by Glenda Diana
Mentally, she went over every word of their conversation, trying to figure out what she had said to cause such a reaction. Hadn't they called another truce? What had she done to set him off?
Thorton glanced at the glowering servant. “What's wrong with him?”
“You, Madame,” Griggs replied, coldly.
“What did I do?”
Griggs looked down his hawk-like nose. “I was listening at the door, like any good servant, when I heard you.”
Not liking his sneering attitude, she placed her hands on her hips and frowned. “Pray tell, what was it you heard me say?” she asked, matching his tone of voice.
Griggs stiffened. Did the woman not realize it was his responsibility to protect Blake? He studied the chit who dared to glare at him as if he were in the wrong. Then he noticed the confusion flashing in her eyes. Indecision tore at him. One part of him wanted desperately to believe her, the other part wanted to throttle her. He chose the first option. “Care to explain why you felt the need to be so callous?”
Thorton heard the accusation, the anger, in his voice and took a wary step back from the man she had deemed ‘friendly’ hours earlier. This was not the same man. This one had no twinkle in the depths of his gray eyes, but a gleam ... a gleam of something she did not wish to investigate. This was not the same man. This one had no twinkle in the depths of his gray eyes ... but a gleam. A gleam of something she did not wish to investigate. This one reminded her of the Baron.
“Callous? In what way?”
“What would you call it, Madame? I thought there might be some glimmer of hope when first I saw you. But you have done far more damage than any other woman has ever done. To make such a cruel, heartless remark about his Lordship's appearance was uncalled for.” Griggs shook his head. “I think it best you left this house tonight. Whatever befalls us for the breach of contract, let it fall. Far better that than to let you inflict further pain.”
Thorton couldn't help but think her confusion was nothing compared to his. In fact, the whole household seemed rather addle-pated. Perhaps they all belonged in Bedlam ... or maybe that was what this place was. “I was being callous when I said Blake was handsome?”
“Yes, Madame.”
Forgetting her fear and caution, Thorton advanced on the sarcastic butler. “Are you people mad?”
“Now, see here, Madame.”
Thorton jabbed her finger at his bony chest. With each jab, Griggs took a step backward. “You, my good man, had better explain. How did I get in this mess? I thought ‘handsome’ was a compliment? How ignorant of me! You, you skinny old buzzard, had better have a bloody good explanation.”
Griggs eyes widened.
“Don't look at me that way,” Thorton murmured in a growl. “I want to hear everything, and I mean every morsel, gossip and truth. Start at the beginning, the end or the middle. I don't care. But I want to hear every damned thing there is to know about the Baron.”
Griggs found himself at a loss as to what to do in the sight of this woman's fury. He came to the only possible conclusion he could-Thorton Lynwood had actually meant her words. She thought the Baron handsome. “If Madame will follow me, I will do my best to enlighten you about your future husband.”
“He already is my husband. He has been since the signing of the contract. I wish you people would get that through your thick heads.”
“Yes, Milady,” he murmured, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Thorton scowled, then gave a weary sigh. “I have never seen a household so full of boorish, brutish, insolent, and obnoxious humanity. I'm almost afraid to ask what you people do for fun. Chase around the tenants, showing them how bloody ruthless you are? Wait around for unsuspecting visitors to stray to your front door? I shudder to think of worse deeds you might play.”
“You are quite right, Madame,” Griggs stated with true sympathy. “We are a dreadful bunch.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I would humble myself at your feet, Madame, but I fear my old bones would not take it.”
Thorton glared at the dour-faced man. What a fine sense of wit. She wasn't buying the dung he was slinging for a second. “I don't believe you would humble yourself before God himself.”
“Quite right,” Griggs said with a slight grin.
A soft smile came to Thorton's face. “Given the opportunity, I just might decide to like you-”
“Of course, Madame. I'm a very likable fellow.”
“You didn't let me finish. I meant, I might like you if you could learn to control your irrational thinking. One never likes to be prematurely or rashly judged.”
Griggs bowed, his eyes twinkling. “I will try my best to correct this flaw, Milady. You'll most likely find this hard to believe, but I was never obnoxious until I came to work at Stonecrest.”
“Ha!” Thorton snorted. “Most likely they learned their talents from you. Now, shall we get on with your telling?”
“Come along, Madame.”
“You had better make this good, sir. If not ... well, in my present mood, I might just carve you up and serve you to the wolves.”
Griggs hid his smile. “We can't have that, Milady. A skinny old buzzard like me might give the wild beasts indigestion.”
“That's exactly what this household gives me. I've not had a bite of lunch and now I've lost my appetite for supper. At this rate, I'll waste away to nothing.”
Griggs cast a side-glance at her buxom figure and wanted to laugh. The dear woman would have to starve a whole month before her lush figure would show signs of starvation. And that would be a pity. “Do not fear, Madame. I predict your appetite will soon recover.”
“Fat lot your predictions do me,” Thorton grumbled as she followed him from the room.
* * * *
Blake glared at the nearly empty bottle of brandy. It had been close to three hours since he had stormed from the dining hall and still his anger raged. The pain had not lessened in the slightest degree either. Pain caused by her ruthless words.
