by Jane Feather
May had been introduced at dinner the first night at Stirling Hall and had come to some conclusions about the earl’s mother. The countess, Lady Charlotte, had spent years under the thumb of the previous countess before becoming mistress of Stirling Hall on her own. Now she resented giving precedence and power over to a younger woman, especially one without a title or proper breeding.
May curtsied to the older woman, who passed her as though she were one of the paintings hung on the wall. The estate manager, Mr. Radwinter, goggled at her from behind thick-lensed spectacles. May rolled her eyes when they were gone. Mr. Radwinter annoyed her much more than the countess, because his likes and dislikes, opinions and habits, were exact copies of the countess’s. The countess disapproved of families with too many children; so did Mr. Radwinter. The countess disliked peas with onions in them; so did Mr. Radwinter. If the countess had disapproved of heaven, Mr. Radwinter would have also. She was about to resume her progress when Fidkin, the earl’s man, came hurrying after the countess.
“Oh, Miss Peabody, your pardon.”
May nodded and would have gone on, but Fidkin cleared his throat. She gave him an inquiring glance. Fidkin edged closer to her, glanced around as if he were afraid the ancient portraits might be listening.
“Pardon my liberty, miss, but I got to explain about m’lord major.”
“The earl?”
“Aye, miss. You see, we was in the Crimea together. Right brave was the major. Near got hisself killed trying to keep his men safe. Wouldn’t take no food his men didn’t get. A matter o’ honor, he said. When all them officers was off in their tents being served big dinners, he was with us.”
Fidkin appeared to settle in for a discourse. “Saved my life, he did. Shoved me out of the way of a Russian saber. Right after that, he took a hit himself. Hurt bad, he was. Had to be sent home. But he’s better now, except that he gets these attacks if there’s a sudden noise, or if there’s a lot of confusion.” The slam of a door recalled Fidkin to the proprieties. He pulled on the hem of his coat and cleared his throat again.
“Your pardon, miss. I shouldn’t have spoken, only you ain’t seen his lordship major at his best.”
Having never been presented with a servant who dared to expose his master’s most private affairs, May was at a loss. At the same time, the earl’s conduct suddenly seemed more excusable.
“Thank you, Fidkin. You may rely upon my discretion.”
May hurried on to the stables, and, after making certain she understood the groom’s directions, she rode into the morning mist. Puck and Echo came with her. Isis remained with Aunt Violet. Isis did not take walks or rides. Her favorite form of exercise was hunting things and killing them.
It took May almost an hour to find her way through the hills to the valley where Castle Darent lay. The sun had risen when she cleared the trees through which she’d been riding, and the castle appeared to be floating in the middle of a pool of silver water and shrouded by clouds of mist. Cuthbert Finch had told her that the pool was the castle’s moat, which was fed by a nearby river.
After watering her horse, she rode across an arched stone bridge and under a rusted portcullis. In what used to be the bailey, she tethered her mare behind the remnant of a wall where she couldn’t be seen. Castle Darent once consisted of four massive, round towers connected by battlements, a mountain of a gatehouse, and opposite this, a series of reinforced stone chambers—the great hall and family apartments.
These were shells without floors or roofs, but the towers still stood. Echo and Puck scampered off to explore. May located the one called the Well Tower and climbed its winding stair past several floors with rotting timbers, to a landing. There she found a telescope covered in a dust cloth, a hamper filled with tinned meat, wine and utensils, and a box. The box held books, some of which May had read—the usual Aristotle, Plato, Virgil, and Ovid. She was surprised to see Molière, Alexander Pope, and Mr. Dickens’s Bleak House. Cuthbert Finch hadn’t told her the earl had made this place a private retreat. May shut the lid on the book box, feeling like a snoop.
There was a ladder leading to a door in the roof. She climbed up and stuck her head outside. The sun was beginning to burn off the mist. She climbed out, went to the crenellated battlement, and leaned over the edge. She drew back behind a merlon and peeped around it as the earl rode across the stone bridge.
