by Jane Feather
WYATT DIDN’T have to ask the name of the other woman. He knew her identity before they crossed the hallway and walked into the dining room. His gaze traveled the length of the table to his place at the end. His mother’s choices for his bride were seated within easy comparison: Caroline in the seat to his left, Faro to his right.
He managed to keep his face expressionless as he escorted his mother to her seat, but leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You know I do not like to be manipulated.”
She merely smiled and patted his hand, then turned to greet the guests nearest her. He made his way to the other end of the table, his gaze on Faro. She wore a violet-colored silk gown tonight, her hair in a typically simple upswept arrangement. He wondered how long her hair might actually be, what it would look like around her shoulders, wrapped around his hands.
Caroline called out a greeting. “We were beginning to think you would forgo dinner tonight, my lord. We haven’t seen you all day.” Vicar Robbins sat next to Caroline and she laid her hand on the elderly gentleman’s sleeve. “The vicar just told us what a shame it was that you didn’t compete in the archery contest. He says you are an expert archer. Is that true?”
“My aim is no more than fair,” he allowed.
“I am certain you are being modest.” She gave him a coy smile. “Do say you will attend tomorrow’s contest. The vicar says my aim will improve if someone helps steady my bow. Can I count on your assistance? Perhaps an hour or two of instruction as well?”
He gestured toward the man seated next to Faro. “Squire Elgin is the county’s champion archer, Mrs. Carstairs. He is the one who should instruct you.”
He turned to look at Elgin, but his gaze stopped at the neckline of Faro’s gown. The bodice was cut no lower than any other lady’s at the table, but he didn’t have such intimate knowledge of those ladies’ breasts. The dress revealed far more of Faro than he wanted any other man at the table to know. His hands were at the buttons of his jacket before he checked the ridiculous urge to strip off his coat and wrap the garment around her shoulders.
“I would be pleased to instruct you,” the squire said to Caroline. “If it were not for my gout, today’s archery prize would be in my hand as we speak. Perhaps we would both benefit from a few additional hours’ practice tomorrow morning, Mrs. Carstairs.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Caroline murmured. She did little to disguise her revulsion at the thought of Elgin’s pudgy arms wrapped around her to steady a bow.
The spidery maze of purple veins that covered Elgin’s bulbous nose, along with his bright shock of red hair, never failed to remind Wyatt of port wine and carrots. Years of rich food and overindulgence in liquor obscured the once-handsome face of his youth, but the squire still considered himself a ladies’ man. He misinterpreted Caroline’s disdainful expression completely. “Of course, I shouldn’t make such a pleasurable pastime sound like such a chore, should I, Mrs. Carstairs?”
Caroline ignored the remark and smiled again at Wyatt. “How did you while away your afternoon, my lord?”
“I attended Miss Burke’s readings in the rose garden.” He made a conscious effort to avoid Faro’s gaze, knowing he would lose his train of thought the instant he looked at her again. Instead he focused on the vicar. “Which reminds me, how fare the parish rose gardens this year, Vicar?”
“There are several new strains that show promise,” the vicar answered, “but the peas are the most exciting news of this year’s crop. One is a short, compact variety that does well in the poor soil found close to the shoreline. There are new developments in the bean crop as well.”
Wyatt breathed a silent sigh of relief. The vicar was an enthusiastic horticulturist. He could speak for hours on the subject as long as Wyatt remembered to prompt him at the appropriate intervals. The first course arrived as the vicar extolled the virtues of bonemeal.
At previous meals Wyatt had noticed that a plateful of food nearly guaranteed silence from Caroline’s quarter. Tonight proved no different. Although careful in her manners, she did little to disguise her amazing appetite. She would doubtless be the size of Squire Elgin in a few years. They both appeared to be contestants in a race to see who could eat the most in one sitting.
