A Reckless Match Read online

  He lowered her to the ground, taking care not to jostle her injured arm, then dismounted himself. “Thanks, Huw,” he said, nodding at the groom and indicating the two horses. “See they’re both rubbed down and given extra mash. They’ve had an exciting day.”

  He took Maddie’s arm and escorted her through a large door at the back of the house and into a hallway checkered with black and white tiles. An elderly footman accosted them almost immediately, frowning in concern at the bloodstains on Maddie’s white shirt.

  “Master Gryffud, what mischief is this?” he demanded.

  Maddie contained a smile. The old man had all the familiarity of a longtime retainer—and he obviously hadn’t yet accustomed himself to referring to Gryff as the new earl.

  Gryff brushed off his hovering. “Don’t look at me like that, Beddow. I didn’t do it. This is Miss Montgomery. We were set upon by bandits, near Ffynnon Pen Rhys, and she’s taken a scratch to her arm.”

  The ancient servant peered sharply at Maddie’s face, aghast. “Montgomery, you say!” Maddie half expected him to cross himself to ward against evil spirits. “Your father would—”

  “I have no interest in what my father would or wouldn’t have thought,” Gryff interrupted sharply.

  The servant frowned. “Yes, sir. Should I send someone to the village for Doctor Williams?”

  “No. I don’t think it’s too serious. Send Lucas for my medical kit. And tell cook to send up a bowl of hot water and some clean towels. We’ll be in the study.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The man hobbled away, slightly stoop-shouldered, and Gryff sent Maddie a rueful, apologetic grimace. “That’s Beddow. He was my father’s valet for sixty years. In his mind, I’m still the twelve-year-old scamp who got caught by his breeches on the flagpole on the west tower.” He shook his head. “He’s too old to be working, really, but he refuses to retire.”

  Maddie sent him a smile. “I understand. This is his home, as much as it is yours. You couldn’t possibly send him away.”

  “Exactly.”

  Gryff ushered her into a handsome, masculine study whose deep stuffed armchairs and imposing mahogany desk spoke of centuries of study and stewardship. He gestured to a leather armchair and she sank into it gratefully.

  He crossed to a sideboard, poured some amber liquid from a decanter into two tumblers, and offered one to her. “Here, have a sip of this. It’s brandy. The same as was in my flask last night.”

  Maddie accepted the heavy glass and took a cautious sip. The burning sensation was no more enjoyable than it had been the last time, but the warmth that spread in her belly was welcome. The pain in her arm subsided to a dull throb.

  A young footman appeared with a rolled cloth bundle, closely followed by a maidservant, who placed linens and a creamware washbowl full of steaming water on a side table as Gryff directed.

  When they’d both left, he drained the rest of his brandy and replaced the glass on the side with a brusque click.

  “Right then. Let’s have a proper look.”

  Maddie shifted uncomfortably in the chair. The fact that they were alone, unchaperoned, seemed much more obvious here, in the civilized confines of a house. What made her more uncomfortable, however, was the fact that the study’s tall windows provided excellent light; there was little chance he wouldn’t discern the unsightly scarring on her skin this time.

  Still, it would be the height of foolishness to try to ride home without having her injury seen to. And for all Doctor Williams’s many years practicing medicine, she’d bet the man in front of her had dealt with far more bullet wounds.

  She shrugged fully out of her jacket and used her right hand to undo the buttons of her shirt. Baring her shoulder to the elbow, she held her breath as Gryff untied the knotted handkerchief and drew it away. He dipped one of the cloths into the bowl of hot water and wrung it out.

  “I’m going to have to clean it. It will hurt, I’m afraid, but it can’t be helped.”

  Maddie sent him a weak smile. “It can’t be worse than being hit by lightning.”

  She tried not to flinch as he dabbed the wound, even though he was far gentler than she expected for a man of his size, and soon the water in the bowl was pink with blood. She lowered her chin to assess the damage, her head dropping close to Gryff’s as he bent to see what he was doing.

