“It is an extraordinary likeness. Did you sit for him after all?”
“No. I haven’t seen him except that once with you. The picture just appeared here this morning.”
“What a talent he has, to render your face so well after only seeing you once—and so briefly.”
“Iris said he left this morning. Do button me up. I am eager to discover if the duke’s new guest is a man of science and intelligence.”
“New guest?”
“He arrived just after lunch.”
Iris popped into the room. “Amarantha! Tabitha said to tell you that she cannot tear herself away from writing and will not come to dinner. It must be a very exciting book.”
“I would not describe it as exciting.” Rather, harrowing. “But I believe it does her heart good to write it.”
Libby led the way down the winding stairwell to the great hall, where the long table was set for dinner. Everyone else save Mrs. Tate was already present, and Amarantha forced herself to meet the duke’s gaze.
“Mrs. Aiken begs you to forgive her absence from dinner this evening,” she said. “She is engaged in a writing project which needs her entire attention.”
“I say, cousin, what an odd duck you have become,” came a gentleman’s drawl. “You spent the afternoon filling my ears with tales of canals and spring crops, and entirely failed to mention that you have yet more beauties hiding under your roof.” Mr. Jonah Brock stood across the room, a glass of wine dangling from his fingers. “And here I had already thought I was a lucky fellow, with the Miss Tates to please my eyes,” he added with a handsome smile.
The duke moved away from the sideboard. “Allow me to—”
“Mrs. Garland and I are already acquainted,” his cousin interrupted. “Reverend Garland and I were particular friends before his unfortunate passing. Madam, it is a great pleasure to see you again.” He bowed deeply.
In appearance he was entirely unlike his cousin. With gold hair that curled in appealing ringlets over his brow, laughing blue eyes, and a flare for fashion that suited his slender frame, he presented a picture of manly grace and gentility.
“Sir.” She did not curtsy. “How unexpected to see you in Scotland.”
“I would say the same, except of course that we know my cousin likes to surround himself with beautiful women.”
Ignoring that comment, the duke introduced him to Libby and Iris.
“Are you a man of science, Mr. Brock?” Libby said.
“Not strictly speaking, Miss Shaw. I was steward for five years of an extensive property in the Indies. Such a position requires a man to understand the properties of nature to a certain extent—the chemistry of soil content, the vicissitudes of climate, and the like. I am afraid, however, that science is not of especial interest to me.”
“And yet you held the position for half a decade.”
“Of necessity,” he said with a winning smile. “Not all of us can be dukes, of course.”
“I should think to manage a plantation successfully for five years would be a great achievement,” Jane said softly.
Mr. Brock offered her a taking smile. “You are generous, Miss Tate.”
Throughout dinner, Mr. Brock was charming toward all. To Dr. Shaw, Mr. Tate, and Thomas he spoke with intelligence that showed him to be a man of sense and information. To Alice and the young women he offered light flattery mingled with solicitous attention to their interests. When he mentioned that he and his cousin had served together in the navy, he was easily convinced to share stories of their many adventures.
Only their host said nothing to him throughout dinner, and only Amarantha knew that a snake had entered their midst.
It did not distress her for her own sake; she had long since come to terms with the unfortunate influence of Mr. Brock’s friendship on her husband. But for Jane she grew concerned. The eldest Miss Tate was all pretty blushes for the newcomer.
At tea afterward, Libby announced that a meteor shower had happened the previous night and was likely to be happening again now.
“I am far too old to stand out in the yard with my neck craned, Elizabeth,” Alice said.
“I seem to recall that the best place for star-watching in this castle is the roof,” Mr. Brock said and, as they climbed the steps to the roof, continued to chat with the others as prettily as a town beau.
By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Amarantha was all over hot with anger and cold with memory. For all his winning manners, she wanted no part of Jonah Brock.
“I will turn in now,” she said as the others wandered out across the rooftop.
“Won’t you stay to catch a glimpse of a shooting star, Mrs. Garland?” he said. “I understand that a wish made upon one has an excellent chance of coming true.” He smiled, and then his gaze shifted to their host.
“I will see you to the gatehouse,” the duke said.
She moved away swiftly. “No, thank you. I am fine on my own.”
Gabriel crossed the hall, took up two glasses, and filled them. Setting one before his cousin, who lounged in a chair, he set the other atop the mantel.
“What brings you here, Jonah?”
“Why of course this warm welcome, cousin. I feel entirely at home again.”
Gabriel stared at the man who had been more of a brother to him than his actual brother.
“You have not written,” Jonah finally said. “It has been five and a half years.”
“Aye.”
“You have condemned me to exile.”
“You go where you like without my interference or approval. As you always have.”
“Come now, cousin.” His mumble was subdued. “Did not those stories of our past exploits warm your memories for our friendship?”
“They reminded me o’ the reckless fools we once were.”
