Fourteen
There were times when a man could have too many eyes upon him, especially when he was aroused to the point of pain. Being alone with Blythe, kissing her, and holding her against him eroded his control considerably.
Although he was pleased to see Beth usefully employed, her presence in the abbey would add another complication to his life. Beth was an observant woman, one of high morals like Blythe which was why he was so happy she’d offered the position of companion rather than maid. They were very much alike.
Beth would take care of Blythe exceedingly well. Well enough to likely get in the way of his goal of seducing Blythe.
He should be thinking of the future and his goal of finding a wealthy wife. However, he wasn’t sure what he wanted more; Miss Trimble’s money or Blythe panting after making love to him. Sadly, the latter was in his thought more often than the first.
He glanced over his shoulder to see if Blythe had finished eating and caught her staring at him. He grinned as a blush stole over her cheeks. Damn, but she was a tempting wench. He’d have her over the table this very instant if he didn’t think she’d hate herself the moment it was over. Not that he had any intentions of bedding her fast or just once. There was an energy about her that drew him closer, even as he recognized he should be the last man on earth to have her. Yet Blythe was a woman that couldn’t be rushed, even though she returned his kisses with astonishing passion. “Shall we continue in the sanctuary today?”
She daintily pressed her napkin to her lips and stood, smoothing the folds of her skirts as she did so. “I believe that is a very good idea.”
He allowed her to proceed him, but not from any gentlemanly inclination. He enjoyed watching her move. Dainty. Economical with her movements, but rigidly straight at all times. The exceptions were when she pressed herself against him while they kissed and he’d begun to live for those moments.
As they traversed the short distance to the drawing room doors, Wilcox appeared before them and cleared his throat. “A servant has come from Walden Hall. It seems Lord Venables has arrived and is in something of an uproar.”
Blythe stopped. “Whatever could he be upset about? Did the servant leave a letter?”
Wilcox grimaced. “No, my lady. I’ve put him in the library so he might pass along the message in person.”
Blythe frowned. “Very well. I’ll see him now.” She hurried into the library, closing the doors behind her with a soft click.
Tobias scowled at Wilcox. “Do you know what that is about?”
Wilcox shrugged. “Lady Venables would not like me to be involved in issues that do not relate to Romsey Abbey. I didn’t like to ask.”
Tobias crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “But the servant whispered it to you anyway. Out with it.”
Wilcox glanced around a little guiltily. “He wanted to know if we had acquired any new servants. I thought it an oddly timed question as Mrs. Turner has just joined the household.”
“Very oddly timed. I wasn’t aware that Mrs. Turner had any connection to Lady Venables’ before.”
“I’m not aware of any,” Wilcox supplied.
Tobias checked the hall to be sure he was unobserved and then pressed his ear to the door, ignoring Wilcox’s spluttered gasp. But inside, he could hear nothing of the conversation. He drew back. “She does speak very quietly, doesn’t she?”
“Too quietly. Excuse me,” Wilcox murmured.
Had Venables noticed the removal of Blythe’s son’s things already? He hoped it was about another matter altogether so she need not become distressed. Rather than wait where he couldn’t hear anything anyway, Tobias retreated to the drawing room. Blythe would join him when she could and he’d question her about the matter.
While he waited, he prowled the room. The former duke’s of Romsey had a penchant for dramatic paintings throughout the house, but here they seemed to him to be a poorly chosen collection. The large portrait of the old duke, of course, drew the eye, but the other smaller works were not cast in the same style or elegance. They lacked the presence Tobias thought necessary for such a formal chamber, as if they were hung here without thought to the effect.
The drawing room door clicked shut and Tobias spun around. Blythe’s face had creased into worry again and he hurried to her side, slipped an arm around her back and pulled her against him. “What is it?”
She pressed a hand to her cheek. “I am stunned. My servants have handed in their notice and left Walden Hall this morning. Venables is livid.”
