‘Actually, as you may have discerned with Lady Amelia being my aunt, my grandfather was an earl. My father, his youngest son, bedazzled my mother, a marquess’s daughter with an enormous dowry that made her the prize of her début Season. I’ve inherited wealth from them both.’
Unconventional, outspoken, independent—and an heiress. Dom whistled. ‘Miss Branwell, you amaze me!’
She looked down, her cheeks pinking again. ‘I know, I hardly look the part,’ she said, totally misunderstanding his compliment. ‘Another reason I’ve resisted my aunt’s urging that I come to London for the Season.’
Before he could come up with a tactful way to reassure her, the thought struck him of how Lady Wentworth would react to the news, and he had to laugh again. ‘Wait until the officious Lady Wentworth discovers you outrank her—with a lineage that makes you far outshine the attractions of her daughter!’
‘Not in that young lady’s estimation,’ Miss Branwell said, and chuckled. ‘I met her during my call on her mother. One look at me and my less-than-stylish raiment, and Miss Wentworth accorded me half a curtsy and a murmured greeting before relegating me to the background, as being of no more interest than the sofa.’
Having often observed the treatment acclaimed beauties meted out to those they considered of lesser stature, Dom wasn’t surprised by the girl’s discourtesy. He was surprised to find how strongly he resented the treatment on Miss Branwell’s behalf.
‘Sad to discover her breeding doesn’t equal her beauty.’
‘No harm done; I found it amusing. In fact, her disdain turned out to be useful. Deciding it might be helpful in securing Lady Wentworth’s approval, I let slip my aunt’s name. Upon realising her daughter had just been rude to the niece of one of society’s leaders, she couldn’t have turned more agreeable. So agreeable, she offered to scotch any rumours that might be generated by my calling on you—allowing my visit today. So I can only be thankful for the beauty’s self-absorption. Though,’ she added, her smile faded, ‘it would be less amusing, were I forced to put up with such treatment through the whole of the Season Aunt Amelia would drag me to.’
‘Your aunt would guarantee you were too fashionably gowned and too surrounded by persons of superior intellect and breeding to receive snubs from ill-mannered country nobodies.’
‘I’m not so sure. Nor could I imagine enduring the rounds of visiting and shopping my aunt described as necessary for acquiring a suitable wardrobe. And the cost! I may have inherited wealth, but I find it almost scandalous that society ladies fill wardrobes with gowns intended to be worn only once or twice.’
‘What sacrilege!’ he said, even more amused. ‘Quite true; with opinions like that, you’d not only not become fashionable, you’d be lucky if society’s female population did not hire a sharpshooter to silence you before their menfolk could be exposed to so treacherous a notion.’
‘No danger of my becoming fashionable, Aunt Amelia’s protests notwithstanding. New gowns wouldn’t change who I am—and what I am not. You can put a wagon mule into shiny harness, but that won’t make him a cavalry horse.’
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Dom protested. Giving her shabby habit a glance, he said, ‘You may not follow the latest fashion, but you have many admirable qualities.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Such as?’
‘Honesty, courage, ingenuity, perseverance, and a keen wit,’ he shot back, naming off what had so quickly impressed him.
Obviously taken aback, her eyes widened. ‘Thank you for that,’ she said after a moment. ‘But surely you can’t claim those to be qualities highly prized by society gentlemen on the lookout for suitable wives!’
Before he could find a way around that irrefutable statement, she said, ‘Not that it matters a particle. Only desperation would ever drive me to the Marriage Mart, and with Papa’s inheritance and Mama’s portion, I don’t see that happening. As I mentioned before, unlike most of my sex, I’ll never need to marry to avoid ending up with no roof over my head, or be reduced to begging a post as a companion or governess. Which is fortunate,’ she added with a grin. ‘Since I’ve never learned to keep my opinions to myself, I probably wouldn’t last long as anyone’s employee.’
