Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  He grinned. "Nothing that I would consider a tragedy, Victoria. But I'll save you the embarrassment by leaving out the details."

  She stared at him for a few moments, half of her hidden by the horse. Then she moved and said, "Perhaps we should see what's in that basket?"

  "Wonderful idea, Miss Fyn!" He led the way toward a clearing that wasn't so covered in thick ferns and riotous heather.

  He spent the next few minutes trying to think of a good way to get information out of her.

  * * *

  Victoria wished there was something to lean against, but of course, there was only the fresh, sea air. She was surprised by how much she'd eaten, even though it didn't compare to what Alexander had put away. She was a little ashamed of her appetite, but her companion seemed to welcome her sighs of pleasure when eating the cold chicken and sipping the white wine. "You have a very good cook," she commented with a glance at the now empty basket.

  "She's been with us for many years."

  "My uncle doesn't seem to care for such luxuries as good food. He doesn't even employ a housekeeper." She sighed, thinking of the food she'd been subject to since her arrival. Hugh had certainly been good at a few things and running a household was one of his assets. She supposed he had to be considering he had no wife.

  He refilled her glass and she noticed that he'd hardly touched his own wine. "I suppose where you came from you had the entire set of servants. Butler, housekeeper, maid, valet, and cook."

  "My father never had a valet." She thought of Mark Freely and frowned. Sometimes thoughts of the quiet valet bothered her even more than her guilt over Hugh. Just think, she hadn't even known the man and she'd killed him. He'd certainly never done anything to her.

  "Any luxuries you had certainly didn't spoil you. In most ways, you're probably a better person than I."

  She tried not to reveal her thoughts. The more he complimented her, the more she felt like a horrible person. She just managed to shake her head. Let him think what he will, she thought.

  He looked at wine, started to reach for the glass, then stopped. "You are quite mysterious," he mused.

  "Perhaps only to one who has yet to know me."

  He pushed the empty basket aside and moved closer. His body almost touched her folded knees. "I'd really like to get to know you. Tell me what's bothering you."

  "It's nothing," she said quickly.

  "Do you miss your parents?"

  "Yes, but it's not only that."

  He snapped his fingers. "So there is something."

  "Please don't worry about me." When seen up close, his eyes looked so much larger. She liked it when he smiled and they shrank in size. "I don't want to ruin such a nice day by becoming melancholy."

  "Nothing could ruin this day."

  "You mean that? Even with our disagreements?"

  "Disagreements? There was only one. That doesn't affect my feelings--er, opinions--at all. I like speaking to you, no matter what the topic or outcome."

  She stared down at her lap. "I really shouldn't mislead you."

  "How are you misleading me?"

  "I might be leaving any day now and--"

  "You can't be!" He looked quite surprised by her pronouncement.

  "I just might." She twisted the napkin in her hands and managed to avoid looking at him.

  "What would you do?"

  "I'd go...become a...governess?"

  "Maybe I'll just follow you and then there wouldn't be a problem."

  She looked up at him and saw that his face was serious. His eyes weren't twinkling with laughter and the happiness seemed to have disappeared. She didn't know what he was thinking and couldn't believe that her talk of leaving was what made him so sad.

  Then, all at once, it seemed that he had moved closer. Could his face really have filled so much of her vision a few moments ago? Were his lips as close to her own?

  "Victoria..."

  Her head filled with ideas and visions. Her eyelids were half-closed with shy desire and her arms had fallen to her sides, instead of being in front of her as a barrier.

  He looked away for the briefest of moments and brushed a few crumbs from the surface of the blanket. When his eyes focused on her again, he opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again just as quickly. No words passed between them. She was extremely tempted to break the silence, but didn't for one simple reason: curiosity.

  What would happen if they continued in the same manner? It was a little ridiculous, she thought, but it probably seemed that it was happening for a lot longer than it was. Would he kiss her? Her body heated up at the thought and she prayed that it didn't show in her face. Turning as red as a cherry would certainly end the romantic scene.

  Should she let it happen all over again?

  After the way she'd berated him for insulting her virtue, nothing would establish her true desires more clearly than kissing him again. Maybe there was nothing wrong with becoming intimate with him...her uncle certainly encouraged it.

  She looked at him, at his eyes clouded with passion and his lips moist for an assault. She knew he was a mirror of herself. He leaned closer, so she moved toward him as well. He didn't hesitate any longer.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her hard against him. His lips moved quickly over hers, then trailed to her neck. Her back arched, her fingers drawing signs of passion on his back; she reveled in the warm feeling enveloping her body. She tingled all over, especially in the places where his lips left a trail of ticklish kisses. She was in heaven. The only thing she needed was the rest of what he could give her.

  She moaned softly when his hands gripped her bottom and pulled her onto his lap. Her skirt pooled around his legs while her knees came apart to straddle him. His mouth went to her neck again, now closer to his face. She gasped again when she felt his tongue tease the low-cut edges of her bodice. Right then she wished for the boldness to rip the top of her dress open to give him better access.

