Slowly, her mother turned her gaze from the window to Monica. “You need to change your clothes.”
Monica stiffened at the returned iciness in her mother’s tone. “Sorry, Mama?”
“You have no respect. No decorum. Coming here dressed so fancy when your poor father has passed. We are in mourning. Mourning!”
Her screech filled the room and Monica stepped back, her heart pounding as her mother’s venom flowed over her and seeped deep into the hole in her heart Monica had tried so hard to fill. Jane strode forward and stood between Monica and their mother. “Go. I will deal with Mother’s tea. Just go and do something. Anything.”
With her mind reeling and her heart racing, Monica strode from the room, leaving the door wide open behind her. What did her mother want from her? She was wearing mourning. What had her mother seen to cause an outburst filled with such disgust?
Monica darted her gaze left and right as claustrophobia rose inside her. She had to get of the house. Far away into the fields so she could breathe. Her breaths turned harried as she rushed into the hallway and yanked open the front door. She rushed across the gravel driveway, toward the back of the house that led to the fields and lanes beyond.
The sun was blinding through her tears, but she ran on. Barely a week ago, she’d been onstage, or laughing and joking with her fellow actors and stagehands as they assembled backstage, or in the local tavern for drinks and merriment. That was the life she loved; the life she’d carefully orchestrated through sheer determination and the occasional plea for help.
That help had come in the form of kindness from unexpected people and friends. Friends she lived her entire life for now as a way of thanking them for their support and belief in her talent. Could it be possible she could ask for their help again in her current situation? She shook her head. She would ask for no more. Her dear friend Adam and others had done enough.
The pastures flowed like a welcome emerald green blanket ahead of her. As a child, she would often run into the fields and hide from her parents until she’d gathered the strength to return. The spanked bottoms and lack of dinners before bedtime had been worth the freedom for a couple of hours.
Am I running from Mama again? Behaving as I did as a child, when Jane is relying on me to make her life so much better than mine was when I was here?
Shame and a heavy sense of failure engulfed her and Monica stopped, pressing a hand to the cramp in her side. A low, deep scream grew tight in her stomach, rising through her torso and into her chest. Higher and higher, it gathered momentum until it reached her throat. She opened her mouth, tipped her head back . . .
The clip-clop of approaching hooves stilled her.
Thomas.
Her entire body heated with awareness and her cheeks burned like flames of fire. She wouldn’t turn around. She wouldn’t speak to him. Not after yesterday. Not when she knew how little he thought of her and her career.
The sound of the horses’ hooves drew to a slow halt behind her and Monica squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for Thomas’s inevitable taunting.
“I could use some company if you’d like to come home for a visit with me.”
She opened her eyes. “Pardon?”
“I thought you might like to visit my parents. I know they’d be happy to see you.”
She relaxed her shoulders as the kindness in his tone whispered over the surface of her skin. She smiled and turned.
Thomas stared down at her from the huge height of his beloved horse, Jake. His face broke with one of his rare and heart-melting smiles as he held out his hand. “How about we shock the neighborhood by announcing your return in spectacular style? I need to go home to collect something. My parents would love to see you. Climb up here behind me, I dare you.”
Her smile stretched to a grin. He dared her? Did he think they were still adolescents and he could cajole her into doing the unthinkable through the guise of a dare? Every fiber screamed at her to resist, yet still Monica glanced from him to the rear of his saddle, temptation making her shiver.
Her love of rebellion rose like a tidal wave washing through her blood. She met Thomas’s shining eyes. “Not as much as I’d love to see them. You’d better get down and help me up; I’m supposed to be a lady, after all.”
Thomas clenched his jaw as Monica tightened her arms around his waist. He longed to feel the weight of her head on his back, too, but knew well enough she would not lean on him considering the dark cloud under which he left Marksville the night before. He purposely kept Jake at a slow walk, wanting this closeness between him and Monica to last as long as possible. He’d been foolish enough to wake this morning, thinking the night apart had strengthened his resolve and he would be strong enough to accept her as his employer and nothing else.
Now he was with her, the notion was laughable—but one he must adhere to.
He needed to play nice and convince her staying at Marksville wouldn’t mean the future she dreaded. If he could do that, he would keep his father’s legacy intact and maybe, one day, his son would take the reins and become a groom to the Danes family as two generations had before him. She had to understand positions like his and Mrs. Seton’s weren’t just jobs, they were a livelihood, a lifestyle, and treasured way of life.
He’d come out of the stable yard astride Jake, and as soon as he had seen Monica standing alone, her head back and her breasts thrust forward, nothing of his job entered his mind. Only pure, unadulterated attraction had surged through him. The sun glowed on her dark hair like a million dancing lights and, with her hands on her hips, her delicate figure taunted him with forbidden possibility that had lingered in his subconscious forever. Even in mourning, the woman was beautiful.
She was meant to be his. The tension and care between them had resided for years. The moment he saw her again, it had returned as potent as ever.
