by Lara Temple
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Lady Theale said...’
‘No, I heard you, I merely... Did she?’
His mouth softened once more. ‘Don’t glare at me. I am merely repeating what she said.’
‘How generous of her.’
‘She should find you a prince. You do a marvellous impression of affronted royalty.’
‘No, she should find herself something more productive to do than meddle in...’ She snapped her mouth shut.
‘My sentiments precisely. As they were one morning three weeks ago when she dropped you on my doorstep.’ His smile took the sting out of his words.
‘You can always drop me right back. The moment you wish me to leave, you have merely to say so.’
‘Prickly, prickly,’ he admonished, laughing, his eyes as green as the hills behind him, softening the austere planes of his face. A wave of answering happiness swept through her, shocking her. It was both foreign and utterly familiar, tossing her back years and years to warm summer afternoons playing with her friends in the orchard behind the vicarage.
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Do you know, I don’t believe I ever saw you smile once all during that Season in London, which is a pity. It is a potent entity, that smile. Were you afraid of stealing Celia and Bella’s suitors away if you did?’
It was a gallant thing to say, even if it was a lie. Coupled with the sparkle of mischief in his eyes, it warmed her further.
‘I don’t remember much about those months. Just that I wanted to be elsewhere. Timidity is the worst way to approach a London ballroom, I’m afraid.’
His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his saddle, his mouth still soft in a smile that was peculiarly intimate.
‘You were never timid, Jo. It would have been better for you if you had been. Knowing you now, I can see you were merely blazingly angry and resentful underneath that icy veneer. I read a travel journal of a man who lived for a year in Naples in the shadow of Vesuvius which was nothing but a still and silent mountain, but all the while he was aware that at any moment the whole of the Pompeian plane could be eradicated in a burst of fire and brimstone. He said the quiet air quivered with sheathed violence. It is intimidating to say the least.’
‘That sounds horrible.’ She tried to speak lightly but her voice shook. His words hurt all the worse for the surge of joy that preceded them. He eased his horse closer and reached out and grasped her gloved hand, engulfing it.
‘It wasn’t meant as an insult, quite the opposite. You are an impressive young woman. Under different circumstances you could have had all those shallow fools eating out of your hand.’
She snorted.
‘Yes, if I had been pretty and wealthy and everything I’m not. This is a foolish conversation.’
‘I thought you were a better judge of people and their motivations. If you had used an ounce of that passion and determination to win people over instead of keeping them at bay, your lack of wealth would have been overlooked, believe me.’
‘But not my lack of looks.’
‘There is nothing amiss with your looks. Everyone wears masks in society. I think you chose the wrong one.’
His hand was still holding hers, another breach of propriety she did not call attention to, but it was his smile, softening as his eyes skimmed over her face, that set her heart thudding fast and hard. She was old enough now to know men would at least consider most all females as physical objects, attractive or not, and there was no reason to assume his assessment meant anything more than that. Alfred had been very open with her and had answered her questions as honestly as possible and shattered quite a few of her foolish notions about love of body and mind.
Benneit’s gaze lingered on her mouth, his lashes lowering to shield the winter-green-and-grey irises, and her heart went into full gallop, heat lashing up her neck and cheeks, pinching at her skin. She felt scalded, but she shivered, clamping her legs tightly about the saddle. The breeze carried his scent to her—clean soap and musk over the coolness of spring water. Her lids felt heavy, her whole body felt heavy, as if she must sink into something, lean on something. Somewhere apart she knew these sensations were utterly out of proportion with Benneit’s mild show of interests—it was no more than what she had seen on Alfred’s face a dozen times at the passing of an attractive woman in the village square. But that little voice of caution was growing fuzzy and weak, and her hand was already beginning to turn under his.
His gaze fell and he withdrew his hand a little abruptly, a faint flush spreading over the sharp lines of his cheekbones. He looked over to where Jamie was ambling back towards the grazing pony. ‘Come, I think Jamie has found another treasure. I hope it isn’t a sheep’s jawbone like last time we took the cliff path.’
