If she did, he’d have no idea who he was or where to start again.
Chapter 4
The path leading to Marksville House came into view and Thomas cantered up the lengthy avenue. He steered Jake to the back of the house, dismounted, and tied him to the old apple tree before ducking through the entranceway into the kitchen.
Monica sat alone at the pine table and he came to an abrupt halt. She seemed lost in thought as she drew invisible circles on its surface. Her pretty brow was creased and her eyes unblinking. He took this precious moment to watch her. Still dressed in her dark green riding habit, although the buttons about her neck had been loosened, she brought a flash of welcome color against the blackness that now shrouded every inch, mirror, and person in the house. Who was he fooling? It wasn’t the clothes that brought the color, it was her.
He cleared his throat and she immediately leaped to her feet, her hands hastily smoothing the front of her dress. “You’re back.” Her smile was quick and broad, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know if those ruffians would . . .” She laughed. “What am I saying? I should’ve known you’d be all right.”
His gaze darted from her dark blue eyes to her neck, to the revealed and alluring glimpse of her collarbones, lower to her covered breasts. God, she’s beautiful. Surprised by her welcome demeanor rather than the loftiness he expected, Thomas stepped farther into the kitchen, forcing his lust into submission. “Why are you sitting alone in here? Where’s that sister of mine? She should have attended you.” He scowled, cursing the tremor in his hands. “Are you hurt?”
He clenched his fists in a bid to stop from touching her. Every fiber in his body urged him to demand she strip so he could tenderly run his fingers over every inch of skin, checking for bruises, lacerations, anything either of those animals might have done to her.
Her smile wavered and wariness leaped into her eyes. Had she seen his thoughts through his eyes? Did she know how much he wanted to hold her just to make sure she was real and here?
She cleared her throat. “Jeannie is busy helping Jane with Mother. I’m perfectly fine, so is Stephanie. I drew her a bath in a bid to calm her. I’ll go upstairs in a while to make sure she’s tucked up in bed. Unfortunately, she’s not as hardened as me.”
“You could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t and neither were you.” Her eyes glowed with playful wickedness. “Whatever you did to them after we left is entirely due if it means they’ll think twice about approaching lone women next time.”
Their gazes locked and Thomas’s heart thundered. The tension between them altered to something more dangerous than the previous concern for each other. Attraction burned, her breasts rose and fell.... He turned away and approached a pitcher of drinking water on the dresser.
He took a mug and filled it. He drank, easing the dryness in his throat before facing her. He swiped the back of his hand across his tender mouth. “There is no other woman like you.”
As much as Thomas wanted to retract his spoken admiration, he relished the blush in her cheeks. She shifted her gaze and looked around the room, her hands lifting from her throat to her middle and back again.
“Things are different here.” She trailed her fingers over the tabletop. “Nothing seems coated in Mama’s command, although one would have to be dead themselves not to know a death has occurred.” She met his gaze. “Jane wouldn’t let me see Mama until morning. She said it was better I let her rest for the night. What’s wrong with my mother, Thomas? I want to be prepared before I face her tomorrow.”
Exhaling, he stepped closer to the table, removed his hat, and tossed it onto a vacant chair. “How much did Jane tell you?”
“Only that Mama is no longer of the mind she once was. That everything I fled is little more than a distant memory nowadays. She suggested Mama’s strictness, discipline, aspirations for us . . . for the family, are no more.” She huffed out a laugh. “I find that impossible to believe.”
“I haven’t heard the mistress mention anything of that kind for a while. Of course, it could be she plans to keep Jane close as a companion.”
She flinched. “Forever?”
He shrugged. What did she want him to say? She knew only too well his distaste about the upper middle class and their nonsense matchmaking and money-building. The only thing he was certain of was whatever the master had planned for his youngest daughter would be altered now.
Monica’s blue eyes turned steely. “I won’t allow that to happen. Jane is beautiful. She’s intelligent and amenable. She deserves more than being tied to Mama’s demands for the rest of her life. Despite neither Mama nor Papa deeming it necessary to visit me for the last five Seasons, I can’t imagine for one moment either of them risked missing an opportunity to seek Jane a suitable vehicle of elevation . . . otherwise known as a moneyed man. Do they ever visit the city?”
He pursued his lips. How had it fallen to him to tell her they’d gone to their address in Bath every year, entertained and visited the best dining places, balls, and residences without once venturing to the theater to see their eldest child? How did he tell her that he had?
He cleared his throat. “They went, yes.”
Two spots of color darkened her cheeks. “I suspected as much.” Her smile was strained. “Oh, don’t look so guilty, Thomas. You are paid to do as they bid. As for Jane, I doubt she had little choice in the matter even if she wanted to see her strumpet sister.”
“You are not a strumpet.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Thomas waved toward the chair she’d vacated. “Why don’t we sit?” He pulled out a chair and sat, releasing a tired breath. “Much has changed in the five years since you left.” He smiled, wanting to do something to bring the light back into her eyes. “And it seems to me much more than just your mother’s mental state.”
She frowned as she lowered onto the chair. “Meaning?”