Wyatt’s gaze moved to Faro. She feigned an interest in the vicar’s talk, but her fork did little more than rearrange the food on her plate. She ignored Wyatt entirely. If she remained consistent to her behavior over the past two days, she would do her best to avoid any direct conversation with him, and look his way only when absolutely necessary.
She hated this dinner as much as he did. The stiff set of her shoulders and the chilled air between them destroyed the slim hope that she might end their silent battle of wills. He must be the one to take the first step toward surrender.
An apology might smooth the waters between them. Then again, an apology might lead to disaster. He had a very real fear that once he started, he would say anything to have her accept it, make any besotted plea she might wish to hear just to hold her in his arms again. The arguments he repeated against that course of action were almost a litany. She is the daughter of my oldest enemy. She lacks a dowry. She fancies herself a fortune-teller.
The first two had lost their conviction the moment he kissed her. Only the third still held any sway in his thoughts. What sane man would want a fortune-teller as his wife? That keen piece of logic never failed to fortify him in the solitude of his library. Why did it sound so inconsequential whenever she was in the same room? Another day and that last flimsy piece of armor would fall away as well. And then what would he do?
Faro lifted her fork for a small bite of roast beef and he watched her movements the way a hawk would watch its prey. There was no doubt about it. Her mouth was made to drive him wild. He remembered to take a bite of his own food, then he noticed her hands. The fishnet gloves she wore tonight were dyed in the same violet shade as her gown and tied at the wrist with slender silk ribbons. He knew what those ribbons would feel like between his fingers. They would be as warm and smooth as the ribbons that held her chemise in place, as soft as the delicate skin beneath those ribbons. His gaze traveled higher along her bare arms and he imagined his fingertips taking the same path. Then his lips. In his mind, he touched her everywhere he looked.
Vicar Robbins cleared his throat. “Did the crop rotations work as I planned, Lord Wyatt?”
“Yes.” He wondered if that was the right answer. He reluctantly turned his attention to the vicar. “I hope you will have time to inspect the apple orchards before you leave tomorrow. The trees didn’t develop fruit in the numbers we hoped for this year. The gardeners are at a loss.”
“The solution is probably as simple as a few bee skeps to help pollination next spring.” The vicar’s dark eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled at Faro. “You are quiet tonight, Miss Burke. All this talk of horticulture must be terribly boring for those who don’t share my enthusiasm.”
“On the contrary,” she said, “I share your interest, Vicar. Unfortunately, I do not share your expertise. The next time I plant roses, I must try that bonemeal you mentioned. Are there different varieties of bonemeal, or will any type work equally well?”
The vicar launched into another long-winded explanation and Wyatt smiled. It seemed she was not above using his ploy to keep the burden of conversation in the vicar’s court. She had no more interest in bonemeal than he did.
He watched her lean forward to take a sip of wine and noticed that Squire Elgin also took a sudden interest in Faro’s movements. The squire craned his neck to look as far down the front of her bodice as possible.
Wyatt was halfway out of his seat before he realized the scene that would ensue if he smashed his fist into Elgin’s face. The guests nearest Wyatt had already turned their puzzled gazes in his direction. He sat back down and hid his clenched hands beneath the table, braced against his knees.
The vicar spoke first. “Is something amiss, Lord Wyatt?”
“Gout,” he managed, throug
h clenched teeth. “In my knee. Sometimes one must exorcise one’s demons at inconvenient moments.”
Elgin finally glanced up, but didn’t seem to realize that Wyatt directed his comments at him. “Gout, eh? Vile ailment.”
“How dreadful for you, Lord Wyatt.” Caroline offered a sympathetic smile. “My own dear papa suffered from gout. I have recipes for several tonics that will restore you in no time.”
With the reins of the conversation in her firm control once more, Caroline rambled on about her tonics. Wyatt kept track of Elgin from the corner of his eye. Caroline’s voice was definitely the problem. The sound reminded him of an annoying drone of insects. He would give almost anything to hear Faro’s soft, sultry voice again. Not here, though. Alone. In the gardens, perhaps. Better yet, in his bed. Would this dinner never end?