  She forced herself to stay perfectly still as he wiped the smears of blood from her neck, shoulder, and arm, revealing the unsightly scars left over from the lightning strike. Her heart pounded in her throat as she waited for him to make a comment, but he remained silent, assiduously washing every last trace of blood from her skin.

  With the area cleaned, it was clear that his initial assessment had been correct. The bullet had nicked the outer edge of her left arm, leaving a bloody furrow perhaps two inches long.

  “Well, the good news is, it doesn’t need stitching.”

  He dabbed one last time at the fresh blood that welled from the scratch, then unrolled the cloth bundle the footman had brought to reveal a neatly arranged collection of medical supplies: tweezers and swabs, cotton pads and rolls of gauze—presumably a lightweight, personal medical kit he’d used as a soldier.

  “We can’t leave any dirt or strands of fabric in there, have to make sure it doesn’t get infected. I’ve seen smaller wounds than that kill a man.”

  He reached for Maddie’s unfinished brandy and thrust the glass toward her. “Another sip. This is going to sting.”

  She took a fortifying gulp, and when she was done he dipped the corner of a cotton pad into the remaining liquid and pressed it firmly against her arm. She sucked in a breath and he grimaced in sympathy, even as he retained the pressure.

  “Sorry. But alcohol helps.” He used a clean roll of gauze to neatly bind her arm. “There. All done. Brave girl.”

  Maddie sagged back in the armchair with a sigh of relief. Whether it was the relaxing effect of the brandy, or simply that it was too late to start worrying about being embarrassed now, she didn’t bother trying to re-cover her shoulder.

  Gryff replaced the scissors and roll of bandage on the table, then leaned his hips back against the desk, ankles crossed in front of him. From his frowning expression she could tell he was dying to ask about the scarring but too polite to do so, so Maddie decided to take the bull by the horns. What was the point in hiding now? He’d already seen most of the damage. If he hadn’t turned away in horrified revulsion by now, then perhaps he never would. That, in itself, made him rather extraordinary.

  “I expect you’ve seen all kinds of injuries, during the war,” she said tentatively.

  “Too many to count.”

  She didn’t move as his gaze roved over the pale, fernlike patterns that stretched from the side of her neck, over her shoulder, and down to her elbow. His expression was stern, appraising, but she couldn’t detect disgust or even pity, for which she was grateful.

  “They appeared about an hour after the lightning strike,” she said. “At first they were red, then they turned to blisters. They started to fade over following weeks, but as you can see, they never disappeared completely.”

  Gryff stayed silent, and Maddie’s nerves forced her to carry on talking, to fill the silence, like a confession. “They’re more visible when the skin is hot or cold, or if it’s stretched tight.”

  She held her breath, awaiting his verdict.

  He raked his hand through his hair and finally met her eyes. “It must have hurt a great deal. I’m sorry.” His voice had an oddly rough edge. “God, it’s a miracle you survived.”

  “I know.” Maddie sent him a smile and tried to lighten the mood. “Believe me, I’m very grateful to still be here—if only so I can be shot at by bandits not ten miles from home.”

  The corner of his mouth curled up at her dry attempt at humor and she gave a rueful shrug. “It’s just another scar, after all.”

  He shook his head. “It shows what a remarkable life you’ve led. What a remarkabl
e woman you are. I doubt there’s another woman in England who could boast of such battle scars. If you were a man you’d be rolling up your sleeve at every opportunity and showing them off.”

  The expression in his eyes was one of undisguised admiration and Maddie’s heart missed a beat. He’d called her remarkable.

  “Maddie, I—”

  Chapter 22

  Whatever Gryff had been about to say was interrupted by the entrance of a stooped, elderly woman, bent almost double under the weight of a rattling tea tray. She was barely five feet tall, with a traditional Welsh shawl draped over her black-striped dress and a pair of sparkling dark eyes in her wizened face.

  She sent Maddie a wide grin as she bustled over to the desk and deposited the tray with an audible crash of the teacups and plates. Gryff winced.

  “Welcome to Trellech Court, Miss Montgomery. It’s been too long since we had a neighborly visit from one of your family.”

  Gryff snorted. “The last ‘neighborly visit’ probably included boiling oil and claymores.”

