by Sandra Heath
Her thoughts broke off as she heard hoofbeats approaching along the Ludlow road, and her heart lurched as she saw Nicholas himself riding toward her, the brass buttons on his pine green coat shining in the May sunshine.
At first she thought he was arriving late for church after mistaking the time, but this soon proved not to be the case as he rode on past. He only recognized her at the last moment, but as he began to rein in to speak to her, some more of the congregation left the church, and to her disappointment he quickly rode on after merely doffing his hat.
She gazed after him, feeling hugely self-conscious, for she was convinced he’d been able to read her thoughts from her face. What if he now realized how she felt toward him? Oh, it would be too embarrassing for words. But even as these dread fears swept over her, she began to dismiss them as complete nonsense.
How could he possibly read her thoughts! Her cheeks went red even so, a fact she realized when Martha and Sadie emerged beneath the lychgate behind her and exchanged glances on seeing how flustered she’d become because Lord Montacute had passed by.
Sadie Cutler was very like her elder sister, but much more rosy and embonpoint, as Lady Sichester would say. She also possessed a much more open personality, lacking Martha’s quiet intensity, but because of her grandson’s illness her usually cheerful face was tired and anxious.
A little guiltily, Verity took her plump hand. “How is Davey?” she asked gently.
“Not at all good, Miss Verity.”
“Was he taken around the Lady this morning?”
Sadie nodded. “He was, miss, but so far there hasn’t been any change.”
Martha broke in. “There won’t be, not until later today. This evening maybe, if it’s going to make any difference.”
Verity pressed the basket of strawberries into Sadie’s hands. “Maybe these will cheer him up a little, Sadie. My uncle picked them himself this morning.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Verity, Mr. Windsor is very kind.” Sadie’s eyes filled with tears.
“Not at all. Dr. Rogers should come soon as well, and you’re not to worry about his bills, for they’re to be sent to Uncle Joshua.”
Sadie was quite overcome. “I—I don’t know what to say, Miss Verity,” she whispered gratefully.
“Don’t say anything.”
“Will you take tea with Martha and me?”
Verity declined tactfully, feeling that the presence of someone from one of the village’s “big houses” would probably provide a further damper on the sisters’ already low spirits.
Returning to Windsor House, she decided that Nicholas was right to go for a ride on a day like this, so she changed, took her horse from the stable, and went out as well. Her riding habit was made of royal blue silk, and with it she wore a top hat with a white gauze scarf around the crown. In her laced-edged neckcloth she wore one of her most prized items of jewelry, a black pearl pin that had once belonged to her father.
She’d been out for about an hour when the weather changed, becoming overcast and humid. Maybe she would have been wiser to stay at home after all, she thought, reining in on the tree-covered ridge above the valley. The Shropshire countryside shimmered in a haze, and in the distance it was difficult to tell where land became sky. Everything was very quiet, except for a skylark tumbling high overhead, where storm clouds were beginning to gather.
Sound traveled a long way, and she heard a tilbury driving smartly along the Ludlow road. It was Dr. Rogers on his way to visit Davey. She hoped he would be able to do something, although she doubted it. Medicine wasn’t going to be any good against witchcraft, if that was indeed what was the cause of the child’s illness. She still hoped not, but everything seemed to point to it.
She became cross with herself then, for the fact that Martha believed all that superstitious nonsense was no reason for her to do the same. There was no such thing as witchcraft! She sighed then, for if that was true, why did she feel an irresistible urge to cross her fingers?
From here she could look down on Wychavon Castle. With its lawns, terraced gardens, deer park, and peerless views of the surrounding hills, it was one of the most beautiful estates in the county, but it had originally been a medieval stronghold. The whole area had been the scene of many border skirmishes between the English and Welsh, for this was marcher country, wild and in some ways still untamed, but Nicholas’s father had employed Mr. Wyatt, the brilliant architect, to turn Wychavon Castle into a romantic fantasy that brought to mind Camelot itself. Camelot, Merlin, the snakestone ... Her thoughts began to run on, and she cut them off sharply.
A flash of lightning made her gasp, and she glanced up to see the clouds had thickened menacingly. She was going to be caught in the first thunderstorm since last Halloween! Suddenly it seemed she could feel Judith’s shining gaze upon her, and with an uneasy shudder she kicked her heel and urged her horse down toward the valley. Thunder rolled intimidatingly across the sky, the air was breathless, and not a leaf moved. It was as if the land were waiting for the imminent deluge.
She reached the road as two virtually simultaneous flashes of lightning split the daylight, followed almost immediately by thunderclaps that made the ground vibrate beneath her horse’s hooves, and as she passed the imposing phoenix-topped gates of the castle, the first drops of rain began to fall.
The air stirred at last, and the smell of damp earth and bluebells filled her nostrils as the rain suddenly increased to a downpour that immediately began to soak through her riding habit. Ahead she saw the track that led to the oak grove. The ruined mill was nearer than the village, so without hesitation she turned her horse from the road.
Lightning clicked audibly overhead, and as a tremendous crash of thunder echoed over the lowering sky, the rain became a cloudburst. Rivulets of water gushed down the track as suddenly the trees splayed back, and she was in the grove, where the Lady stood out starkly in another blinding flash of lightning.