A man could only take so much torture. Sooner or later, he had to tell Faro the truth of his feelings. But not here. Nor any other public place.
For a man who didn’t frighten easily, the emotions Faro’s kisses unleashed disturbed him plenty. He could still hardly fathom the force that had overcome him at the abbey. One taste of her lips had turned his fancy to sample her charms into a full-blown need to possess her completely. He had lost all control of himself. He’d come to his senses only after he had started to tear the clothes from her body. Just a few more moments in her arms and nothing would have stopped him from completing what they’d started. He had wanted her with a need that approached violence.
It was fear for her safety that made him speak too hastily, to encourage her belief that he had rejected her. She would never know the silent war he had fought with himself on that long ride home. Tonight the battle waged more fiercely than ever before, a battle he was bound to lose.
At last Caroline gave him an expectant look and fell silent. He supplied what he hoped was the appropriate response. “I see.”
“Then you will help me practice tomorrow?”
Her question met with baffled silence.
“It sounds as if Mrs. Carstairs will receive her instruction from Lord Wyatt,” Elgin said to Faro. Wyatt turned in time to see Elgin’s hand come to rest atop hers on the table. “Could I persuade you to join me at archery practice tomorrow morning, Miss Burke?”
Faro didn’t answer. She stared down at the squire’s hand as if she were frozen in place. Her face turned deathly pale.
“I say, Miss Burke. Are you quite all right?” Elgin picked up her hand and began to pat her wrist. “You look a bit peaked.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Release my hand.”
The squire dropped her hand as if she had slapped him.
Wyatt pushed away from the table and came to stand next to her.
“Miss Burke mentioned earlier that she did not feel well,” he told the company. He offered her his hand. “A little fresh air might do you good, Miss Burke.”
He felt a triumphant surge of relief when she took his hand without hesitation. “Forgive me,” she murmured to the other guests. She rose unsteadily to her feet, and her grip on his hand tightened. “I do feel out of sorts. It seems best if I follow Lord Wyatt’s suggestion.”
Wyatt tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her from the dining room, oblivious to the whispers of speculation that followed them.
CHAPTER SIX
WYATT TOOK FARO across the hall to his library. His stiff, formal manner disappeared the moment he closed the door behind them. “What happened in there?”
“I … I felt ill.” She stripped off her fishnet gloves and they fell unnoticed to the floor. The smell of Squire Elgin’s wine-soured breath still cloyed at her senses and she felt a need to escape. Escape what, she wasn’t sure, but the places Elgin touched her felt branded by something unclean. She rubbed one wrist with the heel of her palm, hard enough to make the skin chafe. “He is an awful man.”
“What did Elgin do to you?” Wyatt’s hands became fists at his sides. “Was it a remark I could not hear? Did he grope at you beneath the table?”
“He did nothing but touch my hand. What I saw when he touched me was much worse than anything he could do at a dinner table.”
Wyatt’s arms remained rigid a moment longer, then he slowly relaxed. “What did you see?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She crossed the room and took a seat on the jewel-green settee to put distance between them. She had spent too much time in his company already tonight. His nearness was beginning to affect her, to wear at her cloak of indifference. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
Wyatt followed her across the room and sat next to her. “I know you wouldn’t deliberately lie to me.”
“But I would lie to you unwittingly?” She hoped to hear his denial, but the hope went unanswered. She folded her arms across her chest. “The young women in Squire Elgin’s hire would not call what he does to them a lie, unwitting or deliberate.”
“There are occasional rumors about Elgin in the village,” Wyatt admitted, “but the squire is a wealthy man. Money has a way of silencing rumors.” He pursed his lips and his expression darkened. “However, none of the locals will allow their daughters to work in his hire. Is it possible that you overheard something another guest said about the squire, then saw what you expected to see when he touched you?”