  He pushed her down hard on his lap and she felt the outline of his arousal. Instinctually, she rubbed against it, knowing it was just the thing to ease her last pangs of want.

  Within the cloud of passion was a feeling of comfort. She felt so safe in his arms. She wished she could go on kissing Alexander forever.

  Then he pulled away.

  "What's wrong?" she asked breathlessly.

  "I said I wouldn't do this to you!" He scooted away, not meeting her eyes. "I made you a promise and now…"

  She struggled to regain her composure. "It wasn't your fault."

  "Then whose fault would it be? Yours?" He shook his head. "No, I am to blame and I'm just despicable for it."

  "Please, Alex. I didn't--"

  "I know. You thought you could trust me."

  She found it hard to admit what she had to in order to not only ease his conscience but also not ruin a good thing. "I didn't mind."

  He finally looked at her, truly looked at her. He had to see the flushed and eager appearance of her face. "It was...good?"

  "You were wonderful."

  He laughed. "I can assure you that I haven't any insecurities in that department. I meant, was it acceptable behavior?"

  "Yes to that as well."

  They stared at one another. Her skin prickled with anticipation. They didn't immediately move toward one another, but she didn't mind. She loved looking at him.

  While tiny particles of pollen tickled her nose, she heard the sound of an approaching rider. She didn't look up and neither did Alex. She smiled shyly.

  He took a brief glance in the direction of the noise once it became louder. There followed a double take and then a frown. "My brother."

  So it was to be her turn to frown. Unbeknownst to either of them, their pleasant outing was over.

  "Hullo!" The man that approached them didn't look like his brother in any way. His clothing was more elaborate and easily bought at twice the cost--and his gait was twice as arrogant. The smile he issued her was almost a sneer, as if he'
d known exactly what had been on her mind before he'd come up and thought it was quite sinful indeed. He looked at the spent lunch with ill-disguised disgust, then back at her. "Is this Victoria--"

  "Fyn? Why, of course!" Alex interrupted, his speech thick with vexation.

  His brother nodded and crossed his arms in front of his body as if he knew a secret that he was quite proud to be the exclusive owner of.

  Her companion gestured at the man still standing. "This is my brother, Michael Trevelyn."

  "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Trevelyn," she replied without sincerity.

  "And I you. What a pretty girl you are!" The tone with which he complimented her destroyed the flattery. He demeaned her and trivialized her presence in one sweeping motion.

  "Thank you."

  He continued, apparently not satisfied with how uncomfortable he'd made her so far. "My brother always hides the pretty ones."

  "I wouldn't say we were hidden. You found us easy enough."

  "Ha! So you're right." Michael Trevelyn pushed the wicker basket with the toe of his boot. "Say, anything good left?"

  "No," they chorused.

  "I see." He stepped back a little and issued more of his insulting glances. Sure, they had revealed something by both immediately telling him that the food was gone, but he didn't have to analyze every word and gesture. "Well, I should be on my way if I don't want to be in for it later this evening."

  "You're welcome to stay, if you wish." She could tell that Alex's offer was just as falsely polite as her initial greeting.

  "I'm quite surprised that you finally thought to offer." He smiled with this comment, but his meaning was too obvious to cover up with a grin. "Of course I'm only being jovial, Miss Fyn. Brothers are like that, you know."

  "I can see that." The day suddenly seemed stifling rather than pleasantly warm; tedious rather than romantically quiet; and long rather than not long enough.

  "Goodbye, then."

  Alex didn't say anything as Michael rode away. When he was gone he turned and said, "We should go."

  She nodded. His brother had destroyed everything and it made her realize how very little she knew about Alexander. She knew she couldn't blame him for his relatives. But if he had a brother who appeared so sinister, how did she know that the only true difference between the men wasn't just that Alexander was better at hiding his true personality?

  * * *

  She left Alex with his tenant, not understanding the true extent of the problem, but able to see from his expression that it was something he needed to take care of. So she bowed out gracefully, offering to ride home by herself. After much arguing that he should escort her properly, he finally agreed. It was, after all, only a short distance to traverse.

  And as she'd expected, she arrived home unhindered. No trolls had leapt from beneath the bridge and no black knight had taken her for his bride. She tied the horse to the post and was somewhat glad the tenant had interrupted their ride. Now Alex had an excuse to come over: to retrieve his horse.

  As she approached the door, she though she saw something different about it. Curious, she walked faster. She smiled when she saw what it was, her instinct to love flowers overriding her good sense. Then she realized that it wasn't just any kind of flower, it was a rose.

  The rose was nailed to the door with a hastily scribbled note: "As red as the blood you've spilled."

  No!

  She ripped the rose into shreds and crushed it beneath her boot. Then she shoved the note into the waistband of her skirt and stalked into the dark foyer. She hurried into the drawing room, collapsed onto the divan, and sobbed.

  How would she ever escape? What could she do? Lately she'd avoided the thoughts and imagined there was nothing lurking in the depths of her past. If only it were true!

  "Victoria!"

  She looked up and saw her uncle through her tears. He knelt before her and reached for her hand. "Whatever is the matter?"

