“And is that what you think, my lord?”
“I think such a statement leaves out one essential element.”
“And what is that?”
He leaned forward, his warm breath caressing her cheek. “Passion.”
Bliss tried not to think of the images that word evoked or how odd his nearness made her feel. “Women are not supposed to be passionate, my lord. Indeed, our lack of passion is an idea that is universally accepted as a fact. To assume otherwise is indecent.”
“Then I guess you would be excluded from that assumption.”
Bliss didn’t want to respond to his unexpected compliment or the look in his eyes, yet her knees felt decidedly weak as she said, “I thought you found me frigid?”
He seemed to find the curve of her neck fascinating. “Perhaps I simply think you possess far more passion than you allow yourself to express. Maybe you’re not as free as you believe yourself to be.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffed, and yet his remark struck a chord. Was she afraid to give her desire free rein? “Just because I allowed you to seduce me—marginally—does not mean I would have held back had I been interested in…”
“In?” he prompted when she hesitated.
She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. “In making love to you,” she replied.
“Let me clarify one thing,” he said in a disturbingly husky tone. “You didn’t allow me to seduce you; you were willing to be seduced. There’s a difference. And you haven’t even been properly seduced yet. But not for lack of trying, I assure you.” Before she could take issue with his arrogant assumption, he went on. “So with this dim view you have of the male population, should I assume you intend never to marry?”
“I’ve resigned myself to being unmarried.”
“Cleverly worded, love. But it doesn’t answer the question.”
“Why would any intelligent woman want marriage?” she countered, watching a curlew as it rose up from the trees in the distance, thinking about all the dreams she had once had about the man she would someday marry, and how those dreams began to crumble when she realized that she did not possess the qualities a man would want in a wife.
Caine cupped her chin, making her look at him, his fingers warm against her skin. “For the same reasons a man might want marriage,” he murmured, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Love, companionship. Children.”
Children. The very thought made Bliss’s heart ache. She stepped away from him. “A husband has all the rights. He can take away the children if he likes. He can withhold money and property, openly keep a mistress. But should his wife prove unruly, or worse, unfaithful, a divorce is readily granted him. So ‘wife’ is simply another word for ‘chattel.’”
“Not all men are as you describe. But you skirt the issue,” he pressed, relentless for an answer.
Bliss glanced away from him, watching the breeze stir the tall grass. “Perhaps I’d marry if I found the right man. But I doubt he exists.”
“Such cynicism for such a young woman. But I suspect you’re right; we men can be boors. And yet my curiosity needs appeasing. What kind of man would win your heart?”
Bliss bent down to pluck a wildflower, smoothing her fingers over the petals. “Someone who’s kind, who cares for others. Someone I can talk to, who believes my opinions matter.” She looked up at him then and was captured by the intensity in his regard. “Most of all, I want a man who would never think of looking to another woman for comfort. And I desire honesty, for without it, there is nothing.”
He regarded her for a long moment beneath those thick lashes, the wind ruffling his silky dark hair, and she found herself strangely impatient to hear his reply.
“It would appear you require all the things I’m not. I guess I wouldn’t be considered a favorable suitor.” A moment of silence enveloped them before he said in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Would you believe me if I said I was disappointed?”
She wanted to. How she wanted to. “No. I wouldn’t.”
He dug his hands into his pocket, watching her with unreadable eyes. Bliss didn’t understand why his silence hurt. But it did.
She forced down the strange emotions and sought comfort in the familiar. “Is there some reason you’re up so early this morning?” Perhaps wanting to strike out at him, she added, “I didn’t take you for a man who rose before drinks were being served.”
A faint, wry expression softened the harsh lines of his face. “Your tendency to speak your mind is refreshing, sweet, but my wounds might heal quicker if I was not so often on the receiving end of your verbal bullets.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t incite my temper, then.”
Amusement crinkled the corner of his eyes. “I will take that under advisement. Though I must confess to finding you quite a sight when your passions are aroused.”
Bliss felt her face flame, images of his mouth pressed intimately to hers, and to other places, assailing her. “If that was some underhanded remark—”
The smile that suddenly lifted the corners of his lips was carnal as he took a step toward her. “Your mind was in the gutter, wasn’t it?”
“No, I…” She stepped back, trying to put distance between them, but her foot hit a protruding rock and she stumbled.
Caine’s arm shot out, snaking around her waist like an iron band as he hauled her forward, her skirts brushing his thighs. “Careful,” he murmured, staring at her lips as though he wanted to kiss her. A shiver skittered over her skin, hoping he would, and knowing he shouldn’t.
“Don’t.” She pressed her hands against his chest, her palms branded by his heat.
He didn’t seem to hear her. His focus was too intent on her mouth. His head lowered, and in the next instant, his lips brushed over hers like the touch of butterfly wings, soft and incredibly tender. Before she had a moment to savor the kiss, he pulled back and released her.
Bliss touched her fingers to her lips, trying to still the tingle caused by the warm pressure of his mouth. “Don’t you ever think of asking first?”