The mill rose desolately beside the rain-dashed pool, and for a moment Verity was more afraid of the place than the storm, but then more thunder cracked across the heavens, and her hesitation vanished as she urged her horse the final yards and dismounted to lead the animal into the ruined building.
The gloomy mill closed over her, and the odor of rotting wood and crumbling stone was heavy as she made the reins fast to a post. She glanced relievedly back at the doorway which framed the Lady’s endless vigil in the center of the grove. She thought of how the village men had carried poor little Davey here this morning, but suddenly forked lightning illuminated the granite, making it seem to breathe, and her breath caught nervously as one of the oak trees was struck. A branch was severed, and fell in a shower of leaves and splinters across the track, right where she’d ridden only seconds before.
Nicholas spoke quietly behind her. “Don’t be afraid, Miss Windsor, for I’m sure we’re quite safe in here.”
With a stifled cry, she whirled about, searching the shadows to see where he was. As her eyes became accustomed to the light, she saw him getting up from the steps where, if either of them had realized, Judith’s tools of wickedness were concealed.
He sketched her a bow. “I’m sorry if I startled you, I really didn’t mean to.”
“Nevertheless you did,” she managed to say, noticing his horse tethered nearby and wondering how on earth she hadn’t seen it when she entered.
He gave a faint smile, silently thanking fate for bringing him someone so delightful to share his shelter. “It would seem we are two minds with but a single thought,” he murmured, noting again how unexpectedly attractive he found her freckles, and how very green her eyes were. Deeply, mysteriously green ...
“Yes,” she replied lamely.
He didn’t know what to say next because she affected him so much. His glance roamed approvingly over her figure, outlined so daintily by the tight-waisted jacket of her riding habit. He liked the tilt of her head, and the jaunty angle at which she wore her little top hat.
There
was even something charming about the frothiness of her neckcloth and the sheen of the unusual black pearl pin adorning the knot. God damn it, everything about her was pleasing! He turned away, shaken by the force of feeling running through him.
His open scrutiny made her feel hot, and for something to do she reached up to remove her hat. She immediately wished she hadn’t, for some of her painstakingly coiffured curls tumbled down, making her feel even more self-conscious, and therefore even more hot. Color flooded into her cheeks, and she toyed nervously with the scarf around the hat.
The magic purloined from Judith had begun to tighten its hold over them both, stealthily weakening their inhibitions and focusing their thoughts only upon each other. They didn’t know what was happening, only that they felt very strange indeed. There was no green glow, no elusive fragrance of herbs, just the dank mill and the thunderstorm, but the atmosphere between them was as electric as the lightning that discharged across the sky.
Unspoken words and feelings instilled them both with a secret sense of anticipation, but neither of them gave a hint of it as they faced each other in the shadows of the ruins.
Chapter Eight
Verity was the first to think of something to say next. “Lord Montacute, I—I forgot to say last night...”
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes?”
“I found your seal on the village green.”
He looked blankly at her. “My what?”
“Your desk seal.”
“On the village green, you say?” Right now he didn’t give a damn about any seal!
“Yes, it was lying in the grass near the river. I—I’ll send it back to the castle.”
He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I can’t imagine how it came to be there.”
“Perhaps you should see if anything else has been stolen,” she suggested.”
“I will.” Striving to bring a little normality to the conversation, he drew himself together and faced her. “If anything has been stolen, no doubt your uncle will say it’s no more than I deserve for staying away so long.”
“Possibly.”
“Come now, Miss Windsor, he’d definitely say so.”
“Uncle Joshua believes a landlord should be more conspicuous by his presence, not his absence.”
“Do you support your uncle where I’m concerned, Miss Windsor?”
“He’s my uncle, sir, whereas you ...”
“Whereas I am nothing to you,” he interrupted.
“Yes.” Although I wish it were otherwise, came the unbidden postscript.
“Joshua Windsor is a fortunate man to have such a supportive kinswoman,” he said then.
She held his gaze. “Why do you and my uncle dislike each other so?” she asked with a directness that surprised her.
It surprised him too. “How very frank you are, Miss Windsor,” he murmured.
Her cheeks warmed. “Maybe, but you have to admit the coolness between you has become more pronounced.”
“Has it? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh, come, sir, you must have detected his increased antagonism last night on the green. Not even he is usually accustomed to taking such a strong line.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose we’re at opposite poles politically, and when it comes to sentencing felons, your uncle considers my judgment to be far too lenient in the case of a certain highwayman.”
The same old explanation, she thought in exasperation, and he watched the expression on her face. “I see my answer hasn’t satisfied you.”
“No, my lord, it hasn’t, for it’s plain to me that something important has happened since the business of the highwayman. My uncle will not say what it is, and neither, it seems, will you.”
He glanced away for a moment. “Nothing has happened, Miss Windsor. How could it, when I’ve been in London, and he’s been here? Unless, of course, it’s simply his detestation of anyone who may be categorized as an absentee landlord?” He met her eyes again and smiled.
This was what she herself had wondered, and yet there was still something niggling at the back of her mind. “There has to be something else.”