  "It's the roses," she cried. "I've found another, but this time with a note." She reached into her waistband and produced the small slip of paper.

  He looked over it. "This is sick."

  "Do you think they mean to threaten my life?" She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I left beautiful roses on Mark and Hugh's grave, to show that I would always remember them."

  "You don't need to worry, Victoria. I'll protect you."

  "Should I go back to Blackmoore? Maybe someone knows who I am and wants to turn me in."

  He shook his head. "We don't even know if you're suspected. It's best that you stay here for a while."

  "I fear that I'm going to go crazy. I need something else to occupy my time."

  "I thought Mr. Trevelyn has you well occupied as it is."

  She frowned. "That makes me just as crazy."

  He grinned. "I know how that is."

  "Uncle, tell me about your wife."

  His expression changed immediately. "Why would you want to hear about that?"

  "I happened to come across her bedroom and--"

  "I'll thank you not to snoop around this house."

  "I was not snooping! I was looking out the window at..." She looked away. "I wasn't snooping."

  "I have work to do."

  "Please don't leave. I just thought it would be something I could do while I was here. I could find out about the rest of my family, honor their memory. I wanted to start with Fiona."

  He practically growled his next response. "She was murdered, Victoria. Anything else you need to know?"

  "Murdered! I had no idea."

  "No. You didn't." He was at the door. "If you'll excuse me, I'll see you at dinner."

  He left before she could answer.

  * * *

  Alexander watched Victoria as she stood in front of the unkempt grave, her face thoughtful. He'd followed her there, just he had the first time he'd seen her. She looked just as tempting, even if it was in a different way. The sun glinted off her long, dark hair and when she squinted her eyes against the sun, he'd swear she was smiling internally.

  "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

  Her entire body jerked when he'd started to speak. He had startled her. "And what, pray tell, will you do if you are disturbing me?"

  "That's not a very ladylike thing to ask," he replied, but without any harshness.

  She looked at the grave with a charming smile playing about her lips. "And I don't believe it's very gentlemanly to follow someone."

  He coughed behind his hand, trying to obscure the abrupt choking sound he'd made at the back of his throat. "Could it not be possible that the reason we always end up in the same place is pure coincidence? What would make you think up such a wild fantasy?"

  "The way you happen to appear everywhere I go," she said, the smile quickly disappearing. "The tendency you have to not look the least bit surprised when we do run into each other."

  "All coincidence."

  "The surprise too?"

  He stalled by looking at the grave marker closest to him, then replied, "I'm usually so happy to see you that it obscures the wonder."

  "I hope you don't expect me to believe that nonsense."

  He smiled. "I was visiting someone, as I'm sure you are as well."

  "Who, pray tell, are you visiting, Mr. Trevelyn?"

  Good question. "An old friend. Whom are you visiting?"

  "I was thinking more along the idea of a name."

  "Who's name were you thinking of?"

  She picked up her skirt and tried to walk past him then. But he wouldn't move aside and her skirt, with the multiple petticoats beneath, was too wide for her to slip by. "Mr. Trevelyn, you might try to distract me with silly questions, but I have no doubt that you've been following me. There's no one for you to visit in this part of the cemetery because we all know that an illustrious family such as your own wouldn't have anyone buried in the unholy corner of the yard."

  It was hard to look into her eyes and see hurt within their depths. "I did come to visit you,
Miss Fyn."

  "Then you are following me." Her eyes narrowed with triumph.

  "I suppose I'll have to admit it now that you've caught me." He bowed, gallantly removing his hat with a flourish. "Forgive me, my lady."

  "But why are you doing it?" she asked in a softer tone. She shielded her eyes with one gloved hand and he couldn't tell whether the pink spot on her cheeks were from the sun or from her embarrassed curiosity.

  "You captivate me, Miss Fyn," he said. As the words escaped his lips knew they were completely honest. "I know that I've been improper, but you must believe me when I insist that I've never meant you any harm."

  Her eyes glittered and her hand fell to one side. He met her gaze for a moment before hers fell to the ground. She whispered, "Yes, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

  They'd come close to getting somewhere only two days previous and he let that experience inspire him. If Michael hadn't happened upon them, he would have kissed her until her lips were sore. He took a chance then and cradled her chin with his hand so that she would look at him.

  Her eyes were glossy and wide. But in contrast, her mouth was pursed and uncompromising. It was obvious that she was fighting against something. What exactly, was a mystery.

  "You're not a conventional lady, my dear."

  "I--"

  "You would never let societal conventions and foolish rules get in your way, would you?" Alex smiled and moved his thumb from side to side, hoping so much that he could win her over. "Surely a woman like that can forgive a man for trying to create meetings that might never have happened if left to pure chance." Her skin was smooth against his upturned palm.

  "It just doesn't seem...proper," she said, but her voice was as weak as her protest.

  "I can assure you that men have been doing it for centuries." He was counting on his ability to convince women. He'd never used his techniques on something so important before. He knew right then that he might not be able to win her complete trust as easily as he'd hoped, but that if he lost her esteem entirely, he might never see her again. And he knew he'd be ruined on too many levels if that were to happen.