One Wicked Winter

by Emma V. Leech

  “Uh ... well, if you don’t mind ...”

  He gave a snort of outrage and backed up, flinging out one heavily muscled arm towards a door at the end of the corridor. “Down there, turn right and keep going until you reach the inner courtyard, sharp left at the banqueting hall. Good day, Miss Holbrook.”

  Belle stared at him for a moment, even though every instinct, including her sister’s insistent tugging at her sleeve, told her she ought to scurry away. Instead she just smiled at him. “Thank you, my lord,” she replied, allowing herself one bold, and frankly scandalous, lingering look at him, before turning and walking away.

  Chapter 8

  “Wherein tensions rise, amongst other things.”

  “Oh my God!”

  Once they were out of sight and earshot of the furious marquess, Crecy dissolved into hysterical laughter.

  “Oh, oh!” she said, clutching at her sides and gasping for breath. “Oh, Belle, you were magnificent! I was never prouder. How ever did you dare?”

  Belle stared at her sister in horrified silence as what she had just done sank in. Her stomach clenched, and she had the terrible urge to run back outside and lose her breakfast in the rose beds. How ever did you dare? Crecy’s words rang in her ears, and she had no comprehensible answer past claiming temporary insanity. What had she been thinking? Standing up to the man was one thing, making him utterly furious and ravishing him with her eyes like some ... some ... oh Lord, like some common light skirt - well that was something entirely different.

  “Belle, are you alright? You’ve gone an awfully funny colour.”

  “I-I,” Belle stammered but didn’t seem able to find anything more intelligent to say.

  “Come on,” Crecy said, looping her arm through Belle’s and pulling her forward. “It’s probably because you’ve missed lunch. You know how tetchy you get when you’re hungry.”

  It was a measure of Belle’s confusion and distress that she offered no protest to this rather ungracious observation, and allowed Crecy to tow her in the direction the marquess had indicated.

  The problem was that, as outraged as she was by her own behaviour, she knew that if she was put in the same position again, she’d likely repeat the performance. There was undoubtedly something about the marquess that brought out the worst in her, and she made herself a promise to go out of her way to avoid him in the future. The man well may be worthy of her sympathy and understanding, but those emotions were far and wide from what she experienced when in his proximity. When the bad-tempered, irascible, infuriating marquess was close, she was torn between boxing his blasted ears and ... and ...

  She felt a blush stain her cheeks and that strong, coiling heat grow deep in her belly again.

  Yes. Keeping away from him was definitely the safest thing she could do.

  ***

  Eddie stalked back to his room in a towering rage. As if it weren’t bad enough that his evenings were monopolised by trying not to insult the cream of the ton - he wasn’t so deluded as to pretend he was actually being sociable - now his private time was being encroached upon, too! You’d think that in a place the size of Longwold, he’d be able to find somewhere to escape, but no, that appalling young woman with a pelisse that looked at least three seasons old, and opinions that no young lady ought to have a right to, had managed to discover him there, too. He had no doubt whatsoever that she was on the catch for a wealthy husband, and shuddered at the idea she might actually have the audacity to set her cap at him.

  He’d heard Violette speaking to Lady Russell about the girls and the fact that they had no dowry; and worse, that dreadfully encroaching aunt. As if any sane man would contemplate marriage to a woman with that connection? The younger daughter would manage, perhaps, as some young fool would fall desperately in love with her astonishing beauty - as long as she managed to keep her macabre inclinations for ghost-hunting to a minimum.

  The eldest Miss Holbrook, however, had little to recommend her. She wasn’t a beauty, and from what he’d seen so far, she stumbled from stuttering shyness to being outrageously outspoken. Not to mention her interest in engineering and science would likely put off most men, as they would not marry a woman with more brain than they themselves possessed. And that was before he even touched upon the unmaidenly and frankly shocking behaviour she’d exhibited on seeing him half-dressed.