“Surely not all of them.”
“I cannot believe it! Mrs. Finch packed up and left without a word nor offered an apology for the timing. Apparently she’s taken a place in another household. The rest of the servants, cook, gardener and groom went with her, leaving Venables with only the servants he brought from London. Mrs. Finch said nothing of this yesterday.”
Tobias ran his hand up and down her back. “Looks like Venables will have to butter his own bread for a while.”
Blythe shook her head. “What will I do without her? I depend on Finch.”
Tobias wrapped her in his arms and squeezed. “It was a good thing you had her assistance yesterday with young Adam’s things. Perhaps that was her farewell gift to you.”
“I suppose.” She pushed out of his arms. “She’s been with me so long that I cannot imagine anyone else looking after my house.” She offered a sad smile. “Or me.”
“Well, then it is a very good thing that you have Beth now to take care of you.”
She nodded then suddenly shook her head. “I’ve sent a note to Venables, voicing my surprise. I don’t know what else to do to rectify the situation.”
Tobias could care less for Venables outrage. However, Blythe was another matter. “There is nothing you can do. It is his house and he is more than capable of acquiring replacement employees.”
She stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “But what if he hires the wrong sort? It is not him who has to live with them when he returns to Town.”
Tobias eased onto the arm of a chair. “Why not live here with your sister instead of returning to Walden Hall? You’ve given me the impression that Venables is somewhat of a bore. Would it really be such a hardship to move away?”
If she lived here, it would be easy to continue his steady seduction. He’d have all the time in the world, up until he decided to take up residence at Harrowdale. He could put that off for some time if he had the right incentive. Having Blythe in his bed, or himself in hers, would be ample reason to remain at Romsey. But could she leave off her grave side vigils? That might be harder for her to do.
“Yes, it would. I have been mistress of my own house since I was sixteen years of age. It is very hard to do nothing with ones days and that would certainly happen should I remain here.”
He understood her problem very well. He didn’t like to be idle either, hence his decision to make Harrowdale his home and repair the last ten years of neglect the property had suffered. He would have ample projects to occupy the rest of his life. Blythe wouldn’t have that if she lived at Romsey. However, he was buoyed by the fact that Blythe made no mention of her long dead son or husband. Perhaps she wasn’t as tied to the place as he’d first thought.
However, there was no easy solution to her problems today. He approached her, put his arm lightly across her shoulders, and steered her toward the duke’s sanctuary. “Well, lucky for us we have something we should be doing ourselves right now. Let Venables take care of Walden Hall. I need you now.”
He opened the chamber door and Blythe slipped inside without comment. She stood before the shelves, gaze lifted to the tomes above her. “I cannot help feeling that this is a waste of time.”
“I had the same thought this morning.” He closed the door behind him with a soft click. “What prompted your misgivings?”
Blythe’s shoulders lifted, tensed, at the closing of the door. “There is no sense to how the books are shelved for one.”
“Yes, but I cannot figure out his system. There must be one. How could the old duke have found a journal should he want a particular one? There is no catalogue to be found. Did he rely on memory alone?”
Tobias smoothed his hands up and down her sides. “I don’t think so. You said the journal concerning Leopold was very detailed and was kept close to the desk. Perhaps the ones at a distance were unimportant to him by the end of his life.”
“That is as good a theory as any.” A ragged breath left Blythe’s lips as she shuddered. “Please stop.”
He glanced down at where his hands rested just below her breasts. He bent down close to her ear. “You really don’t wish for me to continue?”
Her breath left her in ragged pants as he pressed his lips to the column of her throat. Such smooth, unblemished skin deserved to be worshiped. He couldn’t get enough of touching her. He raised his hand to cover her breast. She gasped, but didn’t make any move to dislodge him.