Chapter Thirteen
Benneit moved between the window and the desk and back again. He should not have sent Angus to summon Jo. Perhaps she was resting. It was foolish to bother her, even if she had made the offer herself. He did not like the thought that she might be comparing him to the Uxmores, who clearly squeezed her until the pips squeaked.
Still, she had offered, and McCreary could use the help while he was occupied with the engineers’ plans.
She had smiled as she offered, too; that soft, unguarded smile that was so sincere and warm it was like a caress. She had not believed him, but he knew his sex well enough to know that had she made use of that smile, of her tumbling laugh, of the non-judgemental understanding that shone occasionally from her grey eyes, she would have had a trail of all-too-willing suitors even without a dowry and the beauty of some of the debutantes.
Clever Langdale for seeing what others had missed. It was clear their love had overcome her defences. Instead of a dormant volcano, Langdale secured himself a sweet, giving and supportive young woman. If only Langdale been less reckless, she would still be where she deserved. In his home, his bed...
The soft knock at the door dragged him out of his thoughts.
‘Enter.’ His voice was a little too loud and he clasped his hands behind his back, annoyed at his discomfort. She entered and paused just inside the door, looking as neat as usual despite the ghastly grey dress.
He cleared his throat, turning his mind to business.
‘Thank you for coming. A word before we begin. I have been remiss about making provisions for you after we amended our agreement to extend your stay, Mrs Langdale. Please give Mrs Merry a list of anything you need and what she cannot provide or purchase in the village, Angus can purchase on his weekly trips to Kilmarchie or when we go to Glasgow.’
‘If I need anything, I can purchase it myself in the village, I am sure.’
Her words were stiff, but her cheeks turned a little pink and her discomfort relieved some of his and he smiled.
‘I see how it is to be. Every offer of goodwill on my part will be politely rebuffed, but if I tell you I do not need your help with Jamie or the accounts you will regard it as proof of my obstinate insularity. Double standards can be very annoying, Mrs Langdale.’
She didn’t disappoint him. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and the pixie smile bloomed.
‘Are you trying to embarrass me into accepting your largesse, Your Grace? All this sheep rearing has clearly made you believe people are just as easily herded.’
‘I would say you have more characteristics of a goat than a sheep, Mrs Langdale. A mule even. Two very stubborn animals.’
She laughed. ‘Mrs Merry and Beth have already provided me with all I need for my stay, even a pair of stout boots and a thick cloak, so you need not worry. Now show me the ledgers and we shall see if I can offer anything half as useful in return.’
He stood aside as she went to sit at his desk.
Clearly the grey-eyed pixie would not willingly accept any favours from him, which meant she would likely find it hard to accept the dresses he had commi
ssioned from Bella’s old seamstress in Glasgow. Hopefully they would arrive soon because he was tired of seeing her in these sacks.
Perhaps he should even tell Mrs Merry to accidentally spill tar on these grey horrors and then Jo would have no choice but to accept the new gowns when they came. Though Jo Langdale might be stubborn enough to remain in her chemise just to make a point.
Unfortunately that thought led to a memory of that moment on the ship—her wet skirts caught about her legs, the elegant lines revealed...
His senses sank their teeth into the memory—bringing back the scent of the sea air, the crash and hiss of the waves, and then the sudden unwelcome sting of lust and the stretching of his muscles as his body readied itself to reach for her, to clasp about the curve and line of her ankle and move upwards.
Perhaps it was not a good idea to be concerning himself with her wardrobe. Those grey horrors were an antidote to any misplaced ideas. Or at least they should be.