“Not when I see something I want.” His gaze caught and held hers as he said, “Did you want me to ask?”
She didn’t know what she wanted. Never had a man so confused her, or caused her emotions to churn with such turmoil. “I don’t think you should be kissing me.”
“You don’t think?”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Well, I’m glad one of us is sure.” He slipped his hand around hers. The way he held onto her seemed proprietary, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t want to fight anymore.
They walked side by side, heading away from the house and farther into the lush countryside. The spire of the church she had glimpsed earlier came into view.
She paused at the top of the incline to stare down at the old Georgian vicarage, nestled at the base of the hill. It was covered in ivy, and tall trees peered over a crumbling wall that she suspected had once been used as a defense to keep out enemies. Now a profusion of vivid wildflowers softened its edges.
“It’s lovely,” she murmured. “What’s it called?”
“St. Nectan’s.”
“Can we go down?” When he made no reply, she glanced up at him. His profile looked carved from stone as he stared down at the church, his grip on her hand tightening almost imperceptibly.
Finally, he gave an abrupt nod and they headed down the hill. A sense of unease settled over Bliss—a feeling that she was descending to a destination from which there would be no turning back.
Ten
Long is the way,
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.
John Milton
The church faced east with a garden plot in front; an ancient wall separated it from the long slope of lush green valley beyond. The western side of the building was gabled, with a high archway built into the center of the wall. Faint green lichen crept over the stones.
Her hand still clasped tightly within Caine’s, Bliss let him guide them toward the north s
ide of the building, where an Early Perpendicular window marked the chapel. A central doorway opened into a cavernous space.
The air was slightly musty as they entered, and a peaceful hush encompassed them as they moved into the interior. Prisms of sunlight pierced the stained glass windows, dappling the floor in a kaleidoscope of colors.
They moved down the aisle quietly, stopping before the altar as though they were about to confess their sins to God—or pledge their troth to each other from this day forward.
It was an odd thought, and Bliss forced it back, concentrating instead on the square space sunk into the wall above the altar, where faint traces could still be seen of a fresco of Christ looking down upon his worshippers.
Her gaze shifted about the room, noting the newel staircase that led to the floor above, where she suspected the vicar resided. A little window with two cinquefoiled openings enabled the priest to look down into the chapel, the height of the sill from the floor suggesting that it might serve as a prie-dieu.
As though her thoughts had conjured him up, a side door opened, allowing a thick shaft of daylight to spill into the room, banishing the shadows, the breeze sending dust motes dancing in the air as the vicar stopped on the threshold.
His unruly mass of white hair was windblown, his cheeks ruddy from the sun. In his hand, he held a fresh cutting of flowers. A warm and welcoming smile spread across his face.
“Dear boy,” he said in a hushed tone, coming toward them. “Is it really you?”
The transformation that came over Caine riveted Bliss; it was as if whatever inner turmoil he’d been carrying had been removed.
The vicar reached out and clasped Caine’s hands in both of his. “It’s been a long time.”
“Two years.”
The vicar’s face grew somber. “Yes. Two years.” Then his gaze lit on Bliss and he bestowed that warm smile on her. “And who is this lovely young woman, my lord?”
An uncomfortable expression filtered across Caine’s face as he replied, “This is Lady Bliss Ashton.”
The vicar’s gaze suddenly jerked to Caine’s, something akin to alarm on his face.
But Caine’s gaze was intent on her, as though purposely avoiding the man’s regard. “My lady, this is Vicar Meade. He’s been here since before I was born.”
Bliss dropped into a light curtsy. “How do you do, sir?”
The vicar’s gaze slowly returned to her, the strange expression still on his face. He cleared his throat, darting a final glance at Caine, who had stepped away to study the altarpiece.
“A pleasure to meet you, my lady. May I ask what brings you to our quiet hamlet?”
“I’m attending a house party at Northcote with my cousin.”
“I see.” The vicar continued to regard her with unease. “I hope you are enjoying yourself?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Again, the man shot a glance over his shoulder at Caine, who had turned away from his contemplation of the altarpiece and was now standing in an open side doorway.
Over his shoulder Bliss caught a glimpse of the graveyard outside, the headstones in neat rows, square gray monuments to the deceased. Caine could have been carved from the same granite, he stood so still.
“If you’ll excuse me?” the vicar asked in a distracted tone.
“Certainly.” Bliss watched the stout parson as he moved toward Caine and laid a hand on his shoulder.
A moment later they exited out the door, the glare of the sun swallowing them as though they had disappeared through the gates of heaven.
Once more, a sense of disquiet settled over Bliss and she wondered what was going on. The moment she and Caine had started down the hill, she had felt him become more and more tense until he seemed so brittle, she thought he would shatter.
“Hello, there.”
Startled, Bliss whirled around. Standing a few feet away was a portly, older woman with a round face and thin rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose, magnifying bright eyes that seemed to belie the woman’s age.
“I frightened you,” she said in an apologetic tone, reaching out to lightly touch Bliss’s hand. “I thought you heard me come in. I’m Margaret, the vicar’s wife.”