  The old woman clucked her tongue at his impudence.

  “Miss Montgomery, may I introduce you to Nanny Maude.” Gryff’s voice was warm with affection. “Nanny Maude has been with us almost as long as Beddow. She’s administered more spanks to my backside with the back of a hairbrush than I care to count.”

  The old lady nodded. “You deserved every one, you scamp. You and your brothers. A bunch of wild heathens, the lot of you. And your sister was the wildest of the lot.”

  Maddie couldn’t hide her grin. The thought of Gryff as a naughty little boy was rather delightful.

  Nanny Maude gestured to the tray. The knuckles of her hands were gnarled and swollen with age. “I had cook make a batch of Welshcakes, to tide you over until dinner. They’re Lady Carys’s favorite.”

  She was watching Maddie expectantly, so Maddie reached across and dutifully took one of the offered treats. Despite the name, they weren’t truly cakes, more like flattened English scones studded with raisins, and instead of being cooked in an oven they were heated in a cast-iron pan over the stove, like a thick pancake. Extra spices, like mace and cinnamon, made them wonderfully aromatic.

  Maddie bit into hers with a little hum of delight and then smiled around the mouthful as she chewed. She glanced at Gryff, and her skin heated as she found his gaze lingering on her lips. She swallowed carefully, then licked a morsel of sugar with her tongue.

  The muscle in the side of his jaw twitched, as if he was grinding his teeth. He glanced up and their gazes clashed. Her stomach did a little somersault.

  “You should give Miss Montgomery a tour of the house,” Nanny Maude said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to the scorching undercurrents suddenly swirling between Maddie and Gryff. “But not now. The poor girl’s had a nasty shock. She needs to eat.” She smiled at Maddie. “You’ll stay for dinner, of course.”

  Maddie swallowed the last of her Welshcake and glanced around in search of a clock. What time was it? She’d completely lost track.

  “It’s almost seven,” Gryff supplied, as if reading her mind. “Are you expected back at Newstead Park for dinner?”

  She shook her head. “Father’s gone to Bristol on business, but Harriet and my aunts will worry if I don’t return soon.”

  “You can send them a note.” Nanny Maude beamed.

  Gryff snorted again. “A letter from Trellech Court? They’ll think it’s a ransom demand. Be sure to tell them you haven’t been abducted under duress. We don’t want them sending in the cavalry.”

  Maddie ignored his foolery and smiled at the older woman. “Very well, I’ll stay. Thank you.”

  Nanny Maude gave an approving nod. “You’ll want to change out of those dirty clothes. I’ve told one of the maids to find some of Carys’s dresses for you. You’re much the same size.” She beckoned impatiently, effectively silencing Maddie’s instinctive refusal. “Come along, child. You’ll feel much better cleaned up, I assure you.”

  Gryff sent her a laughing glance. “There’s no point arguing. Nanny Maude always gets her way.”

  “You make me sound like a tyrant, Gryffud.”

  “If only we’d had you and your hairbrush at Badajoz,” he joked. “We would have sent Napoleon packing in minutes.” He stood and gave Maddie an elegant, mocking bow. “I’ll see you at dinner, Miss Montgomery.”

  Maddie watched him leave with a combination of confusion and regret. She turned back to find Nanny Maude watching her with a knowing, indulgent smile. Flushing, she allowed the older woman to bustle her out of the study and up a grand staircase, trying not to stare at all the fascinating family portraits and suits of armor that lined the walls.

  They entered a bedroom decorated in frothy, feminine tones of seafoam and palest green. Gilded mirrors and candle sconces blended with an array of pretty French furniture upholstered in floral silks and satins.

  A selection of dresses had been laid out on the bed, and Nanny Maude lifted a claret-colored gown from the pile.

  “Lady Carys has the most outrageous taste in clothes,” she chuckled indulgently. “And beautiful red hair—which makes this particular color a ghastly mistake. I told her so at the time, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s only worn it once, to a masquerade ball, when her hair was powdered. It will look lovely with your coloring, though.”

