by Delphine
Again Rowan wondered at the lack of footmen or stable hands. Looking at the house, this seemed a wealthy and well cared for estate. A wave of nerves went through her as she took in the imposing stone walls. What would the Countess Heartwycke be like? And how could she ever hope to make an agreeable impression now after her indecent behavior?
She pressed her hands to her eyes, shaking her head. What on earth had taken hold of her? In the theater many unscrupulous men had tried to take advantage of her. They assumed, as the daughter of an actor, she must be bound for the stage herself and in their minds, actress was merely a euphemism for whore.
She remembered one particularly randy stage manager who had tried to molest her against the backdrop of The Importance of Being Ernest as her father performed on stage. The feel of his slimy cold lips on hers had raised the bile in her throat and a swift kick with her pointy boot had secured release quickly enough.
But what had just occurred in the carriage with Roderick…that was like nothing she ever believed could happen to her. It was because she had been so lonely in her grief and he had seemed kind and warm and…
What must he think of her now?
Shame flooded her anew and Rowan cursed herself for ever having made the promise to her father which bound her to Heartwycke and the countess’s marriage mart plans. Rowan had always been content with the idea of becoming a schoolteacher and providing for herself. She would not live in luxury, but she would have her independence and self-respect.
A sharp wrap on the carriage door brought Rowan to her senses. Making a last futile attempt to smooth back her tousled hair neatly beneath her bonnet, she set her back straight and climbed out of the carriage with the assistance of old Meriwether.
Roderick was just coming round the front of the house, waiting to lead her inside. His face was as impassive and unreadable as a mask. A bit of her Irish temper flared and she lifted her chin a notch as she placed her gloved hand lightly on his arm. He must really be the worst kind of rake to go so far with her, and she, well she had behaved no better.
They stepped onto the flagstone drive, neither one looking at the other.
What was done was done, Rowan told herself firmly. She resolved henceforth to conduct herself like a young lady, as her father wished, and there would be absolutely no more shenanigans with the likes of Roderick Heartwycke!
But her heartbeat quickened, and she unconsciously gripped his arm a bit tighter, as they stepped beneath a leering stone gargoyle glaring down from his perch. They entered through a heavy Gothic arch and the doors opened to admit them into Heartwycke Manor.
CHAPTER TWO
Tick, tick, tick….
The mechanisms of dozens of clocks making their rounds through the hours was the only sound Rowan heard as she stepped into the soaring entrance hall of Heartwycke manor.
At the center of the hall stood a massive ebony clock, carved with intricate designs of fantastic beasts wound with ropes of inlaid ivy. The winding vines seemed almost to bind the gryphons and other monstrous creatures into the wood, as if holding them captive to the clock. A large brass pendulum swept ominously back and forth, propelling the circuitry and gear-work into operation. Perched at the top, an all-seeing owl crowned the enormous machine with wings outspread, as if poised to take flight from the gloomy hall.
Rowan forced a smile. “It would seem the Heartwyckes are exceedingly fond of clocks.”
Slurred laughter echoed through the hall and Rowan looked up to see a young man and an elegant woman, who could only be the Countess of Heartwycke, standing at the top of the central stairway gazing down at her. The younger man, dressed carelessly in a silk paisley dressing gown began to lope down the stairs.
Roderick’s scowl deepened as the young man reached the bottom and half-drunkly fell into a mocking bow. “Clockworks, my dear cousin, are the life and blood of Heartwycke.” He raised his head, revealing a face still young and handsome, but bloated with dissolute living and marred by pale bleary eyes.
“Rowan,” said Roderick reluctantly. “May I present my brother, Edmund, the Earl of Heartwycke.”
Edmund laughed again, a bitter bone-chilling laugh. “Earl, by title, at any rate.”
Rowan curtsied and tried not to look too dismayed at the state of her benefactor.
Roderick moved to the stairs to take the arm of the countess, who had ascended at a more stately pace than her inebriated son. “This is my mother, Lavinia, the Dowager Countess and your mother’s second cousin.”
