The musicians, remaining guests, Lady Thorton, and Maria all rushed out into the entry to investigate. There stood Brock facing a tall, immaculately groomed man who wielded a large bloodstained knife. Maria gasped when she saw the front of Brock’s shirt saturated with blood.
“I will kill you, Brockton! High and mighty, Lord Brockton Thorton! Bah! You bleed like any other man,” the stranger shouted.
“Get out! I’m warning you, Harrison. Else you’ll die by my own hand!” Brock shouted.
Maria glanced quickly at Lady Thorton as she gasped and breathed, “Harrison!” The rosy blush emptied from the great lady’s lovely face, leaving her as pale as death.
The violent man turned and eyed the great lady. “Well, Mother. Have you missed me?”
Lady Thorton fell to the floor in a stunned faint. Maria knelt, lifting Lady Thorton’s head and placing it gently in her own lap.
“Leave now, Harrison. I’ll not have you upsetting my mother,” Brock demanded.
“Your mother? Your mother and mine, I remind you, dear brother. And who is this?” the intruder asked, gesturing in Maria’s direction.
Maria shrank from him as he approached, as if the very essence of evil were intent upon her.
“My, my, my! You are a rare beauty,” the man muttered. But as he reached for Maria, Brockton took hold of his coat collar, powerfully pulling him backward and throwing him to the floor.
“I’ll not tell you again, Harrison. Leave here!” Brockton shouted, kicking the man hard in the midsection. “Pick him up and throw him out,” he ordered two on looking coachmen.
“This is only the beginning, Brock! I tried to reason with you! Now you’ve had your chance and denied it! You will pay. And dearly!” the man bellowed as the two men escorted him forcibly through the front door.
Several women fanning Lady Thorton were whispering, and Maria was astounded at their revelation.
“Harrison Thorton!” one woman exclaimed. “I cannot believe it! I was certain some ill fate had befallen him and he lay dead in the dirt by now.”
“He deserves no better, that one,” the other said, nodding.
Maria stared at Brock. She wanted to run to him and inspect his wound, but as he spoke she forced her feet to their place and waited.
“Forgive us, friends, for the unfortunate experience. Please, please accept our thanks for your attendance. And do not let Harrison spoil your memories of the evening,” he said.
Brock stood at the door and shook the hands of each departing guest. Then he bolted it and instructed several of the maids to assist Lady Thorton to her chambers.
When at last the entry was abandoned, Maria could restrain herself no longer and ran to him. “Brock! Oh, Brock! There is so much blood!”
He tore off his coat and shirt and dabbed at the wound with them. “It’s nothing. Believe me, where Harrison and I are concerned, this is nothing more than a scratch,” he grumbled.
Maria took his hand and led him to a small room near the entry. It housed a washbasin and towels used for guests who wished to refresh themselves. She closed the door and hastened to the basin, filling it with water from the pitcher. Quickly she soaked a cloth in the cool water and turned to apply it to the wound.
“Oh, Brock!” she cried in a whisper as she lifted his arm to bathe the wound. It began at his left side just under his arm and traveled down diagonally across his torso and stomach.
“It’s a scratch,” he protested, though he jumped each time she pressed the cloth against his injured flesh.
As Maria cleaned the wound, her attention was drawn to Brock’s artistically sculpted chest, arms, and shoulders. He resembled a statue she had once seen at a museum as a child. His chest itself was wide and muscular, his shoulders straight and broad, his stomach a solid mass of muscular definition. Maria was fantastically unsettled and looked up to see if Brock had noticed her sudden discomfort. However, he had his arm raised and was inspecting the damage done him.
“This will no doubt cause me great annoyance for several days to come,” he grumbled, looking down at her then.
“No doubt,” she mumbled awkwardly, pressing a length of fresh, dry cloth to the wound.
