Mariah looked up from the books littering the table in front of her and stood to stretch out her cramping limbs, her eyes moving to the large window. She started in surprise at what she saw; during the long hours that she had spent ensconced in the cosy library, immersed in her work and kept warm by the dancing fire, the weather had worsened dramatically. It had gone from dry and overcast to lashing with heavy snow and Mariah was kicking herself for not leaving earlier when Fernshaw had suggested it.
But she'd just discovered a marvellous collection of what she suspected were first edition encyclopaedias and she was impatient to get them catalogued so that she could inform Mr. Haverton about just what a treasure he had purchased.
It had absolutely nothing to do with just wanting to see him again, she told herself stoutly. She didn't believe herself one bit.
"Miss Bolton." The butler's voice sounded from the door.
"Come in, Fernshaw. I am afraid that you were right earlier. Could you please have the gig readied at once? I daren't wait any longer to return to the village."
"Miss Bolton, I am not sure that you should be travelling in such conditions. Unless I am very much mistaken, there is a blizzard on its way."
"All the more reason to leave now," she said injecting her tone with a lot more confidence than she felt.
The truth of it was that the thought of travelling alone in this weather, even on roads she knew like the back of her hand, was scaring the wits out of her. But what choice did she have?
"Very well, Miss Bolton," said Fernshaw, though he sounded less than pleased about it.
Mariah took one last worried look out of the window then quickly donned her cloak and bonnet.
She had been an utter fool to become so engrossed in her work that she barely paid attention to the candles being lit around the room and the fire stoked to a blaze by a quiet-as-a-mouse maid. The servants were too good at their jobs, that was the problem. If the maid had stomped about it might have brought her out of her all-consuming concentration on the books.
Mariah made her way to the front hall and opened the door to gaze out.
It was worse than she feared.
An icy blast raged through the hallway as soon as she opened the door, so strong that it pulled the heavy wood from her hands.
She could barely see anything in the flurry of white lashing down in front of her. The ground was already blanketed in thick snow and it was falling heavier by the minute.
Mariah gulped in fright, standing back to allow a footman to bolt the door.
"Miss Bolton."
The sound of Mr. Haverton's voice had her head whipping round to face him, a worried frown tightening her forehead.
"Where are you going?" he asked sternly.
"I thought it was best that I should leave now, Mr. Haverton, before the storm worsened."
He stared at her incredulously before shaking his head.
"Tell me you are not serious. You cannot travel in that."
"What choice do I have? I must return home. I've already asked Fernshaw to have the gig prepared."
She drew to a halt as Mr. Haverton began shaking his head.
"I caught up to him on his way out to the stable. I told him what I'm telling you; there is no way you are leaving this house in that weather."
"But, but — I — y-you can't—"Mariah spluttered to stop, gazing at him in amazement, trying desperately not to be distracted from her ire by the sheer force of his magnetism, by the inexplicable and powerful pull she felt toward him whenever he was near.
Haverton frowned at her for a moment before his expression cleared, and he smiled pleasantly.
"An eloquent argument, Miss Bolton but my decision remains unchanged."
Mariah rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. This wouldn't do. She couldn't stay here all night. She just couldn't. "Mr. Haverton, surely you understand. I cannot stay in this house alone with a man. I will be ruined."
"I would rather you were ruined than dead, Miss Bolton. Besides, you said yourself your mother doesn't even know I'm here."
"Earlier today she did not know. But you said you'd been in town searching for me. And in that case, she already knows and is no doubt awaiting my return so she can pump me for information and then murder me."
Mariah did not appreciate his sudden bark of laughter one bit.
"'Tis not funny, sir. You have no idea what she's like."
"No, nor do I want to by the sounds of it. But I cannot allow you to travel in such weather, Miss Bolton. I couldn't in good conscience let anyone travel in that. I especially can't allow you to."
"Why especially me?" she demanded hotly. Was he accusing her of being less capable than someone else?
He shook his head, smiling bemusedly and shaking his head. But as he stepped forward, the smile fell from his face and suddenly his eyes blazed with an unholy fire. "Because, contrary to first impressions; I am not a monster, and I do care for the general safety of the people I know. And I am starting to care very much about you."
"You don't even know me," she argued breathlessly.
Mariah thought that if she could talk him into being sensible about whatever this was between them, then at least one of them would be. Because she certainly wasn't going to be.
His lips twitched as he answered her. "I know you well enough to know that you are a constant source of irritation, bewilderment and frustration."