by Danice Allen
Chester Hayle
“So ’twas Father after all,” Zachary said rather dazedly. “He hated me that much. But why was I denied my brother, too? I can understand him not wanting to see me, but—”
“Well, I don’t understand why he didn’t want to see you,” Alex rasped. “By God, you were his own flesh and blood. You couldn’t help what happened to our mother.”
“But I had come to believe that you felt the same hatred for me, Alex. At least I thought you had willingly forgotten we were brothers. All along, all through these years, you have thought of me!”
“And you of me.”
The room grew still. Even the rain stopped its persistent splattering against the windows for a time. No one spoke, as if everyone felt the importance of this enlightening moment. For Alex there was no one else in the room. He had his brother back.
Without knowing or caring who stepped forward first, suddenly he had Zach clasped against his chest in a manly embrace. After a fierce hug, they thumped each other heartily on the back. Then, pulling away with a rather self-conscious grin, Alex declared, “We have a lot of catching up to do, little brother.”
Beth watched, tears of joy smarting against her eyelids. She was very happy for Zach and Alex. Then, observing their boyish grins and the light in their eyes, she felt something else creep into her heart, something dark, disturbing, and unwelcome. She felt excluded. She was jealous.
Chapter Three
“Where did they go, Stibbs?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, miss.”
“Did they drive or were they mounted?”
“I’ve been in the kitchen, miss. I never saw how they left the premises.”
Beth sighed with frustration. “Mayhap they didn’t even leave the house, then. Are you sure they’re not in the library? Zachary told me to meet him here at half past noon!”
“One of the footmen said he saw them leave right after breakfast, miss,” Stibbs persisted.
Beth eyed the taciturn butler with obvious annoyance. She was sure that behind his facade of respectful forbearance he was sneering at her. And who could blame him? she thought, turning away and stomping out into the sunshine of the front courtyard where one of the stable hands walked her saddled red gelding. This wasn’t the first time in the past month that Zachary had failed to show up when he’d said he would.
The wide skirt of Beth’s royal blue riding habit swung about her legs as she impatiently paced the graveled drive, her bonnet swinging from her hand by its ribbons. She shielded her eyes from the sun and peered across the lawn toward the moor, then turned and looked in the opposite direction toward the sea. They could be anywhere, she thought bitterly. Alex had expressed a desire to see the Cornish countryside, and Zach seemed determined to indulge his older brother’s every whim. In fact, in his devotion to Alex he reminded her of an adoring dog. He had become another Shadow.
Beth signaled to the stable hand, and the young man brought her horse around to the front of the house. “Thank you, Henry,” she said, managing a tight smile for the servant, who stared at her worshipfully. “That will be all.” Henry turned toward the stables, but not without another adoring look back at her. Too bad Zach no longer cherished similar feelings for her, she thought wryly, reaching up to stroke Ginger’s long nose. Ever since Alexander Wickham came upon the scene and the two brothers reconciled their differences, Zach had taken about as much notice of her as a gnat on the wall.
She had wanted them to reconcile very much, but she had not imagined that it would so effectively deprive her of Zach’s company. Zach and Alex seemed to be trying to make up for the seventeen years they’d been kept apart by the maneuvering of their unforgiving father. But Beth couldn’t help but feel abandoned. Even if they included her in their plans, she felt like an intruder.
One day, during a moment of extreme exasperation, she had fleetingly considered the desperate strategy of catching Zach’s attention away from his brother by disrobing and arranging herself in a suggestive pose. But she’d discarded that idea after imagining how mortifying it would be if he told her to quit being a goose and put her clothes on. Besides, Beth had no intention of indulging in intimacies with Zach before marriage. She would just have to find another way to compete with Zach’s fascination with Alex Wickham.