Brock was not one to overlook an opportunity to tease, and well Maria knew it. Chuckling at the blush on Maria’s face, he asked, “What do you think, my pet?” He ran one hand slowly over his own chest.
Maria cleared her throat, turned, and began folding his discarded shirt. “I think he must be a dreadful person.”
“No, not him. About this scratch. How do you think it appears?” he asked.
Maria cleared her throat again but did not turn to face him. “I think it appears exceedingly painful.”
Brock chuckled. “Actually, it is not so deeply cut, now that I look at it. What do you think, Maria? Do you think it will heal quickly?”
Maria still did not turn to look at him. “I would think so. You certainly appear to be…healthy. I am quite certain it will heal in due time.”
“Define healthy,” he whispered into her ear.
“Healthy, Brock! Quit…quit teasing! Healthy. You know very well what I mean. I had better check on your mother,” she stammered. She turned to leave, but Brock caught her arm, somber once more.
“Did she talk to you about my leaving?” he asked.
Maria cast hurting eyes to the floor. “Yes. But I do not see why it is necessary,” she lied.
“Oh, you do not?” he laughed, turning her to face him. “Women are a true mystery, dear Maria. You see, it is not in the least unsettling for you, seeing me thus…standing before you only half-clothed. ButI, beholding you simply standing there fully dressed, am greatly…agitated. That is why it is more than necessary. And now there is Harrison to deal with as well.”
“I cannot bear it if you leave,” Maria whispered, gazing up at him. Her thoughts held no questions concerning the strange man who was apparently Brock’s brother. All she could consider was the knowledge of his impending absence.
“You will bear it better than either of us would if I stayed. I must away,” he said, taking both of her hands in his and raising them to his lips. When he released them, she did not let them fall from his face but rather caressed his neck and laced her fingers together behind it.
“Who is this brother of yours, and why have I never heard of him?” she asked as she felt his hands encircle her waist.
“Do not concern yourself with Harrison. I am to be your only concern,” he whispered, smiling.
“You are and ever shall be my only concern,” Maria muttered just before their lips met.
He pulled her snugly against him, and the warmth from his body burned through her entire being. His mouth was heated, moist, and enticing, and their kisses soon burned into a passionate exchange.
He broke from her for a moment and gazed into her sapphire eyes. His hand cupped her face gently, and, smiling, he whispered, “You do see the necessity of my leaving?”
She dropped her own gaze. “Yes,” she muttered as tears spilled over her cheeks. “Though I cannot believe you would ever—”
“Each man knows which temptation might break him, kitten,” he said, pulling her into his arms once more. “I cannot believe I could be so bewitched by a child,” he mumbled into her hair.
“I am not a child,” she reminded, nestling against him.
“I know. I meant when you were. When you were that flirtatious, raven-haired baby who captivated me so many years ago.”
All at once, the feeling of security Maria had experienced since beginning her life at Thorton Manor abandoned her entirely.
Looking up into Brock’s exquisite face, she asked, “Who is this Harrison?”
An expression of deep concern crossed Brock’s features then, and he released her.
“My brother. Disowned, disinherited, and despised by my father many years ago. He is the elder of we two. I have always feared he might return when Father was gone,” he growled.
“He frightens m
e, Brock. He owns such obvious hatred and resentment toward you.”
Nodding, he said, “Think no more of him. He will not trouble us further.”
But Maria did doubt. Something deep within her was unsettled. She involuntarily shivered.
“Now, you go before Mother finds you in here with me. She will shoot me herself if she finds us thus,” he said, smiling at her.
Maria forced a smile and turned to leave. She paused, her hand on the door latch. Without turning around, she said, “I love you, Brock. I always have…from the very first moment.” Without waiting for a response, she fled from the room and up the stairs.
Maria knew she must look in on Lady Thorton. It had been so apparent the incident with her disowned son had extremely distressed her. She knocked softly on the door to the woman’s chambers.
“Is that you, Brock?” came the near hysterical reply.