Now that she’d heard Fidkin, she was disposed to view the earl with much less trepidation. May found herself watching him with shy interest, even curiosity. He had been riding hard and had removed his coat. His cambric shirt was damp and clung to his chest and shoulders.
She remembered her father saying the earl had been in the Heavy Brigade, and now she understood why, for Temple Stirling was too tall for the Light Brigade, and had a build that could easily have borne the weight of the armor his ancestors had worn in this castle. She watched sunlight cause his wet skin to glisten where his shirt opened at his throat. He must often have removed his coat while riding, for the skin there had turned a warm brown.
Her gaze roamed upward to fasten on onyx locks plastered to a straight, determined forehead, then lowered to glimpse a hand resting on a thigh the size of a cathedral pilaster. Then he vanished beneath the portcullis. May came awake from her fascination to find herself in a strange state. She couldn’t concentrate. It was hot, and she felt quite odd.
“Compose yourself, May Peabody,” she muttered to herself.
She could hear him coming up the winding stair. He was on the ladder. May skittered as far away from the trap door as she could, so that he would be facing away from her when he came out. All too quickly the earl’s black cap of hair appeared. Then he was on the roof and walking over to the battlement. Bracing himself against two merlons, he leaned out to gaze across the countryside.
She wished he weren’t so large. Even facing away from her he was intimidating. She surveyed a long leg, the shining black boots, pants that had drawn tight over his hips as he leaned. She should speak. It was growing too hot, and she wanted off this roof.
“It’s the Pea. What in bloody hell are you doing here?”
May jumped and cried out. His back still to her, the earl straightened and turned. He fixed a glare on her that would have made the stones of the battlements crumble. How could such lovely eyes turn one’s knees to custard? War sufferings or not, he was rude.
“Kindly refrain from calling me the Pea, my lord.”
“Very well, Miss Peabody. However, you must admit you’re aptly named.”
Was the sun hotter than usual? May felt her cheeks burn and pulled off her riding hat. “Perhaps my appearance here has encouraged you to make fun of me, but as I don’t call you names like roof beam or Maypole—”
“Maypole?” The earl threw back his head and laughed.
“I fail to understand your merriment,” May said stiffly.
The earl grinned at her. “I know.”
He was moving! May stirred uneasily as the earl walked across the roof to her side. He stopped an arm’s length away, but for her, it was too close. She wouldn’t allow him the satisfaction of seeing her shrink from him.
“There is something I want to discuss with you, my lord.”
He didn’t seem to be listening to her. The earl’s gaze appeared fixed at some point below her chin. Annoyed, May sank down until her face replaced whatever had fascinated him.
“Please do me the courtesy of listening when I address you,” she said.
Now he seemed to be half asleep. He gave her a slow, half-teasing smile and said softly, “Do you know something? Not seeing something has proved to be no method by which to banish it.”
“I beg your pardon?” May stood up.
The earl leaned over and whispered near her ear. “And I love peas.”
May darted away from his lips, which were too warm and had a disconcertingly dark rose color. “Nonsense. Now, I wanted to discuss something.”
“Did you?” he murmured. “Still, it was a mi
stake to come here, Miss Peabody. A mistake.”
May suddenly realized she was wary of this man. This wasn’t the dignified and elegant suitor of their first meeting, or the wounded soldier striving to maintain his composure. This was a man barely clothed in manners of civilized society. She sensed he’d come here to be something other than what everyone saw in the outside world. And she had intruded, thrust herself in the path of something he kept chained and hidden. She was proved right when the earl abruptly turned away from her and grabbed the stone ledge of the battlement.
“Go away from me, Mélisande.”
“My lord, I haven’t told you—”
He whirled around and scoured her with a vicious look. “Hell, woman. Have you not understood what is happening? Go away from me.” He raised his voice. “Now!”
May gasped and raced for the ladder. She was at the bottom and hurtling down the stairs in moments. Not stopping until she ran out into the bailey, she paused to catch her breath. Then she went for her mare. He had alarmed her, deliberately, the vile ruffian.
“Wretched bully,” she said loudly. “Rude, tyrannical know-all.”