Beth could not deny that Alex was interesting. His travels, his education, his stint as a captain in the Royal Dragoons warring against Napoleon on the Peninsula, his circles of friends and acquaintances in London and around the world supplied material for many diverting stories. But even if he had nothing more to say than that the wind seemed coolish that day, or that the pigeon pie was turned to a nicety, he commanded one’s attention easily. Alexander, Lord Roth, had a compelling personality. At times she became irritated when she found herself listening as avidly as Zach did.
“Well, Ginger,” she said, pulling herself easily atop the horse and putting on her bonnet, “I’m not about to give up! Zach has been my best friend for seventeen years, and he’s to be my husband for the next forty, God willing. Alex Wickham may have had Zach first, but Zach’s more mine than his.”
Then, just as she was about to urge Ginger into a canter and set out to find the inseparable brothers, her sister, Gabrielle, darted out from behind the stone walls that surrounded the kitchen garden. Long honey-blond hair, frizzed by the humid air, tumbled down the young girl’s back as she ran toward Beth. In her blue gown, straw poke bonnet, and striped spencer, she looked like a smaller, fairer version of Beth.
“Beth, where are you going? Where’s Zach? I thought you were going riding with him.”
“I’m meeting him somewhere else,” Beth lied, avoiding her little sister’s keen eyes.
“Posh! He’s gone off without you again, hasn’t he?” Gabby surmised, looking much too wise for her eight years. “In that case, won’t you take me home now?”
“I’ll be back for you later, Gabby,” said Beth impatiently, holding back her eager horse with difficulty. “Run along and play with the puppies! That’s why I brought you, you know!”
“But I’ve seen the puppies,” Gabrielle returned petulantly. “Their eyes are still closed, and all they want to do is snuggle against their mother and eat. They’re not cute at all. They look like rats! I thought they’d be furry and playful.”
“I told you it was too soon,” Beth reminded her in the superior tone of an older sister. “Go find Sadie. Maybe she’ll let you muck about in the kitchen till I come back for you.”
Gabrielle put her fists on her small hips and pushed out her full bottom lip. “I’m not a baby, Lilibet! I don’t want to squeeze my fingers in the bread dough anymore or make gingerbread men! Oh, I wish Mama had let me ride my own horse.”
“If you minded better, Gabby, Mama wouldn’t have to restrict you so often. She was afraid you’d take off on another of your adventures and get yourself lost again.”
Gabby stamped her foot. “Oh, you’re such a fusspot, Beth. I don’t know why Zach wants to marry you anyway!” Then, with her back as straight as a Maypole, Gabby thrust her nose in the air and huffed away, as indignant as a wet hen.
Beth couldn’t help but chuckle at Gabby’s theatrics. Depending on which approach would be most effective, Gabby could be as sweet and irresistible as a sticky bun, as feisty and unapproachable as a cornered alley cat, or, as now, as haughty and high-handed as royalty displeased. If Gabby ever had to fend for herself in the world, Beth speculated, she could do very well treading the boards, holding her own with the greatest of actresses.
But for a girl with Gabby’s genteel upbringing, marriage was the only respectable outlet for her talents. God help her future husband, Beth thought with amusement. He had better have a strong will of his own, or she’d run roughshod over him in a pig’s whisper.
And speaking of future husbands … Beth urged Ginger into a trot. Once she passed through the lodge gates and reached the lane just past the boundaries of Pencarrow, she reigned in and pondered which d
irection to go. It was such a beautiful cloudless day that she guessed they might have ridden over to Dozmary Cove to look at the view. She and Zachary used to play there for hours as children, building miniature Camelots in the sand and speculating on the magic legends of King Arthur and his lovely Guinevere. She turned her horse north, toward the sea.
Leaving the lane, Beth followed the well-worn trail through low gorse bushes and shrubs of feathery tamarisk till the ground turned to sand strewn with rocks that had been chipped from the dark cliffs by salt spray and Atlantic gales. Several minutes later she found herself at the top of a granite cliff overlooking the ocean. A mild breeze lifted her hair and cooled her neck. The cove below was hidden from view and accessible only by a narrow, sharply descending footpath that hugged the rugged wall of the cliff. But if they were down in the cove, where were their horses?
