by Lavinia Kent
“The hour is too late for this wordplay. Come to the point, or I’ll bed you down in the stables with the grooms.” Her face flushed with chagrin the moment she spat the words. Her pretense of disaffection was wearing thin.
The butler stiffened, and Wulf watched as she forced the corners of her lips to curl up. He painted on his own smile as he replied.
“Surely, you can find a better place to bed me down than that?” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Although, if I remember, you once remarked on the great comfort of fresh hay.”
A cough from her sharp-eared butler drew his attention and he turned, but not before noting the even deeper flush that colored her face.
“Sir, your coachman has arrived from the stable after seeing to your trunks. The other gentleman, a Mr. Mitter, I believe, wishes to know where he should put his papers. He is most anxious to retire.”
How the bloody hell did the butler know all that? Wulf would have sworn he had not moved from the front door in the time he’d been dueling with Rose – Lady Burberry.
Giving no indication of surprise at the butler’s knowledge, Lady Burberry – he must think of her that way – pursed her lips in consideration.
“It is too late to send them back to the inn. You may place Mr. Mitter in the Lavender Room, Matson. It is rather feminine for a gentleman’s taste, but there is no helping it. Every other room will be occupied on the morrow.”
Lady Burberry turned back to him with the sweetest of smiles. “As for Major Huntington, who still has not explained why he is here, he was just expressing a fondness for straw. I do believe the stable is actually full, but perhaps the paddock barn?”
Matson coughed again, with clear disgruntlement. No proper butler would ever dream of removing a gentleman to a barn.
Lady Burberry opened her eyes wide and looked at the butler with bold bewilderment, a very different act from her usual self-assuredness. “Major Huntington knows I but jest, yet truly, where else can we put him? I know that every other room is spoken for, and we can’t have our invited guests wait to settle upon their arrival.”
Matson shifted from one foot to the other before speaking. “Forgive me, my lady, but I do believe there is one set of chambers still unoccupied.”
This time her bewilderment seemed genuine. She looked at Matson, the question clear in her eyes.
“His lordship’s chambers have no planned occupants. As they adjoin your own, you had expressed some desire to leave them empty, but with no other space to be had . . .”
Lady Burberry turned away, but not before Wulf saw her face freeze. Her shoulders drew back, tensed.
“No, absolutely not. That would be most improper.”
Wulf leaned towards her, lowering his voice, “And you would never be improper would you, my lady?”
She shot him a glare and turned back to the butler. God, she was glorious when angry. He steadied his breathing.
“Is there nowhere else? It would not be fitting, even for one night, to place him in the Master Chamber.” She drew a heavy breath and his eyes again were drawn to her full curves. “I suppose we could put Major Huntington in the Lavender Room and bed Mr. Mitter down with . . .”
The butler cleared his throat. “Actually, I do have one further suggestion. Lord Burberry’s chamber on this floor is still furnished with bedding. If Major Huntington does not mind being surrounded with books, then . . .”
Wulf could see that she didn’t like this answer either as her lips drew thin.
“Yes, I suppose that will have to do. Have the fire lit. I am afraid the room will be quite cold and perhaps damp. Not welcoming at all.”
Wulf could not miss the full implication of her words, but of course he had never expected a welcome – would not have come at all if he could have seen an easy way to avoid it.
“I am sure the room will be more than satisfactory, my lady.”
Rose nodded and turned back to her butler. “Oh, and Matson, be sure to place the key to the inner stair at my bedside. We wouldn’t want to risk someone turning it . . . by mistake, now would we?”
Wulf wasn’t sure what stair she meant, but the insinuation was impossible to miss. Matson, well trained as he was, gave not the slightest betrayal that there was anything odd in his mistress’s words. He departed to follow her command.
As soon as the servants were gone, she pivoted towards him. Her hair flew about in fiery splendor as she spun. His fingers clenched, resisting the urge to touch.
“And now, Major Huntington, perhaps you would finally explain your presence here.” The ice queen returned. “As you may have inferred, I am expecting a large number of guests and need my rest so that I may undertake the duties of a hostess with the care that is my wont. You are, to be candid, an unwanted and undesired complication.
“At our last meeting you stated clearly that you considered me a strumpet and whore. I hope you will understand if I find it difficult to maintain a polite façade in your presence.”
She was beautiful, her cheeks so flushed, almost as if she’d just been . . . his body tightened. Damn. He must keep his mind from the gutter. He wanted no part of her – never again.
“I don’t believe I used either of those words. You always were the one with – an extended vocabulary. I merely stated that you were a deceitful vixen who’d relished cuckolding your husband and something about betraying one of England’s greatest heroes. I am foggy on the exact wording – but, whore, no. I don’t recall that you required payment. However, neither do I recall a denial on your part.” He didn’t even look at her as he spoke. He would dismiss her from his mind. “Now, perhaps we could adjourn to the study and I could have a brandy as we discuss the matter. Lord Burberry kept an excellent stock, if memory serves. And I do remember the occasion most vividly. We can discuss my undesirability there.”
