by Lavinia Kent
She strode down the hall, turning her away from Lady Clarington who had some complaint about her sheets not having yet been changed.
“Tell your maid,” was her only answer as she went in pursuit of her prey.
Did he really have it in him to risk his pride a third time? To offer her all that she asked? Wulf sat in the library, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and debated the question as he had all morning. Mitter had made good progress at putting things to order and Wulf could only be thankful. They could leave in a few days, unless . . .
Maybe, he wouldn’t be leaving. He’d accepted in the late hours of the night that Holly House was his. He’d accept it and whatever latent guilt accompanied it. Only he hadn’t felt guilt, he’d felt relief. Now he just need a strategy, a plan to convince Rose that he could be what she wanted.
“You bloody bastard.”
He’d never heard such vehemence in her tone before. She stormed into the library, her eyes spitting with fury.
“How dare you treat my home this way? I’ve come to accept your contempt for me, but don’t you dare think I’ll let you take out your fury like this.”
Wulf just stared at her. He had no idea what she was talking about. His mouth must have gaped open as she stalked forward and stood before the table glaring down at him, her hands locked on her hips.
“Answer me. You talk about honor and then you destroy Burberry’s legacy.”
She dropped scraps of paper on the table before him, but he didn’t glance down. His mind was still spinning, trying to comprehend what she was screaming about. She’d always seemed so in control, even when her tongue was whipping his back bloody. It was a revelation to see her like this. If only he knew what he’d done wrong.
“Cat got your tongue, you son of a kelpie? It wasn’t enough for you to just take what you need and leave. No, you had to create such destruction it will probably never be straight again. I don’t know what Lord William was thinking to send you, stepson or not. Or maybe he didn’t send you. I can’t believe he’d send a man with so little value for knowledge.” She jabbed her finger into the torn paper. “Did you just come to torment me?”
She paused to draw a deep breath, her rising chest straining against the fabric of her gown. God, she was glorious.
“What are you talking about?” He kept his voice flat, refusing to rise to her bait. “The library looks exactly the same as it did on my arrival if anything it is neater. From the moment I first arrived it looked like pigs had been rooting. Hardly the orderly room I know Burberry kept. Don’t blame me for your own failings.”
She leaned over the desk, meeting him eye to eye, her finger still pinned to the scraps.
“Don’t even think to speak to me that way. I am tired of taking the blame for your own imagination. I am not talking about the library.” She looked around, her eyes growing even harder. “You know damn well what you’ve done and I want an apology and then your bags packed. Lord William can send someone else to collect the books or so help me I’ll just pack the whole lot and send them. I’d rather give up every single one than see them destroyed with such careless disregard.”
That was it. She was acting crazed and he didn’t have to take such abuse. She’d caused him enough difficulties already. His temper would take no more. His fury rose to meet hers. “Do you always blame others for your own mistakes? Is that how you justify yourself, your every betrayal?”
Her hands clenched at her sides. She bent forward until she stared at him eye to eye. He could see the moisture where her tongue had dampened her lower lip, smell the sweet scent of honey clinging to her skin.
“I do not need to justify myself to you.” She spoke each word with utter precision.
“You need to justify yourself to somebody, else why the pretense?”
She pulled back, her chest heaving with each breath, the fire in her eyes cutting through him. Without thought he caught her wrist hard, pulling her around the desk until she stood square before him.
He knew his grasp must pain her, but she gave no sign, just stood before him, gasping for breath, her gaze never leaving his. He could feel the flame, the sizzle.
For a moment they stood poised, two combatants lost in battle, then without a sound, without a clue as to who moved first they met, mouths open, lips pressing, battle raging.
It was a kiss to consume, to vanquish, to conquer. There was passion, but no trace of care or gentleness.
Her hands moved over his chest, working at buttons. His own ran across the top of her bodice, seeking, ravaging, worshiping. He could feel her fury with each breath she took, yet each quiver, each moan spoke of their endless need for each other. Her breasts were free then and he ripped his mouth from hers to settle it on different target. He pulled her nipple fiercely between his lips. His hunger for her was unrelenting.
God, how had he survived a week without this? He’d never found anger an aphrodisiac, but with her everything led back to this elemental fire.
“Damn, you’ll never be an easy wife, but there are compensations.” He runched up her skirts, letting his fingers trail up here velvet thighs towards the final victory.
“Wife? Why do you keep confusing this with marriage?” Rose gasped as she opened herself up to his prying fingers, wrenching his head back up to meet her biting kiss.
He froze as her words penetrated the frenzied fog of his brain. He let his hands drop. His lips quit moving beneath her onslaught.
“No. I won’t do this again, risk this again. I am not some pet for you to play with when you feel the need. If you want me, you take all of me, not just the pieces you find amusing – or desirable.” He spit the last word. The anger that had been drowned in their kiss rising up renewed, only to fade as he watched her shoulders sag. He pushed her from his and stood there, feeling each heaving breath as it filled his chest. By the time he’d counted twenty deep inhalations he was ready to meet her gaze.