“Ah. The duke speaks.” His fingers played with the edge of his glass. “I imagined you here—as this.” He waved his glass at the darkened hall. “Do you remember? I wished it for you, for my brother-from-another-mother to become lord of the manor, master of Haiknayes and Kallin, host to all the most interesting people in Scotland. And now here you are, welcoming to Haiknayes blustery merchants, stalwart physicians, risqué spinsters . . . even a lovely widow.” He allowed the word to linger. “What an excellent host you have turned out to be. And the improvements on the estate here are worthy of you as well. Thank you for the tour today, by the by. I was impressed.”
“Were you?” he said without parting his teeth.
“Yes.” He looked down into his whiskey. “I am not the villain you wish me to be, Gabe,” he said without a trace of raillery. “Oh, it’s true: once upon a time I tried to teach you to be heedless. Truly reckless. But it never took, did it? Even in the midst of our fun, you always wanted responsibility. You craved authority. It is in your blood, I suppose. You deserved the Theia, you know. I never resented you for winning that command instead of me.”
“I am glad to hear you approved o’ the admiralty’s choice. Now, enough with the soliloquy, Jonah. What do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I want your friendship again.”
“You’ll no’ have it.”
His face went slack. “So swiftly you decide?”
“’Twas you who decided it that night in Montego Bay.” The night that had changed Gabriel’s life forever.
Jonah stood up abruptly and pivoted away.
“One mistake and you wipe our friendship, our past, entirely clean? Am I never to be forgiven, Gabe?”
“Murder is no’ a mistake, Jonah.”
“It was an accident. I was drunk. We were always drunk. You were drunk that night too.”
“Aye. But I recall having good reason to be. An’ I didna kill a man.”
Facing away, his cousin was silent a long moment.
“I would not have done it,” Jonah finally said, the quiet words nearly swallowed by the crackle of flames, “if you had not said what you did. Do you remember your words to me
that night, Gabriel?”
He remembered everything about that night: the night he had got leave from his superiors to return to Jamaica for a single purpose, only to learn that the girl who had promised to wait for him had not.
“Dinna blame me, cur.”
“Ah, there’s the old Gabe, snarling like a feral dog.” Jonah looked at him over his shoulder. “Do you know . . . Charlotte came to care for me. Eventually.” His eyes were unnaturally dull. “Perhaps I am not such a thorough villain after all. Or perhaps it was merely her goodness. Imagine, a woman with a heart so pure that she could grow to love the man who killed her brother.”
“She didna love you.”
Jonah turned to him sharply. “You don’t know that.”
“Aye, I do. She was Gregory’s property. You were Gregory’s steward. She had no choice but to submit to you. There can be no love where there is no liberty.”
His cousin looked away. “It is the way of the world, Gabriel. You know that as well as I.”
“The world is what we make it, Jonah.”
“It is, if you happen to be a captain of a naval frigate. Or a duke.”
“Your Grace,” Dr. Shaw said from the doorway. “Oh, I beg your pardon, gentlemen.”
Gabriel went forward. “Doctor?”
“Mrs. Tate has had a difficult day and I anticipate more discomfort to come. I have advised her not to travel.”
“She’s welcome to remain as long as necessary, Doctor.”
“Will you share a nightcap with me, Dr. Shaw?” Jonah said. “My cousin will not drink to my health. But a medical man cannot refuse that toast, can he?”
Gabriel left them to the whiskey. Tonight he did not crave spirits or authority or anything other than a woman with eyes that spoke her thoughts even beneath the light of falling stars.
She had not left Haiknayes. She had remained, despite him. She had questions she wanted answered, so he supposed she had good reason to remain.
He took the steps to the gatehouse three at a time and nearly collided with her as she came through the door.
“Oh!” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Where are you going?”
“Tabitha went to the kitchen for a snack. I was going to keep her company. Perhaps as busy as you were with all that glowering at your cousin you forgot that my friend did not dine with the rest of—”
“There’s no one inside?”
“No.”
He grasped her hand and drew her within, then shut the door behind them. She tugged away.
“What are you doing?” Her words sounded thin. She held her hand close to her stomach.
“You didna leave.”
“Obviously not. I did go riding, though. What beautiful countryside this is, so different from Kallin, less dramatic yet equally stunning. Are you here to throw me out now? In the middle of the night?”
“No. Never leave. Never.”
Her eyes widened. “What has happened?”
“Nothing except that I retract my order. You canna leave.”
“Now you are demanding that I stay?”
“Aye.” He smiled.
Amarantha’s knotted stomach became a flight of swallows.
“You know,” she said, “today on my ride I gave this—this back-and-forth between us—some thought. And I am convinced that it would be best to—”
“When will you let me touch you again?” His gaze was on her mouth.
“That is what I was about to speak to.” He was so close, entirely filling the space and her sight and every sense, a big shadowy wall of perfect lips and intoxicating scent and sculpted jaw and hair that she could sink her fingers into. “This vow to honor the supposed gauntlet I threw down . . . Are you playing a game? Give, take, give. That sort of game?”
“When you look at me,” he said, each word slow and clear, “’tis as though I am seeing that girl, the way you looked at me then.”
A ripple of fear and pleasure went through her. “Nothing remains of that girl.”
“It does. You rode for four hours today, alone.”
