Louisa backed up, holding the candle in front of her as a sort of shield. Desire was not the same as doing. She could resist the temptation. It was a test. He did not want to keep her safe. He wanted to bend her will to his. But now she knew that he did not intend to share his life with her. ‘The very walls will scream the news, isn’t that what Miss Daphne said? We must be careful, Jonathon. No scandal.’
‘The news carrier has gone to bed.’
‘Meaning?’ She tilted her head and put her candle down on the table.
His smile widened. ‘Nella Blandish. I saw her standing in the hall when Roberts gave me the news about my stepmother.’
‘You kept me in ignorance.’
He stilled and his face became a mask. ‘It was none of your business. My stepmother’s impending arrival has nothing to do with you.’
‘That was wicked of you, Jonathon.’
‘Selfish, maybe, but listen to my side of the story before you judge.’ He came forwards and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Venetia has Margaret with her. I want Margaret under my roof where I can keep an eye on her. Knowing what Venetia did to me, to us, I am determined to let Margaret make her own choices in life.’
Louisa examined the carpet, rather than looking into his eyes. ‘You should have told me that she was expected today.’
‘What would you have done? Packed your cases? Left without warning?’ He reached out, his fingers closing about her elbow, and pulled her against the hard planes of his body. He rested his chin on the top of her head. ‘I refused to take that risk. I refuse to lose you, Louisa. Again.’
‘You are impossible.’ Louisa pulled herself out of the embrace. She gathered up the candle and held it with a trembling hand, intending to sweep out of the room. ‘You have treated me in the most high-handed fashion. You simply assumed that I would fall in with your wishes without a “by your leave”. You should have warned me, Jonathon, and that’s all there is to it.’
He gave a tiny smile. ‘You are getting cross over nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Louisa waved her hand. Hot candle wax fell on to her wrist. A small cry came from her throat. She would now have a scar to remember her folly with.
‘Let me see that.’
‘It is a burn. It happens all the time. I was careless.’
‘You are annoyed with me and weren’t thinking.’
His fingers reached and held her wrist for a moment before bringing it to his mouth. His cool breath soothed the hurt. The pain receded, replaced by a growing, insistent warmth. Louisa was aware that her hair was loose beneath her nightcap, her feet bare and she wore a linen shift covered by a shawl.
‘I don’t think this was my best idea,’ she whispered, trying to ignore the warm sensation that raced from his touch to the furthest tips of her body, lighting every particle of her along the way.
‘Idea? What is your best idea?’ His grip changed and became more seductive as his fingers moved slowly over her skin, travelling up her nightdress to her shoulder.
‘Me being here. With you. Alone.’
‘I think it is an excellent idea.’ He tilted her chin so she was forced to look into his eyes. ‘Lean on me, Louisa.’
‘I learnt not to make that mistake.’
His hand undid her nightcap, pushed it until it fell off and brushed her hair. ‘What is wrong with seeking another’s help, Louisa? Help makes you stronger.’
Louisa found it impossible to move away from his hand. ‘Everything.’
He tangled his hands in her hair, loosening it from its plait. ‘You are a woman. You know how this particular game is played. Why did you come into my study?’
‘Because …’ Louisa groped for the right words. How could she explain that she wanted his company? She wanted to feel the strength in his arms again. When his arms were about her, she felt as if nothing bad could happen in the world. Her heart skipped a beat and she knew she had fallen in love with him. Not the Jonathon she had once known, but the man standing in front of her. And she wanted to be loved by this man. The knowledge was enough to bring her to her knees.
Silently she cursed.
Why was it that the one man in the world who she loved was also the one man who was most likely to betray her dreams and shackle her independence? Her dreams were no longer grandiose ones of marriage to a peer, but simple ones about a home and respectability. His plans for her seemed to be very different and she did not dare ask.