He did not know if was victory or defeat he faced as he pulled back to search her face. What he saw stopped him cold. A moment before her eyes had held fury and the desire for mastery, now there was something else.
What had she done? She’d sworn she would not end up here again, but even in the height of her wrath she could not keep her hands from him. And he was right, she did keep taking, never returning the bits of soul she ripped from him. And still her body ached with unfulfilled desire.
Something caught in her gut. She held still. Deep greens and grays swirled in his eyes and she didn’t know their meaning. His lips were swollen with her kisses. Scratches ran along one side of his neck where her nails had raked him in her hurry.
Her chest ached with the effort of holding in the futile scream she longed to release. Why did he not run from her? Why was he everything she longed for and nothing she could have?
He raised one finger and traced her tender red lips. She pulled back, but let his fingers trace. There were no words for the feelings that swirled within her. The anger was still there, but so was something else, something she could not name. She continued to look at him, her eyes filled with caution.
“I am sorry.” They spoke in unison.
She never thought he’d say those words. She never thought she’d say them. She hesitated, nodded. It would do for now – her fury had left her worn.
He bent his head forward until they rested almost brow to brow. A great discovery lay just beyond her reach.
They breathed as one, each intake and exhale met by the other. No words remained. When the knocking on the door disturbed them it seemed as fate. They straightened their clothing mechanically, like some predestined automaton, each movement still and purposeful, but empty of all content.
Rose stood and walked to the door opening it without glancing back.
“We’ve another guest, my lady.” Marston’s clipped tones disturbed the ghostly quiet of the room.
Rose stepped into the hallway and slid the door closed behind her. She’d entered the library ready to send Wulf packing, infuriated
that he should care so little for what mattered so much to her. And instead . . .
She didn’t know what had transpired, how it had transpired. They had surged against each other, meeting as two great waves upon the sea, and both been drained.
“My lady, the Marquess of Wimberley has arrived. I did not believe we were expecting him.”
Marston’s words shook her from her thoughts.
“Tristan St. Johns? Here? He made his refusal clear, if eloquent. Are you sure?”
Marston stared at her. With almost no change of expression he made clear both his certainty and his dismay at her question. He was her butler, of course he was sure.
“Where have you put him?”
“He’s in the South Parlor. I should add that he came on horseback, with no luggage.”
“Yes, I’ll attend to him immediately.”
“Ummm, my lady.” For the first time Marston looked flustered.
“Yes, Marston.”
“Ummm, you might, that is, well, your buttons.”
Feeling an undesired blush stain her cheeks, Rose glanced down. She fumbled at her buttons and set them to rights. Then, with a practiced hand she smoothed her hair back and followed Marston down the hall and entered the parlor.
Tristan St.James, Marquess of Wimberly, stood by the open window, his back to her. She had met him once before and been greatly surprised by his appearance of youth. He must have been several years older than she, but something in his open appearance suggested the innocence of a school boy.
“Lord Wimberly, I was not aware we were going to be graced with your presence. Did I misunderstand your refusal?” Oh, dear, that sounded a great deal ruder than she had intended. She was just so thrown by the encounter with Wulf that she didn’t know what she was saying.
“Lady Burberry, I am sorry to arrive so unexpectedly. I do understand your confusion.” He turned towards her, the palest of eyes rising to meet her own. “I am seeking Major Huntington. I understand from his stepfather, Lord William, that he may be here. Is he in residence?”
The very solemnity of his tone cancelled the first perception of a young man fresh to the country. He was not here for a social call.
“Yes, he is. Would you like me to have him sent for?”
Wimberly pondered this for a moment. She saw his clear eyes cloud for a moment and then settle, restoring his even countenance.
“I need to speak with him privately, I have important news to impart. Is that best done here?”
“He’s in the library at present. It is as good a place as any to talk. Should I show you to him then?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Wulf raised his head as, with the softest of knocks the door opened. Rose entered, her face still and emotionless.
“You have a visitor, Major Huntington.”
He looked beyond Rose and saw a familiar form enter the room. He’d have known that white blond hair anywhere.
“Tris, what brings you here? It’s been well over a year since you bothered to search me out.”
“I’d some business in the vicinity and, well, I’ve news, and not the gladdest tidings though some may see them differently.” Tris turned to Rose. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Burberry.”
“Of course.” Rose answered quietly, betraying no hint of curiosity.
Wulf gestured Tris to the seat across, his mind still caught up with Rose’s carefully schooled features and what she sought to hide.
“Falmouth is taken with smallpox and not expected to survive.”
It took a moment for Tris’s words to burrow through his thoughts.
“I don’t know why you joke. My uncle’s been dead over a year. I am sure his corpse is well beyond catching a disease of any variety. Surely you didn’t hunt me out for that.”
“Not your uncle, his heir.”
The earth stopped spinning. His mind could not grasp the words that Tris spoke.
“He can’t be. He’s what, eight years old.”
“It’s true, apparently disease ripped through from the village. There have been several deaths. I am not sure why his mother didn’t have him innoculated. But, no matter what the story, it seems likely you will be Falmouth by the end of the week, if not before.