Dark, good looks. Vain. Handsome. He hated to admit, it wasn't so much the words that caused his pain, it was the way in which she had spoken them ... sweetly. As if she were enjoying the hurt those meager words would inflict.
Until tonight, he had not known how much control he had over his temper. He was amazed he had not struck out, choked her ivory, villainous throat.
Over and over he could hear her voice saying how handsome he was. Him, of all people, vain? With a face like his? Blake poured himself another drink. It must have been hell for her to wait all day before delivering that blow. No ... not her. She probably had waited with anticipation. No, there was no doubt as to whose blood flowed through her veins. She was a Lynwood through and through.
His rambling thoughts came to a dead stop when the door opened. In walked his tormentor. The woman had to be suicidal to enter the lion's den.
“Get out,” he said, keeping his tone low and deadly.
Thorton ignored his command and entered the room, closing the door behind her. It had taken some time for Griggs to explain the life Blake had led since returning from the war. Thorton wasn't ignorant. She had done her own research on the Baron and foolishly thought she knew everything. Unfortunately, one detail had not presented itself ... Blake thought of himself in much the same manner as some of his erstwhile friends did. Instead of her honesty pleasing him, he now probably thought of her as a cold-hearted viper.
Blake rose unsteadily to his feet. “You have two seconds to flee before I physically throw you out.”
Glancing at the closed door, Thorton frowned. Slowly, she opened the door.
“Finally she shows some sense!”
Disregarding his ramblings, she pushed the door open as far as it would go and turned to face him. He was going to listen to what she had to say. But as Blake started to move around his desk, Thorton wasn't sure she was doing the right thing. He didn't look like he was in the mood, nor the condition, to listen. She
swallowed hard; as he took another step forward, his black eyes drilling into hers.
“You're not drunk, are you?” she asked cautiously.
“One second left!”
Fear spread through her body like wildfire as he drew ever closer. His huge frame blocked out all view of the room behind him. Common sense told her to flee, but stubborn determination made her stand her ground. Tilting back her head, she gazed steadily into the cold depths of his eyes. “All I ask is five minutes of your time, Baron.”
“Your time is up.” Blake reached for her and came up with nothing but thin air. He turned around and shook his head. Somehow the she-witch had managed to spin away from him, ducking under his outstretched arm.
“Just five minutes,” she pleaded as he neared her again.
Blake watched her eyes dart wildly about the room and felt a rush of satisfaction that he could make her feel what he had always felt ... trapped. He was forever trapped in the image he saw reflected in the mirror.
He could almost read her mind and wanted to laugh. His library wasn't large, so it wasn't like she had anywhere to run. Perhaps she thought to jump out the window, which he knew to be locked. Maybe the daft woman thought she could disappear through the walls.
Time was something Thorton knew she didn't have. She looked at her silk skirts. Shrugging aside her pique, she started undoing the many layers of petticoats.
She glanced up to gauge the distance between her and Blake and almost laughed at the sight of him. He had stopped his advancement. His mouth was hanging open as he watched her discard one underskirt after another until she was left with just the silk green gown.
She kicked aside the pile of discarded skirts along with her satin slippers, then proceeded in bringing her skirt between her legs and fastening it in a cumbersome, but effective, knot. Now she had freedom to move about without fear of tripping over her hem.
Blake's dark brows creased in annoyance as she stood staring at him, her hands on her wide hips, ready for battle. His eyes ran over her bare legs. Damn the little she-devil. Despite his brandy consumption, he still realized her ploy. She had given quite a performance, all done with one purpose in mind-to distract him. She had used a cheap woman's trick to get his attention. And, Blake realized with self-loathing, it had worked.
He gave her a sly smile as he backed up and slammed the door closed. There was no possible way she could get past him, and unless she could go through walls, she would have to stop and turn back to him. He enjoyed a good game, especially when he knew he would win. Smiling, he gave chase.
But he came to a skidding stop.
At first his mind flashed with humor at the sight of her charging at him. If she hit him at such a rate she would likely bounce off him and probably break her neck in the process. But his humor died when, just before reaching him, she turned. It seemed to him she ran right up the wall.
Blake stared at the stone wall in front of him. With some difficulty, he decided his mind was not in prime working order ... it couldn't be. Spinning around, he swayed before righting himself. Huh! He found her standing right behind him.
“Five minutes,” she repeated.
Blake shook his head, causing his vision to blur. Perhaps he had consumed too much brandy, but had he partaken enough to cause him to hallucinate? He must have, he concluded. She could not have run up the wall. Damn! He was beginning to dislike this game as much as he disliked her.
“What harm would it do to give me five minutes?” she asked.
Blake took a deep breath. He had not taken into account that her smallness would give her the advantage. He hid his sly smile when noting the large overstuffed chair behind her. If he could be a touch quicker, he would have her. He took a step forward. Thorton instinctively backed up. Blake lunged for her and the chair. The crash echoed through the room.
Thorton spun around when she heard the collision. She edged closer to the Baron, lying face down next to the overturned chair. She cautiously nudged him with her foot. “Are you all right?”