She was leaning over the ledger, one elbow propped on the desk and her forehead on her palm as she reviewed the entries. Her hair was drawn into the usual severe bun, uncovering her nape and just a few soft inches of the sweep of her shoulders. She did not have Bella’s perfect milky white skin. In fact, he remembered Bella once saying it was a pity her cousin was so sallow, blaming it on a childhood spent out of doors like a village urchin. He had been too enamoured with Bella during that summer in London to feel more than a twinge of conscience at Bella’s occasional cutting remarks, writing them off as the natural bias of someone who was so extraordinarily beautiful she strove to raise the world to her standard. Now he wondered if Bella felt some envy for her unfortunate cousin, or at the very least resentment that Jo so evidently refused to adore her as everyone, including himself, had.
He did not think Jo Langdale merited the term sallow. Her skin was a few shades darker than ivory, a faintly warm colour that would probably take the sun well.
‘Do you freckle?’
Her eyes flew up and he felt his cheeks warm in embarrassment. Had he really asked that aloud?
‘I mean, if you are to spend time out of doors often with Jamie... Perhaps Mrs Merry might procure you some...cream. Bella was always in a fright about freckles.’
She touched her cheek with a look of bemusement, as if the freckles were already spreading like the measles.
‘I don’t... Well, I do freckle a little, but I don’t use creams. I never have. It does not bother me.’
‘Never mind then. Disregard it. Do the numbers make any sense to you? Do you think you can review the tallies?’
‘Certainly. Your steward’s hand is very neat. Yours is quite legible, too, Your Grace,’ she added and he smiled.
‘You needn’t spare my blushes, Mrs Langdale. I don’t aspire to Mr McCreary’s calligraphic heights. I reserve my patience for other endeavours.’
She leaned back, looking up at him with curiosity and again he felt the strange dislocation. She looked too comfortable in his chair, despite being half-lost in its size.
He stepped back.
‘May I leave you with the ledgers, then? I have some business to see to in the village.’
‘Of course, Your Grace.’
‘Good. Thank you. Don’t overtax yourself.’
Her mouth curved, slowly. She could not possibly be aware of his discomfort but he felt peculiarly defenceless, like a child before a headmistress.
‘Goodbye, then,’ he repeated and retreated before his mouth, mind, or body committed any additional gaffes.
Outside in the forecourt as he swung on to Lochlear’s back he glanced up at the window of the estate room. He must truly be unhinged to allow a little grey-eyed pixie to unsettle him like that.
Chapter Fourteen
‘’Ou forgot to thow me Fou-ah.’
‘And you forgot to swallow before you spoke, Jamie,’ Jo replied, not looking up from her book. Jamie responded with a snorted giggle and an audible swallow.
‘You can’t scold if your eyes are laughing, Jo.’
It was such an adult, perceptive thing for a boy of four to say she could not help laughing.
‘Quite right. It was Foula, yes?’
‘Yes. Let’s go to the Map Room.’
She enjoyed the Map Room almost as much as Jamie. The map of the known world painted on one wall between stacks of bookshelves was even more elaborate than the one in London. It was surrounded by depictions of beasts, both real and mystical and not very accurate, as there appeared to be monkeys off the coast of Wales and what looked like an elephant poking its trunk in the direction of France, while a bear was lying on its back, its paws balancing or scratching at Ireland. She particularly liked the dragon off Zanzibar that Jamie had mentioned in Glasgow, a great scaly monstrosity with eyes like owls glaring back at them. Benneit’s mother had clearly been talented.
Jamie rushed forward, pointing to a blue and brown blob along the western shore.
‘I made this. Can you guess what it is?’
‘Is it a ship?’
Jamie crowed with pleasure.
‘You guessed! I will be captain and will sail all the way here...’ His finger traced a line across the wall and ended near a triangular shape on the continent of Africa. ‘This is a pyramid.’
‘Just like in Desert Boy,’ she approved.
‘I never should have bought that book at Hatchard’s,’ the Duke said behind them.
This time she was not surprised by his sudden arrival. Perhaps his scent reached her before she even realised it—the hint of wind and rainy glens and warm musk.
