Read Online The Temptation of Torilla by Barbara Cartland - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Cartland
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door, closing it behind her before she ran – or did she fly? – along the passage and up the stairs into the sanctuary of her bedroom.
CHAPTER THREE
Torilla stepped out of the stagecoach when it reached Hatfield and saw that one of her uncle’s carriages was waiting for her.
She also recognised the groom in his blue livery with silver crested buttons, who smiled as he raised his tall cockaded hat,
“Good afternoon, Miss Torilla. Nice to see you again.”
“And it is nice to see you, too, Ned,” Torilla answered. “I am so relieved that you are here to meet me.”
“Her Ladyship thought miss, you might not be arriving until tomorrow,” Ned replied, “knowing how unpunctual the coaches are.”
He gave a disdainful glance at the unwieldy vehicle, as he picked up Torilla’s valise and carried it to where a closed landau drawn by two well-bred horses was waiting in the yard.
The coachman whom Torilla also knew greeted her and she stepped into the comfortable carriage to sit back against the cushioned upholstery while Ned collected her trunk.
It was just like old times, she thought, with attentive servants she had known since she was a child.
She wished Abby was with her to appreciate the quickness with which the guard of the stagecoach handed Ned her trunk. Then they were off towards the village of Fernford, which was two miles outside Hatfield.
All the time Torilla had been travelling for the last two days, she had found it difficult to think of anything but Sir Alexander Abdy.
It had been impossible to sleep after he had kissed her and she had lain awake in the darkness feeling the pressure of his lips still on hers and his arms enfolding her.
She had often wondered what it would be like to be kissed and now, she thought to herself, things could never be quite the same.
When she listened to the fairy stories her mother had told her and read mythical tales in books as she grew older, she had always felt there was something mystical and wonderful behind the ordinary things that were familiar.
She sensed that one day she would understand the yearning that was sometimes within her and the emotions, which were inescapable.
When moonlight filtered between the branches of trees in great shafts of silver or sunshine was dazzling on the stillness of water, she felt a response that was strange and yet exciting.
At other times she would be aroused by a butterfly hovering over the opening petals of a flower or when she heard music in the breeze blowing through the trees.
She had always felt then as if what she was trying to understand was just out of reach. She sensed it, felt it near her, and yet it was elusive and like a will-o’-the-wisp she could not touch.
Suddenly she had captured it and had known it was hers at the touch of the Marquis’s lips.
It had been so inexpressibly wonderful and, although her body responded to it, she had known that the real glory was her mind.
She thought too, that it was what she had often felt when she prayed and when she attended the Communion Service very early in the morning when the only light in the darkness of the Church was the candles on the altar.
Though she tried to explain to herself what she felt, it was beyond words, it was a secret but an inseparable part of herself.
Shyly she thought that in a way last night she had also become a part of the man who had kissed her.
As the day passed and she spent another night in a coaching inn, she thought perhaps she had imagined the whole thing.
Could there really be a man who looked like Sir Alexander Abdy? Who had such presence and such consequence and could arouse in her feelings that made her quiver even to think of them?
‘I shall never see him again,’ she thought despairingly and then told herself that perhaps it was a good thing.
If she set aside the magic of what had happened, it came down to the fact that she had allowed a stranger, a man she had met by chance, to kiss her and she had made no attempt to
CHAPTER THREE
Torilla stepped out of the stagecoach when it reached Hatfield and saw that one of her uncle’s carriages was waiting for her.
She also recognised the groom in his blue livery with silver crested buttons, who smiled as he raised his tall cockaded hat,
“Good afternoon, Miss Torilla. Nice to see you again.”
“And it is nice to see you, too, Ned,” Torilla answered. “I am so relieved that you are here to meet me.”
“Her Ladyship thought miss, you might not be arriving until tomorrow,” Ned replied, “knowing how unpunctual the coaches are.”
He gave a disdainful glance at the unwieldy vehicle, as he picked up Torilla’s valise and carried it to where a closed landau drawn by two well-bred horses was waiting in the yard.
The coachman whom Torilla also knew greeted her and she stepped into the comfortable carriage to sit back against the cushioned upholstery while Ned collected her trunk.
It was just like old times, she thought, with attentive servants she had known since she was a child.
She wished Abby was with her to appreciate the quickness with which the guard of the stagecoach handed Ned her trunk. Then they were off towards the village of Fernford, which was two miles outside Hatfield.
All the time Torilla had been travelling for the last two days, she had found it difficult to think of anything but Sir Alexander Abdy.
It had been impossible to sleep after he had kissed her and she had lain awake in the darkness feeling the pressure of his lips still on hers and his arms enfolding her.
She had often wondered what it would be like to be kissed and now, she thought to herself, things could never be quite the same.
When she listened to the fairy stories her mother had told her and read mythical tales in books as she grew older, she had always felt there was something mystical and wonderful behind the ordinary things that were familiar.
She sensed that one day she would understand the yearning that was sometimes within her and the emotions, which were inescapable.
When moonlight filtered between the branches of trees in great shafts of silver or sunshine was dazzling on the stillness of water, she felt a response that was strange and yet exciting.
At other times she would be aroused by a butterfly hovering over the opening petals of a flower or when she heard music in the breeze blowing through the trees.
She had always felt then as if what she was trying to understand was just out of reach. She sensed it, felt it near her, and yet it was elusive and like a will-o’-the-wisp she could not touch.
Suddenly she had captured it and had known it was hers at the touch of the Marquis’s lips.
It had been so inexpressibly wonderful and, although her body responded to it, she had known that the real glory was her mind.
She thought too, that it was what she had often felt when she prayed and when she attended the Communion Service very early in the morning when the only light in the darkness of the Church was the candles on the altar.
Though she tried to explain to herself what she felt, it was beyond words, it was a secret but an inseparable part of herself.
Shyly she thought that in a way last night she had also become a part of the man who had kissed her.
As the day passed and she spent another night in a coaching inn, she thought perhaps she had imagined the whole thing.
Could there really be a man who looked like Sir Alexander Abdy? Who had such presence and such consequence and could arouse in her feelings that made her quiver even to think of them?
‘I shall never see him again,’ she thought despairingly and then told herself that perhaps it was a good thing.
If she set aside the magic of what had happened, it came down to the fact that she had allowed a stranger, a man she had met by chance, to kiss her and she had made no attempt to
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