Rowan could hardly take her eyes off the countess. Though, from the age of her sons, she must be at least in her early 40’s, she was startlingly beautiful, with the alabaster skin and raven hair so fashionable at Victoria’s court. Her bearing was regal and her gray eyes glittered coldly jewel-like in a finely featured face. She did not smile as Rowan again swept into a curtsy, feeling hopelessly provincial in her old-fashioned crinoline next to the older woman in her dove gray silk gown with its sleek lines and discreet bustle.
The countess lifted a lorgnette to inspect Rowan with her steel gray eyes from the top of Rowan’s disheveled flaming red hair to her battered lace up boots. Rowan could feel every unfashionable freckle sprinkled across her nose as if they burned like coals.
“Your appearance is nothing like Henrietta’s.” The countess turned to Roderick. “Are you quite sure there has not been some mistake?” she asked with all the impersonal nonchalance she might use in inquiring of her butler if the claret was of the correct vintage that evening.
“Don’t forget, Madame, that her father was pure Irish peasant,” interjected Edmund, as his eyes too roamed across Rowan, pausing at her ample breasts in a most ungentlemanly fashion. “Of that much we can be sure, from the look of her.”
Rowan raised her chin a notch, though she could feel her cheeks turning as scarlet as her hair, which was tumbling most unfortunately from its pins again. “I am Henrietta’s daughter. You may have no doubt of that, my lady.”
The countess narrowed her eyes and peered more closely into Rowan’s face. “Yes, your voice…yes, I can hear her in your voice.” She pressed a pale hand to her lips for a moment. “Such a strange thing, these familial traits. It will be quite fascinating to observe.”
Roderick stepped forward, his brow thunderous. “Rowan is not a science specimen to be dissected for our enjoyment.”
“No, that’s really more your cup of tea, isn’t it, Rody?” drawled Edmund.
Roderick tightened his jaw and shot a warning glance at his brother before turning back to Rowan. “You must be weary from your trip. Shall I ring for a maid to show you your chambers?”
All too aware that a few of the hooks of her gown had not been properly fastened, Rowan nodded gratefully. “Yes, thank you, that would be most welcome.”
The countess nodded her dismissal. “Very well, we shall learn more of you at dinner. You will find there are several gowns already made up for you.” She eyed Rowan’s generous figure again and gave a thin smile. “Of course they will all have to be let out. I had pictured you more in the frame of your mother, who was so slender and lovely. And, of course, you must be done with that silly business of mourning. The less people are reminded of your low connections, the better chance you will have of making a match when the Season begins.” A calculating smile twisted her lips. “And that will be rare sport indeed.”
It was on the tip of Rowan’s tongue to shout that her father was the kindest and dearest man she had ever met and he deserved their respect. That her own mother had obviously agreed, and preferred his company to the icy chill of the Heartwyckes, no mater how ancient their lineage or spectacular their wealth. But remembering the promise she made her father, Rowan kept her tongue in check and managed to say, “Thank you for your generosity, Countess.”
She turned thankfully to the maid who was bobbing a curtsy from the base of the great winding stairs waiting to lead her to her chamber.
As she passed Roderick on her way out, she could feel the
heat of his gaze on her back. A surprising impulse to ask him to come with her, not to leave her alone in this strange forbidding house, came upon her. Somehow she instinctively felt safe around him. And that was madness indeed, she reprimanded herself, as Roderick had clearly shown himself to be a man no woman could safely be left alone with!
Still, she couldn’t resist casting a quick glance over her shoulder at him before she followed the maid up the stairs into the gloomy corridor above.
His expression was maddeningly unreadable.
Rowan stepped into her chamber and let out a breath of surprised pleasure. “How lovely!” She turned to her bright-eyed little maid. “It doesn’t seem anything like the rest of the house.” The room was delightfully modern and airy with pale lilac furnishings and plenty of cheerful lamps.
