The last crusty scab of suspicion peeled away, leaving a fragile, tender new skin of faith. Awe welled up in him, as it had at Oxford when he’d discovered that within the world of scholarship, he could not only belong, but excel.
Shame succeeded it.
By doubting her honesty he’d wronged Valeria and shown himself unworthy of the unwavering purity of friendship she’d extended.
The desire to make amends consumed him. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to see her again.
Carefully he closed the volumes on the desk and blew out all but one branch of candles. Taking those, he exited the library and took the stairs to his room.
Beginning tomorrow morning, Teagan Fitzwilliams would seek every possible way to demonstrate his appreciation for the truest friend he’d ever had.
Chapter Fifteen
F ollowing directions given by the helpful Nichols, Teagan found his way to the breakfast parlor early the next morning. A rising excitement tempered with no small amount of nervousness tightened his chest and brought a smile, unbidden, to his lips.
He paused on the threshold, still seeking the best words to frame an apology, should Valeria have taken offense at his missing dinner last evening. But as he scanned the chamber, he discovered not the dark-haired Lady Mystery he sought, but a tall, thin older woman who turned to him, a forbidding expression on her shrewd face.
Valeria’s nurse Mercy, he recognized from several previous meetings, who appeared to be gathering up her mistress’s sewing things.
Damping down a sharp disappointment, he entered.
“Good morning, Mistress Mercy. How was your journey from London? Less distressing than Lady Arnold’s, I hope.”
“Tolerable.”
That response not being amplified by further comment, after a moment’s hesitation, Teagan proceeded to the sideboard. Having filled his plate, he tried again.
“You arrived yesterday, Mistress Mercy?”
“Yes.”
“With no lingering threat of highwaymen, I trust?”
“Highwaymen?” She sniffed in disdain. “We’re here, and you’re here, and enough said, young man. I’d suggest you eat your breakfast before it turns cold.”
Teagan could not help grinning. “Ah, Mercy-lass, ye know ye’re fair bursting to converse with so charming a gentleman as meself.”
The maid’s glacial look thawed somewhat. “Aye, you’re a rogue good and proper! I’ve seen your like too often in the army, sweet-talking lads with more flash than merit.”
Teagan touched his chest with a theatrical gesture, as if wounded. “Upon my word, Miss Mercy, did I not know better, I might believe you don’t like me overmuch.”
“You’re handsome as you can stare, with the devil’s own tongue to boot, and you may work your wiles with my blessing—as long as you don’t work them on Miss Val.”
Teagan sobered abruptly. “Surely you know I’d never bring harm to your mistress.”
Mercy raised her eyebrows. “Nor threaten to?”
Half amused, half appalled, Teagan said, “Whist, but ye’re not implying I set up that ambush at Dade’s Run!”
“Perhaps not,” Mercy conceded, “but you must admit, ’twas devilish convenient, you popping out of the woods just in time to save her. And thereby making her feel beholden enough to change her plans and invite you for a cozy stay—when you should be going on about your business.
“Nay—” she waved him to silence when he would have protested “—mayhap I do you a disservice with my suspicions. But this I know for truth. Miss Val has a weakness for you, and I’ll not have you taking advantage of it. That poor lass lost her whole family, survived a husband too addled to realize the treasure at his feet, then found a grandmamma only to have her taken almost the moment the lady grew dear to her. She don’t need more heartache in the form of a fast-talking rogue who’ll try to seduce her for the amusement of it.”
Teagan met Mercy’s accusing stare. “On several occasions, your mistress has stood my staunch friend. I’ve had few enough of those in my life that I’d risk ruining the relationship by trying to take advantage of her.”
The two of them exchanged glare for glare. Finally, as if satisfied, Mercy gave a short nod. “See that you do not. I promised the late colonel, her papa, I’d watch after her, and so I will. Remember that.”
“Lady Arnold’s welfare is of great concern to me,” Teagan replied. “Remember that.”
