The Marquis Is Trapped by Barbara Cartland

more to occupy his mind.
    When he was at home, he always spent more of his time riding than anything else.
    Now, as he went up to bed, he told himself he must have imagined what Lady Benson had said to him.
    Equally he could not explain away the conviction that she intended to come to his bedroom.
    Peter was just ahead, walking to his room at the end of the passage.
    “Goodnight, Oliver,” he called.  “You were such a smashing success today, but I am too tired to talk about it now.”
    “Goodnight,” the Marquis replied and went into his bedroom.
    The candles were lit by the side of the bed and his nightshirt was left out for him.
    Then, as he was standing irresolute in the doorway, he suddenly panicked.
    If Lady Benson was really coming to his bedroom – what was he expected to do?
    What was she asking of him?
    He was certainly not so ignorant he did not know the answer to that question – it was just impossible for him to believe it.
    ‘If I shut the door and lock it,’ he thought, ‘then no one can disturb me.’
    He had naturally closed the door as he entered the room and now as he turned back, he realised that there was no key – it seemed incredible that the lock was there, but the key was missing.
    It was just then that he realised he somehow had to save himself from what could be exceedingly embarrassing if nothing else.
    Swiftly he picked up his nightshirt and blew out the candles and then ran down the dimly lit corridor.
    Without knocking he walked into Peter’s room.  He had been there earlier in the day when they were dressing for the match and had noticed that there were two beds.
    As he entered, Peter who was half undressed looked up in surprise.
    “Oh, it’s you, Oliver.  What’s the matter?”
    “I have just upset a jug of water over my bed and it has made it very wet and I don’t want to catch a cold.  Can I sleep in here with you?”
    “You must be incredibly clumsy or drunk,” laughed Peter.  “But, of course, you may sleep here as long as you don’t snore!”
    “I promise you I never snore and as you say, after all that champagne, my hand must be a bit unsteady.”
    “Get into bed and sleep it off, Oliver!”
    The Marquis did as he was told.
    But he found it impossible to go straight to sleep.
    He kept wondering to himself if he had imagined the whole situation and yet he was sure that was what Lady Benson intended.
    ‘I must get away from here at once,’ he thought.
    It would be impossible, if she had gone to his room, for him to face her again.
    At six o’clock the next morning, he slipped out of bed and collected the clothes he had worn for dinner from a chair where he had thrown them.
    Peter was fast asleep and snoring lightly.
    There was just enough sunlight coming between the curtains for the Marquis carrying his clothes to see the way to the door.
    Very softly he shut it behind him and walked back to his own room, which was just as he had left it.
    There was nothing to show if anyone had come into the room whilst he was absent, except for just one thing – the key had been put back in the lock of the door!
    It took the Marquis only a short time to dress and he packed his belongings into his suitcase.
    He had arrived at Sir Gerald Benson’s house in an open chaise driving two horses, and his father had insisted he took one of the older grooms with him so that the horses would be properly looked after.
    “I am certain that they will be well cared for at the Bensons’ house,” the Marquis had protested.
    “I am not trusting my superb horses to any strange grooms,” his father had replied.  “So take Abbey with you and, if you are too drunk to drive yourself, you know you can trust him to bring you home safely!”
    “I am not going to make a fool of myself, Papa, by drinking too much.  You know that is a grave mistake for any athlete to make.”
    His father had put his hand on his shoulder.
    “Of course.   I would trust you not to make a fool of yourself.