‘Oh.’ He froze with his arms halfway into a black-superfine jacket. ‘I had no idea. I’m sorry, Martin.’
‘It was a long time ago, sir.’
‘I’m still sorry.’ He put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. ‘From now on you have my permission to give as much advice as you see fit. Feel free to beat it into me if necessary.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I never saw you lose a fight yet.’
‘Never?’ He made a cynical face, but Martin’s expression didn’t alter.
‘You didn’t lose that one, sir. You did the right thing.’
Lance squeezed his shoulder and then limped his way down the stairs. In their five years together, Martin had never once mentioned a woman, and definitely not a wife, though he’d known about every tawdry indiscretion of his master’s. How little attention had he been paying to the man who’d served him so loyally? As if he needed any more proof of his own self-centredness? Perhaps Miss Harper was more intelligent than the rest after all. Perhaps she’d been right to run away from a man like him...
She was waiting in the hallway when he arrived, sitting by the fireplace with her hands folded neatly in her lap, a model of self-contained calm and tranquillity. Considering the situation, he had to admire her poise, but then he was starting to admire a lot of things about her. He was starting to remember what he’d seen in her the first time...
‘I don’t understand this.’ She caught sight of him and pointed to a crest above the fireplace. ‘It says 1832.’
‘That’s when the house was built.’
‘This house?’ She got to her feet and looked around as if she were seeing the hall with new eyes. ‘But it looks so old. I thought it must be Tudor at least.’
‘It’s supposed to. They even weathered the stone to make it look older. My mother was a voracious reader of Sir Walter Scott. Though I believe her favourite writer was Malory.’
‘Arthurian legends?’ She burst into a smile as her gaze settled on the largest and most central piece of furniture. ‘You have a round table!’
‘My mother’s version of it, yes.’ He watched her changing expression with interest. There it was again, the effect he’d noticed the first time they’d met, the radiant silvery shimmer that seemed to envelop her whole being when she smiled. Only the effect seemed even more powerful this time.
‘And you’re Lancelot!’ She spun towards him gleefully.
‘I’m afraid so.’ He made a face. ‘Just don’t expect me to answer to it. Most people call me Lance. You can, too, if you want.’
She didn’t acknowledge the offer. ‘It could have been worse. Wasn’t there a Sir Lamorak?’
‘And Bedivere.’
‘And Bors.’
‘Imagine if I’d had more brothers.’ He quirked an eyebrow. ‘I suppose calling you Violet is out of the question, then? Or shall I call you Guinevere instead?’
‘I remember your mother.’ She appeared not to notice his question either, looking thoughtful instead. ‘She visited our house sometimes with your father when I was a child. She was kind to me.’
‘She was a kind person.’
‘She even brought me a doll once. I think she’d noticed I didn’t have many toys. I played with it for years... I was very sorry when she died.’
He cleared his throat. How had they got on to this topic? He was supposed to be wooing her, for pity’s sake, but she seemed determined to be serious.
‘She caught a chill that turned into a fever.’ He tried to keep his voice matter-of-fact. ‘Two weeks later, she was dead.’
‘I’m sorry. My mother had some kind of fever, too, I think.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’ Her brow creased slightly. ‘I was never quite sure what happened. My father used to tell people she died when I was born, but I remember her. She was there, and then she was just...gone. He rarely spoke about her and no one else was allowed to either. After a while, it seemed strange to ask.’
‘So nobody told you anything?’
‘No. I was only young when it happened so I don’t remember much. I can hardly remember what she looked like. I wish I could.’
‘Like you.’
Her eyes shot to his, lit up with a glimmer of hope. ‘How do you know? Did you meet her?’
‘No, but I’ve seen your father. You look nothing like him, I’m relieved to say.’
‘Oh.’ A faint blush spread over her cheeks. ‘But still strange.’
‘Strange?’
‘My appearance, I mean. I know that I look...different.’
‘From?’
‘From everyone else.’
‘The implication being that it’s a bad thing?’
Her blush deepened. ‘People make comments. They say I’m too small and too pale and that my features are too big and my eyes are like saucers.’
‘People say all that?’
‘Some people.’
‘Ah.’ He frowned. Her father, then, most likely, although he could imagine that there had been other tactless comments over the years. Was that how she thought of herself as well? Was that why she’d been so oversensitive to his words at the ball? He’d assumed that she was shy, but he’d never considered that she might be insecure about her looks as well. Why would he have when he’d been so enchanted by them? But now her glowing cheeks and evasive gaze suggested a deep well of hurt.
‘Then we make a perfect couple, Miss Harper.’ He held out an arm, trying to lighten the mood. ‘As you know, people make comments about me all the time, mostly because they have nothing better to do. Now, are you ready for your tour?’
She looked faintly relieved as she threaded a hand through his arm and followed him through the long line of reception rooms. The drawing room and breakfast room she already knew, but there was also the dining room, a music room, the day parlour and finally his study, though it belatedly occurred to him that he ought to have made some effort to tidy before inviting her inside. There were books and papers everywhere, as if the place had been ransacked. His desk was almost hidden beneath a giant map of the estate.