“Words be easy,” she retorted. “’Tis deeds win the battle. Good day, sir.” Clasping the sewing basket to her bosom like a shield, Mercy marched to the door. Just before exiting, she paused to look back at him.
“I’m instructed to tell you there be horses aplenty in the stables that need exercising. You can have your pick.”
“And where is your mistress today?”
The nurse hesitated, as if debating whether she might withhold the information. “She’s driven out to visit more of the tenants,” she said at last, her tone grudging. “We don’t expect her home before tea.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll endeavor to do nothing to earn the hostility you’ve graciously accorded me,” he replied, grinning.
With another darkling look, the nurse quit the room.
Despite the residual sting of having to ride a horse other than Ailainn, Teagan decided to avail himself of the stables. He’d enjoy the exercise as much as the beast, and perhaps on his ride he might encounter Valeria.
Some hours later, disappointed at not having met her, he was returning to the manor along a trail the head groom had recommended—through the open woodland in the hills above Winterpark—when he spotted a small gig driving toward him. He was delighted to discover Valeria at the ribbons, a soberly dressed older gentleman riding a tall gray gelding alongside the vehicle.
As Teagan approached, she pulled up the gig. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fitzwilliams. I see you found a horse to your liking. Are you enjoying your ride?”
“Very much, Lady Arnold. The woodlands about Winterpark are lovely. If the farms are in equally good heart, ’tis a fine estate.”
“The farms are very well kept, thanks in large part to this gentleman. Mr. Fitzwilliams, may I present Lady Winterdale’s estate manager, Mr. Parker.”
The two men exchanged bows. “Can I escort you back to the house, Lady Arnold?” Teagan asked.
With an expression of regret, she shook her head. “No, I have several farms yet to visit. Though I should enjoy your company until our paths diverge.”
“Shall I ride on ahead, then, my lady?” Mr. Parker asked. “If I can inspect the equipment I mentioned at the Barrows farm before you arrive, we shall finish our rounds more quickly.”
“Of course, Mr. Parker. Left at the next crossroads?”
“Yes, Lady Arnold. The Barrows farm is but half a mile farther. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fitzwilliams.”
At Valeria’s nod of dismissal, the estate manager put spurs to his horse. Valeria set the gig moving, and Teagan motioned his horse to keep pace.
“You are looking rested, Mr. Fitzwilliams.”
He grinned over at her. “As well I should be!”
She chuckled softly, and it struck him again how much he’d missed her engaging gurgle of laughter, the warmth of camaraderie they had shared in the city.
“I must apologize once again for being such a neglectful hostess,” she said. “No doubt I shall master them in time, but the duties here are more wide-ranging than any I have shouldered before.”
Teagan remembered the maid’s enthusiasm and the butler’s protective concern for his mistress. “From what I’ve seen, your staff is much taken with their new lady.”
She laughed again. “I expect they’re relieved to discover I’m not nearly the tyrant their former mistress was! Though she trained them well. The household runs so smoothly, it scarce needs my guiding hand.”
“They have certainly been most accommodating. Indeed, ’tis rather I who should beg your pardon for being so disobliging a guest! As
if sleeping through most of two days was not impolite enough, I became so engrossed in my book last evening that I missed dinner, though I do appreciate the tray Robbin so kindly procured me.”
“I had hoped you would enjoy Lady Winterdale’s magnificent library. Ah, but here’s the turning. The farm isn’t far, and the view is much prettier if you continue along straight. Please, don’t let me detain you.”
Teagan didn’t want to leave her, didn’t want their too-short conversation to end so abruptly, but her words seemed so clear a dismissal he felt a shaft of dismay. Perhaps she was angry with him for neglecting her, after all. “You will be returning for dinner?”
“I’m not sure. There are mills and fences and some sort of mechanical plow I must inspect, apparently. Perhaps I shall see you later.”
She signaled the horse to turn at the crossing. Unable to conjure up a reason to make her linger, Teagan was forced to halt his mount and let her pass.