“How do you do?”
“A pleasure to meet you, my dear. Lady Bliss, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“I overheard your conversation with my husband. Please don’t think I was eavesdropping; I was in the choir pit trying to tighten a loose pedal on the organ.” She pointed to the stone structure positioned directly above the entrance to the church. “My husband is quite brilliant when it comes to his sermons, but he possesses no aptitude for fixing things, I’m afraid. Come, sit with me.”
Bliss followed her and sat down in the first pew, her gaze drifting to the side door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Caine. Something was troubling him. More so now than when she had spied him standing at the edge of the cliff. In a moment of utter clarity, Bliss believed she understood perhaps part of what it was.
“Is Caine’s father buried here?”
Margaret turned toward her, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Yes. Interred two years now in the family plot, next to his wife, Lady Francis.” Her gaze drifted to the old stone cross standing sentinel behind the altar. “I never thought I’d see that boy enter this church again. The day he stood alone beneath the tree where his father’s buried, I saw all the goodness seep away. Something died inside his lordship when his father passed, and neither my husband nor I could help him.”
She looked back at Bliss. “Henry was a wonderful man. Loved that lad with all his heart. No father could have cherished a son more.”
Bliss hesitated, then asked the question that would no longer remain unspoken. “Is it true his father killed himself because of debt?”
The woman stared at her, a worried frown adding lines to her brow. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Margaret shook her head. “I thought perhaps…But no, that’s not the way he is.”
“I don’t understand.”
The woman took hold of Bliss’s hands and gave a gentle squeeze. “Be patient with him. The lad’s suffered a great deal of hurt and has turned into a man who lashes out at the world. He was never like that. I remember him as a bright, smiling boy who cared for his animals and was loved by the villagers.”
It was hard for Bliss to picture the man Margaret spoke of so fondly. She had only seen the darker side of Caine, except for brief glimpses of something beneath his harsh exterior, leaving her struggling to understand him. A deeply vulnerable man existed below the layers of subterfuge, and that was the man she desperately wanted to get to know.
“He’s never brought anyone here,” Margaret remarked, as if it was important for Bliss to know. “Even when his father died, he kept everyone away. I had hoped that when he returned…” Her words died away and she glanced toward the cross once more, perhaps seeking comfort. When she finally looked back at Bliss, a renewed determination lit her eyes. “Will you do something for me?”
“If I can.”
“All I ask is that you try to understand Caine. Don’t rush to judgment as so many other people have. I think he believes he failed his father, and the burden chips away at him a little more each day. He and his father were so much alike. After Lady Francis died, the earl worked even harder to give his son the life he thought he deserved, and when things fell apart…” She shook her head sadly.
A sound at the door brought both their heads up. The vicar stood on the threshold, his shoulders slumped forward, a hand braced against the frame, his face pale, and his breath coming in short pants as though he had been running. Alarm immediately rifled through Bliss’s body.
She pushed to her feet, as his wife said, “What’s happened, husband?”
“His lordship…he’s out of control.”
Bliss didn’t wait to hear any more. She met the vicar at the door. “Where is he?”
“No, my lady. ’Ti
s too dangerous. His mood is black. I fear you might be hurt.”
“He won’t hurt me.” How she knew, she couldn’t say. But she felt it in her heart. “Where is he?”
He hesitated, looking to his wife, who nodded her head, before replying, “Near the north moor.”
Bliss was out the door in the next second.
She found Caine standing amid a pile of rubble, rocks strewn about him, limbs broken from the trees nearby, the flowers planted next to a headstone torn from the ground. Bliss didn’t need to look to know whose grave it was.
“Caine,” she said softly.
His entire body stiffened. “Get the hell out of here,” he snapped viciously, a warning that would send any sane person into retreat. And yet Bliss could not go, could not leave him with his despair.
She came up beside him and his gaze slashed in her direction. Never had she seen such pain in a man’s eyes, such utter desolation.
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
“I think I do,” she murmured. “At least in part.”
“Christ,” he said, in a low, pained voice, “what am I doing here? I couldn’t wait to get away from this place when I was younger. I was so damn eager to leave it all behind and find something else, something different. There was nothing here but the land and the sea, both stretching out before me like a yawning chasm. Everything I wanted was out there, just waiting for me to come and grab hold. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life being a glorified sheep farmer. I didn’t want to become my father. I didn’t want his legacy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. If there was, then I would be guilty, too. I rebelled against the life that had been mapped out for me merely because I was a female.”
“It’s not the same. Your parents…” His jaw clamped shut, a muscle working as he gritted his teeth.
“What?” Bliss gently asked.
An intense emotion carved his mouth. “Nothing.”
“Caine, please…talk to me.”
His head turned sharply, his eyes a glittering black. “Your parent weren’t like mine! Now leave me the hell alone. Save your tender sentiments for someone who gives a damn. I didn’t ask you to be my bloody savior.”
The Pleasure Seekers Page 11