“When Mr. Heartwycke heard you’d be in residence for the winter, he had these rooms refurnished––spared no expense, either, miss.”
Rowan felt her pulse quicken at the mention of Roderick. “That was kind of him.”
“Yes, he’s a kind-hearted sort of gentleman,” prattled on the maid as she assisted Rowan out of her clothes. “The tenants on the estate don’t know what they would do without him! He looks after everything. Makes sure everyone gets a fair wage and whatever they need.” The young maid shook her head and looked down, “But I’m talking too much, miss. Beg your pardon.”
"What is your name?"
"Claire, miss."
Rowan took the girl’s hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “Well Claire, you see…well, I suppose you have heard where I come from?”
Claire nodded.
“I’m the last one to stand on formality. I see no difference between a duchess and a dairy maid. I do hope you will be my friend. This place seems…cold.”
“It is a strange house, miss,” acknowledged Claire as she pulled back a screen to reveal a large porcelain tub. Rowan was grateful to see the bright copper pipes running to it. With a turn of the faucet, steaming hot water poured into the tub.
Stripping off the last of her petticoats and bloomers, Rowan climbed into the bath, savoring the feel of the warm water rushing over her tired limbs. “At least Heartwycke seems to have all the latest conveniences,” she breathed closing her eyes.
“Shall I leave you to it then, miss?” asked Claire.
Rowan nodded, sinking deeper into the soothing bath. She heard the door close behind her and then silence.
Silence.
She sat up, her eyes searching the room. Every chamber and hallway they passed through to reach her rooms had been punctuated with the sound of ticking clocks, barely noticeable at first, until passage after passage, room after room, there was always the inevitable discreet tick, tick, tick....
Here all was quiet. Somehow the knowledge was reassuring. There was something ominous about the ubiquitous clocks.
Rowan shook her head and splashed a handful of water across her cheeks. Now she was succumbing to pure fantasy. It was just a very old house with the usual creaks and cobwebs. And it had been a most strange day....
Roderick’s face seemed to rise up above the steam in her bath. She stretched back in the warm water, unconsciously running her hand across her wet belly. An unbidden throb of desire heated her sex and she allowed her hand to move up to caress her flushed breast.
He had touched her here. His hot tongue had swirled circles on her peaked nipples, she mused fascinated, as she lightly ran the tips of her own fingers around the stiffening points of her breasts. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to touch and tease, imagining it was Roderick. She felt hot and flushed, as much from the pleasure of imagining him at work on her tender breasts as from the steaming water rushing around her tightening limbs, accentuating the sensations of desire that were flooding through her.
The throbbing heat of her sex was growing. Tentatively, she opened her legs, feeling the surge of running water pulsing against her aroused flesh.
He had touched her here too she recalled, running his strong hands along the tender skin of her inner thigh. She could see, as if he were here above her naked wet body, his flaming dark eyes, the kindling of desire in them. She closed her own, imagining it was truly his hand which ran lightly up towards the forbidden, pulsating center of her womanhood.
Her thighs spread wider, allowing the surging stream of water to play against her soft pink folds and she pressed her fingers against the bud of her sex. An almost agonizing pleasure swept through her. She stroked and teased at her slick skin, arousing a flood of sensations as her other hand gripped at her breast, pinching her pink taut nipples as he had, her legs parting, straining as her fingers rubbed against the pink bud. If only he had touched her here, let his fingers caress her thus.
“Roderick…" she breathed.
A gentle tapping, and then the click of her chamber door opening, made her hand fly from between her thighs and she sat bolt upright in the tub.
Claire stepped tentatively into the room. “Forgive me, miss. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m only bringing your clothes for dinner,” she said, laying out an exquisite moss green water silk evening gown trimmed in blond lace across the canopied bed.
Rowan exhaled and leaned back, her body still restless with unfulfilled desire. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Claire.”