“How do you know that?”
“My house. My horse. I pay the stable hand.”
“If I had known that I would be so closely monitored—”
“You would still have ridden for four hours alone. I’ve never known a woman so eager to run free o’ the bridle.”
“Bridle? Have you just compared me to a—”
“You’re a wild one, Amarantha Vale.” The rough wave of syllables over his tongue was a caress.
“You have interrupted me four times now. You have never interrupted me before in our acquaintance. I think Mr. Brock’s visit has distressed you.”
“Acquaintance? Our acquaintance?”
Her heartbeats were so loud she could hear them in her ears. “I rode because I needed to . . . go.”
“Yet you are here now. With me.”
Her palms were pressed to the wall behind her.
“I am,” she said.
“I am now going to kiss you. Finally. How are you with that?”
Nerves raced straight up her throat. “What about all your talk of trust?”
“To hell with trust. I’d rather return to lust. Much more satisfying in the short run. The long run can take care o’ itself.”
“It would be a mistake. A greater mistake than I have already made.”
“Then or now?”
“Then and now. Twice. Since. Always,” she whispered.
“My God.” His voice was ragged. “Amarantha—”
She slipped out from between him and the wall.
“I should go,” she said, pulling the door open.
“To where? ’Tis fixing to freeze.”
“I won’t feel it.”
“Stay here in the warmth,” he said. “I’ll leave. It’ll be hell, but I’ll leave.”
“I would like to walk.”
“You rode for four hours today.”
“A brief walk. I am somewhat overheated.”
She went. The gate was locked. There was no way out. Pivoting and running along the wall that bordered the courtyard, she reached the garden gate. It was locked too. No escape.
Bridle.
His words—the locked gate—the castle itself seemed to be mocking her.
Recrossing the courtyard in the flickering light of the torch that was dimmed by the brilliance of the stars, she hurried up the gatehouse steps.
The chamber was empty. She had told him to go, and he had done as she wished. Smoothing her hands over her disordered hair and gown, she felt acutely the sensations of her own palms and fingers upon her body. Desire spun in her. Five and a half years of denying it had not destroyed it.
She went down the steps, into the courtyard, and to the keep.
No one stirred within, every room empty and dark. She climbed to the roof. As she walked onto the parapets the cold wrapped around her. The stars were brilliant, each tumbling onto another like little sheep running over a nighttime hill. Staring into them, she waited for a star to fall until her eyes blurred.
A footfall sounded on the roof.
She swung around.
He stood at the open door to the stairwell, moonlight illumining the living vision of her fantasy man.
“All the gates are locked,” she said.
“If you wish it, Amarantha Vale, I will give to you every key in the place.”
“So that I can escape?”
“So that you willna need to.”
“I don’t want to escape. Not at this moment.”
Across the roof he walked toward her. Her heel hit the crenellation, and then he was upon her, so close she could see the fever shining in his eyes.
“Now,” he said, his voice very low.
“Yes. Yes. Y—”
He brought their mouths together.
Hands surrounding her face, fingers sinking into her hair, he offered her the most beautiful gift: his lips on hers for a long, long perfect moment. H
is mouth. Real and perfect. Gentle, controlled strength.
Drawing away only far enough to look into her eyes, he said, “Worth the wait.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
With his hands he tilted her face upward a bit, and then bent his head again. This time he gave her more than beautiful stillness. He kissed her softly, cupping her face and taking one taste at a time. Tingles in her lips became falling stars inside her, sizzling downward.
“Mm,” he murmured. “Better than both whiskey an’ rum.”
“Much better,” she whispered, lifted her hands, and laid them on his chest. He was so hard, an alien male landscape for her hunger. Fanning her hands out, she pressed her fingertips into him, needing to put her hands all over him and feel him everywhere. He was breathing roughly, his mouth a tantalizing inch away, his eyes closed.
“What are you doing?” His utterance was tight.
“I want you.” She whispered the forbidden words. “I have always wanted you.”
With a groan, he captured her mouth beneath his. Her lips were open yet he did not recoil.
“This mouth,” he whispered, and that was all before he kissed her again, his caresses urging her lips to part wider. She wanted to kiss him back, to move her lips against his and to feel all the heat of his mouth.
So she did.
A rumble of pleasure came against her palms. He kissed her deeper now, his hand sinking into her hair and holding her mouth to his, closer, a decadent, hot, wet meeting of lips. It was wholly new and free. His lips were soft and demanding, his tongue skimming hers, caressing, making her want more so swiftly.
She broke away from his mouth, but both of his hands held her close.
“You make this feel so good,” she said upon a little pant.
“’Tis the fun o’ kissing, wild one. An’ touching.”
“Touching?” She was not at all certain of his meaning.
“Aye,” he murmured. “Touching.” From the curve of her throat his fingertips traced the sinew in her neck as though it were precious and desirable. Such a spring of happiness bubbled up in her.
“Yes.”
“’Tis an unspecific word. Yes, you are enjoying this?” So softly, he stroked along her shoulder. “Or, yes, you would like more.”
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