Rob grinned. “Do you perceive me as a man who is skilled in flattery?”
She considered him thoughtfully. “No,” she said at last. “No, you seem rather to be a man given to plain speaking.”
“That I am, a plain man, and I am plainly stating that I find you unusually striking. May I serve you a glass of wine?”
“Thank you.” She nodded her acceptance of the wine, if not the compliment, but a small frown replaced her smile. “I know the storm is raging, but… Is there no way to get a message to Hill House, to my parents? They will be frantic with worry. I did not even tell them….”
“That you were going out? I wondered who allowed you to come up here alone.” Rob’s own smile faded. “I’m sorry, but I cannot set out into that blizzard. I would be dead in an hour.”
“Oh, no! I do not ask that. I only hoped…” She sighed. “I was being foolish. Forgive me.”
Rob started to reach across the table to clasp her hand, but just as the impulse struck, the slender hand slipped from the table into her lap. Hmm. It had not escaped his attention that when he had placed his hand on her back to guide her to her chair, she had quietly stepped away after the briefest contact. Nor had she taken his arm coming down the stairs. Apparently his rescued damsel remained a bit wary of her rescuer. And under the circumstances… Well, perhaps time and better acquaintance would cure that.
“Nay, not foolish—understandably concerned.” He poured himself a tankard of ale from a pitcher. “It is certainly a very bad situation, but I see no way to remedy it tonight—and possibly not tomorrow. So you reside with your parents? Since you answer to ‘miss,’ I collect that you are not married?”
“No. I am not.” She took an infinitesimal sip of wine. Little danger of this cautious lady becoming fuddled by strong drink. “I live with my family. My father is Viscount Rosley. I have two younger brothers and a sister still at home. I also have an older sister, who has married Lord Rochland, and an older brother in the cavalry.”
“A hopeful family, indeed. Do you often drive out alone?”
“Yes, frequently.”
“And your parents do not object?”
A slightly impish smile brightened her serious face. Charming. “I did not say they do not object. But they understand….” She sobered. “There are times when Isimply must be by myself. And I cannot bear to stay inside for long periods. So I take my paints and come into the fells and find something spacious and uplifting to paint. I had been driving for about an hour when the mishap occurred. I intended to paint the Eyrie in the snow.”
“Ah. Now I understand the paint case. So painting is your favorite pastime?”
“Yes. And I sometimes write a bit of poetry…and other things.”
At that moment Burnside appeared with a large tray. He set it carefully on the sideboard and began awkwardly to place dishes on the table. “You’ll have to excuse me, miss. I ain’t no dab hand at this. We’ve been eating in the kitchen till the butler shows his front.”
“Oh, my. I am sorry to be putting you to so much trouble. I would have been happy to eat in the kitchen.”
“No lady is going to eat in the kitchen in my house,” Rob interjected firmly. “It is well enough for a rough fellow such as myself, but for you… No.”
“Rough? Not at all. In fact, you have been the epitome of a gentleman.” Blushing a little, the lady laughed. A quiet, pleasant laugh. “In spite of a rather inauspicious meeting.”
“I must admit I have never before been introduced to a lady at pistol point. A novel experience.” He grinned. “The experience has induced me to be on my best behavior, but that is bound to wear off.”
But not too rapidly, considering the second pistol she probably still wore under her petticoats. The pistol notwithstanding, he saw something sad in the lady’s twilight eyes. Something that made him want to gather her into his strong arms and comfort her. To shelter her.
But not tonight.
Considering the pistol.
He lifted the cover from a platter, revealing large rolls stuffed with sausage. “May I serve you some of Burnside’s excellent fare? And some stewed apples?”
“Yes, thank you. What is that in the tureen? It smells very interesting.” She leaned forward and took a deep breath.
“Lamb curry.” He lifted the cover. The aroma of meat and spices filled the room. “I am not sure you will care for it. It is very highly seasoned, I warn you.” He spooned some rice onto her plate and added a very small dollop of the curry. “I suggest you approach it carefully.” He ladled a large serving onto his own plate.