‘Because you were seeking shelter and needed me, despite your earlier words. There is a connection between us, Louisa.’ He traced a line around her lips. ‘You are very good at mouthing words, Louisa, but when are you going to admit the truth? When are you going to grow up? When are you going to approach me with a woman’s heart and mind?’
‘I am well grown, thank you.’ She moved her face from his questing fingers. But they simply went instead to her shawl and loosened it. It made a soft swoosh as it fell to the ground. Louisa stood there, clad in her nightdress, aware that her breasts were clearly visible through the thin lawn material, thrusting upwards with hardened points.
‘Then when are you going to stop finding excuses for your behaviour?’ He ran a seductive hand down her arms. ‘Do you always have to find a reason to come to me? Why not admit the truth?’
Louisa stared at him as warm tingles pulsated through her. Surely he should be kissing her and preventing her from thinking about her rules. ‘What truth is that, Jonathon?’
‘I have no wish to be your port in the storm, Louisa, not without you giving something in return.’ He dropped his hands to his side and stepped back. ‘Go back to your bed before we both do something we regret.’
A shiver went through Louisa. The air about her was suddenly ice cold. He was sending her away, back to her room with the booming thunder.
Back to her bed where she’d suffer. Where she’d be forced to re-examine her dreams and see if they were in fact empty and devoid of love.
‘Jonathon, don’t … don’t make me leave. I am frightened … of the storm.’
‘I want you, Louisa, but I want you to want me for myself, not simply because you are frightened of thunder.’ He stood there, looking at her; his brown hair fell over his forehead and his hands were at his sides.
‘You want me to leave,’ she said slowly, trying to understand. She held out her hands. ‘But I thought …’
A groan came from his throat. ‘When we make love again, it will be because you desire me, rather than because you are running from your fears. When we make love, I do not want accusations of seduction or protestations that it happened this once and never again because you need to be free.’
He had not uttered one word of love or tenderness. It was worse than four years ago; then she had had the promise of marriage. Four years! She did not doubt that she’d have run to his arms, but now her feet refused to move. For some reason she had been offered a choice and she knew she was not ready to make it. Go to him now and she’d lose any chance of independence. ‘I want more than an affair.’
‘You have no idea what you want and until you do, what is between us is impossible.’
She stooped to pick up her shawl, but he was there before her, taking the shawl and placing it tightly over her shoulders. Her stomach plummeted. He meant it. He was sending her away. He was not going to seduce her into staying. If she wanted to stay, she would have to seduce him. She would have to admit that she was an equal partner.
Her hands curled about her shawl.
The temptation was there, but it would mean she had become the person she had always feared being—a wanton without thought of propriety or gentility. And yet her heart whispered that she should take the chance.
Her eyes filled with tears of frustration. ‘Jonathon.’
His mouth twisted and he gave her a hooded look. ‘Run back to your room. Before you do something we both regret.’
Chapter Twelve
Jonathon sat in the breakfast room, staring at the remains of his breakfast.
According to Roberts, Louisa had breakfasted early and set off on an expedition with Miss Elliot and the Blandishes to visit a few of the Roman remains. She had neglected to consult him. Her answer to last night was clear and unambiguous.
Right now, as much as he wanted to go after her, he had other duties. Surely today Venetia would arrive and he would be able to ensure Margaret was protected.
The problem haunted Jonathon, driving the sleep from his brain. Margaret deserved a bright future, not being tied to some man simply because Venetia deemed it correct. He knew now the depths Venetia would sink to. And he had been right to keep it from Louisa. The fight was between him and his stepmother. Louisa had no part in it.
His stepmother’s strident tones berating Roberts resounded from the hallway. She had arrived. Jonathon’s shoulders eased. The final battle had begun. He said a silent prayer, thanking God that Venetia always found fault with whichever servant crossed her path when she first arrived. He made a mental note to increase Roberts’s salary.