Dom couldn’t imagine her in that role, either. Though he did find it somehow sad that she seemed to think it her destiny to remain alone in the world. Such a unique, engaging personality deserved nurturing and appreciation—just as the sensual side to her called out for a lover’s fulfilment.
His breath quickened and his body hardened at the thought; ah, how he’d like to guide her along that path, explore their explosive connection to the inevitable, exquisite conclusion!
While he once again struggled to rein in that fruitless desire, she rose and shook out her skirts. ‘Thank you for the tea. With my news now delivered, I should get back to Thornfield Place.’
An immediate reluctance to let her go had him scrambling to his feet. Seizing on the first excuse that came to mind, he said, ‘Before you leave, let me show you my grandfather’s library. Anyone who could spend hours sitting on a wall, reading in the rain, must appreciate books, and Grandfather amassed quite a collection.’
Her face brightened. ‘You mentioned to my aunt how extensive it is. I would love to see it! We could carry so few books with us on campaign. What I missed most about not having a settled home was the lack of a library.’
‘So did I,’ he said, struck by how she’d echoed his own feelings on the matter, and delighted to be able to share his grandfather’s treasure with someone who would appreciate it as much as he did. Like braiding another thread into a strand of rope, that common interest further reinforced the bond that pulled them together.
Offering her his arm, Dom led her from the parlour to the library.
Three steps into the room, she came to a dead halt, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked up and down the shelves that covered every wall, from the floor up to the high vaulted ceiling.
‘It’s magnificent!’ she breathed. ‘May I?’ She gestured towards the shelves.
‘Of course,’ Dom replied, her response all he had hoped. ‘I must warn you, though, Grandfather’s passion was collecting, not archiving, so I’m afraid the books are not shelved in any particular order.’
As Dom watched, she practically ran to the nearest bookcase. Something tightened in his chest as he watched her avidly scanning the shelves, sometimes running her fingers reverently over the spine of a particular volume, occasionally removing one to browse a page or two before carefully replacing it.
A lady who disdained new gowns, but went into raptures over a well-stocked library, was a unique creature indeed. The avid delight with which she examined the books, completely absorbed in discovering the treasures surrounding her, reinforced his instinctive sense of the deep passion that animated her, simmering beneath her matter-of-fact façade—and calling to him to fully reveal it.
* * *
After ten minutes, she shook her head and looked back at him.
‘You warned me it was extensive, but this is overwhelming! How wonderful that your grandfather had a passion for collecting books, instead of rocks or jewellery or snuff boxes! I haven’t enough time now to explore as I’d like. Might I come back later?’
‘Whenever you wish. It’s a pleasure to make it available to someone who truly appreciates it. Should I chance to be away when you call, Wilton can show you in.’
She turned towards the exit, then halted and looked back at the shelves, as if the volumes had an almost physical hold she was reluctant or unable to break. Then, with a sigh, she crossed the room to his side and looked up, her expression rapturous.
She stood so near, he burned to touch her, the delight still animating her face intensifying that desire. Struggling to restrain himself, Dom could barely breathe. When she placed her hand on his arm, his body tensed as he
fought the need to pull her into his arms.
‘I know life treated you cruelly, but you still have such blessings. A beautiful home, loyal servants, this magnificent library—and a bluebell wood!’
‘And an enchanting new neighbour who appreciates books as much as I do,’ he murmured.
‘It is enchantment,’ she whispered, and raised her chin.
Mesmerised, he cupped her face in his hands. As he lowered his mouth, her eyes drifted shut, one hand coming up to clasp the back of his head, the other trailing beside her, over a stack of books on a side table.
Which tumbled over the edge and hit the floor with a tremendous clatter.
At the sound, Miss Branwell gasped and jerked away from him. Bereft, shocked, Dom let her go.
For a long moment, they stared at each other, panting. Miss Branwell, her eyes wide and unfocused, brought a hand to her trembling lips, as if unable to sort out what had just happened.