“I think not.” She had paled slightly at his words, but her eyes sparked and he could read a diatribe in those three short words. “I will say again, we have nothing to discuss. You have made your opinions clear and I feel no further need to discuss them with a bore who didn’t feel the need to listen the first time. Now, the hour is late and I am to bed. Why are you here?”
But, whose bed? He almost spoke the words aloud. “As I am not an invited guest, I am not covered by your duties as a hostess, then?”
“Why are you here?”
He had done all he could to avoid this mission, but loyalty to his stepfather had won. He assumed a more civil tone.
“Well, actually I was invited, and by your own hand, I believe. I am here to select some books for my stepfather, Lord William Chesterdown. Mr. Blaine, your late husband’s solicitor, explained the situation, surely?”
The remainder of the flush that had so colored her cheeks fled in an instant. She closed her eyes once, pressing them tight, and again her chest filled and held with a single, full breath.
When she exhaled, slowly, he could feel the warmth of her breath surround him in the softest of caresses. He tried not to remember how hot that breath could be, how quickly it had stirred him. He knew the truth about her now.
“Yes, I do remember, now.” She spoke softly, as if to herself. “Mr. Blaine did explain that Lord William Chesterdown was sending a representative to make selections from the books Burberry had bequeathed him. It is true I was expecting this representative. I had forgotten the connection between yourself and Lord William.”
She seemed to study the wall behind him for a moment, and he thought her expression betrayed a real regret.
“You really must forgive me, Major Huntington. In the thick of making preparations for my guests, I must have overlooked the date of your arrival. That – at least – was most unforgivable of me.”
Lady Burberry refused to meet his eyes as she spoke, and Wulf could see what the precise apology cost her as her pallor lengthened like a shadow upon her.
“No forgiveness is necessary – for your forgetfulness.” Two could play with words. “I should have w
ritten myself, to explain the situation.”
He should not have said anything. At his words her gaze sprang up and the fire returned.
“And why didn’t you?”
How did he answer that? Even he was not sure of the answer. He should never have given in to Lord William’s request. He could have manufactured some excuse. This was the last place he should have allowed himself to come. There was nothing to be gained – and more tortured pieces of his soul to lose. Only, he had sworn not to let Lord William down and no woman would ever again cause him to shirk honor and duty.
At his silence Rose continued. “So you decided to return. Do you remember being here before? Do you remember standing in Burberry’s study, drinking his well-remembered brandy, and without a word spoken between us, accusing me of untold crimes. And then at his funeral, when I was already dying inside, you attacked me with further accusations. How did you expect me to react? What can you possibly want from me? Why are you really here? What further vengeance can you seek?” Her voice broke. “No, do not answer. The hour is late and nothing you can say will be satisfactory.”
Wulf shrugged. Who was she to question him? She was the betrayer. She had stolen his pride, his honor, and sent him back to hell. Yes, he had been foolish. He should have known better, but that did not excuse what she had done. And if the rumors about the child were true, then she had stolen an even greater treasure from him. What right did she have to tell him to be quiet? He turned back towards her. No, he would not be silent.
The patter of shoes harkened the butler’s return.
He met her gaze as the servant entered. He spoke each word slowly, letting her read their untruth in his eyes. “Again, my Lady Burberry, I apologize. I should not have been so sure the missives telling of my arrival were clear. And, it is I who has arrived at such an unsuitable an hour. I am sure if I had arrived in the afternoon my reception would have been far different.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” She murmured the words so quietly that he wasn’t sure they did not exist only in his mind. She then turned to her butler. “Is the chamber in readiness?”
“It will be a few moments, my lady. The maids are working now. I came to have the gentleman’s trunks collected.”
Eyeing the growing collection of servants moving to gather his bags, she smiled up at Wulf with the fixed smile of every society hostess. Yes, ladies were always polite before the help. “Let me show you Burberry’s study – I am sure you’re eager to revisit it – and pour you that brandy after all. I really must beg leave, but it is far past my normal hour of repose, and if I do not retire now I will not be at my best in the morning.”
“You should breakfast in your room, and not show your face until lunch. I am sure that your servants are more than able to prepare for guests even in your absence.”
“That has never been my way, and I promised Anna, my daughter, that I would . . .”
A knife stabbed into his heart at her words. The daughter. This would be the chance for him to learn the truth, to find out just how deceptive the lady was. If the child were his, the whole game would change.
Lady Burberry did not continue the thought, for she, too, caught the tension of the moment. A spider, a black widow, encased in her own web.
“Yes, let me fetch you that brandy.” Not by the slightest quaver in her voice did she betray the thoughts he knew must be flowing through her mind, as they swirled through his own.
“Yes, I could use a drink to restore myself.” Or to at least blur the memories that rose from that storm of thoughts.
Lady Burberry led him down the hall and into the small, masculine room that her husband had chosen to make his own. A footman followed with his trunk. The scent of cigars and brandy still permeated the study reminding Wulf vividly of Admiral Lord Burberry, surely as good and wise a man as had ever been born. What had such a man ever done to deserve this Salome as a wife? Wulf’s own bitterness burned in the pit of his stomach with a fiercer warmth than any strong spirit would light. He would never forget sitting in this very room and being introduced to Rose by . . . her husband. He knew he bore some responsibility for what had happened between them that day. He’d asked her no questions. He’d acted more like a lusty boy, than a man who’d often stared death in the eye. Perhaps that had been the issue – having seen so many men die, how could he resist the ripe vision of life she’d offered as she knelt among the brambles?
