“You stay back. I will not be caught with you, and I do not appreciate you trying to coerce me.”
He laughed. “I only said I would withdraw my offer at the end of your stay. I never said that I would not use every tool at my disposal to get you to say yes.”
Dear Lord! What had she gotten herself into? “I am going inside. Alone.” With those words she turned and hurried inside as fast as she could in her torture slippers.
Chapter 14
Trifles make the sum of life.
Charles Dickens
Evan!”
The excited voices of his sisters filled the entryway a moment before they both came barreling out of the drawing room to greet him. He was dusty and coated in a layer of grime because he had opted to ride his mount from the station instead of waiting for the carriage to transport his trunk. That did not stop either one of them from throwing themselves into his arms.
“Good afternoon, poppets.” He could not help but smile when he came home to them. They were like a pair of tawny puppies grappling over each other to get to him.
“You are so very late.” Elizabeth admonished him with a proper scowl on her face as she drew back.
“And disgusting!” Louisa wrinkled her nose as she gave him a once-over that clearly found him lacking.
They were very nearly identical with their dark blond hair and blue eyes, coloring that, like him, they had inherited from their mother. The only real difference was that Elizabeth had a faint scar near her mouth from a childhood mischief, and Louisa had a penchant for Cook’s sweets that gave her cheeks a pleasant fullness. Also, they were not puppies any longer. They had grown into women since he had last seen them months ago.
“It is very charming to have all of my faults recited to me as soon as I come home.”
“Not all of your faults. You have a lot more than two,” Elizabeth said.
Gently tweaking her nose, he asked, “Have they arrived yet?” He glanced over their heads to see his mother standing in the doorway of the drawing room wearing a concerned smile. The room behind her appeared empty.
“No, dear. Their wire indicated they would be on the five o’clock train. What happened to you?”
Evan had planned to travel with his mother the day before to allow plenty of time to meet with the estate manager before the Crenshaws arrived. Clark had sent him a message that had arrived an hour before he had been due to leave with his mother asking for an urgent meeting. The meeting had been well worth the delay, but it meant he had barely arrived in time.
It appeared he only had time for a bath and would not be able to meet them at the station. That was all well and good except for the fact that he was anxious to see August again.
“Clark believes that the men he hired might have found Father’s missing solicitor. I will explain all to you later.” The man had disappeared shortly after Evan had inherited and started asking difficult questions. Perhaps he had been too hasty in terminating his employment.
She nodded, but a crease appeared between her brows. “Do you think it will matter?”
“Perhaps. It is difficult to say without questioning him, but I believe he ran off with good reason. If he’s hiding assets, then we will find them.”
This time her nod was decidedly more confident. “Good. Clark is a respectable man. Should there be anything to find, he will find it. In the meantime”—she glanced pointedly at the pendulum clock that had been in the nook at the turn of the stairs for as long as Evan could remember—“you had best have a bath and get yourself ready. The Crenshaws arrive soon, and ’tis up to us to make a good impression since the house will not.”
Truer words had never been spoken. The ancient house was bloody near to falling down around them. Speaking of which. “Why are you not in your mourning clothes?” he asked his sisters. They were in gowns that had been made for them two years ago. Not only were they hopelessly out of fashion, but they were each at least an inch too short, and artfully folded fichus obscured the poorly fit bodices.
“We were tired of black and gray,” said Louisa. “It has been over a year.”
“Did you expect us to wear mourning the entire visit?” Elizabeth raised a brow.
He sighed. Those were excellent reasons. He actually had no issue with them not wearing mourning clothes, even immediately after their father’s death. The man had hardly been a father to them and had seen them so infrequently that he likely could not have picked them out of a crowded ballroom. The issue was more with the state of their non-mourning clothing. They were in desperate need of entirely new wardrobes. Wardrobes he could not even hope to afford. The ever-present knot in his chest tightened slightly.
“No, we should all be finished with mourning.” The twins perked up, but Mother’s smile was strained. As a widow, she was condemned to wear the black a bit longer to mourn a man none of them particularly missed.
Elizabeth tugged his sleeve. “Did you bring us presents?”
“Of course I did.” Reaching into the outer pocket of his chesterfield, he withdrew two gold paper boxes of chocolate wrapped in white ribbon. “One for each of you.”
They squealed in delight and retreated with their presents back to the drawing room. His mother’s smile turned brighter as she watched their joy. However, the moment they disappeared into the room, she turned back to him and approached, touching his cheek. “Go shave and dress. I had a suit pressed for you. Do you think you can manage without Stewart?”
His valet had been left to follow along with Evan’s trunk. “I think I can dress myself just this once.”
“The girls and I finished our tea, but I can send a tray up for you.”
“No, I can wait for dinner.” He was too anxious for the arrival of their guests to feel hungry. He half expected them to turn away on the drive and refuse to come inside.