“I cannot help you, Miss Windsor,” he murmured.
He was avoiding her eyes, she noticed, which meant there was definitely something else, and he was as determined as her uncle not to speak of it! But before she could say anything more, another dazzling flash of lightning lit the shadows, and she turned nervously as the mill shuddered to the following thunder. The cloudburst continued unabated, the water sluicing over the Lady until the granite shone like glass.
Nicholas realized how frightened she was. “Come away from the door, Miss Windsor,” he said gently, uncomfortably aware that he couldn’t look at her now without desiring her. It was a feeling that was beginning to course potently through his blood.
She obeyed. “I suppose you think I’m very foolish,” she murmured, more than a little embarrassed.
“Foolish? Not at all.”
“I—I’ve always been afraid of storms.”
“It’s hardly a crime.”
“Maybe it is for someone about to embark on her first Season.”
He looked quickly at her. “You’re going to London?”
She nodded. “At the beginning of June.”
Dismay washed coldly over him. He didn’t want her to spend one day away from Wychavon, let alone a whole Season!
She spoke again. “Lady Sichester is kindly allowing us the use of her house in Dover Street.”
“Indeed?”
His tone was unmistakably abrupt, and she looked curiously at him. “Is something wrong, my lord?”
“Er, no.”
She managed a smile. “I—I wondered if perhaps you disliked Lady Sichester.”
“I hardly know her.”
His manner was still odd, or so she thought. “Then have I said something untoward, Lord Montacute?” she asked.
“No, of course not.” He made himself smile. Oh, God, he wanted to take her in his arms, and kiss her ... He had to turn away, for his heart was beginning to beat more swiftly, and his whole body felt warm, as if he already held her.
She was scarcely less agitated, and cast around for something bland to say. Her glance fell on the Lady, which was suddenly very bright as more lightning sent the shadows reeling. She closed her eyes tightly until the accompanying thunder had rolled away, then she looked at the Lady again. “Do you believe in witchcraft, Lord Montacute?” she asked.
Surprised, he turned toward her again. “Witchcraft? Why ever do you ask that?”
“I—I was thinking about Meg Ashton, and the stone circle that used to be here. They say her spirit is trapped in the Lady, did you know?”
“Yes, and right now it’s invitingly easy to give credence to the legend, isn’t it?” he said with a slight smile.
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t know whether or not Meg was a real witch, but I do know she was responsible for killing the wife and unborn child of one of my ancestors. Whether by black arts or only too human hand may never be known. I take it you’re of a superstitious nature, Miss Windsor?”
She gave him a slightly rueful smile. “If you had a nurse like Martha Cansford, you’d be a little superstitious too.”
“Ah, yes, the wisewoman of Wychavon,” he murmured with a hint of wryness.
Suddenly it seemed the storm was directly overhead, for more lightning pierced the gloom, and the crumbling building vibrated to another shattering clap of thunder which made the horses shift uneasily. Verity’s eyes widened anxiously as dust fell from the ceiling, for all the world as if the mill were about to collapse.
Without warning, panic rose sharply through her, and she gathered her cumbersome skirts intending to run out into the rain-swept grove, which inexplicably seemed a safer place than the mill, but Nicholas stepped swiftly over and caught her arm. “It’s much more dangerous out there than in here,” he said firmly.
She struggled a little, and
he pulled her roughly back, putting his arms around her so she couldn’t escape. “Stay inside, Miss Windsor, for if you go out, you run the risk of the same fate as the oak tree.”
Another thunderclap jarred the sky, and with a gasp she hid her face against his shoulder.
He held her close. “It’s all right, we’re quite safe in here,” he murmured, unable to help himself from sliding his ungloved fingers into the warm hair at the nape of her neck.
From the moment he had touched her, he’d been conscious of an intensifying of desire. From being a constant ache in his loins, it became a fierce craving that pervaded his whole body. It went far beyond anything he’d ever experienced before, and was so strong it was all he could do to resist the temptation to tilt her face toward his.
But suddenly she raised her eyes to look at him anyway. It was a guileless gesture that dashed aside the vestiges of his restraint. Her lips were within inches of his own, and so sweetly parted they seemed to beg a kiss. Before he knew it, his embrace had tightened, he’d bent his head, and his mouth was upon hers in a way that left chaste pecks far behind.
To his unutterable shame and shock, he found himself subjecting her to the sort of full-blooded kiss that was usually the prelude to far far more. It was as if the grove itself affected him, releasing something primitive and pagan that made him abandon his sexual principles.
Normally he would never have taken such a liberty with any woman, let alone Joshua Windsor’s niece, but now he felt almost compelled to do so. Arousal began to grip him, sweeping him along with a fervor that was exhilarating. Oh, Verity, Verity ...
The top hat slipped from her fingers, and for a moment she was rigid with shock, but then wild feelings began to run through her veins too. They were deliciously hungry feelings she had never known before, and she knew she should resist by pushing him away, but instead her lips softened beneath his, and she succumbed to the attraction that had plagued her for so long. It was as if she were in a dream. It couldn’t really be happening, she couldn’t possibly be in his arms like this....