“No, milady. It is Maria,” she answered.
“Oh, my darling! Come in at once! At once!”
Maria opened the door to find Lady Thorton sitting in the midst of her bed, sobbing. Immediately, she went to her, embracing her.
“Oh, milady! I am so sorry! Please, do not carry on so,” Maria pleaded as her own tears began to trickle over her cheeks.
“Oh, my darling child!” Lady Thorton said, looking up and taking the girl’s face firmly between her elegant hands. “I am sorry this had to happen tonight! Your coming-out!”
Maria smiled. “Nothing could have ruined this day for me, milady. As you well know.”
“Oh, Maria, what joy you bring to me!” Lady Thorton sniffled and brushed tears from her cheeks. “And to know that…well, I could not be happier either…now that you have reminded me. So much happiness to look forward to,” she said. “I will not dwell on the painful past.”
“Yes,” Maria said. “Let us think only of the future, milady.” The future meant belonging to Brock and owning him in return. Yes…Maria would think only of the future.
Surprisingly, Maria fell asleep with ease once retired to her own bed. The events of the evening wove heavy fatigue, and she did sleep. Visions of Brock lingered in her dreams, and she did sleep.
She was awakened in the early hours of the morning. While darkness still owned the land, before the sun became its proprietor, he came to her.
“Maria?” came the whisper very near her ear.
Her eyes opened slowly to find Brock leaning over her, smiling. His handsome face before her, she smiled up at him. In the next instant, however, realization entered her tired mind, and she sat upright in her bed.
“Oh, no! You’re leaving!” she exclaimed in a whisper, tears instantly filling her eyes.
Brock nodded and put a finger to his lips to indicate she should speak quietly.
“When will you return?” she asked in a frantic whisper.
“It is not certain. I…I will write,” he whispered as he reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger, a frown puckering his brow.
She threw aside her quilts and stood before him. She reached out and took hold of the lapels of his greatcoat. “Do you promise? I shall die…I shall literally pass from this very life if I’m not to hear from you!”
He cupped her tender cheek with one strong hand and said, “I promise it.”
She brushed a tear from her cheek but did not move to embrace him.
“I love you, Maria,” he whispered. He took her face between his two capable hands and drew it to his own, his kiss moist, fierce, heated with molten passion.
Maria locked her arms around his neck as they kissed, silently vowing never to release him. He was life to her now. He had been life to her for so long. How could she let him go?
All at once he broke the seal of their lips, burying his face against the soft flesh of her neck for a moment.
“Release me now, Maria,” he breathed.
“I will not,” she whispered, tightening her embrace.
“Release me now, or we will both be lost to the ruination of irresistible passion,” he grumbled, pushing her away.
“Brock…you would never…” she began, but he closed his eyes and held up a palm to beg her to stop.
“I…I can no longer…I can no longer be certain I would not,” he said, shaking his head. “And you but sixteen and so…so…”He looked to her then, simultaneously frowning and smiling. “You will belong to me one day, Maria,” he said. “One day I will not have to leave you.” He turned and angrily strode from the room.
He was gone. Maria felt all at once cold, alone, frightened, and miserable.
“Two years,” she whispered, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “An eternity it will seem to me.”
Returning to her bed she wept until the first rays of yellow sunlight peeked in through the window. But no sun’s bright beam could brighten a day where Brock was not to be near.
BETROTHED
Brock did not remain away from Thorton Manor for merely weeks. Neither did he remain away for merely months. Lord Brockton Thorton remained afar for an entire year! A year he was gone, a year in which Maria dreamt of him every day and night, waking or sleeping. A year in which she tried to busy herself with her stitching, her music, and accompanying Lady Thorton on charitable visits to Brock’s tenants. An entire year in which she dreamt and planned and waited—waited for the beloved day when Brock would at last return, take her in his arms, and smother her with his delicious kisses.