She picked up her fork and took an appropriately dainty nibble. “Mmm. It is very good… Oh, my.” She gasped and reached for her wine.
Rob hastily clasped her hand, stopping her from sipping. “The wine will only increase the effect of the peppers. Better you should have a bit of roll.”
She nodded and quickly followed this advice. “My goodness.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I have never tasted peppers so hot. But the dish has a delightful flavor. Perhaps it is an acquired taste.”
“One must certainly become accustomed to it.” Rob laughed. “Are you all right now?” He took a large bite of his own serving.
“Oh, yes. I was just taken by surprise.” She tried another minute morsel. A brave lady.
“Perhaps Burnside can mix some curry powder for you with less pepper. I don’t want my first guest to go away with a blistered mouth.”
“Nor do I.” She quickly took another bite of bread and very precisely blotted her lips with her napkin. “I believe that is enough for now, but I would like to try it again sometime—perhaps with less pepper.”
“You seem surprisingly adventurous. You look so…so fragile.”
She stared pensively at the fire. “Perhaps I would like adventure. Fragility can become very tiresome.”
Rob pondered that response for a moment. The lady was definitely involved in an adventure now, one from which she would not emerge unscathed. “Miss Kethley, I am afraid that this particular adventure is going to be very damaging to your reputation. I think we should discuss—”
She turned her clear violet gaze on him. “Lord Duncan, I assure you that damage to my reputation is not a problem at all.”
And try as he might, he could not persuade her to say one more word on the subject.
The storm rampaged through the night and into the morning, and although Iantha had a pleasant conversation with Lord Duncan over breakfast and spent some time with him in the library examining his books, she became aware of a growing tension in herself. The need to get away. To get out of the place.
To put some distance between herself and his lordship’s overwhelmingly masculine presence.
He had done nothing—nothing at all—to cause her alarm. He observed every courtesy. He took pains to provide her every comfort. He did not touch her. Yet he seemed to fill up the room with his big body and his big voice. And…and with something else. A robust energy emanated from him, taking form in his ready grin and his hearty laughter. His enthusiasm for his library. His wholehearted enjoyment of life.
Try as she might, she could not shut his lordship out.
She did so very successfully with most people. Her barriers, built of intellectual conversation and control of her emotions, were well constructed and well maintained. She kept even people whom she liked outside of them. But with Lord Duncan… Even while discussing old Hindu manuscripts and his study of the various languages in which he engaged with Vijaya, she found herself more aware of the man than of the subject.
She needed to go home.
Shortly after they had eaten a light nuncheon, the wind died and the clouds rolled themselves up behind the mountains, leaving a blinding brightness in their wake. Iantha peered out a window.
“At last! Now I can return to my parents and relieve you of an unwanted guest, Lord Duncan.”
His lordship strolled to join her at the casement. “Never unwanted, M
iss Kethley.”
Iantha smiled. “You are very gallant, my lord, but at the very best, I am an uninvited guest. Will you provide me with a horse? I fear I cannot leave the same way I arrived.”
“I fear you cannot leave at all, Miss Kethley. At least, not for a while. Nay, wait.” When she would have protested, he held up a restraining hand. “Just because the storm has abated does not mean the roads are open.”
“But I must get home. My poor parents—”
“I am sure they are extremely worried. But that will not clear the drifts. After a blizzard of this magnitude, they will be frozen in place.”
Iantha’s heart dropped to her slippers. She must go. He couldn’t make her stay. He wouldn’t. She drew herself up and bestowed a frosty glance on his lordship. “Nonetheless, I must attempt it. May I make use of a horse or not?”
His lordship snorted. “Something tells me that if I refuse, you will set out walking. Very well, Miss Kethley. Please get your coat and meet me in the entrance hall.”
