Mrs. Seton’s usually stiff shoulders relaxed . . . a little. She nodded. “It would certainly be appreciated, miss. I . . . I worry for my job if the mistress is unhappy.”
Monica touched her arm and stared directly into Mrs. Seton’s eyes in an effort to reassure her. “Try not to worry. If you have any concerns what Mama wants done at any time, you come and ask either Miss Jane or me. Neither of us will reprimand any staff for Mama’s confusion. I promise you that. Please pass my words on to Jeannie too. Either of you can come to us at any time.”
Mrs. Seton hitched her ample bosom. “Well, that’s good to know, miss. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They lapsed into silence and Monica looked again to Thomas. People had begun to slowly dissipate and now he stood alone, his shoulders stiff and his hands clasped in front of him. His expression was blank as he watched her. With their eyes locked, tension rippled through the space separating them. In the edge of Monica’s vision, Jane walked away holding their mother’s elbow, patiently leading her toward the waiting carriage at the edge of the cemetery.
Thomas stepped closer. “May I speak with you?”
“Of course.” Monica’s heart beat faster as she turned to Mrs. Seton. “Go with Mama and Miss Jane to the carriage. I will join you in just a moment.”
“Yes, miss.”
Mrs. Seton brushed past her, only pausing to give Thomas a nod and knowing look before hurrying along the graveled pathway. He barely glanced at the cook; instead, his gaze remained firmly on Monica’s. He came closer, drawing to a stop in front of her.
She pulled back her shoulders, bracing herself for whatever came next. She met his eyes, sensing his next words were likely to annoy rather than reassure her. “Are you all right?”
He continued to stare, no expression or indication of what he had to say revealed in his face. Her body heated with awareness as silent seconds passed. He looked so handsome in his suit, so grown and wise. A breath of attraction whispered over her skin and she shivered. For want of something to say, she nodded toward the dispersing crowd. “It was nice to see so many people come to pay their respects.”
Silence.
Irritation began a low hum inside her. “If you have something to say, Thomas, just say it.” She met his eyes and lifted her chin in an effort to belie her cursed trepidation. After everything she’d been through, how did Thomas possess the power to make her nervous? “I’m quite sure you’ve approached me to start your interrogation.”
He smiled softly. “My interrogation?”
“Yes.”
His smile widened and something changed in his gaze and stance. He grew taller, wider, and preposterously more male; the heat in his eyes was like fire, and a sudden need to have him take her in his arms and kiss away the staid atmosphere rushed through her.
She lifted her chin, her heart beating wildly. “I’d appreciate you giving me a chance to catch my breath after burying Papa before you ask me what happens now. Or do you expect an answer before I get into the carriage and make sure Mama is taken care of?”
He ran his gaze over her veiled hair. “It might surprise you to know that I, too, would like to refrain from heated discussion . . . at least for today.”
The deep, teasing tone of his voice jolted her; his reference to heat aroused her senses in a way that was surely damnable at a funeral. She closed her eyes as a defense against the intensity of his gaze. “Good, because Mama needs me today.” She opened her eyes. “I do not want to think of the house, the estate, or anything other than her needs. Tomorrow, however, I’d like you to accompany me into the village and around some of the tenants’ cottages.”
“And what is it you hope to see?”
She looked past him to the carriage. Her request surprised her as much as it seemed to him, but suddenly the need for positive action pulsed through her. She was wasting time worrying about her past caring for Thomas. How would that help the people who had relied on her father, or add anything to her mission to resume her life in Bath as soon as possible?
“I’ve come to the conclusion you were right.” She exhaled. “I can’t make any decisions about what to do with the estate without getting to know the people who live and work here again. If I’m willing to take into account everyone’s futures, I hope you, and they, will extend the same courtesy to me.”
“Which means what?”
She faced him. “Which means I have a life too. A life I have carved out through difficulty. Those difficulties might not have been the same as yours or theirs, but they were hard enough. I want to protect my way of life as much as you want to protect yours.”
The teasing left his eyes and his jaw tightened. “I see.”
“Do you?”
He stared into her eyes and nodded. “You are much changed.”
Monica stiffened. “Do you say that in compliment or condemnation?”
He stared for a long moment before exhaling. “I’ve yet to decide.”
Damn you, Thomas. She glanced toward her mother’s waiting carriage. Jane stared through the window, her gaze seeming to plead with Monica to conform once again. Would she ever see trust in her sister’s eyes? Shame she’d left Jane alone in a home that offered no reason to trust enveloped Monica in a heavy cloud and she sighed. “I should get back to the house.”
He stepped back and Monica breathed a little easier. She moved to brush past him when he spoke.
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Monica.”
She lifted her eyebrow in question.
His gaze fell to her mouth. “I want to keep my family safe from eviction. I want to keep my job, to keep them fed. Whatever you need me to do to help you believe it wouldn’t mean the end of your world if you stayed here—”
“Don’t.” Dread struck like a hammer to her chest. “Do not rely on that happening. I can’t promise you that.”
“I’m just saying—”
“The only happy conclusion to my returning is that I stay here and everything continues as it has for years? It’s not right for you to put that much pressure on me.”