  Any other young, unmarried woman would likely have either fainted or screamed and turned away. The Misses Holbrook, it seemed, were made of sterner stuff, though at least Miss Lucretia had averted her eyes. Mostly.

  Not Miss Holbrook.

  No. She had stared at him with such interest and curiosity that an unwelcome and fierce prickle of desire had seared his blood. Surprising, that, he mused, as he’d believed such feelings lost to him since ... Well, since he’d survived when so many others had not.

  Even though his memories of living in the Dials were vague, he was fairly certain there’d been no encounters of that nature, and thank God for it. Heaven alone knew what filthy disease he might have picked up in such a place.

  He reached his room and began to strip before stepping into the bath that Charlie was supervising as footmen strode back and forth with large cans of water. Wisely, the man had kept his own counsel since the incident with the sisters. Eddie sank into the hot water with a groan, his muscles unwinding a little as the warmth released some of the tension he was carrying. He waved Charlie away so he could soak in peace, and his valet nodded and silently exited his room.

  Closing his eyes and leaning his head back, he was immediately confronted with the picture of Miss Holbrook surveying him like a prize bull. Despite himself his lips twitched as he wondered where exactly she’d have pinned his rosette. It was strange, however, that a woman like her should have looked at him with such blatant desire. She clearly guarded her younger sister’s virtue like a lioness, and showed every outward appearance of being, if not a prude, then certainly everything that was prim and proper.

  And that had been desire he’d seen in her eyes.

  It had blazed with such heat that if he’d been foolish enough to reach out and touch her, to run his fingers over the scorch upon her cheeks, she might well have combusted before his eyes.

  He chuckled to himself as the heat of the bath and the fire blazing in the hearth made him relax further, his eyes growing heavy. His unguarded brain toyed with the idea of what exactly Miss Holbrook would have done if he’d touched her. Would she have slapped his face, screamed at him, fainted, or possibly even kicked him and run away? All of these possibilities were considered and rejected. No. The passion in those eyes had been bold and eager. He’d no doubt at all that if he’d have pulled her into his arms and kissed her, supposing they’d not had an audience, of course, that she would have responded with alacrity. The thought was as troubling as it was unnerving, and suddenly he felt very wide awake and a lot less relaxed.

  Damn the woman.

  Well, there was only one thing to do, and that was to stay as far away from the dreadful Miss Holbrook as was possible.

  ***

  Belle congratulated herself that the evening had gone rather well so far. It had taken a little manoeuvring to find herself once more seated beside Lord Nibley at lunchtime, but thankfully Lady Russell had seemed well aware of her intentions. So it had likely been by design on the old lady’s part, rather than felicitous chance, that she found herself at his side for dinner, too. Hopefully, it had been done without looking too dreadfully obvious. Either way, it didn’t matter. After her conversation with Crecy in the garden, Belle was certain that her sister was hiding something. What, she had no idea, but there was some nefarious plot going on behind those beautiful eyes, and Belle had no doubt that whatever it was would likely bring on a nervous collapse if she discovered it.

  She was also of the opinion that Aunt Grimble would not only turn a blind eye to whatever it was that Crecy was up to, but that if she thought it meant snagging a husband or even a wealthy lover, she’d go out
of her way to help with enthusiasm. That being the case, she needed to get rid of the wretched woman with all haste. The only way that could be achieved was if Belle married well and to an amenable husband who would be willing to shelter her sister and allow Belle to take her out into society herself. Then Crecy would have the time she needed to find her feet, and more importantly, a man who loved her for who she was, not just for the lovely façade.

  She was beginning to realise, however, that this might be easier said than done.

  Nibley was a shy fellow and hard to draw into a meaningful conversation about anything much, except his blasted rocks. He certainly didn’t appear to look upon her with any romantic eye.