Iantha raced up the stairs and struggled back into her own clothes and fur coat. In a very few minutes she rejoined Lord Duncan in the hall. He had donned his greatcoat and hat. Without a word he led her back into the old part of the castle.
But instead of continuing down to the stables, he turned and started up a spiral staircase of worn stone. Iantha stopped, scowling, and gazed up the aged steps. “My lord, where are you going?”
He returned her scowl. “To the battlements, Miss Kethley.”
Panic began in Iantha’s breast. “No! I am not going to the battlements. I am going home. With you or without you!”
Before she could dart through the old castle’s portal, he jumped down the last few steps and seized her arm. “Miss Kethley, you try my patience. If you are determined to leave, at least first look at the situation you face. Then if you still believe you can travel, I will accompany you.”
He turned and towed the unwilling Iantha up the first few stairs. After several steps she yanked her arm out of his grasp, glaring at him. “Very well. If you insist, I will go up.”
His lordship said nothing, but moved aside, gesturing for her to precede him. The old castle was bitterly cold. Iantha wished she might thrust her gloved hands into the pockets of her heavy coat, but had to use them to hold up her skirts. Her nose threatened to drip. She could only sniff as unobtrusively as possible. Finally they reached a heavy wooden door. Lord Duncan reached past her and pulled it open.
Iantha stepped out into a dazzling landscape. When her eyes had adjusted from the dark of the old keep, she gazed about her at a sparkling fairyland. Against the dark clouds, snow covered all but the highest wind-scoured peaks. From many of them, where springs near the summit had frozen in their leap into the valley, diamond cascades of ice glistened. Everywhere the sun struck the hills at an angle, rainbows sprang up.
Iantha stood transfixed.
Lord Duncan stood beside her silently, apparently captive to the beauty of the sight himself. Together they began to walk the battlements, where the parapets had shielded the path from snow, pausing occasionally to appreciate a particularly breathtaking view. When they had traversed three sides of the castle, they stopped at the foot of another stone staircase. Less than three feet wide, it rose in dizzying flight from the battlements to the top of the tallest tower. Neither handrail nor barricade protected the climber. The drop fell sheer into the valley. Today snow and ice festooned the steps.
Iantha moved toward them. “Oh, look! How beautiful. What is up there?”
His lordship seemed a bit alarmed. “Only the lookout tower. But please do not attempt the stairs, Miss Kethley. They are not safe at any time, let alone when covered in ice.”
“Yes, I can see that, but perhaps one day I may climb them. I have a very good head for heights.”
“Which is more than I do. I could not permit it.”
“Very well.” Iantha shrugged and gazed around her, brows puckered. “But where is the road?”
“Where, indeed?” His lordship turned in a full circle. “If I am not mistaken, it lies just below us there.” He pointed.
Iantha squinted down the hillside. “Where? I do not see it.”
“Neither do I. But if you believe you can find it, it will be my honor to escort you home.” His lordship folded his arms across his chest, looking insufferably smug. There was no kinder word for it; he looked smug.
Iantha bristled at this display of male arrogance. “Well, I won’t know until I look, will I?”
“Nay. You won’t.” His expression softened, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Kethley, I sympathize with your desire to relieve your family’s anxiety and your desire to remove yourself from a situation that can be nothing other than uncomfortable for you, but you can see for yourself—it would be the height of folly to try to set out today.”
Tears threatened to shatter Iantha’s firm control on her emotions. She willed them away, concentrating on the problem at hand. She would not succumb to a womanly excess of sensibility. She must think, rely on her intelligence. Stepping back from his comforting hand, she nodded. “You are correct, of course. Forgive me.”
His voice sounded gentle and kind. “Perhaps tomorrow, if it is warmer.”
Iantha nodded and took several sustaining breaths, gazing around her once more. “I believe, my lord, if you do not object, I would like to bring my paints up here and attempt to capture this remarkable scene.”
“I don’t object, precisely, but I fear you would freeze.”