Maria’s greatest joys during the long, agonizing, lonely year were the letters she received from Brock. She received a letter from him weekly or more often, and she herself wrote nearly each and every day. His letters became her breath, her very life and hope in life. Maria did not know how she would have existed without Brock’s letters, his constant reassurance he loved her, would return to her, dreamt of owning her for his own.
And now, at long last dawned her seventeenth birthday and Brock’s anticipated return. A grand event had been coordinated by Lady Thorton in order to announce Maria’s betrothal to Lord Brockton Thorton, and in anticipation of it, Brock was en route to Thorton Manor.
Brock was expected to arrive at any moment, and Maria’s entire body was plagued by knots and nerves. Letters were one thing, face-to-face quite another. Had he changed? Would he still feel the same toward her? Certainly his letters told her he loved her, professed his misery without her. Yet what if his feelings had changed? Would he still be agreeable to the betrothal? It seemed silly and somewhat disloyal to doubt him. Yet she knew what a profound example of an ideal man he was in feature, form, ethic, and spirit. Would he find great fault or flaw with her upon seeing her again?
Maria opened the bottom drawer of her vanity and removed the last letter she had received from Brock, dated six days before. Once again she read to herself the last words of the letter.
…and it seems like forever since I stole a kiss from you last. Therefore, prepare yourself, kitten…for upon my return one week hence, I am fully intent upon savoring the flavor of your mouth! Not that mere days of tasting you would near ever content me…
Forever Yours,
Brock
Inhaling a deep breath of resolve to be courageous and faithful in his loyal feelings, Maria clutched the letter to her breast and whispered, “I know he loves me. I know he must.”
The morning was slow in passing, and soon the hour for midday meal had come and gone as well. Maria tried to occupy herself at reading a book in her chambers. But it was difficult to concentrate, and she found herself having to read the same passages again and again and again.
Then at last, and as if in a dream, she heard on the breeze the rhythmic pounding of hooves. Leaping from her chair, Maria rushed to the window. Yes! At last! She could see him approaching at a strong gallop. Brock!
Only moments later he reined his mount to halt beneath her chamber’s window. As he looked up and smiled at her, the sheer magnificence of his presence, the utter beauty of his person, lifted her. He did love he
r! It was greater evidenced in his eyes than even in the words of his letters, and Maria felt her confidence beginning to return.
“Hello,” he greeted, chuckling. “And who might you be, pretty miss?”
Maria smiled, beaming with delight at the sound of his voice, his playful teasing.
“I?” she asked, feigning innocence as she placed a hand to her bosom. “I am merely the chambermaid here, milord. I am just now airing this very room.”
“Ah,” Brock said, nodding. “I do not often make a habit of abducting beautiful women…but in your case, miss…I will more than happily spend years in prison if only for the opportunity at seducing one such as you.”
Maria giggled with delight at his flirting. “Brock,” she sighed, smiling.
“Here,” he said, tossing a parcel up to her. “Happy birthday, kitten.”
Maria caught the parcel even for not being able to take her eyes from her beloved. Had he changed? She thought not so much. She fancied his shoulders were broader, his face more handsome. Yet he was Brock still…her own Brock.
He smiled again, and she watched as he rode toward the stables. Then, with a squeal of delight, she tossed the parcel on her bed and turned to view herself in the looking glass. As always, she was dissatisfied with what she saw there, but with a quick smoothing of her dress and pinch to redden her cheeks, she turned, dashing from the room.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she halted. “Now, calm yourself, Maria. Descend in the manner befitting a lady,” she whispered.
However, when she had less than halfway descended the staircase, the large front doors swung open, and Brock stepped into the entry. Instantly, Maria’s lingering, ladylike decadence turned to the more familiar rapid plunge downward to greet him.
Brock chuckled and caught her securely in his brawny embrace as she threw her arms about his shoulders.
“You’re home, at last!” she whispered, unable to stop her eyes from filling with joyous tears.
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