As if in answer to her unspoken question, she heard a whinny close by. There, just yards away, were the two horses, Zach’s dapple gray and Alex’s black stallion, tethered to a tree sheltered by a rock overhang. Beth felt a thrill of pride and a fierce possessiveness. She had known exactly where Zach would go. She knew her Zach better than Alexander Wickham would ever know him, better than anybody would ever know him!
Spurred on by this much needed affirmation of her connection to Zach, Beth rode over to the horses, dismounted, and tethered Ginger to the tree. She took off her bonnet because it was hot and confining, caring not a jot that the faint freckles on her nose would surely multiply with the exposure to sun and wind. Then, looping her skirt around her arm and exposing a goodly amount of bare leg above her riding boots, she started down the steep path to the cove.
Before she could see the cove, Beth heard Zach’s and Alex’s voices rise for a moment above the noise of the surf. They were laughing, obviously enjoying themselves hugely. Zach’s slightly higher pitched bell-like tones blended musically with Alex’s velvet baritone. Now their voices dissolved into low conversation, and she strained unsuccessfully to hear what they were saying, feeling the veriest fool, so eager, so desperate to be a part of their camaraderie that she would stoop to eavesdropping!
Her breath came swift and shallow as she hurried down the rough trail that was hardly a trail at all. She slipped on a loose rock and scraped her ankle against a sharp edge, biting back her impatient exclamation of pain. She didn’t want them to see her climbing down the cliff with her skirt hiked up to well above her knees—it would have been too undignified, and they’d surely have laughed at her—so she had to be as quiet as possible. She hoped Shadow would not sniff her out and expose her.
Finally she reached the bottom and had only to round a jutting, contorted wall of granite to be on the sand and in clear sight of them. Struck with sudden shyness and a lowering realization that perhaps they wouldn’t be best pleased to see her, Beth hesitated. First she would watch them from behind the cover of the cliff wall and then, unless her courage failed her at the sight of them so happily occupied with each other, she would make her presence known.
She inched one eye to the edge of the wall and peeked. Beth gasped and fell back, turning to support herself against the rock wall. They were naked! They must have been swimming and now were sunning themselves on two large flat rocks near the shore, just yards away. She bit her lip, wondering what to do, her heartbeat as loud and heavy as a tin miner’s sledgehammer. They were talking to each other, but she couldn’t hear what they said. Her ears thrummed with the rush of blood through her veins.
She knew what she ought to do. She ought to leave this place straightaway. She had no business gaping at her fiancé and his brother as they lounged stark naked in the sun. But despite the voice of conscience and the natural fears of an ignorant virgin who’d never clapped eyes on a naked man before in her life, Beth was curious. She wanted to stay; she wanted to see.
Besides, she told herself as she carefully poked her head around the corner again, Zachary would soon be her husband, and she would no doubt, see him time and again without his clothes on. But it wasn’t Zachary her gaze was riveted to when the two men came into view. It was Alexander, Lord Roth, the titled Gypsy, the elegant rogue, who caught, claimed, and absorbed her complete attention, his white dog sleeping beside him a perfect complement to his dark beauty.
It seemed odd to call a man beautiful, but he was. Alex was tanned from tip to toe and everywhere in between, as if he sunbathed regularly. His long legs were lightly furred with dark hair and as sinewy and leanly muscular as his fitted pantaloons had suggested. His broad chest and shoulders were not the result of a clever tailor, but his by right of birth. He rested on his side, facing Beth, one taut arm holding up his head and the other draped casually over one slim hip, luckily—or was it unluckily?—shielding his manhood from her view.