He lifted an eyebrow, unable to resist resuming his old ways of tormenting her. “Didn’t you say you drew Stephanie a bath?”
Her beautiful eyes immediately flashed fire. “There’s no need to look so shocked. I also know how to boil a kettle and cut some bread and cheese. My newfound skills since I left this house are boundless.”
“Is that so?” The irony in her tone brought a bubble of laughter and admiration to his throat. “I’m intrigued. I never saw you slice as much as an apple when you lived here.”
Silence.
He briefly closed his eyes. Damn it. He’d gone too far. He’d expected her to stretch her claws and scratch him right back. A woman’s silence—Monica’s silence—was infinitely worse than any number of inflicted scratches and hissing. He opened his eyes. “I apologize.”
Triumph briefly lit her gaze . . . and pushed at something in his chest, before her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Your lip is smeared with blood and you have the makings of a nice bruise on your cheekbone. I’ll see what I can find to take care of you.”
He swallowed. How would he bear her touching him? “There’s no need.”
Her gaze wandered over his face and lingered on his split lip. “There’s every need.” The atmosphere charged with unspoken tension once more. She wet her lips before she blinked. “Thank you for coming to our rescue, Thomas. I needed you, and as always, you were there.”
She moved away and he stared at her turned back as she pulled open drawers and cupboards. It was still there. The tension. The care for one another. Nothing . . . yet everything, had changed. He had to protect himself from her beautiful eyes, body, and heart. She was his employer now and held the power to strip him of everything he’d worked for. He lifted his chin and pulled on a coat of invisible armor.
She didn’t want him. Had never wanted him. His yearnings had been futile before, and they would be again if he allowed them to resurface. He must watch her like a falcon watched his prey. They were on opposite sides. There was every chance she’d returned with an agenda and he’d be a damn fool not to come up with o
ne of his own pretty damn quick.
She straightened and fisted her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed. “You’d think I would know where Mrs. Seton kept her gauze and the like, wouldn’t you? Then again, considering it’s been five years since I stepped inside this house—”
“Why did you leave?” Thomas gritted his teeth. He’d regained his voice and the first thing he asked her sounded as accusatory as if he’d pointed his finger in her face. As much as he wanted to expose her plans, he had to tread carefully. “I mean, why didn’t you ever come back? For a visit, at least. Your father would never have said it, but he missed you.”
Her gaze darkened with passion. “He would never have said it because as much as my father drove me mad with frustration, he never lied. The man wouldn’t utter a falsehood even if meant saving someone he loved from being hurt. He didn’t miss me. I wrote to him time and again, and not once did he reply. If my father had wanted to see me, he would have. You and I both know Noel Danes did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it. Seeing me was never an option once I failed to marry the man he and Mama deemed to be a perfect match.”
“What happened to him? To Baxter?”
The skin at her neck shifted as she swallowed. “Nothing. We . . . went our separate ways.”
“You loved him.”
She lifted her chin. “Love blinds. That’s all you need to know.”
Thomas ran his gaze over her exquisite face. Love blinds. Never was a truer sentiment spoken, and one he’d do well to heed. “Your father is laid out in the parlor. The funeral is set for Thursday.”
She nodded, her shoulders dropping. “In two days.”
He held out his hand, wanting to see whether or not she’d take it. “Leave your nursing. Sit. Please.”
Hesitation flickered over her face before she slid her palm into his. The touch ran through his nerves and knotted his stomach. The girl who dreamed of escape, who spoke of forging her own life with her own rules, had come home . . . albeit for a matter of days. The fact filled him with trepidation rather than hope; loss instead of gain.
She lowered onto the seat beside him and slid her hand from his to clasp her fingers together in her lap. “Tell me about Mama.”
He curled the hand she briefly touched into a fist as though wanting to retain the feel of her skin. God, how did he tell her that whether she stayed or went, sold or leased the estate, her life would never be the same? There would be no chance of her returning to Bath the same woman she was when she’d left. He swiped his hand over his face before looking deep into her eyes. “The woman your mother was has gone and will never come back. Jane needs you. She has my support, Mrs. Seton’s, and Jeannie’s, but we’re not enough. She needs her kin. You’re all she has left to help her.” He smiled softly. “Just like Stephanie, Jane isn’t as hardened as you. She needs you to tell her what to do.”
Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears and unmistakable fear. “What do you—”
“What Jane implied is true. Your mother is losing her mind, which means it’s up to you what happens next. It’s up to you what happens with the estate, and it’s up to you whether I continue to work here. Everything now falls to you to decide.” His dread of losing what he’d worked so hard for and the fight to keep it simmered on a low heat deep in his gut. “So what happens next? What do you plan to happen to the house, the estate . . . and to me?”
Monica turned from his intense gaze and stared at the table. “No matter what you might think of me, I didn’t come here with a plan.”
“You always had plans.”
She snapped her head up. “Do you have to sound so accusatory? What’s wrong with having plans? I wanted more than to stay here and play the dutiful daughter. Is that so wrong?”
“No, but the way you never came back from time to time to make sure things were all right with your parents isn’t right either.”