‘Is this your study?’ She looked vaguely impressed by the scale of the mess.
‘It used to be called that, though I believe Mrs Gargrave now refers to it as a disgrace.’ He lifted an eyebrow as her lips twitched. ‘Is something funny?’
‘I believe that’s her favourite word. I was a disgrace yesterday.’
‘You were? I find that hard to believe.’
‘Both of us were, I think. Although in this case I’m afraid I agree. It’s not very tidy.’
‘I won’t let her tidy it. If I she did, then I’d never find anything ever again. I’ve never been very organised.’
‘So I see. What’s this?’
She leaned over the desk to examine the map and he moved to stand at her shoulder, closer than was strictly necessary. After so many months it felt strange being so close to a woman. After what had happened the last time he would have thought he might be repelled, but instead he felt quite the opposite. The fresh smell of her hair, the light sound of her breathing, even the faint heat from her body were all provoking a physical reaction he’d almost forgotten. Odd, when those of his female acquaintances who’d called upon him since his return had failed to stir even the faintest interest.
‘It shows the whole of the estate.’ He reached past her to trace a line around the edge of the map. ‘I’ve just opened a mine in this valley over here.’
‘You have?’
‘A couple of months ago, yes. I’d like to open a few more, too. There’s an ironworks in Grosmont already, but there’s plenty of potential for more.’
She twisted her face towards him, though she seemed not to notice his close proximity. Whatever effect he was feeling appeared to be entirely one-sided.
‘But I thought
you were a recluse?’
He laughed aloud. ‘Is that what they’re saying in Whitby about me, that I’m sitting in a dark room wallowing in my own misery? Well, I’ve done my fair share of that, too, as you observed last night, but I like to do a bit more with my time. I want to improve the estate, not just for me, but for everyone who lives here. The mine is just the first step.’
‘So that’s why you want my inheritance?’
‘Yes.’ He bent his head closer, lowering his voice to a sardonic undertone. ‘Or did you think I intended to spend it all on brandy?’
‘Not all of it.’ Her expression didn’t falter. ‘I expected some to go on whisky as well.’
He straightened up again, smiling appreciatively. ‘Was that a joke, Miss Harper? You wound me, though I suppose I deserve it.’
‘You do.’ She turned around and leaned back against the desk, gazing up at the bookshelves that covered two of the walls. ‘It’s a beautiful room—what I can see of it anyway.’
‘No expense spared.’ He leaned against the table beside her, taking the weight off his legs for a moment. ‘My father didn’t care what my mother did to the place as long as she paid for it.’
‘You sound as if you didn’t like him.’
‘Sometimes I didn’t, though I loved him all the same. But he didn’t make her happy. He only married her for her money and, yes, I do appreciate the irony.’
‘Did she know that was why he married her?’
‘I don’t know. She was an intelligent woman so maybe she knew what she was doing. I hope so. I hope that she wasn’t deceived.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘For what it’s worth, I never intended to be a fortune hunter myself.’
‘Our fathers were the fortune hunters. At least you’re honest.’
‘To a fault. It’s what gets me in trouble.’
‘I doubt that’s the only reason.’ She gave him a pointed look. ‘But I do appreciate the truth.’
‘Then I promise always to give it.’
‘Thank you.’ She pushed herself upright again. ‘Can we see the ballroom now?’
His rising spirits plummeted. ‘If you wish.’
He led her back to the hall and along a corridor towards a pair of vast double doors. The ballroom occupied the whole east wing of the house, though he’d hoped to avoid this part of the tour. Somehow he’d assumed that she’d want to as well, though perhaps she was braver than he was.
‘Here we are.’ He pushed the doors open reluctantly.
She appeared to take a deep breath as she stepped inside, her expression pensive. ‘It’s bigger than I remember.’
‘It was full of people that night.’
‘I suppose so. It all felt so overwhelming at the time.’ She walked slowly into the middle of the floor, then gestured towards the far corner of the room. ‘That’s where it happened.’
He felt a tightening sensation in his chest. There was no need to ask what it referred to. She meant the spot where they’d argued, where he’d last seen his father and brother. It was the reason he never came in here—why, even now, he refused to go any further than the doorway. The whole room was full of ghosts. If he went any further he was afraid he might be overwhelmed by them. She really was braver than him.
‘Did you ever reconcile with your father?’ She glanced back over her shoulder.
‘No.’ His voice sounded rougher somehow. ‘We were far too alike. While my mother was alive she was a kind of buffer between us, but after she died, we did nothing but argue. We were both far too pig-headed to back down. That evening was the last time we ever spoke. Neither of us wrote. When I got shot, I thought perhaps it might be a means to reconcile, but then they told me about his collapse. You know, it all happened in the same week.’
‘You mean you and your brother and father...all in the same week?’
‘Last August wasn’t the best month for us Ambertons. I’m the only one who survived. The wrong one, as it turns out.’
‘You shouldn’t say that.’