His glance struck on his sisters unwrapping their chocolates. They had grown up in the past year, so now they looked like young women playing at being children in their too-small dresses. In the corner beyond them, a water stain extended from the ceiling to halfway down the wall, ruining the wall covering. What devil had possessed him to agree to August’s terms? He could no more allow her to slip through his fingers than he could make himself not want to kiss her. Without her, every one of their estates would be reduced to crumbling hovels with their insides picked clean by vultures. His sisters would have no prospects for their futures, and his own mother would further become a victim of Father’s neglect. His only hope was to marry her.
* * *
* * *
Charrington Manor was nearly as dilapidated as August had feared. It wasn’t crumbling, precisely. The several spires, chimneys, and at least one turret appeared to all be holding themselves erect. However, the ancient stone facade had weathered to various shades of gray, brown, and even black, and ivy covered a good third of the sprawling building. The arching roof was quite Gothic, made even more so by the weather and oxidation, which had given the roof tiles a very unattractive greenish hue. The house looked as if it had begun its life as a castle or perhaps even an abbey but had altered as it had grown over the centuries. No, it was not a ruin, but it was easily only a century away from such a catastrophe if left unchecked. “Oh dear.” Violet’s whisper did not sum up August’s feeling at all. The manor itself would need extensive renovation on the outside alone. A new roof would be exorbitant. She was afraid to see damage the weather had wrought on the inside.
“Well . . . how medieval.” Mother forced a smile. “It is rather delightful.”
Papa kept a neutral expression. “It appears just as I imagine an ancestral estate to appear. Old and rather ill-used. Thank God he has the London town house.”
“Do you . . .” Violet swallowed audibly as the Rothschild carriage, which had met them at the train station, swept around a curve in the long drive so that the facade could be apprecia
ted from a new angle. “Do you suppose it is plumbed?”
No one did.
A line of people had gathered outside the front steps. The servants were wearing the family’s royal blue and black livery, but her gaze was immediately drawn to the figure on the top step. His tawny hair and broad shoulders were unmistakable, as was his chiseled visage. August ran her fingertips over the curls that spilled from beneath her hat to frame her face. Mary had insisted on curling the strands that morning. At first, August had declined the offer, but the woman had insisted that it was just the look the hat needed, so she had relented. Now she was glad of Mary’s persistence.
Violet glanced at her and muttered, “You look lovely.”
August nodded her thanks but silently bemoaned how her sister seemed to know what she was doing. Violet might draw the wrong conclusion. August could want to look nice for him while still not wanting to marry him. The two were not mutually exclusive goals.
The moment the carriage drew to a halt at the base of the wide steps, a groom moved forward and opened the door. A second placed a step down to ease their departure. August tried and failed not to make eye contact with Rothschild as she took the offered hand and disembarked. He made it impossible as he had come down the steps and was smiling at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Crenshaw. I trust your journey was uneventful?”
What was it about the precise tenor of his voice that settled into her like hot tea on a cold and rainy day? “Yes, thank you.”
He offered his hand, and she took it more on instinct than any actual thought. After placing a chaste kiss on the back, he said, “My apologies for not meeting you at the station. I was delayed in London on business and only arrived not very long ago.”
His eyes were full of regret, and she found herself wondering again how things might have been different for them had he not been a fortune-hunting scoundrel.
She nodded and meant to reply but Papa was faster. “Do not trouble yourself, Your Grace. We were well taken care of by your man there.”
Though his gaze lingered on her, Rothschild slowly took himself down the line until he had greeted every member of her family. The duchess stood on the bottom step with a pleasant smile on her face and two young women August could only assume to be her daughters at her side. They looked like younger versions of the duchess herself.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace. It’s lovely to see you again.” Despite her mixed feelings about the woman’s son, August quite liked the woman herself. There was an innate kindness about her face, and a directness in her gaze that was comforting rather than off-putting. It made one feel seen and accepted.
“I hope your journey went well,” the woman said. After she had been assured that it had and pleasantries were exchanged with the rest of the family, she turned to her daughters with obvious pride on her face. “May I present my daughters, Elizabeth and Louisa.”
The differences between the twins were immediately obvious. Louisa effused warmth like her mother, while Elizabeth seemed more reserved and wary. They would not be her future sisters, because August had already determined how the week would end, but she still felt anxious and hoped that they would like her.
“Come inside,” said the duchess. “We have your rooms prepared and waiting. You must all wish to refresh yourselves after your journey. We tend to keep country hours here, so dinner will be served in an hour.”
The entry hall was wide and paneled in oak. It might have been dark had there not been a huge multipaned window over the front door that allowed in the weak afternoon sun. It was enough light to illuminate the grand staircase toward the back of the hall lined with paintings. The walls were painted a faded and rather shabby red, and the carpets were worn and frayed. A peek toward the drawing room revealed comfortable but worn furnishings.
She dared not comment on any of it. Instead she bade Her Grace good afternoon as she followed the maid that had been assigned to lead her to her room. The back of her gloved hand still tingled from the light touch of Rothschild’s lips. Being near him did strange things to her. Suddenly, her plan for surviving the coming week, namely, ignoring him, did not seem as clear as it once had.