  Belle wasn’t exactly surprised. She’d been in Crecy’s shadow for too long to imagine that a man might have any reason to look upon her as anything but a sensible woman who could manage a household and raise children. But she was those things, and if, as Lady Russell had told her, he was on the lookout for a wife, she wasn’t such a terrible choice. Also, he wasn’t exactly a handsome fellow, and his lack of conversation would hinder his progress with any young lady of greater beauty or better social standing than Belle. He was wealthy enough to overlook her lack of dowry, surely, and she thought it unlikely that an intellectual sort with a scientific mind would hold out for a love match. Rather he would require someone to make sure his house ran smoothly, and to remind him to eat. The chap was so gaunt, she felt that must be a priority when she had achieved her end.

  The way he stared at the Duchess of Sindalton did make her doubt that theory a little, but then the duchess was well worth staring at. Any man would find it hard to look away from a woman like that.

  So, she must now do all in her power to bring the man up to scratch. Only she didn’t have the slightest idea how. She’d never learned the art of flirtation and she didn’t know how to give the man the hint that she would be open to his advances without seeming fast.

  On top of all this was the fact that ... oh dear, but she really didn’t feel any enthusiasm for the idea at all. Oh, he was a good man, that was obvious. He would never beat her or humiliate her by having many mistresses, or gamble a fortune away at the tables. He would not forget her birthday or refuse her demand to help Crecy. All of these things she could feel reasonably certain of.

  She was also extremely certain that he would never make her heart thud in her chest, he would never fall passionately in love with her, nor she with him. She would never feel that strange aching desperation to touch him, or ever believe she might actually go mad if she didn’t.

  Unbidden, the memory of the marquess stripped to the waist, his powerful body sweat-dampened and taut, came to mind. She felt the blush creep over her, her skin feeling suddenly as though it was ill fitting, uncomfortable, and over-sensitive. She shifted in her seat, a restless sensation surging through her bones, and as though drawn by some unseen force, she looked along the table. For a moment, she had the ridiculous idea that he had felt her desire for him flame, all the way from her position halfway along the vast table, for he turned to her at the exact same moment. Their eyes met and her skin grew hotter still, the desire to get to her feet and drag him from the room so overwhelming that she clenched her fists beneath the table.

  Worse than all of that, though ... he knew.

  Somehow, he knew just what she was thinking. He lifted his glass, his eyes never leaving her as he sipped and then licked his lips. Her eyes fell to that full, sensuous mouth and she felt her breath catch as she saw his tongue sweep over his lower lip. Good God, what was wrong with her?

  Look away.

  Look away this instant!

  But it was hopeless; she could not, even though her breathing was coming faster, and surely she was the colour of the lobster dish she had just been served?

  And then he smirked.

  It was such a smug, arrogant expression that her temper rose, thankfully breaking the spell he seemed to have over her. With fury she scowled at him, lifted her chin and looked resolutely away.

  ***

  Eddie chuckled at the furious indignation in Miss Holbrook’s eyes. He had no doubt whatsoever that if looks could kill, he’d be lying stone cold on the rug beneath his feet. He also had no doubt at all that he had been right about the woman: she wanted him so badly that she could hardly see straight. The thought was amusing, and in truth, it bolstered an ego that had taken some severe knocks of late.

  He knew that he had been an accomplished ladies’ man before the war had damaged him so. He’d been charming and witty and, if the memories that were returning to him were accurate, a great deal of fun to be with. But that man was dead. He’d died at Waterloo, just as everyone had believed. The fact that he inhabited the same body and blood and bones made no difference. He wasn’t the same. And this new, glowering, ill-tempered marquess with few social graces was not the kind of man that most women would dare approach.

  He’d met some of his old lovers at the various society gatherings he’d forced himself to go to, but had found no stirring of desire for them, simply no interest at all, in fact, and he could see nothing but concern and even a little fear in their eyes. Oh, there were some for whom the title was a big enough prize to try and gain his interest, and try hard, but it was an act and nothing more, he was certain. None of them had shown that blatant attraction he saw in the Holbrook woman’s eyes. None of them had set fire to his blood either.

  Hell and damnation.