She glanced up and smiled as the gig turned—the same shy, uncertain smile he’d found so irresistible that first morning in her barn.
The thought triggered memories that set his pulses racing. For a crazed instant he thought of seizing the gig’s traces to stop the vehicle, carrying Valeria to the nearest croft or shelter where he might once again use his hands and lips and expertise to turn those dark eyes smoky with desire, make her slender body writhe with passion.
Not here, not yet. He gripped the reins so hard their leather bit into his fingers and forced himself to let her go.
And then laughed at his own absurdity. Had he not just last night felt the righteous horror of an outraged virgin at the notion of her as a calculating seductress sweeping into the library to have her way with him?
Whist, but he was an idiot of an Irishman to have resented any opportunity to be once more transported to that heaven.
Anticipation fanned his ever-smoldering hunger into a fire that flashed through his veins. Every sense energized, he spurred the stallion to a gallop.
May the God who watches over fools and gamblers send Lady Arnold to the library tonight, he prayed. Whatever proposal she had a mind to offer, whatever the reason behind it, tonight he had no intention of resisting.
Several hours later, Valeria peeped into the library. The scene within brought a smile of delight to her lips.
Cravat askew, booted ankles crossed, a glass of wine in his hand, Teagan Fitzwilliams reclined in his chair behind the library desk, a book propped on one knee. Before two brilliantly lit, double-branched candelabras, a half-consumed dinner sat neglected on a tray pushed to one side, while the rest of the desk’s broad surface was strewn with a haphazard assortment of volumes large and small.
Still smiling, Valeria noted that the doors of the nearby mahogany secretary stood open. Having taken an exhaustive tour of the library her first afternoon at Winterpark, she knew the secretary housed Lady Winterdale’s impressive collection of ancient literature. Mr. Fitzwilliams was a lover of the classics, it appeared.
He straightened, and Valeria darted back. But he merely readjusted the volume on his knee, nodding as if in agreement with the long-dead author, and then repeated a sentence she supposed must be Greek. “Ah, yes!” he said, and smiled down at the book.
Valeria’s chest tightened. Yes, indeed, she thought, taking in his intent but relaxed stance, the vitality his figure conveyed even when motionless, the obvious pleasure evident in that smile. His appearance this afternoon had not been an aberration. Gone entirely was the tense, brooding, exhausted man who’d briefly shared her carriage en route to the Crown and Kettle.
Fierce gladness filled her that, despite her misgivings upon their arrival, she’d persevered to offer him this gift of time and solitude. However temporary a reprieve it might prove from the harsh reality of his circumstances, his three days at Winterpark appeared to have succeeded in revitalizing him, body and spirit.
Although he did seem to be avoiding her, she thought, her delight dimming a little.
Small matter, that. He was a man, after all, and it might be more than a man’s pride could suffer to admit he’d needed the respite she’d given him. Too lowering to reaffirm that he must soon depart and remain out from London until he could sufficiently recoup his finances.
But if he did leave with only a short courtesy of a farewell, she would at least know she’d offered a refuge when he’d needed it most. And with absolute conviction, she believed that whether or not he could bring himself to express it, he had recognized and appreciated that gift.
And that, she told herself, squelching the forelorn hope that now or someday they could share more, might well have to be satisfaction enough.
“Lady Arnold!”
Valeria jumped guiltily, heat pinking her cheeks at the knowledge that he’d caught her spying on him. “M-Mr. Fitzwilliams! Please, don’t let me disturb you.”
“Have you dined yet?”
“Yes. One of the tenants was kind enough to regale me with an excellent rabbit stew.” She smiled wistfully. “The meal reminded me of my campaigning days in India with Papa and my brother Elliot.”
Teagan fixed on her those glittering golden eyes she found almost impossible to resist. Her body began to tingle and her willpower to dissolve even before he spoke.
“Will you not join me for a glass of wine? I can assure you it is excellent.”