Fear flowed over her when he didn't move. How was she going to get him turned over? She wondered if she should call for help, then quickly discarded the idea. With a great deal of strain, she finally got him rolled over. Good God, she thought wiping at the sweat on her face, the man had to weigh as much a full-grown horse.
“I've killed him,” she whispered. She touched his face. A shiver ran through her as she felt the slight growth of whiskers prick her palm. “Blake, can you hear me?”
The only intention she had upon entering his library was to talk to him, to explain that she had not meant to hurt his feelings. She wanted him to know her words had been true. She did think him handsome. He was the one who wanted to play cat and mouse. Not once had it entered her mind he might get hurt. Her sole purpose had been to soothe his abused feelings, not to inflict more damage.
“Please, don't be dead,” she uttered brokenly. Tears welled up in her eyes. Laying her head upon his large chest, she listened. Relief flooded through her when she heard the strong rhythmic beating of his heart.
Blake slowly opened his eyes to see the fiery red mane spread out across his chest. It was an unfair trick, but considering the shape he was in, he reasoned that fair was fair. His arms came up and effectively imprisoned her body to his. He rolled over, pinning her beneath him as he smiled in triumph. The smile froze at the sight of her shimmering tears. Damn, had he been too rough in his attack? Sometimes he forgot his own size and strength.
Thorton turned her face away, closing her eyes, trying to hide her tears. She had gotten a glimpse of his smug face. Now he would probably gloat for duping her into believing he had been hurt. He was cruel. Did he not realize just how worried she had been? Of course, not. He thought her too callous to feel anything. After all, she was a vile Lynwood. Empty, cold, and vindictive.
One lone tear rolled down her cheek. Blake caught it on his thumb, watched as it glistened like a precious jewel and glided down the back of his hand. Absently, with gentle fingers, he wiped away the tears that began to flow freely down her face.
“Have I hurt you?” he asked.
She shook her head, still not looking at him.
“Then why the hell are you crying?”
It wasn't said in a shout or even a hint of irritation. It was said in gruffness, almost a groan. The soft caress of his finger surprised her. Just hours ago-minutes ago-he had condemned her for being mean and cruel, yet now, he was showing her tenderness. Why?
Thorton grew uneasy, not only with his deafening silence, but also with the heavy pressure of his body. Finally, she turned to look at him.
Large, watery, gold eyes met his. He forgot what he had been about to say. He knew he should get off her-indeed, his mind was telling him to get as far away from her as possible. But he didn't.
“Why are you crying?” he repeated roughly.
“I thought you were hurt.”
“Is that not what you want most?”
More tears formed. “Never ... never have I wanted you hurt.”
She could tell the moment he began to remember the events of their dinner. What little warmth she had seen in his eyes began to fade. She traced the scar on his right cheek with her fingertip.
“No matter what you think, I wasn't being callous or cruel when I said your were handsome. Any woman who cannot see how attractive you are cannot see past the end of her nose.”
Blake felt the force of lust, of life, surge through his body. It had been a long time since he'd felt any kind of life stirring within him. Still, he feared she was only jesting ... or worse.
Rolling aside, he sat up, turning away his face. “Madame, keep your empty words and false compassion. I am not a doddering idiot; I know what I look like. I live with this image daily.”
Damn and blast her, he thought. Part of him, a part he had not felt in years, wanted, needed, to believe her, but that would make him a bigger fool than he already was. Desperately, he fought down the foreign feelings threate
ning to consume him. Simultaneously, he tried to forget the fire burning in his loins.
Nothing was turning out as Thorton had planned. A feeling of self-consciousness came over her as she realized she was still lying on the floor. Quickly, she sat up, wondering what to do. Placing her hand upon his arm, she tried to ignore the way his muscles flinched.
“I have to disagree, Baron. Right now, you are most definitely acting doddering.”
When he didn't rise to her baiting, she sighed. Talking to his profile wasn't exactly what she had in mind. What she needed was eye contact. She knelt at his side. Her knee brushed his leg, causing her pulse to increase. She tried to determine the reason for her reaction, a strange and unknown feeling. Her eyes raised to see if he, too, had felt anything. From the hard set of his face, she gathered he hadn't.
When Blake started to move away, Thorton gripped his arm, trying to stall him. “What would it take to make you believe me, Baron, for you to know my words are true?” She shook her head at the sound of her breathless whisper. What was the matter with her? Had she suffered in some way from their game? Had he hurt her? She didn't think so.
At the sound of her husky voice, Blake went still. God, what a tempting question ... and a deadly one. A feeling of being lost engulfed him as his mind played over her words. He needed to put space between them. She was too close.
Hell, now that he had felt her softness beneath him, he doubted even ten thousand miles would be enough space. Out of intense desperation, he frantically reminded himself who she was. A Lynwood. A witch. A tormentor. Quickly, he recalled the plan of strategy he had formed..
Thorton climbed over his outstretched legs, until she was straddling his powerful thighs. Blake swung around his head, coming face-to-face with his tormentor. Her breath fanned out over his face. The feel of her warm body inflamed his senses, making it impossible for him to throw her off.