  Why did the only woman he’d felt anything physical for since the war ended have to be a penniless, virginal fortune-hunter on the catch for a husband? Not to mention, a woman who made him furious every time she opened her bloody mouth?

  He shifted in his seat to try and ease the tightness in his small clothes, and turned his attention to the conversation that had been going on without his help for the past hour at least. Blah, blah, blah. Oh God, when did these people get so damned boring?

  He was about to force his brain into making an intelligent comment, out loud, when the wretched woman glanced his way again.

  He was certain she didn’t want to look at him any more than he wanted to look at her, but there was some unfathomable tension between them. As though there was some invisible thread that had pulled taut between them, so that each was irresistibly aware of the other’s thoughts and desires.

  It was intriguing and dangerous, and damned inconvenient.

  Despite his determination that he should not only give her no encouragement, but do his level best to avoid her, he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards with genuine amusement. It wasn’t a smirk this time either, it was a smile, and a proper smile at that. The shape and feel of it was so unfamiliar to him that his face felt rather odd, distorted somehow by the novelty.

  He watched her reaction to it with interest, the slight widening of her eyes and the parting of which, he now realised, was a rather full and lush mouth. She stared at him for a moment before returning the expression, hesitant and unsure, perhaps sensing a trick, but it was there, alright.

  A strange feeling ran over his skin, something as foreign and untried as the smile, but he neither knew nor cared what it signified. He didn’t know whether he wanted to drag the blasted woman to his room and give her everything she so clearly wanted from him, or run a mile in the other direction.

  Suddenly furious with himself, and her, for allowing the chit to ruffle him, he allowed his features to return to their reassuringly familiar forbidding aspect, and turned abruptly away.

  Chapter 9

  “Wherein Crecy shocks her admirers, and Belle goes one better.”

  The next two days followed a similar theme - well, apart from that disturbing interlude with the marquess. Thankfully, he’d been absent on the next night, and so taciturn and withdrawn on the one after, that he may as well have been.

  Belle had done her level best to put the odious man from her mind, but back he would come in her unguarded moments, all bare-chested magnificence and infuriating smirks. But he had sm
iled at her.

  That smile had been a revelation, like angry, turbulent clouds had parted in the middle of a violent storm, and a summer sky been revealed beneath. It had done something to her, that smile. Though she couldn’t say what. But it had sneaked under her skin and behind her ribs and settled somewhere inside to be taken out like a secret letter and held to herself in private. That smile had been for her and her alone, and for just a moment, it had been heart-stopping and perfect and ... glorious. And then the blasted man had dropped it like a mask and the scowl had returned, leaving her unsettled and confused and, yes, pretty darn annoyed with him, actually.

  The rat.

  But it had given her a question to answer that she knew would drive her distracted if she let it. Which was really the mask he wore? That glowering, angry expression that seemed to cling to him like a second skin, with an accompanying cloak of misery so thick and dark that no one dare get close? Or had it perhaps been that fleeting, ephemeral smile that seemed so unlikely and had disappeared so fast that she wondered if she had simply imagined it?

  She felt the desperate desire to know, and yet knew it to be a puzzle that would not be hers to solve. A man like that would not trust easily, and the only person who would have a chance to gain the intimacy required to attempt such a thing would be his wife. She smothered a choking laugh at the idea of the man actually offering for her. Good Lord, she wasn’t so deluded as to believe that would ever happen! He clearly couldn’t stand her, and was likely just doing his level best to throw her into confusion with his smirks and smiles.

  It was working.

  Drat him.

  Belle watched the men enter the room and prayed that Lord Nibley would seek her out without her having to arrange a conversation with him herself. She had thrown herself in his way as much as she dared, and he seemed always rather pleased to see her. The trouble was she couldn’t help but feel it was relief at finding someone who he no longer needed to stutter around a conversation with, rather than actual pleasure. But he should feel comfortable with a woman he offered for, she reasoned, and then remembered the urgent, desperate feeling she had felt with the marquess. That was a man who no woman in their right mind could ever feel merely comfortable with, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same.