Destitute On His Doorstep by Helen Dickson Read Free Book Online Page B

memories his question evoked. ‘It—it is out of the question.’
    He stared at her for a moment, seeing her anxiety, but he did not comment on it. Biting back an admiring smile, he watched her struggle to maintain a cold façade in the face of his silent scrutiny, and he marvelled that she could convey so many things without moving or speaking. She was outrageously daring and untempered by wisdom or hampered by caution, and he wondered why she had left Northampton. Was it merely because she had wanted to come home, or something more sinister than that? Had she been driven out by desperation?
    Curious as to the cause of it, he turned his head away lest he be seen with the expression on his face of the deep, welling, growing emotion she aroused in him. Deep, yes, ever since she had hurtled so precipitously into his life just moments before.
    â€˜And you have no family you can go to?’
    â€˜No. I have no family.’ Beginning to realize the true gravity of her situation, an awful lump of desolation swelled in Jane’s throat as she folded her hands in her lap and tried to think what to do next.
    As if he read her thoughts and not unacquainted with hardship—he had not forgotten the pain of it—he said, ‘I am not as heartless or as unfeeling as I might sound. At least let me offer you accommodation. My invitation that you remain as my guest still stands,’ he offered, hoping she would, astonishing himself.
    â€˜I must reject your invitation. I will not inhabit the same house as a Roundhead,’ she replied.
    Francis was relieved that her reply sounded more of a statement than a heated exchange of anger. ‘No, I though not. So—where are you planning to go?’
    â€˜That is no concern of yours.’
    â€˜Humour me,’ he said drily. ‘You have to go somewhere.’ When she didn’t reply and continued to look down at her hands, trying to hold on to his patience, in exasperation he said, ‘Mistress Lucas, are you always this disagreeable and stubborn?’
    She glanced up at him. ‘My father always told me that I have a unique talent for it.’
    Glancing down at her, Francis thought he glimpsed a shadow of a smile curving her soft mouth as she lowered her head once more. ‘I’m beginning to realise that. Might I make a suggestion?’
    â€˜Please do.’
    â€˜Your steward’s house is empty. You could stay there for the time being…’ A smile touched his lips. ‘Rent-free, naturally.’
    â€˜That won’t be necessary. I may not have the money to pay the fine on Bilborough, but I am not destitute. I can pay my way.’
    â€˜So you agree to live in the steward’s house?’
    â€˜I am left with no choice.’
    â€˜But you do have a choice.’
    The dark eyes narrowed. ‘And I told you that I will not stay under the same roof as a Roundhead.’
    â€˜As you wish.’ He turned away from her and shoved another log into the fire with his booted foot. ‘But I wonder if all that pride of yours will keep you warm at night and your belly full.’
    Jane lowered her gaze, too aware of her situation to make any denials. ‘One must be practical.’
    â€˜My thoughts exactly.’ His hard blue eyes narrowed as they took in her uncovered head and gown in one coldly speculative glance, and he raised his brows. ‘Inwhich case, might I suggest that unless you wish to draw attention to yourself from the authorities, you remove what you are wearing and dress yourself in normal apparel.’
    Burning colour flooded her face, and placing her hands in the small of her waist, she moved closer to him, glaring at him, her eyes overbright with an oncoming fever. ‘Dear me, sir, you really are a Puritan through and through, aren’t you—condemning those who are given to frivolity and prefer to wear lace and silken-coloured gowns instead of the morbid black of a crow. No doubt