‘What are you doing, Jonny, giving a house party without informing me?’ His stepmother bustled into the study, her starched petticoats crinkling with every step she took. His stepmother was the only person on the face of the planet to call him Jonny, as if he remained in short trousers. He could remember the first time they had met. He had been absolutely terrified, but she had taken his hand and pledged to his father that she would be the right sort of mother for him, one who would look after him and keep him on the proper paths. ‘It is really too bad of you!’
‘It is my house,’ Jonathon commented and forced his voice to be even, though anger surged through him. Venetia presumed much.
‘It is really too bad of you not to consult me. The servants are all in a twitter.’
‘Is Margaret with you? Or did you travel on your own?’
Venetia’s gaze narrowed to glacial blue slits. ‘Does it matter to you?’
‘I requested that you bring Margaret.’
His stepmother trailed a finger down the table, inspecting it for dust. She frowned as her finger came away. ‘I have no idea why you keep Roberts on. He was most insolent about who was here. As the hostess, I need to know. You will probably have muddled all the room arrangements. It is not simply a matter of people arriving, but where they are staying and being careful not to have certain people get ideas above their station.’
‘Are you the hostess?’
‘I am your nearest living female relative. Who else would be? Poor dear Clarissa … she must be turning in her grave. She was so proud of the house and its reputation for hospitality. Are your guests fit for Margaret’s company? She is a gently reared child and has expectations.’ Venetia gave a superior smile.
‘I have managed to cope in your absence, Venetia. Chesterholm is my house. The servants keep the house to my requirements.’
Her shoulders sagged and she reached into her reticule for smelling salts. ‘But to have a respectable party without a hostess is unconscionable.’
‘Where is Margaret? In the carriage?’
‘The hoyden ran out of the carriage and down to the garden before I even managed to speak to Roberts.’ Venetia clicked her tongue. ‘Margaret’s manners are sorely wanting. She must be brought up short if we are to catch her a duke.’
‘Margaret will marry whom Margaret wishes.’
‘No, no, the choice of a husband is far too important to be left to her. What if she meets and marries an unsuitable person!’ His stepmother’s lashes fluttered. ‘How would you feel then? Your little experiment in allowing youthful folly will have ruined your sister’s prospects and her life and very probably her children’s.’
Jonathon’s neck muscles ached as he struggled to keep control of his temper. ‘The only person who has mentioned ruin is you.’
‘You were always unfeeling.’ His stepmother sniffed. ‘Roberts—’
‘I will not hear another word against Roberts. He served under my great-uncle for years. Simply because he is not your creature, Venetia, does not make him insolent or a failure. Kindly refrain from addressing my servants in such a manner.’ He gave her a stern look and Venetia had the grace to bow her head in submission.
‘You are becoming more like your great-uncle every day.’ Her mouth pursed like she had swallowed a sour plum. ‘And I do not mean that in a good way, Jonathon.’
‘I will take it as a compliment. I have the utmost respect for Uncle Arthur and his integrity.’
‘You have invited the oddest assortment of people. Miss Elliot of all people! She must be nearing her dotage.’ His stepmother began to lift the lids on various dishes, poking at them, rather than meeting his eye. ‘I don’t mind Rupert Furniss, but the Blandishes … They are people on the make. You must have seen the mother …’ She shook her head. ‘What Honoria Furniss will say about her son making sheep’s eyes at Miss Blandish, I have no idea. He might do for Margaret if no one else comes up to snuff.’
‘I enjoy the Blandishes.’ Jonathon waved his hand, cutting her complaints short. His stepmother liked to forget her own background was not quite top drawer. She preferred to concentrate on his father’s and late mother’s connections rather than the fact that Venetia herself was the daughter of an impoverished third son of a minor baronet. ‘Margaret will marry whom she chooses.’
His stepmother’s cheeks coloured slightly. ‘Margaret deserves the best and in order to get the best, she must be able to take full advantage of the Season next year. With a young and vibrant queen on the throne, the balls are certain to be without parallel. She must have the correct counsel.’
Jonathon schooled his features. He had waited long enough. It was time.