Wulf looked up into his friend’s dull eyes. Tris was perhaps the only other person in the world who understood the import of those words. In a long ago drunken stupor he’d revealed all the secrets of his heart to his boyhood friend.
Tris sank into the chair across from him, his usual jovial façade faded. “I am so sorry. I know what this must mean to you.”
Wulf fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
“Why should it mean anything to me? I never met the boy, never even saw him.”
“That probably only makes it worse.”
Wulf stumbled to his feet. He couldn’t even think beyond the need to get out of there, to escape this airless room. He paced across the carpet.
“God, you're right, Tris. I must leave. Maybe, I can make it in time. There must be something I can do.”
“Sit down and steady yourself. Can I call for a brandy? It is early in the day, but such tidings call for desperate measures.” Tris spoke quietly, but forcefully. Wulf could see the inner strength Tris hid behind his boyish looks.
“No, I just need to be on my way.” He headed for the door.
“Where to?”
“Why Whytehill, of course. I must see to the boy.”
“Sit, please, just for a moment and listen.”
Wulf forced his feet to still, moved and sat, no sank, into the chair. He turned his face to Tris and tried to listen as his mind raced for the door, out the hall and to the stable.
“Wulf, I know this is hard for you, but you must accept both that it is none of your doing and that there is nothing you can do. I stopped and saw Westlake on my way.”
Did he know, too? Wulf had thought it was his secret, shared only with Tris.
“No, I see your question from the look on your face. Westlake knows nothing beyond that your cousin is gravely ill. I was seeking his advice on another matter entirely. When I mentioned my visit here, however, he said he’d had a strange conversation with you a year ago. That you had been trying to visit your cousin and been denied by his mother, by Clarissa. Do you really need to batter yourself against that door again?”
Wulf let his head fall to his hands. For a moment he had forgotten Clarissa and her manipulations.
“No.” He breathed the word and brushed his stinging eyes. “She will not welcome me, but surely there is a way.”
“The boy may not even live for you to make the journey. Stay here and wait. I’ve instructed my people to send word as soon as anything is known. I’ll talk to Lady Burberry. It would already be late by the time you could leave. Think about it, at least for tonight. You can leave in the morning if you are still driven.”
“No, I must go – if there is even a chance.”
“I did not want to put it so bluntly, but you are now a man of responsibility. I remember from our boyhood days whom follows you in the line of succession. Have your views on the unsuitability of your distant cousin changed? I see the answer in your face. Then all I can ask is if you yourself have been inoculated? What risks are you prepared to take?”
“No, I haven’t.” Wulf would have given anything to answer differently.
“Then stay. It is not only yourself that hangs in the balance. You must think of others.”
Wulf clenched his eyes tight. He knew his friend talked of the estate and its tenants, but his mind filled with Anna – and Rose. He would not desert one child for the sake of another, but still his heart cried out to speed away. “You’re sure I’ll be informed with all haste? Clarissa will not want this news spread. She will hold it back as long as possible.”
Tris smiled a bitter smile. “I have my ways. Yes, you will be informed with all haste. Are you sure about that brandy?”
“I will be fine.” He did
not believe the words himself.
“All the same, I’ll speak to Lady Burberry about my spending the night and your possible departure.”
“I can’t think of that now.” Wulf pushed himself out of the chair. “Just let me out, I need air.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“No. I don’t mean to be rude. But, just let me be.”
Wulf could feel Tris’s practiced eye move over him, feel his mind working. God, all he wanted was to be outside, to escape, to pretend none of this was real.
“I’ll talk to Lady Burberry, then.”
“Do whatever you feel is suitable.”
Wulf nodded to Tris and rushed from the room. He felt so numb he could not put together coherent thought. All he wanted was to be alone.
Rose looked about the nursery, the bright walls and shelves of toys. She rubbed the coverlet across her own narrow bed. With the house already full the only space left to put the Marquess had been her own bed. It was probably the only room suitable for him anyway, unless she wanted to move Wulf, and given the news Wimberly had passed on, that seemed most inappropriate.
Anna’s blocks still resided in the corner next to the maps she’d been tracing. It probably wasn’t smart to leave them with her daughter, but so far the child seemed to be taking care of them. If she could survive in a nursery with crossed swords and pistols on the wall, Burberry had wanted to give her a sense of adventure despite her sex, then she could care for a couple of maps. It wasn’t like adults were any more careful, understood the importance of . . .
Damn. Her heart ached for Wulf. She knew many would rejoice at the hope of a title, but Wulf would only grieve for the loss of such a young life, his own cousin. She hoped his absence from dinner did not mean he was overtaken by coming grief. It seemed out of character for him to be so deeply affected, but she didn’t know how else to understand Wulf’s strong reaction. Wimberly in talking of their possible departure had mentioned Wulf had not been back to Whytehill since the boy was born, surely he couldn’t be hurting too deeply.
But, Anna had reported he’d snuck into the nursery and squeezed her tight. He’d spoken barely a word, but held her as if he had no choice. Her daughter had been distressed by his behavior, unsure how to offer comfort. Anna had spilled the episode in her own confusion and added only to Rose’s own sorry state of mind. There was more here than had been revealed.