by Glenda Diana
“I think it best if I wait until morning to see her,” Lucas stated.
“No, old man. I know a certain chit who won't sleep a wink until I bring home her errant brother.” Blake laughed. “Nice try, though.”
Lucas groaned as he settled in the seat.
Thorton was waiting at the door when they arrived. She saw Blake give Lucas a slight nudge in her direction and that was all the encouragement she needed. Without hesitation, she ran to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight.
She finally released her death grip on Lucas.
“We have some talking to do,” he told her. “It can wait until morning.”
“All right,” she murmured and watched him walk down the hall.
“But, we, Madame, shall have our talk tonight,” Blake stated.
When Blake started guiding her toward the library, she pulled loose of his hold. “Where are we going?”
“To have our talk.”
“In there? I don't want to talk in there.”
“Why?” he asked, irritation growing.
“I hate your library. This one and the one at Stonecrest.”
Blake gave her a wicked smile. “I remember one evening in particular that you seemed to enjoy my library.”
She blushed. “That was the only time. Since then you have only lectured and shouted at me from behind yonder desk.”
Blake laughed. “And in which room would you like to have our talk?”
Thorton felt her body turn warm. “There is one room I find much more to my liking.”
Blake laughed again when his minx of a wife wiggled her brows in a suggestive flirt. “We would never get to the talking part. Is that why you're advising it?”
Thorton gasped in mock outrage. “Me? Suggest something so obvious? So delicious? So thrilling? That would make me a brazen wench.”
Blake rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip as he considered her words. “That sounds like my wife.”
Thorton wrapped her arms around him. “What do you say, Milord?”
Sliding his arm underneath her knees, he carried her upstairs. He had a firm plan. Unfortunately, it was forgotten by the time he closed their chamber door.
Chapter Twelve
Blake ran his hand down Thorton's back as she lay curled against him. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart and slow his breathing to a level of normalcy. It seemed every time they made love it got better. That was something he hadn't thought possible.
“Thor, we need to talk.”
Taking a deep breath, she gave a quick prayer for strength. What would he say after he heard her confession? He had asked her a number of times about this subject. But once she voiced the words, would he hate her?
“My father, Robert, left Rosewood soon after my birth, not bothering to return until I was five. Of course, that was the time he took me for the signing of the betroth. He explained that, though I was too young to sign, my presence was one of great importance. At the time, I didn't understand much more beyond the fact I would have a husband. Over the years I gave a great deal of thought to our betrothal.
“Not many girls could claim they had a husband since the ripe age of five. Being the sometimes rash and adventuress miss I was, I bragged about my unusual circumstances to everyone ... everyday. I believe there were times when the people of Rosewood wished you'd hurry and retrieve your arrogant bride. Which, by doing so, you would give their ears a rest from my ofttimes aggravating self.
“Most of my life, I thought my father hated me, and that was why he never came to Rosewood. I received letters and gifts throughout the years, telling me where he'd been, what he was doing. Understanding came, as I grew older. It wasn't that he actually hated me, I just happened to have been born a replica of my mother. Robert loved my mother, I guess. But it wasn't the same kind of love he had for the woman before her.
“Lucas’ mother?” Blake guessed.
Thorton sat up in bed and slowly shook her head. “Your mother.”
Confused, Blake thought he must have misunderstood.
“The disagreement between our fathers was over a woman ... your mother. Lady Ann chose the man she'd loved and wanted, Roger Bradley. Like in so many areas of my father's life, such as being a father, a husband, Robert Lynwood was a poor loser. I truly believe that's what drove him to his almost crazed state of mind. He rarely lost.
“My father became determined to win back the Lady Ann and at all costs. Even if it meant playing dirty. He started by causing a scene whenever he came upon Roger and Lady Ann. He made sure he attended the same parties, just happened to be in the park when they were there. Frankly my father became a thorn in their sides and a nuisance.
“Then you were born. My father's sanity, or what was left of it, grew thinner. He was angry and hurt that Ann had given Roger one more possession Robert would never have. First she had given Roger all her love, then gave him a child made from that love.
“That's when Robert Lynwood went in search for a young woman to be his wife. It was his way of retaliating. Eliza, my mother, fell in love with Robert at first glance. She worshipped the ground on which he walked. Little good it did her. Most of the time he didn't even know she existed.”
Thorton sniffed, trying to hold back tears. The memories of her mother were few, but each of them seemed so sad. Over and over, in preparation of this moment, she had memorized details of this tale. But, still in fear of Blake's rejection, it made the telling hard. Fear ... she gave a silent laugh. Lucas always said she did not have enough sense to feel fear. She did now.
Thorton gave a sigh and continued. “Robert became obsessed with wanting a child of his own. Yet, he could not stay at Rosewood and keep his ever-watchful eyes on your parents. He equally divided his time between the two tasks, trying to gain his goals. Then your mother died and Roger turned to drinking and gambling.
“My father sat back and waited like a vulture circling its prey. Roger continued to drown his sorrows, gamble at every opportunity. During this time my mother gave birth to me. My father still waited until Roger was so deep in debt only a miracle could pull him out. That's when my father bought up your father's markers. With them was the deed to Stonecrest. That was when the bargain was made.”