‘I met an old friend recently,’ he said evenly, watching Venetia’s face for any sign. ‘I had been under the impression that this person was dead. You can imagine my shock.’
His stepmother’s reticule tumbled from her hand, falling to the floor with a thump. ‘Who is that? Do I know this man?’
‘Not a man, a woman. Louisa Sibson. It was most peculiar as I am positive you told me she had died. That her death was connected to my accident.’
His stepmother sank down gracefully into a winged chair. Her shoulders shook slightly as she went to retrieve a handkerchief from her reticule and discovered that it was on the ground and she had to reach for it with her foot. She made a practised flourish with her hand and withdrew the handkerchief to furiously dab at her eyes. ‘You might have warned me, Jonny, before I set out.’
‘Warned you about what?’
‘Your discovery … I cannot stay in the same house as that woman. She is a dreadful parvenu. She has ideas above her station.’
‘Why did you tell me that she died?’
His stepmother got up and went over to the morning-room window. She stood there looking out for a moment.
‘Why, Venetia? Surely you remember.’
‘I can’t rightly recall. What was I supposed to tell you? She left our house, disappeared.’ Venetia spun round and said in a furious undertone, ‘The woman had loose morals, Jonny. She was a jumped-up nobody who was out to trap you. You just needed a push to fall for the right woman, one who was worthy of you and this house.’
‘You told me she had died in the accident, the accident I caused. You said that you had wept at Louisa’s memorial service. You put a gravestone up,’ Jonathon continued remorselessly onwards. ‘Why did you do that if she was a jumped-up nobody?’
‘Maybe you simply assumed it. This was years ago. You were struggling for life.’ She paused, hiding her face behind her handkerchief before peeping out. ‘Did she say where she had been?’
‘Italy. You gave her money for her passage. Why?’
‘Why did she return?’
‘Is that any concern of yours?’
‘I think it is, Jonny.’ His stepmother stepped forwards, her face eager like a vulture seeking to scavenge. ‘A number of items disappeared when she left. I have never—’ Venetia pressed the handkerchief to her
face again. ‘I know you always felt Lily, my old maid, took them, but I was always convinced it was Louisa.’
‘Louisa. Carried. My. Child.’ Jonathon bit out each word. ‘Louisa never stole anything. Stop your self-serving lies, Venetia.’
‘She carried a child.’
‘It was mine. Mine!’
‘Was?’ The corner of Venetia’s mouth twitched.
‘The child is dead. Born too soon, she never even breathed.’
‘Surely you cannot have feeling for something that never lived, that you never knew.’ She put her hand to her throat.
‘You knew Louisa was expecting and you never even bothered to discover what happened.’
‘You must believe me, Jonny, I acted for the best. It was better for everyone that you thought her dead. And the child’s death was providence, a punishment for the mother’s sin if you like.’
Jonathon stared at his stepmother in astonishment mingled with disgust. ‘What sort of creature are you?’
‘What was she to you until you knew of her death?’ His stepmother snapped her fingers. ‘A misalliance that you would grow out of, that you were tiring of. That one little lie turned you from being a rather dissolute young man to a model gentleman. This estate has gone from strength to strength. You had the perfect hostess in Clarissa, a woman who was born to the role.’
Jonathon flexed his fingers, itching to shake her, but he had never laid a hand on a woman in anger. Never would. With effort he regained control of his temper. ‘Did you ever regret what you did to Louisa?’
His stepmother’s ear bobs swayed slightly as she caught Jonathon’s hands between her ice-cold fingers.
‘I have never lost a moment’s sleep. I saw you lying there, all distressed, calling for a woman who would never come, when a good … no … an excellent woman stood by your bedside, waiting with bated breath for you to live. Clarissa possessed every attribute you needed, if only you could be made to forget flame-coloured hair and an ingratiating manner.’ She lifted her chin and her eyes glittered like a snake’s. ‘I would do it again in an instant. You should be thanking me for releasing you from purgatory.’
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