“You have your own life away from this house. I was within these walls twenty-four hours a day whether I wanted to be here or not. You have no idea what that was like. No idea at all.” She glared at him, her body trembling from his insult. “Well? Have you nothing to else to say? No other words of unfounded condemnation to throw at me?”
He remained silent, and his accusation continued to burn in her soul beneath the intensity of his blue-green stare. Rugged and handsome, strong and reliable, Monica realized Thomas was her most dangerous adversary at Marksville. Her mother and father were hostile enemies, lingering on the opposite side of the battle line. Thomas leaned closer to her side, yet they would always be separated by upbringing and circumstances. Their lives were wholly different, despite the similarities that had always bound them.
The tense atmosphere pressed down on her and frustration stung Monica’s eyes. She snatched her gaze from his and glared across the kitchen at the huge open fireplace. “You hurt me by not understanding why I escaped when I could.”
“I understood. I wasn’t even surprised by it, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed.”
She snapped her head around. “Disappointed? Why should you be disappointed? Did I ever hide my unhappiness from you? Tell you I longed to run the house like mistress of the manor when Mama and Papa had passed? No, I did not.”
“I’m sorry if my reaction to your return causes you hurt.” He clenched his jaw. “I don’t wish that any more than I want us to argue.”
“Good. Then stop judging me and help me go forward with what needs to be done.” She squeezed her eyes shut. It was clear in the years she’d been gone she wasn’t the only person who had changed . . . or been changed.
She opened her eyes and forced her gaze to his. “Please, Thomas, just tell me you don’t believe everything has turned out this way because of me? Surely you don’t believe my actions killed Papa and sent Mama into some mental state neither you nor Jane are willing to talk about?” Her heart ached with the need for his comradeship. “I didn’t run away into the night without a backward glance or ever contacting Mama and Papa again. I tried to come back, but the door was succinctly slammed in my face via pen and ink.”
He continued to stare at her, his lips drawn tightly together and his eyes assessing.
Further words bit and stung her tongue, but she snapped her mouth closed. Thomas didn’t need to know how her so-called plans had gone awry. He didn’t need to know what happen to her and her stupid, naïve heart . . . or how she’d lived and relied on strangers’ help to get to the place she was today. She intended to leave Marksville as soon as possible, and the easiest way to do that was to keep her distance from everyone here and not get emotionally involved as she’d been before.
She tilted her chin. “Think what you like. That’s the truth of it. What happens now is all that concerns me. The same should be true for you too.”
She held herself rigid. Thomas had always been the kindest, most reliable person at Marksville. Her only solace amongst a family of vultures. Even if he meant to turn on her, too, she would not falter . . . would not return to the fearful woman she’d been before.
He closed his eyes. “You left to marry Baxter. Found a man who promised you support and to give you the stage. Whenever I have time to spare a glance at the papers, I see who you’ve become. It seems there is no bigger star in Bath right now than the great and talented Monica Danes.”
The disparagement in his tone was rife, and when he opened his eyes, Monica’s breath caught. His gaze flashed with a fiery anger she’d not witnessed in him before. The sudden urge to flee the kitchen and run upstairs to her old bedroom surged through her. How could he think so little of her after everything they’d shared? How could he not trust that she tried and failed to reconcile with her parents? Well, damn him if he thought he could intimidate or judge her based on such supposition.
She had learned too much from striving on her own in a dangerous and cut-throat city to let Thomas strip her down to what she’d been before finding real friends and comradeship in the theater.
She lifte
d her chin. “As you said, with Papa gone and Mama apparently incapable of authority, I am now your employer, and you have no choice but to answer to me as long as I am at the house. You’ll be pleased to hear I won’t be staying long. I will see Papa buried and then return to Bath. I have no place here anymore. I no longer belong in Biddestone. So stop glaring at me as though I am your worst enemy come back to haunt you. I will do what I think best and then leave, never to return.”
He smiled wryly, his eyes glinting with undisguised antipathy. “Only you would say this is not your home. Do you not understand Bath is little more than a stage filled with privileged people paying for a cheap thrill rather than earning a labored crust? Is that who you are now? A person willing to do whatever it takes to remain at the top of these toffs’ newspaper reports and critiques? I always thought so much more of you than that.”
She narrowed her eyes as irritation burned hot in her stomach. “How dare you. You know nothing about me or the people of Bath. I am not the same woman you once knew. The sooner you realize that, the better.” She stood and whipped her skirts behind her. “I’m going to bed and in the morning, I will speak in depth with Mama and Jane.” She nodded toward the back entrance. “I’d appreciate it if you closed the door behind you.”
With her hands trembling and her mind racing with confusion and fear, Monica swept from the room. How dare he speak to her like he was her father? Who did he think he was? The Thomas she once knew respected her and kept things running in smooth order, without so much as the occasional wrong look at anyone in the house.
The man before her just now was wholly different. He seemed taller and broader than ever before. Stronger, both inside and out. Yet rage seeped from his pores and washed over her in a passionate wave that heated her body and jumbled her focus. She took the stairs as quickly as her attire would allow, swallowing the need to scream aloud in frustration.
What a Woman Desires Page 4