Yet, gallantry had overruled lust, and he’d forced the scowl from his face and the desire from his body. Monica needed him to rely on if she was going to get through burying the master and coming to terms with her mother’s deterioration. He couldn’t falter from the clear and present line between himself, her, and the family....
To do so would mean certain loss to his family, Mrs. Seton, and half the people in Biddestone who took tenancy with the Danes family. Thomas stared ahead. Monica had to realize her return to the house was not a case of tying up loose ends and disappearing into the heady lights of Bath once more.
It was a case of prosperity versus poverty for so many.
She’d come back into a world she left far behind and, whether she realized it or not, she was only known in the village as the privileged girl who’d put herself ahead of her family. Would she take this chance to prove to him and everyone else in the village they were wrong about her?
He’d painted her in the same vein on the same canvas—until he looked deep into her eyes last night and saw her pain. Something had happened to her over the years she’d lived away. Something he would coax her to reveal so he could attempt to put it right.
He wanted to see the light in her eyes when she looked at him, wanted to see the same happy face that taunted him on the city’s billboards....
“Thomas?”
The soft tone of her voice broke through his reverie and he stiffened. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. More than fine.”
Satisfaction furled inside and he relaxed. “I’m glad. Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to visit in the village? Or shall we go straight to see my parents?”
“So you’ve told them I’m back?”
He grimaced. “Ma caught me as I was leaving the house this morning.”
She laughed. “Caught you? You make it sound as though you were trying to creep out unnoticed.”
Fields stretched toward the horizon either side of them and Thomas pulled Jake to a gentle stop. “I was.”
“Why?”
“Because Ma is little changed since you last saw her.”
“M
eaning?”
“Meaning she doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”
Silence.
The weight of Monica’s assured curiosity came down between them as her arms slid from his waist. Protectiveness of his privacy roared up inside him as Thomas eased forward to maneuver from the horse. His boots thudded against the packed mud of the track and he looked up into her smiling face.
Sitting sidesaddle, with her pretty blue eyes careful on his, he took a moment to absorb the sight of her. The squawk of the crows overhead broke the quiet, yet nothing distracted him from her beauty.
Regret for his inability to resist caring too deeply for this woman seeped into his blood. He blew out a breath. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did last night.”
Her gaze stayed on his for a long moment before her shoulders relaxed and she stared into the distance. “We were equally guilty in our quarrel. We were tired”—she faced him—“and maybe more than a little afraid of what happened with the men on the road, and what will happen now I’m back.”
“The master’s funeral is tomorrow and many people will be at the church.” He hesitated. “Many people who lease homes and land from the estate.”
The skin at her throat shifted. “I’m aware of that.”
“And do you know what you will say to them?”
Her cheeks flushed and she lifted her chin in that determined way of hers. “I will let them speak first and then do my utmost to allay their fears. There is little else I can do as I still have no idea what will happen the day after tomorrow, much less next week.”
“But you will make no promises you cannot keep?”
“Of course not.”
“Good, because to do that would be foolhardy and dangerous. Desperate people, hungry people, make hotheaded decisions, and I cannot be there all the time to protect you.”
Her eyes darkened and her shoulders rose. “Why would I need protecting? Many of the people who lease homes from us have known me since I was a child. I have never known an ounce of animosity from any of them. Why do you have to always be in such a state of doom?”
He clenched his jaw. Didn’t she understand anything? “I am in a state of awareness rather than doom. You’d be wise to be the same. I’m trying to make you understand. Nothing more.”
“Understand that you think so little of me? That you do not trust me as you once did? I understand that perfectly well.”
His care for her wrenched at his heart, making him want to walk away and never look back. They were so different; their lives and desires a million miles from the other. He swallowed. “Why don’t I help you down and we’ll walk awhile?”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him and waged the certain war going on inside her. After a few seconds, she shimmied forward, clutching her skirts in her hand. He stepped closer before reaching up and clasping his hands around her tiny waist. He gently lowered her to the ground so she stood trapped between him and Jake, the top of her head in kissing distance from his lips.
She looked up and her blush deepened. “Thank you.”
With his heart hammering, Thomas stood back and waved a hand in front of him. “After you.”
She walked a few steps ahead of him and he relished the soft sway of her hips, the way the stark black of her dress looked against the yellowing fields on either side of them. Her hair was pinned at the sides and the rest left to fall in a thick, glossy lock toward her shoulder blades. God, what he’d give to touch her, to bury his face in her hair and remember her as he had so many years ago.
On a single forbidden evening they’d clung to each other; their passion overtaking their senses. He’d kissed her, touched the skin on her face and collarbones, smelled her hair and whispered secrets of dreams and ambitions. Neither had spoken of how fortunate Jane’s merciful interruption had been. He had too often wondered if they would’ve been left alone much longer, whether their kisses might have grown more heated, and her soft sighs evolved to moans and pleas under his careful attention.