A knock at the door, followed by Wilton bowing himself in, broke what remained of the spell holding them motionless. ‘Should you like me to bring refreshments here, Mr Ransleigh?’ the butler asked.
‘N-no,’ Miss Branwell answered for him. ‘Thank you, Wilton, but I’m already overdue to return to Thornfield.’
‘Very good,’ the butler said, bowed himself back out.
Miss Branwell turned back to Dom, high colour still in her cheeks. ‘I suppose I should be grateful for disorganised stacks of books. Otherwise, my actions might have been...embarrassing, to say nothing of scandalous.’
‘I’m the one who should apologise, Miss Branwell,’ Dom said, making the obligatory statement, though he was not sorry at all. Or, with his needy body still clamouring for the kiss denied it, only sorry they’d been interrupted. ‘I should not have taken such advantage of you, a guest in my house.’
‘You hardly “took advantage”,’ Miss Branwell admitted frankly. ‘It goes without saying that the lapse mustn’t be repeated, but in honesty, it was as much my fault as yours. And quite unsisterly! That’s what I get for browsing through Ovid.’
Before his shocked mind could come up with a reply, she went on, ‘I should like to browse through the library again, but next time I’ll bring my maid as chaperone. And oh, how I would like to borrow some of the books for the school!’
As soon as the words left her lips, she shook her head. ‘Forgive me! Presumptuous again! You would certainly not wish to risk loaning valuable books to children who would not appreciate how costly and delicate they are. But if you would permit it, might I myself borrow some books? I could copy out passages for the students.’
‘Of course you may. Though you are correct; it would not be wise to put them into the hands of grubby schoolchildren.’
‘I shall ensure they are not.’ Not meeting his eyes, she bent to gather up the scattered books and stacked them back on the table. ‘I should leave before I wreak any more havoc. Thank you again, for your hospitality—and your understanding.’ She turned to go, halted a moment to press his hand, then hurried out.
Fingers tingling, Dom watched her walk away, then took himself to the sofa. His unsatisfied body still raging, he tried to settle a mind in turmoil and make sense of what had just happened.
Only one thing was clear: Miss Theo Branwell, unlikely siren, just made him forget a host’s duty to protect his female guests, a precept that had been drilled into him since childhood. He’d better stay away from her until he figured out what he was going to do about it.
* * *
Shaken, Theo gripped Firefly’s reins with trembling hands as she directed the mare down the lane back towards Thornfield Place, alarm over the episode in the library extinguishing her satisfaction in having outmanoeuvred Lady Wentworth. Whatever had come over her?
Her ladyship’s chagrin over her daughter’s discourtesy might have initially put to rest the worry that Theo’s association with Dominic Ransleigh might harm her orphans’ cause. But had the butler entered the library a few moments earlier, with her practically embracing his employer, even Aunt Amelia’s influence as a society hostess wouldn’t have been enough to salvage her reputation. Loyal retainer Wilton might be, but such gossip would be too delicious to repress—and impossible for Ransleigh to halt or punish.
Hadn’t she learned that lesson well enough, having to endure Audley Tremaine’s sly innuendoes after Marshall’s death? She’d paid dearly for her indiscretion in slipping away into the sunset-washed Portuguese hills to spend one halcyon evening alone with the man she loved. She should know better than to act so impulsively.
Besides, her imprudence now would injure not just her, but the innocent children she’d pledged to nurture and protect.
A part of her protested the clear conclusion that, having shown herself so susceptible to Ransleigh’s appeal, she should avoid him entirely. True, in his company she was able to recapture the ease and comfort of her years in the army with Papa, and she’d been completely delighted by the treasures of his library. But Ransleigh’s ability to slip through her guard and fire a passion she’d thought long extinguished was a danger against which she needed to remain much more vigilant.
Work was the answer, she told herself, shutting out the pleading voice that urged her not to end her association with her intriguing neighbour. Set up the school, care for the children, and fill her days loving the little boy who meant more to her than any transient passion.
