by Eva Shepherd
‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. ‘I forgot. You don’t like that noise, do you? Well, if you don’t want me to keep annoying you by tapping my fingers, you’re going to have to make conversation.’
‘Am I?’ Theo was unsure which would be the greater annoyance.
‘Yes, you are. And if you don’t want to talk to me, then you’re going to have to listen to me talking to you. You’ve probably noticed that I’m not very good at keeping silent.’
‘Yes, I had noticed,’ he said, his voice bearing an uncanny resemblance to one of Max’s growls. But it did not have the intended effect. Instead of being cowed she gave another of those exasperating laughs.
‘So, shall I tell you all about myself and my family?’
He made no response.
‘All right, if you insist. As you know, my name is Lady Iris Springfeld. I have an older sister called Hazel, who is married to Lucas Darkwood. They have a beautiful little daughter called Lucy. I also have a younger sister called Daisy, and an older brother called Nathaniel.’
She stopped talking. Hopefully she had exhausted all she had to say. No such luck.
‘So, any questions so far?’
He made no response.
‘No? All right, then, I’ll continue. We live in London—Belgravia—but have a family estate in Dorset. My mother and I are visiting Lord and Lady Walberton for their house party. Lady Walberton is one of my mother’s oldest friends—well, I don’t mean she’s really old, but they’ve known each other for simply ages. Do you know them? The Walbertons, I mean.’
She waited for his response. ‘Yes,’ he finally said.
‘Oh, good. They’re rather delightful, aren’t they?’
Theo shifted in his seat. He had attended many parties at the Walberton estate. They were a regular part of the local social calendar and provided an opportunity for men who were seeking a bride to inspect what was on offer that Season. That had been where he had met Estelle.
He moved on his chair to try and find a more comfortable position and to drive out all thoughts of his previous life. ‘If they are so delightful, why did you decide to escape their house party and go wandering around the countryside on your own?’ Theo said, his annoyance directed as much at his memories as at this babbling young woman.
‘Hmm, well, that wasn’t because of Lord or Lady Walberton.’
‘Pray tell, what would be so dreadful as to send a young woman out into the wilds of Cornwall during a storm?’ He could hear the sarcasm dripping off his voice. Had she been trying to teach some besotted young man a lesson? Was she piqued because she wasn’t getting enough attention? Were there other young women at the party who were prettier than her, or had nicer gowns and she needed to draw attention back to herself?
‘Well, there wasn’t a storm when I set off and I didn’t realise the weather could get quite so wild, quite so quickly, but I suppose, well, I was a tiny bit bored. Balls and parties are such fun at the beginning of your first Season, but this is my fifth, and, as much as I like socialising, sometimes they can get tiresome.’ She released a small sigh. ‘When I was first presented at Court I had such romantic notions of what the Season would be like. It was like a dream, doing my curtsy in front of Princess Alexandra. She’s Queen Victoria’s daughter-in-law, you know.’
He said nothing. Of course he knew that, but he did not want to encourage her in her ramblings.
‘Then I attended my first ball and I loved every moment of it—it was like being in a fairy tale—but now, well, if I’m being terribly honest, it is starting to lose a bit of its sparkle.’
‘So why haven’t you married? Isn’t that what Seasons are for?’ he asked, then mentally castigated himself. He did not care one iota and had no desire to hear more of her relentless chatter.
It was her turn to remain silent. All he heard was the slight movement of clothing, as if she was shrugging a shoulder.
‘Whatever your reasons, you’re probably better off single,’ he said in consolation.
‘Like you,’ she said, then gasped. ‘Oh, sorry. That was rude and rather personal. You too probably have reasons why you’re not married that you don’t want to discuss with a stranger.’
He turned to face her. Was she as blind as him? Was the reason why he was single not staring her in the face? Could she not see his scars? Surely when she had scrutinised him earlier this evening she had not failed to notice just how disfiguring they were. She must realise that he had a deformity that would cause any sensible woman to immediately reject him.
‘My younger sister, Daisy, vows and declares she won’t marry either,’ she continued as if oblivious to his appearance. ‘Daisy says that marriage is enslavement for a woman. But Mother and Father are very happy together and no one would ever describe my mother as Father’s slave. If anything, it’s quite the reverse.’ She laughed at her joke. ‘And my older sister, Hazel, has never been happier since she married Lucas.’
He turned his face back to the fire, not wanting to hear about her family’s happy marriages.
‘But then, they all married for love.’
A contemptuous scoff was out of his mouth before he realised it. Love? That fickle emotion. Was that what she was waiting for? Was that why she was yet to marry? Well, she was in for some disappointments and harsh life lessons if she was pursuing that particular fantasy.
‘Now, don’t be like that. I saw how Hazel blossomed when she fell in love with her husband, and how happy she is. Real love is a wonderful thing.’
‘And how do you know if it’s real?’ he retorted. What on earth was he doing? Discussing absurd romantic notions with this vacuous young woman? He needed to stop this. Now.
‘I’m sure I’ll know when it happens.’
