A Regency Christmas Carol by Christine Merrill Read Free Book Online Page A

when the crowd knocked you down yesterday?’
    Then he spoke louder, and directly to her father. ‘If you would precede us, sir? I do not wish to risk upsetting the lady with too rough a gait. Tell the coachman of our difficulties. Perhaps he can find an extra cushion and a lap robe so that Miss Lampett will be comfortable on the journey.’
    ‘Very good.’
    As her father hurried ahead, Stratford stopped to kick the axe he had been wielding into a darkened corner. ‘Though you may not want my help, I think it is quite necessary today, for the safety of all concerned, that we play this to the very hilt.’ He started again towards the carriage at a stately pace, stopping only long enough at the door to lean against it and push it shut behind him. ‘Do you really wish to protest good health and risk your father remembering and using his weapon?’
    She shifted a little in his grasp, feeling quite ridiculous to be treated as some sort of porcelain doll. ‘Of course not. But I do not wish you to make a habit of swooping in to care for me when I am quite capable of seeing to my own needs.’
    ‘Your independence is duly noted and admired,’ he said. Then he dipped his head a little, so he could catchher scent. ‘Though I find your infirmity has advantages as well.’
    She slapped hard at his arm. ‘You are incorrigible.’
    ‘You are not the first to have told me so. And here we are.’ He said the last louder, for the benefit of her father, to signal that their intimate conversation was at an end.
    She frowned. Stratford could easily have ridden the distance between the manor and here, or perhaps even walked. To bring a full equipage and servants to wait after him while he worked was just the sort of excess she had come to expect from him—and just the sort of thing that was angering the locals. Or it could mean that he had a sensible fear of being set upon, should he travel alone and vulnerable along a road that might be lined with enemies.
    He set her down briefly, only to lift her again, up into the body of the carriage, settling her beside her father on a totally unnecessary mound of cushions, her injured ankle stretched out before her to rest on the seat at Stratford’s side.
    The carriage was new, as was everything he owned, and practically shining with it. The upholstery was a deep burgundy leather, soft and well padded. There were heavy robes for her legs to keep out the cold, and a pan of coals to warm the foot that still rested on the floor. The other was tucked up securely, the stocking-clad toes dangerously close to the gentleman there. Thefoot was chilled, and she resisted the urge to press it against his leg to steal some warmth.
    Stratford had noticed it. He stared down for a moment, and then, as unobtrusively as possible, he tossed the tail of his coat over it and shifted his weight to be nearer.
    Barbara warmed instantly—from the contact with his body and the embarrassment accompanying it. It was a practical solution, of course. But she would be the talk of the town if anyone heard of it. And by the smug smile on his face Joseph Stratford knew it, and was enjoying her discomfiture.
    Then he signalled the driver and they set off, with barely a sway to tell her of the moment. It was by far the richest and most comfortable trip she’d taken, and she had to struggle not to enjoy it. Her subdued pleasure turned to suspicion, for at another signal to the driver they proceeded through the unlocked gates down the road towards Clairemont Manor.
    ‘This is not the way to our home,’ she said, stating the obvious.
    ‘My house is nearer. You can both come for tea. I will send you home once I am assured that you are warmed and refreshed, and that no harm has come to you while on my property.’
    ‘That is most kind of you,’ her father said.
    It was not at all kind. It was annoying. And she was sure that there must be some sort of ulterior motive to his sudden solicitousness.
    But when she opened her mouth