《The Duke And His Four Wards》Chapter 12.3 (Part 2)

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As usual when with her guardian, time flew and it was only when a chill in the breeze penetrated her thin cloak that Margaret glanced up and found the afternoon gone. The curricle was travelling smoothly down a well surfaced road, lined with low hedges set back a little from the carriageway. Beyond these, neat fields stretched sleepily under the waning sun, a few scattered sheep and cattle attesting to the fact that they were deep in the country. From the direction of the sub, they were travelling south, away from the capital. With a puzzled frown, she turned to the man beside her. "Shouldn't we be heading back?"

Felix glanced down at her, his devilish grin in evidence. "We aren't going back."

Margaret's brain flatly refuses to accept the implications of that statement. Instead, after a pause, she asked conversationally, "Where are we?"

"A little past Twickenham."

"Oh." If they were that far out of town, then it was difficult to see how they could return that evening even if he was only joking about not going back. But he had to be joking, surely?

The curricle slowed and Felix checked his team for the turn into a beech-lined drive. As they whisked through the gateway, Margaret caught a glimpse of a coat of arms worked into the impressive iron gates. The Delmere arms, Felix's own. She looked about her with interest, refusing to give credence to the suspicion growing in her mind. The drive led deep into the beechwood, then opened out to run along a ridge bordered by cleared land, close-clipped grass dropping away on one side to run down to a distant river. On the other side, the beechwood fell back as the curricle continued towards a rise. Cresting this, the road descended in a broad sweep to end in a gravel courtyard before an old stone house. It nestled into an unexpected curve of a small stream, presumably a tributary of the larger river which Margaret rather thought must be the Thames. The roof spotted many gables. Almost as many chimneys, intricate pots capping them, soared high above the tiles. In the setting sun, the house glowed mellow and warm. Along one wall, a rambling white rose nodded its blooms and released its perfume to the freshening breeze. Margaret thought she had seen few more appealing houses.

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They were expected, that much was clear. A groom came running at the sound of the wheels on the gravel. Felix lifted her down and led her to the door. It opened at his touch. He escorted her in and closed the door behind them.

Margaret found herself in a small hall, neatly paneled in oak, a small round table standing in the middle of the tiled floor. Felix's hand at her elbow steered her to a corridor giving off the back of the hall. It terminated in a beautifully carved oak door. As Felix reached around her to open it, Margaret asked, "Where are the servants?"

"Oh, they're about. But they're too well trained to show themselves."

Her suspicions developing in leaps and bounds, Margaret entered a large room, furnished in a fashion she had never before encountered.

The floor was covered in thick, silky rugs, executed in the most glorious hues. Low tables were scattered amid piles of cushions in silks and satins of every conceivable shade. There was a bureau against one wall, but the room was dominated by a dais covered with silks and piled up with cushions, more silks draping down from above to swirl about it in semi-concealing mystery. Large glass doors gave on to a paved courtyard. The doors stood slightly ajar, admitting the comforting gurgle of the stream as it passed by on the other side of the courtyard wall. As she crossed to peer out, she noticed the ornate brass lamps which hung from the ceiling. The courtyard was empty and, surprisingly, entirely enclosed. A wooden gate was set in one sire-wall and another in the wall opposite the house presumably gave on to the stream. As she turned back into the room, Margaret thought it had a strangely relaxing effect on the senses—the silks, the glowing but not overbright colours, the soothing murmur of the stream. Then, her eyes lit on the silk-covered said. And grew round. Seen from this angle, it was clearly a bed, heavily disguised beneath the jumble of cushions and silks, but a bed nevertheless. Her suspicions confirmed, her gaze flew to her guardian's face.

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What she saw there tied her stomach in knots. "Felix..." she began uncertainly, the conservative Miss Fleming hanging on grimly.

But then he was standing before her, his eyes glinting devilishly and that slow smile wreaking havoc with her good intentions. "Mmm?" he asked.

"What are we doing here?" she managed, her pulse racing, her breath coming more and more shallowly, her nerves stretching in anticipation.

"Finishing your education," the deep voice drawled.

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