Thorton took a calming breath. “My father returned home once more after signing the contract ... the day they buried my mother. I remember him sitting beside me, taking my hand in his. He told me it was a sorry thing to waste a life. That it took my mother's death for him to finally realize he could've had everything, the kind of love Roger and Ann shared, the family life he often envied. Instead, he threw it away for the sake of revenge. That was the only time I ever heard him say he actually loved my mother.
“He never returned to Rosewood. He wrote saying he loved my mother and me and, for that love and all his wrongs, he would find a way to right them. He stated it was too painful to look upon a child Eliza had given him out of love, a love he'd never felt until too late. I think his tortured mind haunted him with memories of her and what could have been, if only he would've cared.
“At least I understand why my father never told me the whole story. He probably felt I would be ashamed of him for losing it all.” Blake pulled her close.
“Everyone grieves in their own way.”
“Everything seems so clear.”
Thorton held her silence, giving Blake time to sort out all she had said. The story had been long, and in some areas, difficult to tell. But to Blake, it was new and perhaps painful.
“One more thing, Thorton. Tell me what your dream is, your goal.” He wanted to pull the words back into his mouth. He was honest enough to admit he dreaded her answer.
Thorton got out of bed and wrapped a robe around herself as she walked to the closet. She retrieved a tattered satchel. Returning to the bed, she opened it, pulling out a stack of papers and handing them to Blake. “These are my treasures.”
Numerous sketches of faces stared up at him. Blake shift
ed the papers. One after another, he studied them. Finally he raised his gaze to her, searching for an answer or explanation. “These sketches are of me.”
“Are they not beautiful?” Thorton sighed, running her hand over them. “At Rosewood, they hung my chamber.” She blushed.
“I don't understand.” Before him lay pictures of himself at different ages. In one picture, he had to be about sixteen; in another, he wore his uniform. Brief little glimpses of his life, suspended, caught in time. It gave him an eerie feeling seeing himself frozen on the pages. Their quantity stunned him. There had to be hundreds.
Thorton pulled a picture from the stack. Blake was sitting on a horse; the sun had cast one side of his face in shadows. His eyes gazed straight ahead. The scar on the sun-lit cheek showed how badly the war had ravaged him, but his eyes displayed his wounded soul.
“This one is my favorite,” Thorton whispered. “You'd just returned home. When I first saw it, I cried for the pain you must have felt. Then I cried for the hatred...”
“Hatred?” Blake felt bile rise in his throat. How could she not feel hatred? He looked like a Beast. He gathered the pictures into a pile. He wanted to shake her, shout about the injustice he had been served ... that it wasn't hatred she felt when they made love.
Thorton watched his hands shake as he stacked the drawings. She touched his hand, waiting for him to look at her. As his raised his head, she saw the haunted expression and offered a gentle smile. “I felt hate for the man who hurt you, Blake. I've always loved and wanted you ... only you.”
His pulse increased, making him dizzy. She was a drug, intoxicating him with hallucinogenic kisses and her luscious body. Again he looked at the sketches. A cold feeling enfolded him. Thorton had known most everything about him. Especially the way he looked. She had studied these pictures for years. No wonder she'd never flinched at the sight of him. It wasn't that she saw him through eyes of innocence, she saw him through eyes of one well-trained. Was it pity she felt? Or was it a game? God, she was better at this pretense than he'd thought.
When he stood, Thorton knew his thoughts were not good, which meant it did not bode well for her. Her heart ached. She reached for him, but when he stepped away, she let her hand fall to her side.
“Blake?” Her voice seemed to echo.
He tied the belt of his robe before turning his cold stare on her. “Who was the superb artist who supplied these drawings?”
His ravished voice brought her anger to the surface. How could he be so rash in his judgment? Jumping up, she stand in front of him. Whatever was going through his mind was vile, cruel. She had poured out her heart, shared her most prized treasure with him.
None of it seemed to matter to him, though. He raised his ever-present shield to block her out. Oh, she would answer him, she stormed mentally, but first she would tell him what she thought. Her hands went to her hips; she drew in a deep breath. Air hissed from her parted lips as her hands fell in defeat. No matter how much he was hurting her, she could not be like him.
“You, sir, are an idiot! I tell you I love and have wanted you all my life, and what do I get? Nothing. Your rash thoughts immediately condemn me. Will you let me finish what I was telling you?”
“I don't want to hear more.”
“Why am I not surprised?” She gathered her drawings, placing them in the satchel.
“Who drew those pictures?”
“You said you didn't want to hear. If you cannot listen to it all, then...” Placing the bag at the side of her closet, she pulled out her black riding habit and matching boots.
Blake reached her in two strides and yanked the garments from her hand, slinging them across the room. Thorton was shocked when he grabbed her chin and forced back her head to look at him. His eyes were so cold; she shivered in reaction. The pressure he applied on her jaw brought tears to her eyes. But she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing her pain. He would undoubtedly think it a ploy.