Glancing around her, Iantha spied a small guardroom. “I could sit in the doorway there, out of the wind. I am warmly dressed. With your permission?”
Lord Duncan sighed. “If I cannot dissuade you. Come, I will show you a way directly from the old castle to the floor where your bedchamber is found. Your paint case is there, I believe.”
“Thank you.”
Iantha followed him partway down the stairs and through a connecting door. Several more turns brought her back to the door they sought. It took only a few minutes to locate what she wanted, and follow his lordship back to the older building. He left her there, and she hastened to find just the prospect she wanted to paint.
Quickly lost in her work, she started when a red-haired young man she had not seen before appeared at her elbow. He bowed politely. “Good day, miss. I’m Thursby. His lordship asked me to make you a fire in the guardroom.”
Suiting the action to the word, he dumped coal and tinder into a brazier stored in the room, and pulled a rickety stool from the shadows and dusted it, setting it behind Iantha. Lost in the magic of the setting, trying fervently to transfer it to her paper, Iantha never heard him go.
She worked on through the afternoon, pausing to warm her hands at the brazier only when her fingers became too cold to hold her brush, or to melt another small cup of snow for the watercolors. Or when the colors froze in her brush.
Heedless, she worked on.
Her spirits soared like the mountains surrounding her, like the towering clouds. Space and air. Light and shadow. They liberated her as nothing else could. The walls fell away. No longer was she a prisoner in a strange place, nor a prisoner of her own emotions. As the light began to fail, she worked doggedly, hoping to get as much recorded as she could. To finish, she would have to rely on the pictures in her mind. On the enchantment stored in her heart.
She was striving to catch the effect of the last rays of light when Lord Duncan appeared before her, arms folded across his chest. She looked up, startled. He moved very quietly for so solid a man.
“Will you stay here all night, Miss Kethley?”
“Only a little longer. I need to use the last of the sunlight….”
He reached out and plucked the brush from her numb fingers and rinsed it in the crystalizing cup of water. Before Iantha could protest, he laid it in her case and pitched the water over the parapet. “I have come up several times these past three hours, but you seemed so absorbed in your paintin
g, I had not the heart to stop you. But now it is getting colder, and I must call a halt. You will become ill. You have even taken off your glove.” He took her bare hand in both of his, scowling in disapproval.
“It is very difficult to paint with a glove on. Indeed, I don’t remember when—” Automatically Iantha tugged on the hand, but he did not let her go. Then the warmth of his strong grasp became so welcome, she did not want him to. She began to shiver. “I d-did not realize how c-cold I was getting.” Her teeth rattled against one another. “I b-became so immersed in the p-painting….”
His lordship pulled her to her feet. “The only thing you need to be immersed in at the moment is a tub of warm water. I fear you may have frostbitten fingers—or toes. Can you feel your feet?”
Iantha wiggled her toes. “A little. I don’t think they are frostbitten.”
“Come then. I will send Thursby to fetch your paints. I left Burnside filling a bath for you.” He took her elbow and steadied her steps down the rough stairs.
She could feel his energy coursing through her arm and into her fingertips.
She simply could not shield herself from him.
Chapter Three
She floated down the stairs, a wraith made solid by the desire of the beholder. Rob almost held his breath for fear that she would disappear. Did her feet even touch the floor? She had chosen another of his grandmother’s gowns, this one a deep sky-blue. A shawl of silver lace lay across her shoulders, and silver slippers peeped from under her skirt. Around her neck, completing the ethereal effect, lay a fine silver chain with moonstones depending from it.
In spite of his better judgment, even knowing she would evade him, he extended a hand to help her down the last step. She allowed him to assist her, then gently reclaimed her hand.
“Good evening, my lord.”
“Your servant, Miss Kethley.” Rob bowed, continuing to regard her appreciatively. “You quite take my breath away. Have you gotten completely warm?”
Patricia Frances Rowell Page 3