No matter how much, at this moment, she might regret letting it go.
Chapter Ten
A week later, Herodotus finished, additional staff hired, and restless, Dom wandered around a rose garden freshly weeded by the new assistant gardener. Though he was pleased at returning Bildenstone to the elegance and comfort he remembered from his childhood, he hadn’t yet managed to force himself to proceed to disposing of his now superfluous horses and carriages, nor had he ventured out to inspect the estate.
Having only recently been able to manage more than eating, sleeping, and reading, Dom told himself that taking on restoring the house was task enough for the moment. As he regained strength and immersed himself in the rhythm of country life, he’d feel more like he belonged here, begin figuring out what he was meant to do next—and find it easier to part with the relics of the past.
At least, he hoped so.
With a sigh, he halted his aimless ramble and turned back towards the house. He’d check on the progress the carpenter from the village had made on the repairs to the kitchen roof, then find another book to replace Herodotus.
Pacing into the kitchen, he found a neat pile of supplies, but no carpenter. The assistant cook looked up from peeling vegetables to bob a quick curtsy.
‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘Is Young Joe around?’
‘He left after setting the new beams in the corner,’ the cook replied. ‘He said while he was waiting for the plaster to dry, he’d be down at the stone barn, building some partitions for Miss Branwell.’
‘Did he say how much longer it would take him to finish the work here?’
‘No, sir. Shall I send one of the boys down to the barn to ask him?’
Dom hesitated. He should tell her to dispatch someone, or wait until the carpenter returned on his own. But if work were being done on the school building, Miss Branwell was undoubtedly present.
After the incident in the library proved beyond doubt how strong his attraction to her was and how difficult to resist, he’d told himself to put her out of mind. Had Wilton or any of the other servants come in while he was practically devouring her, the vicar would even now be calling the banns. Since compromising her meant marriage, something neither of them wanted, the best remedy to buttress a suddenly deficient will-power was to avoid her.
But damn, he missed her. That keen wit, the winsome smile, the sparkling laugh, how she could shock and amuse him
with her honest, unexpected and sometimes outrageous observations. She’d brought back to him the pleasures of driving and pointed him towards increasing the staff, which had led him to the admittedly limited activities that now occupied his days.
And that dangerous, irresistible, visceral attraction that sparked between them had made him feel more virile, more alive, and more happy to be alive, than he’d felt since before his wounding.
Why not go to the barn himself? In addition to consulting Joe about the progress on Bildenstone’s kitchen, as the owner of the barn, he probably ought to inspect what alterations were being made.
Once admitting the possibility of seeing her again, the need to do so rose to swamp him.
And why shouldn’t he? A man who’d faced down a company of Napoleon’s fiercest cuirassiers needn’t fear handling one tall, brown-haired girl. If he felt his will-power slipping, there would be workmen and children about, chaperones aplenty to restrain him from making any untoward moves. Besides, as eager as Miss Branwell was to avoid being compromised, she’d undoubtedly be on her guard as well.
He could indulge in the pleasure of her delightfully unconventional conversation for a few moments, with little risk. Before returning to his lonely existence at Bildenstone.
There was no need to be so blue-devilled. If he were beginning to regret burying himself alone in the country, there were any number of friends and at least two of his cousins he could invite to divert him.
But after running through a list of possibilities, he didn’t hit upon a single one whose company tempted him to alter his solitary state.
No one but Miss Branwell.
The implication of that truth was so unsettling, Dom shied away from considering it.
Hell and damnation, enough introspection! He wanted some intelligent conversation, and he wanted it with Miss Branwell. Surrounded by workmen and urchins, he could indulge in half-an-hour’s chat without requiring a priest and a wedding band at the end of it.
Suddenly aware the cook was still staring at him, awaiting an answer, Dom shook his head. ‘No, you needn’t send someone. I’ll speak with Joe later.’
The Rake to Reveal Her Page 10