“Monica—”
She raised her hand. “No, no more.” Anger and frustration pulsed through her as she glared. “It’s not fair that this is happening. It’s not fair I have to choose between a life I love and my love and commitment to everyone else. Everything is changing and I feel as out of my depth as when I was trapped in Malcolm’s bed. No matter how hard I try to imagine myself the mistress of Marksville or the landlady of our tenants . . . or even your employer, none of it settles well in my heart. I do not belong here.”
His jaw was a hard line and his eyes shone with fervor as fascinating as it was frightening. The only balm to her words was, with Thomas there, nothing felt as bad as it should. She would not tell him that; she would not start something with him they could never finish.
She took a deep breath. “Once the guests and Mama are settled at the house with tea and such, meet me in the gazebo at the bottom of the garden. I need to speak to you further. Alone.”
His eyes darkened. “Then we are thinking along the same lines. I’ll be there.”
His gaze swept over her body in a fiery wave and her heart stuttered. To be alone with him when their differences were so fraught with passion might be her worst decision yet. A rush of desire flared through her and she snatched her gaze from his. “Good. Then I will see you shortly.”
She hurried toward the carriage before he recognized the lust she’d seen so clearly in his gaze matched in her own. She might have lost her virginity, but that didn’t mean she knew what it felt like to really be loved by a man. She imagined Thomas’s lovemaking would be as intensely beautiful as the man himself.
Monica sucked in a breath. It was pathetic and weak to allow her body to react in such a way. Thomas cared for nothing but his family. He cared for nothing but what she could provide for him.
She would be a fool to ever forget that.
Chapter 9
Thomas abruptly stood from the stone seat under the shade of the gazebo, sat again and stood, repeating the same routine he’d been executing for the previous ten minutes. Where was she? He’d managed to catch Monica’s eye several times at the house as she spoke in soft tones to as many of the mourners as she could. With the last glance, she’d indicated for him to go into the garden and she would immediately follow.
That had been fifteen minutes ago.
Maybe he’d interpreted the silent language incorrectly—it would hardly be the first time he’d done such a thing as far as Monica was concerned. Hadn’t his romantic hopes of her one day looking at him as more than a servant been dashed by her departure the first time? If his growing fondness and attraction for her now were anything to hold measure by, he’d most likely feel the same pain again in the not too distant future.
Her passion for protecting her life in the city continued to resound in his head and heart. He wanted her to be happy, but could not understand how she would not find happiness at Marksville. With her father passed and the estate her own, she could run things as she saw fit. Why was she being so stubborn to not even try to see how being a mistress might suit her?
He glanced at his watch again, pushing away the niggling thought that his wanting Monica to stay was steeped in selfishness. Didn’t he want to her to stay for him above all else? He scowled. Rubbish. He needed to be sure of where his family’s daily bread was coming from as much as any other tenant.
Yet how was he to ignore the manic gleam of fear in her gaze when she’d compared her situation of being at Marksville to that of being in that bastard Baxter’s bed? Hadn’t she known what a cruel slash to his heart it had been to hear her say that? To compare his request she stay to anything Baxter might have done to her made Thomas feel sick to his stomach.
His feelings for her surpassed the lust he’d felt years before. Lust he would handle the same way every other man did when a woman didn’t welcome his adoration . . . silently.
Now he’d seen her again, heard her voice, and looked into her beautiful blue eyes, everything he felt for her before had rushed back on a stream of longing. He cared for her as a lover might, and by God, he wanted her safe and happy above all else. Those kinds of feelings couldn’t be tamped down in physical release . . . they lingered on a man’s heart like a bruise.
He cursed. Even the way Monica attended to everyone at the house after burying her father strengthened his need to touch her. Smiling softly, her eyes fully alert and focused on whomever approached her, she circled the room with dignity and beauty. Her demeanor and tone didn’t alter whether she conversed with a tenant or a middle-class associate of the family.
As much as he tried to paint her as the villain in their new set of circumstances in order to extinguish his romantic feelings, Thomas was failing and failing badly. The passion in his heart for his family and his livelihood beat like a drum inside him, but if the truth were told, he was at Monica’s mercy too. What else could he do but bear his feelings in silence? They had no future. He needed to remember that and instead concentrate on formulating a way for Monica to yearn to make Marksville her home.
Approaching footsteps jerked him up straight.
She emerged through the hedged walkway and he drew a long breath through flared nostrils, battling his blasted desire. She looked so self-assured, so independent and confident. What did she really need with a man? The woman had proved she was more than capable of running her own life and creating her own destiny alone if need be. He coughed. “Everything settled at the house?”
Her eyes briefly met his before she sighed. “As much as can be expected.”
Following her to the bench, he sat beside her. She didn’t look at him but stared ahead. Despite his earlier assessment of her relaxation amongst the mourners, Thomas noted the stiffness in her shoulders and neck. Maybe she wasn’t feeling as self-assured as he first thought.
He longed to ease her around and lean her back against his chest so he could knead the knots and tangles from her body. Kiss the smooth nape of her neck until she turned pliant under his ardent attention. He curled his hands around the edge of the seat. “You wanted to speak to me?”