Holding the mare’s reins, May looked around for Puck and Echo but couldn’t see them. Then, casting a sly glance at the Well Tower, she put her little fingers to her lips and gave the loudest, shrillest whistle of which she was capable. It bounced off the stone walls and produced a shrieking bark in answer. Echo’s pointed ears popped up from behind a pile of stones. Puck came loping toward her silently while the sheltie yapped her ear-destroying yap and bounded over the stones. May welcomed the two, kneeling and wrestling with them when they arrived, which made Echo hark even louder. As they played, the earl’s dark head appeared on top of the tower.
“Be quiet down there,” he called.
May ignored him and began to scamper around the bailey, allowing Echo and Puck to chase her. All the while, Echo’s yammering continued. May was so engrossed in creating more noise that she failed to notice the tall figure emerge from the Well Tower and stride in her direction. When she glimpsed him, he was too close to evade. He lunged at her and grabbed her arm.
It was then that Puck, who had been silent, growled the deep, killing growl of a dog twice his size. From a sitting position several feet away he sprang and landed between May and the earl with Echo barking hysterically. Puck bared his teeth; the hair on his back stood up, and his floppy ears flattened.
Her wrist still imprisoned, May yanked it, but failed to free herself. “Let me go, my lord.” She smiled as Puck’s growl grew louder.
The earl glanced down at Puck. Raising a brow, he pointed at the dog and bellowed, “Down, sir!”
To May’s consternation, this thunderous command made Puck yelp and bolt. He raced around her skirts to hide behind her legs while Echo continued her frenzied yips. The earl bent to her level and yelled at the top of his voice.
“No bark!”
Echo’s jaws snapped shut out of amazement. Then she raced around to join Puck behind May’s skirts. By this time May’s wrist was growing numb from the earl’s grip. When he rose and pulled her toward him, she dug in her heels.
“If you hurt me, they will attack,” she said desperately.
He stopped tugging on her for a moment to give her a startled look. “Hurt you? Hell, woman, that’s not what I had in mind.”
May felt him pull on her wrist, a gentle exertion of his strength that sent her flying toward him. She landed in the circle of his arms to stare up at him with her mouth open. Evidently his strength had surprised the earl too, for he seemed frozen, his expression startled. Seeing him lose his composure reassured May. Then she realized that her hands were on his chest, and that one of them was placed on his shirt near the open collar. The earl followed her gaze to join her in staring at her hand. His own covered it, and May looked up to find him directing a look of mystified query at her.
A sharp bark made them jump. The earl suddenly closed his eyes and swore. Then color drained from his face. May stepped back, alarmed that he seemed so tortured, and she stumbled over Echo. Her cry made the earl open his eyes in time to see her fall backward over her dog. Echo yelped, scampered out of the way, and returned to stand over her mistress and berate her with a series of shrieking barks. May winced but was distracted at the sound of a soft laugh.
“Sweet Mélisande, what are you doing to me?”
To May’s astonishment, he took her hand and brushed his lips against it. This was when two big paws landed on her shoulder. May grabbed his arm. Temple Stirling pulled her to him and cursed. For a moment they remained locked together while Puck bounced in place on his hind legs. Suddenly he jumped higher, licked the earl on the cheek, and bounced away to sniffle at his boots. Echo wiggled between them and raced around their feet. The earl laughed and released May. He caught Puck under the shoulders and pulled the dog up to face him.
“I take it you approve of me now, sir.”
Puck gave him a sniff, and the earl released him. May watched this display, wishing she understood what had just happened. Then the earl stood up and took her hand.
“Come with me.”
He pulled her after him and didn’t stop until they reached the doorway in the Well Tower. Before he stepped inside, May planted her feet and yanked on his hand.
“My lord, what are you doing?”
“Pursuing what you began, Miss Peabody.”
“What are you implying I have begun?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t set out to gain my attention with your display of noise.”