“No, that is not what happened. The visions were very—” She stood up and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. He would never understand her. It was pointless to keep trying. “I appreciate your rescue from the dinner, but now I would like to retire.”
“Wait, Faro.” He took hold of her hand before she could move it away. “There is something I need to … We need to talk.”
His touch alone was enough to convince her to stay. She recognized only too well the frustration that radiated from him. It would do neither of them any good to relieve that frustration, but she could not make herself walk away. He released her hand when she sat back down. “Very well, my lord. What must we discuss?”
“You don’t know?” His lips parted, then he pressed them together again. His gaze went to her hands, folded primly in her lap. “How can you see Squire Elgin’s past, yet see nothing of mine when I touch you?”
“You are different from anyone else. With others I receive impressions. Sometimes those impressions are strong enough to form an image. With you I feel…” How could she explain her feelings when she didn’t understand them herself? She knew the exact moment when he walked into a room, and she could feel his gaze whenever he looked at her. But when he touched her, she didn’t know if the emotions she felt were only her own. Along with desire, those emotions brought a sense of comfort and anticipation. And something else she couldn’t name. “I feel—”
“Breathless?” he supplied. “As if the air around you suddenly became lighter? As if your heart beats faster than it should?”
She drew farther away from him. “We should not discuss this. We agreed to forget what happened.”
“I don’t want to forget.” He moved closer, taking her hands in a grip so gentle that she could escape if she wished. “If I recall correctly, we agreed that what happened between us was a mistake.”
“Yes, a mistake,” she echoed, without much conviction. She couldn’t think straight when he touched her. It was happening again, the warm, content feeling that made her relax her guard. He was so close that she could feel his breath brush against her neck, just below her ear. She gritted her teeth, fighting the silent seduction.
“It was a mistake because I knew nothing could come of the kisses we shared. Not at the abbey, where anyone might stumble upon us.” He rubbed the pads of his thumbs against her palms and she felt his heart race in rhythm with her own. “Once, a very long time ago, my father said I might fancy myself in love on occasion, but somewhere deep inside I would know when the right woman came along. I knew you were the one I waited for the moment I took you into my arms.”
The sweet words made her heart ache with longing. No matter how hard they tried, the power
of their attraction couldn’t be denied. He wanted her to become his mistress. This man who exuded an air of order and stability, loyalty and common sense, wanted a lover who came from a family that possessed none of those traits.
It was an amazing thing to be wanted by a man, to know that the emotions she felt affected him just as deeply. Emotions foreign to her just a few days ago were now her constant companions. She wanted to smile whenever she saw him. She liked the way he followed her around the house each day. Yet she would not, could not, allow her emotions such free rein. The knowledge that his heart would always be beyond her reach was all that kept an icy barrier around her own. Now she felt it begin to melt—against her will, against every instinct of self-preservation. She tried one last time to delay the inevitable, even as she recognized that her words sounded like an admission of guilt. “I thought we could go on as before.”
“I cannot go on another day,” he countered. “Not like this, pretending there is nothing between us.” His grip on her hands tightened, a telling indication of his need to hold her. “Each morning I wake up wondering where you are, when I will see you next, what we will say. Then I wonder what I will do the morning after you leave Blackburn. I want to see you in my home every day. The sound of your voice is the first thing I want to hear each morning. I want to hold your hand whenever I please because it gives me pleasure just to touch you. There is only one way to keep you here, one way to keep you in my life now and always. I want to marry you, Faro. Say you will be my wife.”
She felt the color drain from her face. He gave her time to absorb the shock of his proposal, but she knew there would never be enough time in the world to escape its impact. The notion of marriage and a family of her own had crossed her mind just often enough over the years to leave scars in its wake. For an instant at the abbey she had allowed herself to believe that Wyatt was the one man who could turn a fanciful dream into reality. Now she recalled the frowns and hint of doubt in his eyes whenever she performed a reading and realized a frightening truth. Today she faced the same choice that had ultimately led to her mother’s destruction.