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Pray tell, how are you going to know when it happens?’ This frivolous young woman knew nothing. Hadn’t he thought he had once been in love and been loved? And hadn’t he been wrong?
‘Well...’
She paused and he could hear a finger tapping, presumably on a chin or a cheek, as she contemplated the question. He should never have asked. He had no interest in this young woman’s opinion on anything, especially not love, but her optimism had angered him and he had spoken before thinking.
‘Hazel said she knew she was in love with Lucas when she couldn’t stop thinking about him, when all she wanted was to be with him, that he had become the centre of her world.’
He scoffed again. ‘That sounds more like a mad obsession.’
‘Hmm, yes, perhaps. That’s what Hazel said as well. She said it was a bit like going slightly mad. But she also said it was rather a wonderful madness that made you giddy with happiness.’
‘And were none of the men at the Walbertons’ house party causing you to go mad or giddy?’ Not that he cared.
She laughed again, proving his point.
‘Well, yes, some of them were driving me rather insane, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t love.’
‘Driving you so mad you had to flee into a storm.’
‘Yes, rather silly of me, I know.’
‘So if you’re already mad and giddy, how are you going to tell the difference and know when you’re in love?’
Another rustle of clothing as she shrugged. ‘Well, I’m just hoping that when it happens I’ll know—just as Hazel said I would.’
‘Then I wish you luck in finding a man worthy of your giddy madness,’ he said, neither caring nor believing that she would ever find that illusory state.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, her voice equally sarcastic as his own. ‘I assume you’ve never been giddy yourself?’
Theo recoiled at the absurdity of this idea. This young woman really was quite mad.
‘I’m only joking. You don’t strike me as the giddy sort.’
That had to be an understatement. ‘Indeed, madam, I am
not given to flights of giddiness.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you are. I imagine you’re always completely sensible. And a man who doesn’t believe in love would never allow himself to become giddy and certainly not to go mad over a young lady.’
Theo placed his brandy balloon on the table with more force than he intended. Why he was allowing this woman to blather on about love he had no idea. It was not a subject he wished to talk about or even think about. While young ladies may still harbour romantic illusions, love was something he had given up on six years ago. He even knew the exact date when all such delusion in that direction had disappeared from his mind, when reality had literally crashed down on him. Despite being left blind, his eyes had been opened to how fickle love was. But Lady Iris would have to discover that for herself.
As if unable to sit still for more than a second, she stood up and wandered around the room. He tried to ignore the sound of her picking up items and placing them back down again. She was obviously bored, but he had no desire to engage her in further conversation. Not if it led to ridiculous discussions on the nature of love. If she wanted entertainment she could find it herself—he certainly wasn’t going to provide it. But Max had other ideas. He stirred at Theo’s feet and padded across the room again to join their guest.
‘You must feel trapped by the storm as well, don’t you, Maxie-Waxie?’ she said, to the accompaniment of a thumping tail. Max’s obvious pleasure suggested that he, for one, did not mind being trapped inside during a storm with Lady Iris.
‘Well, the room’s big enough. Shall you and I go for a nice walk?’
Max yipped his approval, and their footsteps faded as they moved to the far end of the room. Theo tried not to listen. As long as she wasn’t bashing his ears with her endless chatter she could walk around the room to her heart’s content.
Eventually, after much childish talk about Max being a clever dog, a handsome dog, a friendly dog, they returned to the fire and Max chose to sit at her feet, his tail continuing its happy thumping. Theo braced himself for more mindless conversation. She said nothing. Good.
‘Now you’re doing it,’ she said as her soft hand touched his.
‘What?’ he barked out in surprise.
‘Drumming your fingers. I thought you said you didn’t like the noise.’
Theo had been unaware of his actions, but it was impossible to not be aware of the warm hand encasing his own. Nor could he ignore his own reaction, that jolt that shot through his body, the fire that erupted deep within him, the craving for more, that was all but consuming him.
He tugged his hand away. Young ladies did not touch gentlemen in that way, and surely she must know that. Her actions were merely further proof that she did not see him as she saw other men. If he needed evidence of how this Lady Iris regarded him, as something less than a real man, then that touch would provide it.
‘I’m merely getting tired,’ he lied, his voice annoyingly constricted. ‘I believe it is time to retire.’ At least it was time he retired from her unsettling company. He reached across to grab the bell. ‘I’ll ask Charles to escort you to your room.’
He rang the bell vigorously. ‘Weather permitting, the coach will be waiting to take you home tomorrow morning when you rise.’ Please, he said in silent prayer, make sure the weather is indeed permitting.
‘You rang, my lord,’ Charles said as he appeared.
‘Yes. Please show Lady Iris to her room,’ he replied.
Hearing her rise from her chair, Theo stood up.
‘Goodnight, then, and thank you once again for your hospitality.’ There was no note of sarcasm in her voice, but surely she could not consider his behaviour hospitable.
‘Goodnight, Lady Iris,’ he said with a bow.
As she walked from the room, Max rose from the floor and began padding after her.
‘Max, heel,’ he called, shocked at the animal’s easy disloyalty.