In the suddenly small confines of the library, he radiated a masculine presence that sang a siren’s song to every nerve of her body. Even knowing the shoals ahead, she doubted her ability to steer clear if she approached any closer. “It…it is rather late.”
His smile faded, increasing her guilt. “Could you not spare a moment? At least long enough for me to thank you.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Friends…assist one another, Teagan. And don’t need to be thanked.”
“Then would you do something for me—as a friend?”
Agreeing was a bad idea. A very bad idea, when she hungered with the ferocity of a starving beggar invited to a banquet to touch his hair, his body, to feast once more on those lips.
My house. My library. No one need ever know.
“Would you?” he repeated, both a command and an appeal.
She shook her suddenly woozy head. “W-would I what?”
His smile deepened and his eyes fixed on her lips. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath on them. Shivers skittered across her stomach.
“Stay and talk with me.” He tapped the volume at his knee. “About this, if you like. A wonderfully written book is a glory in itself, but even better when it’s shared. Please.” He gestured toward the sofa before the fire.
’Twas embarrassing how intensely he affected her, alarming—as well as arousing—how much those naughty little suggestions darting through her mind magnified his allure.
She should be sensible and go up to bed.
But that would be ungracious, would it not? He might believe that, finding herself now a wealthy woman, she had no more use for his company. Though she thought it unlikely, given his experience with the female sex, that he could be unaware of his potent effect on her.
Still, she ought to be courteous. She could manage sitting by the fire on the sofa while he sat behind the desk and they discussed a common love of literature.
As if bound to him by some unspoken accord beyond her mind’s control, her feet had carried her halfway across the library before she realized she’d entered the room.
Teagan smiled at her, wondering if she realized how adorable she looked, her face flushed, her fluttering hands betraying the nervousness that seemed to pull her at once to go and to stay, as it had in the barn at Eastwoods. To his relief, after a long hesitation she walked in and took the place he indicated on the couch.
“I must warn you,” she said as she arranged her skirts, “I’m an indifferent scholar. Living in India much of my youth, where both distance and climate argued against Englishmen maintaining well-stocked libraries, resulted in r
ather large gaps in my knowledge of literature and philosophy. I see from the selection on the desk that you prefer the ancients. Is that what you studied?”
How had he survived almost two weeks of her absence? It was all he could do not to walk over and draw her into his arms. He was almost positive she would welcome the embrace. Almost.
What had she asked him about? His studies, of course. He felt a bit dizzy, and shaking his head to clear it, he tried to focus on the conversation.
“Y-yes. While most of the lads at Eton struggled with languages, I found I had a gift for them.”
“Dear me, how unfashionable!”
“Aye, but since I could also put a bullet through a wafer at twenty paces and mill down upperclassmen who outweighed me by several stone, I was spared any indignities being attempted on my person.”
Although the intense attraction she exerted over him did not lessen, as the conversation progressed Teagan relaxed a bit. How strange, that he could feel such a strong desire and yet at the same time chat with her so easily, friend to friend.
He looked back up to find her grinning at him. “You know, you lose that Irish lilt when you speak of your books. Which is a shame. I rather like it.”
“I’ll not believe that,” he replied. “Surely, like the rest of your countrymen, you despise all things Irish.”
“I met many fine Irishmen with the army. Perhaps some a bit too fond of grog, but good soldiers all—skilled, loyal and ferocious. The kind of ally one would wish at one’s back in a battle—or when facing down highwaymen.”
Teagan laughed. “I hear I’ve become a legend.”
“Thank Wilkins.” She rose and walked over to the desk, where he still stood. As the distance between them narrowed, the very air between them grew charged. Once again he had to struggle to focus on her words rather than her nearness.
“Are these works your favorites?” she asked, pointing to the volumes he’d set out on the desk. When he nodded, she continued. “What is so inspiring about them that a young lad would struggle to master an antique tongue, merely for the privilege of reading them?”
My Lady's Pleasure Page 19