She turned and ran her gaze slowly over his face as if assessing him in the same way he had her. Cool determination filtered into her stunning blue eyes. “Jane has told me the will is to be read the day after tomorrow, so tomorrow I would like to visit some of the poorest tenants, as well as take lunch in the village.” She dropped her gaze to her hands clasped in her lap. “I need to reacquaint myself with the people and circumstances here. I fear I’ve entirely lost touch with the Biddestone way of life.”
Her sudden and rare show of vulnerability slipped her grip a little tighter around his heart. He cleared his throat. “You’re a better woman than most to admit it after leaving of your own will.”
“You say that, but it doesn’t make me any less afraid of what I’ll discover, or feel, once I take this trip into town and around the estate.” She closed her eyes. “But I won’t make a decision about the house or its land based on ignorance. That, I can promise you at least.”
He nodded. “And I won’t ask for more.”
They sat in a silence for a few moments before she exhaled. “I’m scared, Thomas.”
He took her hand before he could think of the consequences. “Don’t be.”
She snapped her eyes open and grasped his hand between hers. “I’m scared I’ll have no choice but to sell and then you’ll end up hating me just the same as everyone else on the estate. I’m scared you’ll never see nor understand how happy I am in Bath.”
“I could never hate you.”
“Then will you come home with me?”
He stiffened. “What?”
She smiled, excitement lighting her eyes. “Please. Come with me, Mama, and Jane to Bath. The will is to be read in Mr. Baker’s office in the city. I am hoping to persuade Mama and Jane that an overnight stay would be preferable to making the journey there and back in one day.”
He released her hand and stood, pushing his hand into his hair. “You want me to stay with you overnight in Bath?”
Her cheeks flushed. “And Mama and Jane. Yes.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You say that as though having Mrs. Danes and Miss Jane there will slather some sort of balm over the agony of having to endure a night in the one place I go as infrequently as possible.”
Her smile dissolved. “No one can hate a place as much as that.”
“No?” He raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t that exactly how you feel about Marksville?”
“I want you to see the theater. I want you to try and understand how much of myself I would be sacrificing to stay here.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, disappointment and incomprehension rippling through him. “How can you say staying here will be sacrificing yourself?”
“Wouldn’t it be to you if your family wanted you to leave Biddestone and start a new life in the city?”
Thomas opened his eyes and met her expectant gaze. He’d be lying if he denied her sentiment. “Why do I need to see how you live? You seem to forget I’m a servant. My opinion shouldn’t matter to you.”
“But it does. You matter to me, Thomas.” Her voice shook with impatience. “You know you do. Seeing you look at me with disdain and disbelief every time I refuse to promise I will stay here makes me angry. It makes me feel caged in. I’ve done nothing wrong and I want you to meet me halfway.”
“Halfway? How can that ever be possible? You’re my employer.” Frustration and humiliation burned. “You call the shots, not I. What is it you want me to say? Sooner or later, you’ll do what you want to do and I’ll have to deal with whatever that is. There will never be a halfway between us, Monica. There will only ever be all or nothing.”
Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. Her cheeks flushed.
Guilt lingered around his conscience, but Thomas lifted his chin. He only spoke the truth. Someone had to make h
er see the reality—no, the power of what she held in her hands. She was either with or against him. There could never be any in between.
The skin at her neck shifted and she looked away. “Your opinion and happiness matter to me. As does Mama’s, Jane’s, and everyone else’s who lives and works here. We have to work together if we have any chance of doing what’s best for Marksville.”
Silence descended, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken words and feelings. Thomas’s heart picked up speed as he stared at her exquisite profile; the curve of her beautiful neck . . .
He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to see where you work.”
“Why?”
How did he say that even the thought of her in one of those places turned his stomach? How did he admit, on his rare days off, he had gone to see the dancers and plays with his friends and reluctantly enjoyed the entire spectacle . . . once he’d been sure Monica wouldn’t emerge from the wings?
He didn’t want to see her onstage, half-dressed with dozens of men undoubtedly lusting and fantasizing about her. He didn’t want to witness her talent and have his ideal she belonged at Marksville well and truly quashed. He wanted to believe . . . had to believe Marksville was her destiny and she was born to inherit the estate from her father. If he didn’t, it would mean he had been wrong about her heart and soul for the last eleven years since he met her. For all her words and conviction, Thomas still prayed Marksville was her destiny.
The bitter taste of his hypocrisy coated his throat. “I just don’t.” He opened his eyes and forced his gaze to hers. “I want to picture you here, not there.”
The touch of her hand on his sent his heart flying into his throat.
Her eyes were full of pleading. “Please, Thomas. Come and see where I live, how I live. I swear to you, I am trying to see Marksville as you do. The least you could do is come with me to Bath.”
The beseeching passion in her blue, blue gaze tore and pulled at his resolve. How could he refuse her anything when she looked at him that way? He dragged his gaze from hers and gathered his senses. He eased his hands from hers and fisted them on his hips. “Even if any part of me wanted to, I won’t leave Mrs. Seton and Jeannie to cope on their own.”
What a Woman Desires Page 10