All the pleasant feelings that lingered in her body vanished in a heat storm of fury. May yanked her hand from his and whirled around to leave. The earl caught her arm, and before she knew it, he planted his arms on either side of her. She was caught against the stone wall of the Well Tower by a body that definitely belonged to a cavalry officer in the Heavy Brigade. His nearness and heat provoked a tingling tension even though he hadn’t touched her. At this thought, May gave a little cry and shoved.
Of course he didn’t move. She doubted if he even noticed, so slight was her weight compared to his. That was when she lost what little composure she had left. May slid down the wall, scooted to the side, and sprang free. Not daring to look behind her, she raced for her mare, jumped into the saddle, and kicked the horse into motion.
Echo and Puck raced alongside. As she headed for the gatehouse, she glimpsed the earl standing with his legs apart, his fists on his hips and an evil smile on his lips. As she rode under the portcullis, she heard him call after her.
“Miss Peabody, come back and I’ll let you call me Maypole.”
To her chagrin, the clatter of the mare’s hooves didn’t cover the sound of his laughter.
CHAPTER FOUR
HE WAS DREAMING. He was near the boathouse in the park at Stirling Hall looking out on the lake just past the hundred fountains. It was a blue glass mirror set in the landscape. On the river floated a small white rowboat, and in the boat was Mélisande. She wore a loose gown of some misty, transparent fabric and he saw her through a haze of swirling jewel colors—teal, darkest green, amethyst, and purple. The boat floated toward the shore, and as it drew near, Mélisande held out her arms to him. Her gown fell from her shoulders …
The world was shaking. Temple groaned and burrowed deeper under a pillow in search of the image of Mélisande, but the pillow flew off his head. Sunlight turned the insides of his eyelids red. The shaking began again.
“Come, my pretty. Out of bed with you.”
He opened one eye. Lady Alberta, his sometime mistress, was standing over him fully dressed. She was the kind of woman whose attention started fights among regimental officers, the kind of woman who attracted entourages of young men at balls and thus gained the enmity of every eligible young lady in society. It didn’t matter that strands of gray streaked her ash-blond hair. Her suitors didn’t care that fine lines etched the corners of her eyes.
What kept them enthralled was her deep, r
ough voice, her direct gaze that probed a man’s sensuality, and her daring.
Temple held out his hand to her. Alberta took it, but instead of joining him, she pulled him upright and ruffled his hair. He sighed and sat up. Alberta kept hold of him and sat on the edge of the bed. Taking his hand in both of hers, she paused to run her gaze over his bare skin. Then she kissed his cheek and spoke in a confiding manner.
“You must go, pretty one.”
“There’s no hurry,” Temple said. He didn’t want to go.
“No. I mean you must go from me, Temple my darling. When a man comes to me, desperate to make love, and then stops before he attains what he clearly desires, I know it is time to part.”
Temple looked away from Alberta’s calm gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. I was troubled, that’s all.”
“I agree. You’re troubled, and you won’t settle your troubles with me, much to my sorrow. I knew you would go from me someday, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”
Temple jerked the sheet higher over his hips and stuck out his chin. “Hell.”
“She has you stirred and fizzed.” Alberta gave him a sad smile. “I regret I wasn’t the one to banish the ghosts in those eyes, but I’m glad they’re gone.”
“Alberta, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do, or you wouldn’t have come flying here in such urgency. But I don’t involve myself with men who love elsewhere, and I won’t break my rule, even for your beautiful self. Good-bye, my dear.”
Temple bathed and dressed and was on his way back to Stirling Hall in less than an hour. May had left him in a painful state yesterday morning at Castle Darent. For days now he’d struggled to rid himself of this unexpected desire for her, had tried to free himself of it by keeping away from her.
His household had foiled his efforts by reporting Miss Peabody’s ill conduct. He’d heard from the housekeeper how Miss Peabody had returned from a walk with a stray dog, which she insisted upon nursing in the kitchens. The bootboy lodged a protest with Breedlebane that he had been set to feeding a wounded hedgehog. His vexation had turned to laughter when Fidkin burst into his library, his chest heaving with indignation. He was holding up a bandaged hand and pointing at it.