‘Goodbye, Maxie-Waxie,’ she said. ‘At least someone will miss me when I leave tomorrow,’ she added before the door closed behind her. Max emitted a small whimper then settled down on the rug in front of the fire where he liked to sleep at night.
Theo stood for a few minutes, still turned away from the fire, staring at a door he couldn’t see. It had been an unexpectedly disturbing night. As soon as he had resumed his usual equanimity he too would retire to his bedroom and put all thoughts of Lady Iris and her silky, smooth skin out of his mind.
Chapter Four
Iris followed Charles up the stairs and along the hallway to her bedroom, pleased to see that candles had been lit along the way. It was amazing what a difference a bit of warm light could make. The house was now not as intimidating as when she had stood outside, looking up at those forbidding turrets. The hallway was like those in the homes of virtually every other aristocratic family she knew. Rich carpets underfoot, walls adorned with paintings, and an abundance of antique furniture decorated with a seemingly endless array of vases, and silver, porcelain and ceramic figurines, presumably collected over the many years the family had inhabited this grand home.
Several lit candelabra had been placed in her bedroom, which was also pleasant and welcoming, with pale blue silk-lined walls, a canopied four-poster bed, a crackling fire and comfortable furniture. Despite the Earl being unsociable, it was apparent that the servants continued to maintain the home and keep it clean and well-aired.
‘Thank you, Charles. For everything,’ Iris said, meaning every word. He, if not the Earl, had made her feel that she was not intruding.
‘You’re welcome, my lady,’ Charles said, turning down the edge of her bedding. ‘It’s nice to have a guest in the house. It has been far too long.’
Iris tilted her head in question, but Charles, the loyal servant that he was, merely bowed before leaving. She wasn’t going to get any more information out of him.
On the bed a neatly folded nightshirt had been left for her. Iris picked it up and frowned.
A nightshirt.
She shook it out and shrugged. It was no more than she should expect. Charles could hardly go into the sleeping maids’ bedrooms and remove their nightclothes for an unexpected guest.
She held it against herself. Just like the trousers and shirt, it was much too big, and the high quality of the finely woven linen suggested it belonged to a gentleman. She would be sleeping in Theo Crighton’s nightshirt. It was a strangely intimate thing to do, and, if she had to admit, rather exciting.
That surprising little shiver rippled through her body.
What was this odd reaction to the Earl she kept having? Men never affected her the way he did. Since she made her debut five years ago, men had been endlessly attentive, at times more attentive than she would wish, but none had caused her to be so conscious of herself. None had caused her skin to tingle or her heart to flutter. Perhaps it was merely the challenge presented by a man who paid her no attention. Or perhaps it was because he was unlike any man she had met before—aloof, mysterious and rather intriguing.
She took a tentative sniff of the nightshirt, trying to once again detect his lingering scent. There it was, just a hint under the smell of the laundry soap. And there it went again, that little shiver that was now almost a familiar sensation. It made her want to close her eyes and sigh in response to the feelings that were engulfing her. She looked around the room. No one was present. He would never know. No one would know. So what harm was there if she did exactly what she wanted to? No harm at all. She buried her face in the nightshirt, inhaled deeply, then did indeed sigh loudly. It was delicious and, if anything was going to make her giddy and slightly mad, his masculine scent would.
Giggling at her somewhat improper behaviour, she removed her shirt and trousers, pulled the nightshirt over her head and wondered if the next time he wore it he would be able to detect her scent on it. It was impossible to imagine the Earl doing something as s
illy as burying his face in his nightshirt and breathing deeply. He was far too controlled for such frivolous behaviour.
She snuffed out all but one of the candles, climbed into bed and sighed again. The ever-considerate Charles had thought to have a bed-warming pan run over her sheets. Lovely.
Blowing out her bedside candle, she snuggled down into the warm bed and stared at the crackling fire.
It had been a long time since she had gone to bed this early—not since before her coming out. Usually she was up dancing at a ball to the early hours of the morning, or going to the theatre, taking a late supper, or attending one of the many other dazzling Society events held throughout the Season. But after such an eventful day she had to admit she was tired, and, as her nanny would have once said, an early night never did anyone any harm.
But, despite her physical fatigue, her brain was still wide awake, and sleep would not come. Her mind continued to whirl with images of everything that had happened during her adventurous day.
When she had left for her walk she never thought her day would end with her dressed in a man’s nightshirt, sleeping in the house of a strange earl. And he was strange, in more than one way, not just because she had not been formally introduced to him and he was unknown to her family. He was quite decidedly a most unusual man.
Iris knew she should be concerned about her situation. If anyone found out it could ruin her reputation, and possibly destroy her chances of making a good marriage. But, surprisingly, that was not worrying her as much as it should. It would upset her mother, and for that she would be deeply sorry, but, as she had not yet met a man she could truly love and whom she knew truly loved her, marriage still seemed like an unlikely prospect.
Love.
She pulled her bedcover up to her eyes, as if someone could see her blushes in the darkened room. Why had Iris actually talked about love, and to a man like him? Someone who was quite clearly scornful of such things? He must think her such a flighty featherbrain. But she did believe in love, even though she had never actually experienced it.