  Maddie eyed the dress with alarm. Gryff’s younger sister was notorious for her exquisite, flamboyant outfits. They’d rarely crossed paths at ton functions, but Maddie had always been rather awed by the younger girl’s effortless charm and apparent confidence. The daring flourishes she added to her outfits always set people talking—and had them emulating the style the very next day.

  True to form, the scooped neckline of this dress was cut daringly low. Maddie swallowed. Carys Davies had men eating out of the palm of her hand. Would some of that devastating feminine allure transfer itself to her?

  Then again, did she even want Gryffud Davies eating out of her hand? Hanging on her every word? If it helped get his half of the dictionary, then yes.

  And besides, the thought of having a worldly, sophisticated man like Gryff see her as something more than a disheveled country spinster was extremely appealing.

  Maddie stripped off her bloodstained clothes and heaved a sigh of regret for the ruined outfit. The skirt was covered in grass stains and mud, and the jacket was ripped at the shoulder where the bullet had gone through. Half the buttons were missing; it was beyond repair. Gryff had told her to replace it, but she could hardly afford that now, could she?

  A sweet, freckled maid helped her into a decadent silk chemise and then the dress itself, which had an ingenious built-in corset. Maddie stared at her reflection, impressed at the way it enhanced her own figure. She’d never worn this deep-red shade before; she looked like an opera singer. Her breasts mounded enticingly above the scalloped neckline, and her waist seemed even smaller than usual, thanks to the exquisite tailoring. The elbow-length sleeves were puffy enough not to aggravate her wound.

  The maid brushed her tangled tresses—politely ignoring the dried leaves and twigs that fell out—and pinned it into a flattering half-up, half-down style.

  “There, miss.” She stepped back with a reassuring smile just as Nanny Maude reappeared in the doorway with a folded square of fabric in her arms.

  “I believe this is yours, Miss Montgomery.”

  Maddie frowned as she took it. It was a cashmere shawl, with a swirling paisley pattern in a gorgeous combination of cream, red, and orange. It looked vaguely familiar. She gasped in sudden suspicion, checked the corner, and turned her astonished gaze on the older woman.

  “This is mine! There’s an ink stain on the fringe. Where on earth—?”

  It had been a favorite of hers when she’d been a girl. She’d lost it—she wrinkled her nose as recollection came. “Gryff stole this! Years ago. And I couldn’t catch him. He rode back here and tied it to the flagpole, right at the top of one of these towers, just to ta
unt me.”

  Nanny Maude chuckled. “He did indeed, the naughty boy.”

  Maddie gave a shocked laugh. “I can’t believe he kept it all these years.”

  The older woman gave a mysterious shrug, but her eyes were sparkling. “He never could bring himself to return it.”

  Maddie frowned again, intending to ask her what she meant by that oblique comment, but the older woman gestured to a pretty writing desk in the corner.

  “There’s paper and ink there, for you to write to your aunts and cousin.”

  Maddie obediently dashed off a short note saying she’d “accepted an invitation to dinner at Trellech Court” and was “working on the dictionary plan.”

  When she glanced around for something with which to close the letter, she found a silver-handled seal engraved with the crest of the Earls of Powys. The impression left in the blob of red wax showed a wyvern: a mythological creature with a snake-like body and tail, but the wings and top half of a dragon.

  She handed the finished note to the maid, drew the shawl around her shoulders to conceal the low-cut bosom of the dress, and hurried after Nanny Maude.

  “Time for dinner,” the old woman said merrily.

  Maddie took a fortifying breath. She’d never in her life expected to be having dinner à deux with Gryffud Davies in the heart of his private domain, but this was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to squander. She needed the other half of that dictionary.

  It was time to beard the lion in his own den.

  Chapter 23

  To Maddie’s consternation, she was not shown into a grand dining room. Instead, Nanny Maude led her back to the study, where a small round table had been laid for two. Gryff waited, perched on the arm of one of the leather chairs. He stood as she entered and swept her body and face with an appreciative glance.

  “I told Beddow we’d eat in here. The main dining table seats twenty-four, but it’s stupid to make the servants set it up when there’s only the two of us. I often eat my meals in here when I’m alone. I hope you don’t mind.”