Some women starved themselves so they wouldn’t have to fight with their corsets. Margaret didn’t appear to be one of them. She wasn’t plump by any means, but she was sturdy and curvaceous…very curvaceous. A man wouldn’t have to fear she’d crumble in his hands.
She made quite the pretty package indeed, enough so that he’d actually found himself hoping during those few moments before she stated her business that she was one of the tavern wenches come to win the bet, because she would definitely have won it. It was too bad she had that stubborn chin, which had proved to be an accurate prediction of her nature.
He wondered why she hadn’t married. She was a prime catch, after all, very pretty, an earl’s daughter, and apparently rich, if she could frivolously squander one hundred thousand pounds. She hadn’
t even blinked at his price, blast it.
But he also wondered if her breasts were really as firm as they’d seemed, pushing against the velvet of her spencer jacket. Probably. He even had a feeling she’d fit very nicely beneath his sheets.
Bloody hell! The brandy must be getting to him at last. Margaret Landor infuriated him. She was the last woman he wanted to see beneath his sheets.
Chapter 7
M ARGARET WAITED INSIDE HER COACH. It was toasty warm with a brazier burning and a thick lap robe, so cozy that Edna had fallen asleep on the seat across from her, the hour being so early. Oliver was driving them as usual. It was her father’s coach, crested, and so comfortable she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of traveling without it, so she’d had it shipped to the Continent with her.
It had cost her two extra days’ wait in England for a ship that would agree to take on such a large piece of cargo without prior warning, but she’d been adamant and had waited. She hoped there wouldn’t be another delay in shipping the coach back home, especially now that she’d be traveling the rest of the way with him.
Edna and Oliver had certainly been relieved to find out who The Raven actually was when she’d told them last night. Much better in their minds that she’d be traveling with the disgraced son of an earl who was at least known to them, rather than a deadly foreign mercenary who wasn’t.
There was no light visible from inside the ruins, but then there probably wouldn’t be even if the lamps were lit. The only windows in the livable rooms didn’t face the front, after all. It was barely dawn.
Margaret rarely rose so early, but she didn’t want to be accused of being late and give him an excuse to beg off from their arrangement.
The road to the coast and the nearest harbor at Le Havre wound near Sebastian’s ruins. They hadn’t said where they would meet, so she’d taken it upon herself to start the journey and collect him on the way. She could just make out one of the horses inside the great hall, so she was sure she hadn’t missed him. He was in there, and she hoped not still asleep. She’d give him twenty minutes more before she sent Oliver in to get him.
Twenty minutes later there was still no sign of anyone stirring within the old ruins. It had begun to occur to Margaret that her expectations could well be dashed. Sebastian had had time to sleep on it, after all. He’d probably changed his mind, the dratted man. He was going to come out and rudely tell her to leave again.
And then the boy came out, leading a placid mare. He waved toward the coach and flashed a grin so wide that Margaret couldn’t help smiling. Such a likable young lad. She wondered what he was doing living with such a dour fellow as Sebastian Townshend. He was a bit young to have been hired as a stableboy, but she supposed he could be no more than that.
John Richards followed him, leading his horse as well. He stopped to adjust a few straps on the animal. There was no baggage of any sort that she could see. Surely they traveled with a few changes of clothes—or perhaps they weren’t planning to come with
She made quite the pretty package indeed, enough so that he’d actually found himself hoping during those few moments before she stated her business that she was one of the tavern wenches come to win the bet, because she would definitely have won it. It was too bad she had that stubborn chin, which had proved to be an accurate prediction of her nature.
He wondered why she hadn’t married. She was a prime catch, after all, very pretty, an earl’s daughter, and apparently rich, if she could frivolously squander one hundred thousand pounds. She hadn’
t even blinked at his price, blast it.
But he also wondered if her breasts were really as firm as they’d seemed, pushing against the velvet of her spencer jacket. Probably. He even had a feeling she’d fit very nicely beneath his sheets.
Bloody hell! The brandy must be getting to him at last. Margaret Landor infuriated him. She was the last woman he wanted to see beneath his sheets.
Chapter 7
M ARGARET WAITED INSIDE HER COACH. It was toasty warm with a brazier burning and a thick lap robe, so cozy that Edna had fallen asleep on the seat across from her, the hour being so early. Oliver was driving them as usual. It was her father’s coach, crested, and so comfortable she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of traveling without it, so she’d had it shipped to the Continent with her.
It had cost her two extra days’ wait in England for a ship that would agree to take on such a large piece of cargo without prior warning, but she’d been adamant and had waited. She hoped there wouldn’t be another delay in shipping the coach back home, especially now that she’d be traveling the rest of the way with him.
Edna and Oliver had certainly been relieved to find out who The Raven actually was when she’d told them last night. Much better in their minds that she’d be traveling with the disgraced son of an earl who was at least known to them, rather than a deadly foreign mercenary who wasn’t.
There was no light visible from inside the ruins, but then there probably wouldn’t be even if the lamps were lit. The only windows in the livable rooms didn’t face the front, after all. It was barely dawn.
Margaret rarely rose so early, but she didn’t want to be accused of being late and give him an excuse to beg off from their arrangement.
The road to the coast and the nearest harbor at Le Havre wound near Sebastian’s ruins. They hadn’t said where they would meet, so she’d taken it upon herself to start the journey and collect him on the way. She could just make out one of the horses inside the great hall, so she was sure she hadn’t missed him. He was in there, and she hoped not still asleep. She’d give him twenty minutes more before she sent Oliver in to get him.
Twenty minutes later there was still no sign of anyone stirring within the old ruins. It had begun to occur to Margaret that her expectations could well be dashed. Sebastian had had time to sleep on it, after all. He’d probably changed his mind, the dratted man. He was going to come out and rudely tell her to leave again.
And then the boy came out, leading a placid mare. He waved toward the coach and flashed a grin so wide that Margaret couldn’t help smiling. Such a likable young lad. She wondered what he was doing living with such a dour fellow as Sebastian Townshend. He was a bit young to have been hired as a stableboy, but she supposed he could be no more than that.
John Richards followed him, leading his horse as well. He stopped to adjust a few straps on the animal. There was no baggage of any sort that she could see. Surely they traveled with a few changes of clothes—or perhaps they weren’t planning to come with
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