‘Why not? Ask anyone and they’ll tell you. Arthur was the only decent one among us. You would have been far better off marrying him.’
‘Except that he didn’t want me.’
She dropped her chin as she murmured the words, staring at her feet for a few seconds before crouching down suddenly.
‘There a pattern here.’
‘It’s a Yorkshire rose.’ He watched the graceful sweep of her fingers across the floorboards. She was so small, so delicate, and yet there was something entrancing about her. ‘There’s one on the ceiling as well.’
‘Oh!’ She tipped her head back so that her hair fell in a heavy coil to the floor. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I’m glad you like it. They’re all round the house if you care to look for them.’
‘How many?’
‘Fifty, perhaps. I don’t really notice them any more. Except for the maze, of course.’
‘There’s a maze?’ Her eyes seemed to catch light suddenly. ‘Can I see it?’
‘I’m afraid it’s covered with snow.’ He smiled at her obvious excitement. ‘Although we can probably see the outline from upstairs.’
He closed up the ballroom with relief and led her back to the main staircase, gripping the banister for support as he dragged his injured leg up behind him. This ought to teach him to drink to excess, he thought bitterly. His leg always hurt more afterwards, making the stairs feel like a mountain this morning. Miss Harper, however, stepped lightly alongside, neither looking away nor directly at him, yet matching his pace as if it were natural for her to move so slowly. He appreciated the gesture even if he didn’t deserve it.
‘This way.’ He turned right at the top.
‘What are these rooms?’
She gestured at the long row of doors, though he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.
‘They’re the family rooms.’
‘Is one of them yours?’
‘Not any more.’ He jerked his head. ‘That one used to be.’
‘But why—?’ She stopped abruptly, halting mid-step and mid-sentence to stare at the door before them. ‘That’s the room you locked me in yesterday!’
‘That’s where we’re going. It has the best view of the maze.’ He turned to confront her accusing expression. ‘I won’t do it again, I promise.’
‘What about the window in this room?’ She gestured towards another door. ‘Can’t we see it from there?’
‘Yes, but that was Arthur’s room.’ His throat turned dry at the words. ‘I told you, I don’t use these rooms.’
‘Can’t we even go inside?’
‘No!’ He adjusted his tone quickly. ‘I don’t go in. I hadn’t been in the tower for ten years until yesterday, only...’
He scowled as he tried and failed to find a way to finish the sentence. Only what? Only it had seemed to suit her? He could hardly say that. He limped on to the end of the corridor instead, unlocking the door and then holding the key out towards her. ‘Here, I’ll go in first. You can take your revenge if you want.’
‘It’s tempting.’
‘Which is why I’m relying on your better nature.’
He opened the door and limped across the room. The tower had eight walls, four of which had windows, one of them with an almost perfect bird’s-eye view of the maze. If she chose to follow him, that was.
‘You can see it from here.’ He beckoned to her and she edged forward warily, looking ready to turn and run at the slightest provocation.
‘See those hedges in the shape of a flower?’ He stood to one side of the window and pointed.
‘Yes.’ She stood at the opposite edge. ‘It’s an unusual design.’
‘It was specially commissioned.’
‘What’s in the centre?’
‘Can’t you guess?’
‘A
nother rose?’
‘Something a bit more Arthurian.’
‘A stone?’ She clapped her hands when he nodded, her face shining with a look of pure delight. ‘With a sword in it?’
He smiled, admiring the glow. ‘I think you would have got along with my mother, Miss Harper.’
‘Violet.’
‘Violet,’ he repeated, but she was already looking away from him, staring out of the window as if her life depended on it. There were two spots of colour high up on her cheekbones, he noticed, as well as a small tick at the base of her throat, a nerve fluttering lightly beneath the skin, as if she weren’t quite as immune to his proximity as the rest of her behaviour suggested.
He felt a sudden impulse to reach out and stroke his fingers down the smooth line of her neck. What would an ice maiden feel like? he wondered. Would her skin feel warm? Would she melt in his arms? The idea made both his chest and groin tighten uncomfortably. Strange how intensely aware he was of her small body standing across from him. He could hardly have been any more aware if they’d actually been touching.
‘Violet.’ He said her name again, hearing the trace of huskiness in his own voice. ‘I can’t alter the terms of your father’s will, but I can make them more bearable.’
She seemed to sway slightly towards him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that if you marry me, then I’ll give you your freedom. I want your father’s money, that’s true, but not at any cost. I understand your objections to me, but I’d rather not see you destitute because of them. Our fathers have left us in this bizarre situation for better or worse, so to speak, but it seems to me that we can help each other. We can abide by their agreement on our own terms. You can live however you want and go wherever you want. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy. We’ll share the money equally.’
‘You’d give me half?’
‘Why not? He was your father and I presume there are other old walls you’d like to visit. I believe Chester has some.’
‘So I’d be able to travel?’
‘Of course, if that’s what you want.’
She half turned her head, though she still didn’t look at him. ‘How do I know if I can trust you?’
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