His waist was narrow, his stomach firm and flat. A triangle of curling hair began just below his stomach and disappeared behind his draped hand. Her eyes traveled lingeringly up the length of him again and paused for a mesmerized moment as she examined his face. She’d seen him nearly every day for a month now and had been keenly aware of his dark attractiveness, his strong, straight features, his sensual mouth so often curved in a teasing grin. But today, with his tumble of black hair windblown into tempting disarray, he was … irresistible.
Beth fought the word, fought the feeling. Irresistible? Surely no one was irresistible. But then why was her mouth so dry? Why was her breath so hard to catch and control? Why were her nipples taut and heavy? Why did sensation flood hotly through her veins and pool low in her stomach? Why did she tremble?
Beth tore her eyes away and rested her feverish forehead against the cool rock. She was a fool! Of course she was trembling. She was nervous and excited because she was doing something that went strictly against her straitlaced upbringing. Surely any naked man would bring about the same response. Determined to test her theory, she looked again, this time at Zachary.
He was turned away from her. He was light-skinned but equally as stunning as his brother. Though not as muscular, he was still beautifully sculpted with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and taut buttocks. Golden hair, as golden as the thick, straight thatch on his head, lightly covered his legs. He looked just like an Apollo. He was just as she had imagined him.
But where were those disturbing sensations she’d felt when she looked at Alex? Observing Zachary had been similar to examining a painting or a statue. Stirring in its beauty, lovely to behold, but … But what?
No longer able to help herself, Beth looked at Alex again. Oh, he was no statue, no painting! He was flesh and blood. The sight of him made her ache with a longing she’d never experienced before. She yearned the way she wanted to yearn when Zachary kissed her. If only Alex could kiss her, she thought, her mind fogged with a vision of long, sweet, slow, deep kisses and tangled arms and legs.
Then he moved his hand. Beth swallowed. She was sure she was going to faint then and there. He was beautiful. All of him. Beautiful and irresistible.
Alex felt good, so damned good. With the sun seeping into his bones like heated honey, he felt he could lie on this rock forever. The ocean was calm and blue, stretching out below the congenial summer sky like a glistening amethyst.
“What are you thinking?”
Zach looked just as content as he did, Alex thought. Like a big golden-furred, golden-eyed tomcat stretched out on the porch. “I’m thinking how glad I am that I came to Grandfather’s funeral,” replied Alex, grinning. “But we’ve discussed this before.”
“Yes,” agreed Zach, grinning back. “Actually, I was hoping you were thinking about … something else.”
Alex raised his brows inquiringly.
“Why don’t we go into St. Teath tonight, Alex?” Zach suggested eagerly. “There’s a chit there I’ve been seeing for some time now. Tess, she’s called. I’ve put her up in a little cottage and everything. She’s bound to be wondering what’s been keeping me away for so long. I’m sure she could set you up with a friend, Alex. I imagi
ne you must be feeling a little randy yourself after a month in the wilds of Cornwall, as you so love to put it. What do you say?”
Alex’s grin disappeared. It was a perfectly natural suggestion and shouldn’t have surprised him in the least. He’d never supposed that Zach was celibate, and he’d certainly never been so himself. But coming unbidden, unexpected, to Alex’s mind was the question of why Zach could want anyone else with such a delectable fiancée like Elizabeth Tavistock waiting in the wings.
“Speaking of neglecting people,” he began, a slight frown creasing his brow, “don’t you think Beth’s been a little mopish lately? You know, it’s quite understandable that she might resent me a little, considering she had you all to herself till I came along.”
Zach waved a dismissive hand. “Pooh. Beth’s a Trojan. She doesn’t mind. Besides,” he added with a cocky grin, “we’ll be married soon, and she’ll have me all to herself every night.”
“Every night?” Alex gave his brother a keen, questioning look. “Does that mean you’re giving up the chit in St. Teath?”
“God, no,” said Zach. “I’ve quite an affection for Tess. I don’t expect Beth’ll be enough for me by and by. And when she’s breeding, she won’t want to have anything to do with me, I suppose. What’s a man to do? In my opinion, a mistress is the only answer.”