While he firmed his grip over the orb, he pressed light kisses over her skin. Blythe tilted her head and sagged against him, pressing her bottom against his erection. He groaned. Too damn tempting. He slid his hand from her breast, up the column of her throat, and turned her face to his. Her lips parted as he covered them. He drew her tightly against him, closed his eyes, and plundered her mouth until he was wild for her.
If not for their location, and her strong sense of propriety, he’d back her against the wall and take her here and now. But he couldn’t take Blythe as if she was a common whore with a dark corner for her lovers. She was a lady and deserved to be treated as such.
He opened his eyes as he drew back. Damp lips and pink skin, but not a hair out of place. He skimmed his hands over her body, rejoicing when she molded herself to him, clearly aroused and oblivious of her actions. This passion between them would be quenched. But such a pleasure required time and her full participation. He wouldn’t take her to his bed unless she was ready and aware.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, stood straighter, and tucked her head beneath his chin. He inhaled deeply and fought to regain control before he begged for pleasure. Yes, soon. Very soon. But not here and not now. Not in a musty room full of old books that stank of scandal and corruption. “Perhaps we should concentrate on the journals kept closest to Leopold’s,” he said eventually, cursing the rough huskiness of his voice.
Blythe pressed her face against his chest and rocked her head from side to side. Her hands tightened on his waist. “I suppose that is as good as any plan.”
He glanced down at her. Did she not want to end the exchange? Her eyes were closed, her lip caught between her teeth. He smiled at the sight, satisfied beyond measure. He’d aroused her. He was certain of it. If there was a bed nearby he’d lay her upon it and feast on her perfect skin for the next few hours.
Eventually she drew away, but wouldn’t look at him. He faced the wall of journals, and set his hand to her shoulders and rubbed his thumbs over her delicate neck. “Where did you say Leopold’s journal was kept?”
Her arm lifted to point. “Here.”
He slid his hand from her neck and along her outstretched arm slowly, covered her tiny one with his. He tapped their fingers against the spine of a plain leather bound volume. “This one?”
She moved their joined hands further along the shelf. “No. This one.”
“Ah.” He pulled a journal off the shelf at random, relinquishing his grip on Blythe in the process. She pressed the hand he’d been holding against her belly and curled it into a fist. He gave her a quick reassuring smile and sat on the table edge. After a moment, Blythe relaxed.
He flicked open the book and studied the first page. His date of birth was clearly written on the first line, along with other details of his birth. But he stared at the numbers scratched out beside it.
At the beginning it had been a five, but that had been crossed out and amended to the number four, and then changed to number five again. He pointed at the numbers as recognition dawned. “This was my place in the succession at the time the old duke died. I’m third now, I suppose, until Oliver is found alive.”
Blythe shifted closer to see, her cheek pressing against his shoulder. “Really?”
He pointed to the first number and tapped out the order of succession. “Cousin Edwin, my father, Leopold, Oliver and then myself.” He shifted his finger. “It changed again when my father was murdered. Then changed again when young Edwin was born. Oliver must have been alive until the end of the duke’s lifetime.”
“Goodness. That’s the first time he’s been so obvious and I’ve looked at these books for weeks.” Blythe leaned over him and flicked to the end of the book. She pointed to an entry.
“Lady Margaret? Never heard of her.” He frowned. “Not even a ship of that name. If it’s of any use, I was taken to the Williamstown first and later removed to another ship.”
A frown creased Blythe’s brow. She flicked pages until she was somewhere in the middle and ran her fingers over the page. “Here it is. 1803. The Williamstown.”
He stared at the name as fury filled him. “Yes, that’s the one.”
His voice came out as a growl and Blythe’s gaze flew to his. “You were on that ship, but not the Lady Margaret?”
“That is correct.”
She took the book from him and pointed to an earlier entry; June, 1799. “Where were you then?”
“I lived at Harrowdale with my family.”
She stared at the book then returned to the last pages. She returned to the entry about the Williamstown, running the tip of her finger down the page. “Were you moored off Swansea in eighteen six? Captain Fenwinch wrote His Grace that he was to take up duties on the Lady Margaret next. He mentions taking someone with him.”