Still, whatever his own part in the play, he had lost the little that remained of his innocence on that day, when he learnt the fullness of her betrayal.
She walked with steady tread to the cabinet and filled a glass. Laying it on the table by the unlit fire, she turned, her eyes lowered. The candle softened her features, highlighting their simple perfection. He swallowed and spun away. He would not be deceived again. She’d already made the warmth of his welcome clear.
“I will check on Matson and then retire. I wish you the best for the night.” Her gaze moved to the footman arranging the trunk in the corner. He could sense the sharp words she did not say. “I assume you can make your selections from the library quickly and spare us further difficulties. I should be clear that we have nothing to speak of beyond your selections. I hope I am understood.”
His cheeks spread in a knowing smile. She glanced up and he let his eyes rake over her, stopping at hips and bosom, before rising to settle on her lips. His unwilling hands still longed to touch – even with all he knew. She shuddered, stiffened and turned towards the door. He felt the sting of her rebuff. The only weapons at his disposal were words, words that he let surround her like a practiced caress.
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, my lady. Besides, I don’t like to do anything too quickly. I like to take my time and make sure I don’t miss anything. The most wonderful treasures can be found in this fashion. Don’t you agree?”
Her feet froze at the door. “No, Major Huntington. You may have the advantage of superior military knowledge, but I believe nonetheless that, with an orderly plan of attack, speed is a virtue.”
He frowned. “Once, I believe, I made you think you otherwise.”
She didn’t answer, but scurried from the room.
“And Lady Burberry,” he called, as she sped towards the stair. “You wouldn’t have anything to hide that my treasure hunt might reveal, would you? Something of mine you’ve avoided mentioning? I always make sure to claim what is mine.”
He couldn’t be sure whether she’d heard him or not.
The nerve of the man, bursting into her home uninvited. Well, perhaps not quite uninvited, but still he could have given some warning. Rose had no doubt that he had planned and enjoyed her anger and confusion. He clearly delighted in causing her pain.
Every cold, heartless word had stabbed at her.
Where was articulate and warm man, so full of life, that she’d encountered all those years past? Even the angry, but emotional soldier who’d stormed at her during her husband’s memorial would have been preferable to this frozen iceberg of a man.
His words had been ready and full of sting, but his tone – his tone had lacked all edge of fire. The very lifelessness of his voice twisted each verbal dagger deeper.
She curled her stocking-covered toes into the carpet. At least, he hadn’t noticed her feet. She’d felt vulnerable enough standing there shoeless as he commented on her impropriety. It had been bad enough that the floors were cold – one more ice-blooded comment from him and she’d have . . .
No. She could not afford to give him such power no matter how her body – and her mind – reacted to his presence. At future meetings she would have to remember that they were, in fact, little more than strangers. She would show him how a true lady acted. She’d not share another drop of emotion.
She rang for a maid to loosen her gown and without further ado settled herself for bed. She would give no further thought to that man, that devil come to torment her. She fluffed up her pillows, closed her eyes and prepared for sleep with the
same calm with which she approached slumber most evenings. She would not be unsettled.
Blasted, bloody man. Blasted, gorgeous man. She could still feel the heat from his body as he’d towered over her, her eyes level with his well-muscled chest, the still familiar scent of his body wafting towards her, surrounding her. She opened her eyes and recited all the curses John had so lovingly taught her. She tried to concentrate on that, to remember the laughter in John’s eyes every time some particularly dastardly term passed her lips. But those dratted emerald eyes kept replacing John’s quiet brown ones, setting off shots of flame in her belly, making her heart race. Despite all the pain he’d caused her, Wulf had been her secret dream for five long years.
And now he was in John’s room. Oh, not the true master chamber, next to her own, but the small sitting room near the library that John had taken over when his illness made movement difficult. He’d so enjoyed being surrounded by his papers in the early morning hours before the rest of the house awoke. She closed her eyes and tried again to concentrate on her husband, on the intense concentration she’d find on his face as she slipped down the inner servants’ stair to check on him. The inner stair that ran down from her unoccupied dressing room connecting her to . . .
Drat.
Biting her lip, hard, she stretched and reached over to feel along the edge of the small bedside table. Her fingers paused as she touched the carved sandalwood box Burberry had brought back on one of his trips. She eased the box open. Her hand slipped in and slid past the battered edge of a worn letter, the silky glide of a tattered bit of green ribbon. Deliberately she clasped her fingers around the cold iron key to the stair. Matson was, as always, efficient. She brought the key to her face and rubbed the chilled metal against her lips, wishing it would cool them.
Why did he have such an effect on her? Even now, when he slammed her with words, while not deigning to grant inflection to his voice, he drew her as no other man – ever – had, giving rise to these inner flares of anxiety, dread, and desire.