if it doesn’t inconvenience your family.’

‘It won’t.’ Jo pressed a few buttons. ‘Hi, Molly, it’s Jo. I hope you weren’t still in bed. Can you do me a big favour?’

While she was talking the doctor arrived. After a hurried
consultation March touched a hand to Jo’s shoulder and led the doctor off to examine the invalid. Once Molly had promised to deliver Sunday lunch for the Logan family promptly at one, Jo rang her mother to explain the situation. ‘The thing is, March desperately needs a helping hand. The doctor’s with his brother right now, but I’d like to stay for a bit. I’ve organised lunch for you. Molly’s sending it over. My treat.’

‘
Joanna!
There was no need to do that.’

‘Yes, there was. Otherwise Hazel won’t take the day off. Apologise to the others, and tell Kitty I’ll see her tomorrow on my way home from work.’

‘All right, darling. By the way, if you stayed overnight, where exactly did you sleep?’ asked Kate sweetly.

‘In the fabulous room once occupied by March’s parents. You’d love it. Look, must dash. See you tomorrow.’

Jo snapped March’s phone shut, smiling anxiously as March introduced her to the doctor as ‘a friend of the family’.

‘Rufus is battling with one of the severe migraines he’s been subject to since his accident some years ago,’ said the doctor, his eyes alert as Jo winced. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’

‘My brother’s collapse gave her a scare,’ said March, putting a possessive arm round her.

‘Hardly surprising. I’ve given him an injection, so he should sleep for several hours. When he wakes he’ll feel better, so give him plenty of fluids and try to make him eat something light—soup or eggs.’ He shook March’s hand. ‘Don’t hesitate to call me if you need me. Rufus told me he’s brought his prescription medication with him, but if he needs more contact the health centre.’

March saw the doctor out, then returned to Jo. ‘Can you stay?’

She nodded. ‘Molly’s sending lunch over to Mill House, and I’ve rung my mother to explain. Kate’s curious, to say the least.’

‘Because you stayed the night?’

‘More because I’m staying for the day.’ She eyed him wryly. ‘Now I suppose I’ve got to face your sister too.’

‘Thank you, Joanna. It means a lot to have you here with me.’

‘Then I’ll make myself useful and rustle up some breakfast.’ She relented suddenly, and smiled up at him. ‘How about a fry-up?’

‘First I need this.’ March bent his head to kiss her, then held her close against him, rubbing his cheek against hers. ‘I’ll take Rufus’s things upstairs and check on him. Then I intend, come what may, to concentrate on the pleasure of my first breakfast with my future wife. But,’ he added, his eyes holding hers, ‘only the first of many.’

‘Are you going to keep saying things like that to indoctrinate me?’ she said, scowling at him.

‘I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it’s a good plan!’ He picked up the scruffy selection of baggage and sent her a searing look as he went from the room.

Jo watched him go, wondering why the tall, rangy figure in an ordinary navy jersey and jeans was so much everything she’d ever wanted in a man—except for the title and the daunting splendour of his home. She sighed, ran an assessing eye over the cooker, and got to work.

By the time March came back she’d set the table, a platter of crisp grilled bacon was in the warming oven, and she was about to break eggs into the frying pan.

‘Perfect timing,’ she said, smiling. ‘How is he?’

‘Sleeping like the dead. I’m glad I got his clothes off while the doctor was here. Rufus is so out of it now I wouldn’t have a hope of undressing him,’ he told her. ‘Apparently oblivion for a few hours is the best thing for him. It was sheer luck Dr Harwood was on call. He saw Rufus through his convalescence after the accident. He was also a huge support to me during my father’s final illness.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘When my brother does wake up I’ll have some questions to ask.’

‘Just concentrate on breakfast right now. How about making some toast while I finish the eggs?’ suggested Jo.

March set to work. When he set the filled toast rack on the table he drew in a deep breath of pure satisfaction as Jo set a filled plate in front of him. ‘Perfect. All Sundays should start like this—minus the early-morning drama.’

Jo sat down to her own meal, suddenly famished, then flushed when it dawned on her why.

‘What were you thinking about just then?’ asked March, reaching out a hand to touch hers. ‘Something to do with last night?’

‘Yes,’ she muttered, buttering toast feverishly. ‘I hadn’t realized—’

‘Realised what, my darling?’

‘That one felt so hungry afterwards.’

March gave a delighted laugh. ‘None of your other essays into romance had the same effect?’

‘Heavens, no. And I’d hardly describe them as romance. Besides—’ She stopped dead.

‘Besides?’ he prompted.

‘It was so different with you,’ she muttered.

‘I should hope so!’ His fingers tightened. ‘Tell me how.’

‘You made love to me more than once. I thought that only happened in books.’

March speared her with the direct look she was getting to know so well. ‘Did you spend the night with the others?’

‘No. Never.’

‘That explains it. If a man holds a girl in his arms all night he’s bound to wake and want to make love to her—if only first thing in the morning.’ He gave her an accusing look. ‘Which would have happened
this
morning, but the bird had flown. Why?’

‘I woke early and just had to get up. You were fast asleep, so I tried not to disturb you.’

March’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you have some idea of taking off for home before I got up?’

‘No, of course not,’ she said indignantly. ‘I came down to the kitchen to make tea and do some thinking.’

He relaxed slightly, and helped himself to more toast. ‘Did I feature in your thoughts?’

‘Of course you did—until your brother burst in and scared the living daylights out of me. I didn’t recognise him, March.’