A Baron in Her Bed by Maggi Andersen Page A

at him from over the top.
    He gave a benign smile and offered her his arm. “Shall we join the others in the ballroom?”
    With a stiff nod, Horatia accepted. He stepped beside her, and she rested her hand on his sleeve, aware of the sensual slide of fine cloth under her gloved fingers. Her skirts rustled against his leg as they walked down the long passage. The beeswax candles burning in their sconces scented the air.
    “Do you know, Miss Cavendish, I found your groom most remarkable.”
    Horatia swallowed and wished she could go home. “You did?”
    “The way he cares for animals, particularly.”
    “Yes, he has a gift with them,” she added, warming to her subject. Simon was a master with horses, after all.
    “I’ve heard it said that Englishmen love their horses more than their women.”
    “Indeed?” She removed her hand. “You should not believe all you hear, my lord. Why, I’ve heard it said, that the French are overdressed flirts. Most unfair I feel sure.” She offered a regretful smile.
    A grin turned up the corners of his mouth and sparked in his eyes. “Most unfair. But as I need new staff for the Hall, I must warn you, I may try and steal Simon from you.”
    So that was what this was about. She must stop them from meeting. “Simon will never agree; he is very loyal. I would advise you not to bother.”
    He smiled with an apologetic shrug. “ Très bien, Miss Cavendish. At least I have been honest.”
    “Honesty does not necessarily guarantee good manners, my lord.” They had reached the ballroom. Relieved, she saw her father approaching. “Ah, here is Father. It must be time to leave.”
    After they thanked their hostess, her father went to organize the carriage. Lady Kemble approached Horatia. “I advise you to accept Mr. Oakley’s offer, my dear.” She pinched her lips. “He’s more than acceptable and your unfashionable height will bring few opportunities your way.”
    “Thank you for your advice, Lady Kemble,” Horatia said, trying to ignore the sting of her words. “It’s of no consequence, as I intend never to marry.”
    Lady Kemble’s titter died away as someone entered behind her.
    “How can you be so sure, Miss Cavendish?” came the baron’s voice. “One day you might meet your perfect match.”
    Horatia swung around. “I plan to pursue literary endeavors as my aunt has done.” She now not only looked but sounded as stiff as an aged spinster and grew more annoyed by his amused gaze by the minute. “She has a remarkable circle of friends and acquaintances in London.”
    She curtseyed and went to the steps as the carriage approached.
    Horatia lay awake, recollecting the events of the past evening. She came to the conclusion that the baron had not recognized her, for he had ample opportunity to speak of it and had failed to do so. She fretted over a plan to deal with his visit and finally decided to send Simon off on an errand. She would then don the groom’s attire and waylay Lord Fortescue in the dim light of the stables before he arrived at the house. Once she’d assured him that everything was fine and refused any offer of employment he might make her, she would whisk up the back stairs and change into a morning gown. A lace cap would hide her hair. She became convinced she could make it work. Calmer, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Six
     
    The following evening, after a day spent searching fruitlessly for his portmanteau, Guy wandered the Rosecroft gallery of portraits. So these prosperous men and women were his ancestors. He thought he recognized a feature or expression in some. His father had told him much of their history. He paused to sip the fine claret his butler had brought up from the cellars as he wandered the corridor to the west wing. Art that his father had listed were missing from the walls, Meissen and Sévres china gone from the cabinets. Valuable items meant to be handed down from generation to generation, gone. There was a