Tobias took the journal and stared at the entry. Captain Fenwinch had gleefully traded him to the slaver two years before in Charleston. He swallowed. “Not me. I was in service aboard a slaver, the Enid Wren, from eighteen four to eighteen eleven.”
Blythe gasped. “A slaver. You’ve never mentioned anything about that before now.”
Tobias’ smiled, but it was tight with strain. “It’s not something suited to delicate ears and I’d much rather not think about those days ever again.”
Her head bowed back over the book and asked him more questions. Some he could answer, most he could not. Eventually, she set the journal aside on the table and covered his hands with hers. He couldn’t hide the way they shook.
“I am so sorry, Tobias. So very sorry. It appears the old duke was lied to by Captain Fenwinch. The duke may never have known where you truly were or that you suffered so much.” She licked her lips. “He lost you.”
Fifteen
“Discarded like rancid whale meat,” Tobias said tonelessly.
Blythe set her hands on either side of Tobias’ face and brought his gaze to hers. “The duke appears not to have known and was convinced you were still aboard Fenwinch’s ship. There are pages of entries after the first mention of the Williamstown and he wrote to Romsey of his business in command of the Lady Margaret.”
“I wrote to Romsey. None were answered.”
Blythe pulled his head to hers. “Perhaps any reply was sent to the Lady Margaret.”
Tobias snorted and moved out of her grip. She curled her hands into fists, uncertain how to ease Tobias’ anger over what must be a cruel betrayal. To be sent away was one thing. To be unknowingly lost was entirely worse. It grieved her to see him in such pain. When they’d first met she’d thought him largely unaffected by the past. He was always ready with a wicked grin, vulgar words, or searing invitation to join him in bed. How wrong had she been about him? His depths were as scarred as his skin.
She set her hands to his broad shoulder just as the mechanism to the door clicked. She snatched her hands back as the chamber was bathed in brighter light.
&nb
sp; “I had an hour free,” Leopold said as he stepped into the chamber.
Tobias drew himself to his full height. “Good. I’m sure you’ll find out something about yourself here. I’m just a ghost.”
He stepped around his brother and disappeared.
Leopold raised a brow. “What was that about?”
Blythe picked up the tome they had been looking at and opened it to the first mention of the Williamstown. “I’ve determined that book is about your brother. However, from this point to the end it is a work of fiction. The duke unknowingly lied to you. He may not have had a clue where Tobias really was during his exile.”
Leopold stared at the book then his lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl. “If that old bastard wasn’t seven feet deep and covered in marble I’d dig him up and scatter his bones to the bloody fishes.”
He spun about, calling out to his brother as he went.
Blythe sighed and returned the book to the shelf. Perhaps Leopold would be able to soothe him and restore his good humor. There was one way that such a feat might be accomplished, but she wouldn’t open her bedchamber window tonight and invite Tobias into her bed just to cheer him up.
Uncertain of what to do next, she chose another journal and closed the sanctuary. But as she faced the room, she jumped out of her skin. Wilcox stood just inside the drawing room, holding the door latch as if he’d intended to leave the next moment.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Wilcox cleared his throat. “Is there anything I can fetch for you, Lady Venables?”
Blythe hugged the journal to her chest. “Nothing, thank you.”
“Very good, my lady. Mrs. Turner has arrived to begin her duties.” He bowed stiffly, glanced over her shoulder to the now hidden doorway before quickly departing. Blythe’s heart raced. The secret was out. She’d have to tell Mercy the butler knew about the duke’s sanctuary.
She hurried along to Edwin’s playroom, nodded to the footmen standing outside the doors, and waited impatiently for them to open the door. When they finally allowed her to pass, she rushed forward to whisper in her sister’s ear. “Wilcox knows about the sanctuary.”
Forsaking the Prize Page 13