“You are not leaving.” His voice lashed out hard and flat. “In case you have forgotten, you are my wife.”
Thorton tried to slap away his hand. “As if I could forget. You ... you hard-headed Sapscully! Release me!”
“You had to marry me in order to sign everything over to Lucas!”
She now had insight of what was playing through his mind. “You're hurting my jaw.”
“Answer my question.”
“Yes. But, that has nothing to do with what we were talking about. If you would let me finish, you'd understand-”
“I understand perfectly. The question you have to ponder is whether it was worth it. Your marriage plan has just been altered!”
“What do you mean?” she asked, holding her breath.
Blake's smile did not reach his eyes. “You will not be leaving in ten months. In fact, you will not be leaving at all.”
Thorton was stunned speechless. She started to tell him she would do whatever she wanted, but the arrogant arse had given her exactly what she'd wanted. She carefully kept her emotions from showing. If he had any inclination of her joy, he would likely change his mind.
“Do you know what you're saying?” She gasped in feigned anger. What she really wanted to do was throw her arms around him or, better yet, drag him into bed.
“Do you understand what I am saying?” Blake released her chin and scowled when he saw the red marks he'd left. She was too tender, he thought sourly. He turned away before he said something stupid, like he was sorry.
“Blake?”
“I want to hear none of your pleading. You've made your unhealthy choices. Now, I will make choices for you. You will remain my wife until death, and if there is anymore deceit, I'll guarantee you will depart long before I.”
Thorton jumped when the door slammed shut. The man was worse than a Beast ... hard-hearted, cruel, unforgiving, jumping to ridiculous conclusions. Still she had to smile. The man thought he had won this battle, but was in for a major surprise.
Within an hour Blake had Thorton's personal items moved to the adjoining chamber. “As it should have been to begin with,” he informed her. She sat quietly as servants busied themselves doing as the Baron ordered. All was not lost; at least he had not sent her away.
He did, however, instruct her on exactly what he wanted from their marriage. Three rules: she was to give him children, stay out of his way, cause no trouble. Of course, staying out of his way would be difficult, more difficult than Blake could have imagined, she thought with a smile. If Blake thought she was an irritation before, he had not seen anything yet.
The Abominable Baron thought he had her trapped. A shame he hadn't realized he not only had her caged, but himself as well. He had condemned her to spend the rest of her life under his rule and, in return, his own life was embroiled with hers. The Devilish Baron had sealed his own fate.
Thorton covered her laughter with her hand. There were numerous things she had to prepare. Blake could play the role of warden if he so desired, but she would play a totally different role than that of the prisoner.
Mentally she began making a list. Before long, Blake would see his errors. Everything took planning and excellent timing, of course. The Baron might know his way around a battlefield, but what he didn't know was just how cunning she could be. And this particular battle would not be fought on a field, but in the heart.
It would've been so much easier had he let her explain, or if he'd believed her when she said she loved and wanted him. But of course, he couldn't do that. In his mind he saw himself in one way-as the Beast, others called him-which meant he didn't believe she could have these emotions for him. He believed himself unworthy of such gifts.
It was going to be up to her to change his ill-thinking. It was going to take skillful maneuvering, patience. She was up to the deed. Blake had never seen the Thorton she was going to show him. He was used to a different kind of opponent, unprepared for what she had in store.
Doubts tried to enter her mind, but Thorton pushed them aside. She co
uldn't afford to fail, couldn't let her goal slip from her grasp. For fifteen years she had waited for the fulfillment of her quest. She couldn't surrender. She couldn't accept his ruling as providence, letting him have the last arrogant word.
She would not let him win this war.
* * * *
Questions. Blake was sick of questions. The only thing they were doing was giving him an aching head and making him furious. Roger had asked repeatedly what was going on when he noticed servants moving Thorton's things. Griggs was curious if this sudden change had anything to do with her being an heiress. The very notion was preposterous and infuriating.
The only one who had not looked at him funny or had not asked a single question was Lucas. Of coarse, Lucas was too busy listening to whatever Thorton was telling him. It appeared she was trying to talk him to death. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, leaning forward so she could whisper to Lucas, who was sitting across from her.
She had on another one of her outlandish outfits. Blake distinctly remembered telling her not to bring them to London. When she'd entered the drawing room she paused dramatically in the doorway to let the effect of her clothing hit him full force. When he saw the tight black pants and the scarlet silk vest brushing against the floor, he had almost demanded she remove them. But the words got caught in his throat as one tantalizing thought after another formed in his head.
At the sight of the dark bruises on her jaw, he scowled. He had not meant to mark her. His curiosity grew as he watched Thorton and Lucas. He stood in front of the hearth in order to overhear.
“Mark my words, Lucas. It won't be long now and you will be setting up your own household. I know you will find a woman who's perfect for you.”
Lucas smiled at her enthusiasm. “And will we be as happy as you and the Baron?”
She ignored his comment. “Have you decided which house you will live in?”
“I seriously doubt I'll find a woman here in Town to marry me. Not many mothers will be pushing their chicks in my direction. I'd most likely taint their blood lines.”