* * *
* * *
Mary had just finished the intricate knot on the crown of August’s head when a knock sounded at the door of the bedroom she had been given. The room was comfortably furnished but, like everything else in the house, faded with time. The walls had once been rose, she was almost certain, but had become a muddled color somewhere between beige and brown.
“That must be Her Grace. Could you answer it, Mary?” August asked and then rubbed a bit of rose-tinted salve onto her lips. The caller certainly wasn’t a member of her own family, who would politely knock before barging in.
“Your Grace.” Mary went into a deep curtsy, but something about her disposition had August glancing up.
She rose from the bench at her dressing table when she saw Rothschild. “What are you doing here?”
“I have come to escort you downstairs.” He grinned, his gaze straying down to take in her clothing. She couldn’t stop her hands from drifting down the bodice of her gown, suddenly concerned if he would like the emerald gown with black piping as much as she had. Not that it mattered what he thought. Why did it matter?
“I am perfectly capable of escorting myself downstairs.” The words came out harsher than she had intended.
His perusal of her broke off immediately, and she worried that she had hurt him when his gaze went to Mary. Sensing that he wanted a moment alone with her, she said, “That will be all, Mary. Thank you.” She really shouldn’t send the maid away. His presence was improper even with Mary here, but part of her was too curious to care about propriety.
The maid bobbed a series of curtsies and somehow made her way out the door as she did so. The second her footsteps began to disappear down the corridor, Rothschild came across the room to stand before her.
“Are we back to this again?” Displeasure showed in his every step. “This antagonism. I thought we had come to an understanding, but I can see we have returned to needless baiting.”
He was right. She was already regretting her outburst. There was no need for the bitterness, especially since the boundaries had already been established and an agreement made. She could walk away from him after the week was finished. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” His eyes widened slightly. “You surprised me. I didn’t think you would come to my bedroom. On that note, we should really continue this conversation in the hallway so that we are not left alone.”
His grin was immediately back in place. “I came because I thought you might need to see me, and I can see I was right,” he said, ignoring the part about them being alone.
Immediately suspicious, she asked, “What do you mean? Why would I need to see you?”
That infuriating grin only widened. “Because you miss me, or perhaps you even want to kiss me.”
She laughed, both taken aback by his insolence and impressed by his nerve. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”
“Is it? Isn’t that why you feel the need to lash out at me? You find me attractive but that bothers you and makes you bitter. Also, per our agreement, I get to kiss you once each day you are here. I have come to relieve you of the burden of anticipation.”
By the time he finished his little speech, she had to forcibly close her mouth. “You have some nerve.”
That damned grin reappeared. “I do.”
He was deliberately provoking her, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of a response. “Fine. Have done with it, then.”
He stepped right up to her until the heat from his body warmed her front. That was no small thing, considering how drafty the place was. She had to fight against her instinct to close the space between them and soak up all the warmth he would give her. Dipping his head, he brought his hand up to gently touch her jaw. The
backs of his fingers skated over her skin, sending a ripple of pleasure down her spine. She licked her lips in anticipation, but he hesitated, hovering over her mouth as if he were savoring a cup of coffee that was slightly too hot.
When she absolutely could not take another moment’s delay, she pushed upward until her lips touched his. He obliged her by fitting his lips to hers, moving them in a gentle rhythm that had her parting for him. By now his kiss had become familiar to her, though she had no idea how it had happened so fast. She only knew that she anticipated the soft heat of him and his taste in a way that made kissing him feel like indulging in a heavenly slice of the most decadent chocolate cake. He was decadent and sinful, and she wanted more than she should.
It was over all too soon and he was pulling back. Why was he stopping when they had only barely started? She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, mischief in his gaze but something far more satisfying smoldering underneath.
“Shall we go to dinner?” he asked.
She nodded, wishing for a moment to compose herself but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he affected her. She took the arm he offered and hoped that the effects of the kiss were not visible to anyone else.
Mother had a distinctive twinkle in her eye when she saw them, but she stayed silent on the point. The duchess inquired about their comfort, and everyone stood around chatting amicably for several minutes until a servant announced that dinner was ready.
Dinner was less formal than the Ashcroft affair. For one, the table had an extension that had been removed for the occasion, making it much smaller for their party of eight. Secondly, the gender order was thrown off with only two males present, so everyone wandered in as a group. There was no awkward dithering over where everyone would sit. Rothschild would naturally take his place at the head of the table with his mother at the other end. Mother had latched onto him the second they began to walk in that direction, and August thought it rather appropriate that he ended up with her. Mother was known for her endless conversation, so he should be suitably entertained all night. The sisters had already engaged Violet in conversation before August had come down, so they sandwiched her sister between them, taking up one side of the table. Her Grace gently took August’s arm, saying, “Come sit next to me, child, so we can learn more about each other.” Apparently, Rothschild had not shared their agreement with his mother.
The Heiress Gets a Duke Page 19