More Than a Lover by Ann Lethbridge Page A

friend, but it was his mouth where her gaze lingered. Heat rushed through him. His blood headed south.
    The distance between them was so very slight he could feel the graze of her breath against his throat, see into the warmth in the depths of her melting green-flecked soft brown eyes. Could such a kind gentle creature, such a respectable woman, really want a man like him? One who had been to hell and back.
    He swallowed the dryness in his throat. Felt the pound of his blood in his veins. And inhaled the scent of brandy on her breath.
    The brandy. She wasn’t used to it. Was likely unaware of its effects. The numbing of reason. In complete command of her senses, a respectable vicar’s daughter would have nothing to do with a man who was only two steps from the gutter.
    He stepped back. ‘Then I will bid you goodnight.’ He gestured to the door.
    And cursed himself for a quixotic fool when he saw the disappointment on her face.
    * * *
    The drive back to Skepton was uneventful, though it had bothered Caro greatly that Mr Read had insisted on riding in the rain, instead of joining her in the carriage. She had the feeling that her earlier coldness, her insistence upon the proprieties, had influenced his decision.
    She sighed as they pulled up outside the house. Propriety had not been the first thing on her mind the previous evening. It was a good thing he had more of a conscience than most men. She had felt so warm and fuzzy after drinking the brandy she could have sworn she might have kissed him, had he not been too much of a gentleman. If he knew the truth about her, he might not have felt bound by such moralistic sensibilities. Apparently Carothers had said nothing to his friends about the liberties she had allowed in a haze of what she had thought was true love. It eased her mind to know that he had spoken the truth when he had said a gentleman did not kiss, or anything else, and tell, even if he had not kept any of his other promises.
    Heat rushed to her cheeks. Shame. Embarrassment at her youthful foolishness.
    A footman ran out to open the door and let down the steps. There was nothing she could do about the past. It was the future that mattered. All her focus must be on making sure she did nothing to ruin it for Thomas. She stepped down, pleased to discover that at last it had stopped raining.
    Still on horseback, Mr Read was speaking to Lane’s driver. He glanced over as if sensing her gaze.
    She made a gesture towards the house. ‘Will you come in for some refreshment?’
    He walked his horse closer. ‘Thank you, no. I will have to see to the stabling of Sir Reggie’s cattle and arrange some accommodation for myself. Tonbridge said there were decent rooms above the stables.’ He paused. ‘Would you like me to accompany you to speak with Mrs Garge beforehand?’
    Gratitude rushed through her. Some of the tightness left her chest. She ought to say no, but... ‘You might be able to answer her questions better than I.’ She was such a coward. ‘Having spoken with the coroner, I mean.’
    He dismounted. ‘We should go right away.’
    Before gossip ran rife throughout the house, as it would when she was seen returning in a strange coach.
    He handed his horse off to a footman. ‘Walk him. I will not be more than half an hour.’
    Side by side they walked past the kitchen towards the arch into the small courtyard at the side of the house, where a side door allowed entry to the stables and where Mrs Garge would be waiting as usual. Once the horses were settled and the carriage put away, it was usual for her and Josiah to walk to their own small cottage on the edge of town.
    The closer they drew to the courtyard the more Caro’s stomach tightened.
    Mrs Garge rose from the bench the moment they passed beneath the arch, her gaze darting from one face to the other, then past them to see who followed.
    Her lined face seemed to collapse. ‘Somat’s