* * *
When her toilet was complete and her maid had pinned up Rowan’s bright curls in a becoming cascade over one shoulder to fall in ringlets across her breast, Rowan sat back and studied herself in the glass. The moss green gown set off her fair complexion and made her eyes look as deep and mysterious as a forest glen. It was the first time she had been out of mourning clothes in three months. She knew her father would not mind, but it felt strange, like the beginning of a new chapter in her life.
There was a soft knock at the door. Claire opened it to reveal Roderick standing in the shadowy corridor looking strikingly handsome in his black evening clothes. Rowan felt her womb clench up with a mixture of pure desire mingled with terror.
Who was he that he could have this maddening effect on her?
Roderick nodded formally. “Forgive me, I do not wish to disturb you. I simply wanted to give you this.” He held out a velvet box with the emblem of Heartwycke stitched in gold thread upon the front.
“Please come in,” she invited him.
His eyes flitted to the large canopied bed that dominated the room and then to the porcelain tub where she had so recently lain wantonly caressing her most intimate places, imagining it was his hand that aroused such a fire of longing in her. Her heart began to beat a little faster against her constricting stays.
He hovered in the doorway, apparently reluctant to take a step into her boudoir. “Thank you, but it would be improper for me to enter a lady’s bedchamber.”
A fine time to think of propriety, after he’d already opened Pandora’s box and it seemed she could no longer get the lid back on tightly enough!
“It’s only that I wished to give you these,” he continued and held out the velvet box.
Curious to see what it held, she rose and went to him. As she reached Roderick's side, it was like a physical force of energy surrounded her. Just being near him almost took away the power of speech.
“These belonged to your mother. She left them, as she renounced everything here, when she dashed off to Gretna Green with your father. But you are her only daughter and they should be yours.”
Taking the box from him, she placed it on the dresser, and with a quick glance back at Roderick, sprung the delicate latch to open the lid.
Rowan sucked in her breath. An explosion of shimmering gems dazzled her eyes as she stared down at generations of family jewels.
Despite his earlier protestation at the impropriety of entering her bedchamber, Roderick came forward and pulled an emerald necklace, laced with sparkling diamonds, from the case. “This would suit your eyes to perfection.”
She gaped at him as he unfastened the magnificent necklace and gently d
raped it across her décolletage, which she was now all too aware, was rather well exposed in the fashionable evening gown. She felt a shiver of desire run down her back as Roderick's fingers lightly brushed the nape of her neck while fastening the clasp.
He stepped back, admiration and something more primal shone in his eyes as he guided her towards the mirror. “You see? You look as elegant as any lady of the ton.”
Though she could not deny the jewels suited her, Rowan was aghast. “But surely these belong to the earl, as part of the entailment!”
The light died out of Roderick’s eyes. “The entailment is…complicated.”
She frowned. “Complicated how?”
His jaw set as if determining something and his voice lost its gentle cadence. “My brother, Edmund, has inherited the title, and will, in time, if things are not changed, inherit all the lands and wealth of Heartwycke, but for the moment, they are under my mother’s control.”
She opened her mouth in surprise. “Your mother? But surely Edmund is of age and women are not allowed the rights to an ancestral entailment…”
He pressed her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Please, do not trouble yourself about this. If I had known this would come up…” he dropped her hand and paced back to the door. “Suffice to say, that the jewels were your mother’s private inheritance, through her mother, and neither the earl, nor my mother, can have anything to say about that.” His voice softened. “You have been through many hardships in your life, I imagine. Please accept them…you deserve some beauty of your own.”
She glance back at the spread of jewels glimmering up from the case and felt almost lost for words, but managed to nod. “Thank you. I have very little that belonged to my mother.”
Roderick looked as if he would speak more, but a quick glance at Claire made it obvious he could not say all he wished. He cleared his throat and his expression grew serious. “I must also apologize most profusely for any…unfortunate incidents that may have occurred on your journey here today. Please know I will do everything in my power to maintain your dignity and comfort during your stay at Heartwycke.”