They might be living in a castle, but in every other respect she imagined Lady Theale and the Uxmores would disapprove of this very informal approach to rearing the next Duke of Lochmore. The Uxmores always insisted on unstinting formality and even at Langdale they dined in state every day. At Lochmore they most often dined in the nursery at a plain wooden table with an unshod four-year-old boy, a dog that looked like the canine version of the long-haired Highland cows that filled the fields, and increasingly often, with the Duke who often arrived wet and windblown, alternately dressed in his riding clothes or his shirtsleeves. Once he even came dressed in a traditional kilt after a village meeting. He had apologised for his dress, but she had secretly thought he looked magnificent with the orange and blue plaid fabric about his waist and slung over his shoulder.
‘But you love that book, Papa!’ Jamie’s brow furrowed with worry.
‘Of course I do, master explorer. Perhaps I don’t want you sailing away.’
‘I will come home, you know.’
‘Good. Where are you sailing now?’
‘Jo was going to show me Foula like she promised in London. I’ve looked everywhere from here to there.’ He jumped up along the western coast of Scotland. ‘I followed the letters just as we said. F-O-U-L-A. But I cannot find it.’
Benneit swung him into his arms. ‘Keep going.’
She watched their profiles. He was dressed in riding clothes, but his cravat was already halfway undone and his hair was ruffled from the wind...or perhaps a woman’s hand... She might have been mistaken about The House, but there was no saying he did not have a mistress somewhere nearby.
It is none of your business if he does, she reminded herself.
It wasn’t the first time these foolish thoughts and suspicions came to taunt her. But they were still less disturbing than the way her body leapt to attention every time he entered a room, like a wan flower suddenly bathed in a ray of sunlight breaking through thick curtains of clouds.
She berated herself for her foolishness, but still she did not look away, absorbing the sight of him just as that plant absorbed the light. With each passing day he was moving further and further away from her memory of the man who had married Bella. Or perhaps she had changed—she was no longer embarrassed by how handsome he was, b
ut she found it harder and harder to look away from his powerful, austere face with the faint aquiline line of his nose and the shadows beneath the sharply defined cheekbones. The man she met six years ago had been charming and smiled more, and yet had been lesser. She did not quite understand this contradiction. But she, too, had been young and arrogant in her own way, defensive and prickly, as he had said. The change in the man before her highlighted everything that had changed in her.
‘There! There!’ Jamie all but lunged out of his father’s hands, reaching for the spot high above the Scottish shore, but Benneit held him easily, his face relaxing into a smile which just like the Scottish sun was rare, but when it came was breathtaking. Jo turned away again to inspect the desert beneath her fingers, soaking in the quiet discussion between them until Nurse Moody appeared in the door. Jamie baulked at going with her, but at his father’s promise he could dine downstairs that evening he clapped his hands and agreed to be led away. Jo moved towards the door as well, but Benneit’s voice stopped her in the doorway.
‘Mrs Langdale. Jo.’
She turned. It was dark outside now and without a fire in the room he was nothing more than a collection of shadows and harsh planes. For a moment he seemed part of the now murky painting on the wall, a figure stepping out of an image of the world that was both promising and terrifying. He moved towards her, out of the shadows, the light of the sconce lamps in the corridor touching the angles of his face with gold. He looked distant suddenly, once again removed from Benneit Lochmore who joined Jamie and her for their simple dinners. He looked like a threat.
‘Your Grace?’ Her voice shook a little, but not enough, she hoped, to be noticeable.
‘I wanted to thank you. I’ve just been with McCreary in the village and he was telling me, again, how helpful you are. It occurred to me we are perhaps beginning to presume too much upon your generosity. When you are not helping keep Jamie out of trouble you are to feel free to spend your time as you like and go where you wish.’
She raised her chin, a little piqued at this return to formality after the comfortable rapport that appeared to have developed since their visit to The House.