He straightened his spine and forced his defenses back into place, and his desires behind lock and key where they would remain.
She stopped and turned. “What were you just thinking?”
He cleared his throat and plucked a length of grass from beside him. “A million and one things, as I always am.”
She smiled softly. “Then you should make a concerted effort to think less often. Do you know how handsome you look when you smile? It would be really nice for everyone around you if your smile appeared more than once or twice a year.”
He lifted an eyebrow and fought the smile that pulled at his lips. “The ladies about town seem to like my aloofness. Maybe it’s just you it frustrates.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Maybe it is.”
The atmosphere filled with the heat of his attraction and when her eyes lifted to his, Thomas’s heart kicked. She would never admit it so, but it was impossible she didn’t feel the sexual tension too. It showed in her eyes, the flush at her cheeks and the way her breasts rose and fell. He closed the space between them and offered his arm. “Let’s walk.”
They strolled along the track in silence for a few yards before Thomas exhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll help you in whatever way I can to get through the master’s funeral tomorrow. Despite my harshness yesterday, I appreciate what it took to leave Bath and come home. I want you to lean on me. I know this isn’t where you want to be, but you’re here now and we need you to care.”
She stopped and turned to face him. Her gaze was soft as she looked into his eyes. “I do care. I care more than you, Jane, or Mama seem to understand. I came back because, deep down, I had no choice. I am torn and unhappy that I had to leave Bath, but you must believe that I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t care.”
He nodded. The anguish and sincerity in her gaze could not be denied, even if her words of being torn and unhappy scratched like rusted nails on his heart. He wanted her to be happy here. To see the beauty of Biddestone and Marksville House as he did. Yet, it seemed he desired the impossible. What memories did she hold that could coat such a wonderful place in clear woe?
She took his hand and a jolt shot through him, but he forced himself still. “I was shocked by Mama’s appearance this morning. Even more so by her words and disposition.”
“Was that the first time you have seen her in five years?”
She nodded and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them, they burned with frustration. “I hate that Jane didn’t write and demand I return sooner. No matter how horrible my memories of being here and of the way things were left in Bath with my parents, I do love my family, Thomas. It hurts that they would think otherwise, or that they do not love me enough to call on me in their most desperate hours.”
He ran his gaze over her hair. “They love you. Your father loved you even though he might not have ever said as much. It’s fear that leads people to make mistakes. Your father feared the life you craved, that’s all.”
She shook her head. “It was so much more than that.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You don’t understand.”
He tightened his grip on her fingers. God, he wanted her to share whatever held her back from at least considering Marksville as her home. “Then make me. What is it that made you stay away? Why didn’t you come back? Insist they see you?”
She stared, indecision clear in her eyes. “If Papa wanted you to know what happened between him and I, he would’ve told you. He trusted you above all others.”
“And now he’s gone. Tell me what happened so I can be who you need me to be as I stand beside you. How can I help you if I don’t know you? We were friends once, weren’t we? We can be again.”
Tears shone in her eyes. “Do you mean that? You would forget the past and just help me to move the estate forward? To think about our future and nothing else?”
Caution screamed inside his head, yet still he nodded. “I promise.”
She drew i
n a long breath and pulled her hand from his. She walked a few steps away and turned her back to him, crossing her arms. Thomas trembled with the effort it took not to go to her and turn her to face him. Everything inside him protected and fixed, whether it be his family, the estate, the horses, or the land. To stand here and wait for her to open her heart to him was a difficult challenge, but one he would conquer.
At last, she turned. Her eyes had lost their softness and now glowed the darkest midnight blue. “Papa knew of our relationship. He knew how much we once cared for each other.”
Thomas stared. What does she mean by that? Does she know . . . did the master know I once loved her? That there was a small possibility she might have loved me? “What are you saying?”
She closed her eyes. “I’m saying as much as I admire your loyalty to Papa, he doesn’t deserve your insistence that he was a good and honest man.” She opened her eyes. “He didn’t care for your feelings any more than he cared for mine or Jane’s. Mama and his rise in society was all he lived for. Despite everything you did and gave to him, you were nothing more than his personal servant.”
Her words pierced his ego and stirred his temper, but Thomas held fast and resisted the urge to deny her accusations. Who was he to correct her on a man she knew better than he ever did? “And if that’s true, what of it?”
“He wouldn’t have confided any family secrets to you, no matter what light you try to paint him in to protect my feelings.” She smiled softly. “Never say again my parents loved me. Love doesn’t hurt. I know that now.”
He swallowed. “You have found true love?”
She laughed and stepped back, her gaze shifting to the distance above his shoulder. “No, not I, but I have witnessed it in others.” She faced him. “And it is a beautiful thing.”
He met her smile. “I know.”
She stiffened. “You do? You are married? Engaged?”
He swallowed. “No, I speak of my parents.”
What a Woman Desires Page 6