To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) by Michelle Styles

she shook her head. Somehow, his strong fingers made it more bearable. ‘Being a martyr never helped anyone. You do not have to do penance.’
    She smiled up at him, forcing her hand to let go, and when it did a great feeling of loneliness swamped her. What did Robert Montemorcy know about her need for penance? She did have to make amends for her sins. She bit her lip and hoped he would consider her grimace was from the pain rather than the knowledge. ‘It’ll pass. It already has.’
    ‘Liar.’ His smile lit up the room, but he allowed her hand to fall to her side.
    Henri knew her cheeks flamed and hoped that he would think she was frightened about reliving the experience rather than dreaming about him again. And she was aware suddenly that she was in a thin lawn nightgown. ‘Sleep cures all ills.’
    ‘I should go.’ The unspoken request was there—
unless you want me to stay?
    And she did. Her body wanted his arms about her. In another moment she would beg. Henri swallowed hardand reached for her paper and pen. ‘I am perfectly fine. I’ve recovered…from my dream.’
    ‘If you need me, call. Dream well.’
    Henri sucked the end of her pen. Pleasant dreams indeed. The last thing she wanted was to dream as she’d only dream about his mouth moving over hers. What was required were lengthy notes on the correct order for the dances at the ball, the correct positioning of the floral pieces and plans for several future events that would better the lives of the villagers rather than considering how Robert’s lips might feel against hers again.

Chapter Six
    A nger simmered through Robert. Left to kick his heels in the faded glory of Dyvels’ entrance hall like some lackey or servant instead of being shown to the drawing room and given the respect due to a neighbour. He found it hard to believe that any relation of Henri’s could be so lacking in manners.
    ‘It is far too early in the morning for such an unwelcome visit, Montemorcy.’ Cawburn gave an exaggerated yawn and stretched.
    ‘I have been up for hours.’ Robert hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat. After his encounter with Henri, all desire to sleep had fled. He’d done the decent thing and left, rather than giving in to his desires and taking her into his arms. Kissing Henri again, properly this time, would lead to complications. And he preferred to keep things simple and logical. He valued her as a friend too much to risk her reputation. Or losing her. But the memory of her mouth against his and the way her nightdress had revealed her curves had played havoc with his sleep.
    ‘As it is, three meetings will have to be postponed,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed the late-morning train to Newcastle.’
    ‘We obviously keep different time.’
    In the fierce morning sunlight, Cawburn’s overly smooth face showed slight puffiness. In a few years’ time, Robert could well imagine how Cawburn’s looks would be ravaged if he did not stop his hard living. Robert tried and failed to see anything of Henri’s stiff backbone in Cawburn.
    When Dorothy had first alerted him to the potential disaster, Robert had been tempted to ignore Cawburn’s interest in Sophie as he reckoned it was only a matter of time before a new woman who was far more sophisticated than his ward entered Cawburn’s life. But Cawburn had gone beyond the bounds of propriety, and brought the affair to a head by trying to seduce Sophie in a public place.
    Faced with a series of hysterical letters from Sophie’s stepmother, he’d adopted the only sensible course of action and removed Sophie up here. But Cawburn had followed. Very well, if he wanted to be Sophie’s suitor, then he courted her properly and in the open. Cawburn would not ruin his ward.
    ‘It’s eleven in the morning,’ Robert said, glancing at his pocket watch.
    ‘Practically middle of the night but then I suspect you have been up since before dawn beavering away like a good little factory owner or whatever it is you