There was always a chance she’d say no, but he’d deal with that when it happened. There were ways to make a woman say yes.
Chapter Nine
‘Yes, Melisande, I loved your new design for handkerchiefs with the Bedevere family crest. Thank you for sending it over.’ Genevra looked up from her workspace in the Bedevere drawing room, her gaze returning again to the scene outside the wide French doors.
There was nothing particularly lovely about the view. The day was overcast and the gardens were nothing but churned-up mud. String and pegs outlined spaces where something more substantial would later replace the expanses of dirt.
It wasn’t the view that drew her eye, but the man who walked among the plots, stopping occasionally to clap a worker on the back and talk, his hands pointing and gesturing.
The day was not especially warm. There’d been some wind when she’d driven over, but Ashe didn’t seem to notice the cold. Ashe worked only in shirt and riding breeches, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and he wore no waistcoat. The lack of a waistcoat left him surprisingly exposed, Genevra noted. There were no illusions about what might or might not be under that waistcoat. Nothing prevented her from taking in the leanness of his waist, or the muscled length of his thighs beneath the dirt-smudged breeches. The sight of him working was really quite intoxicating—probably because it was the last thing one would expect of an earl’s son. Or because it was the last thing she’d expect from Ashe Bedevere.
‘Genni, dear, you’ve stopped cutting,’ Lavinia said from the easel where she sat painting a pot of early primroses.
How long had she been staring? Apparently long enough for everyone to notice. ‘I’ve been wondering what your nephew is up to out there in the gardens.’
She might as well admit to it. It didn’t sound so voyeuristic when she said it like that.
‘He says he wants to get the gardens closest to the house organised for spring.’
Melisande’s voice held a tinge of excitement, her approval of the plan evident. ‘It will be lovely to have flowers again and a place to walk. It will be just like the old days. I would give anything for one last summer in a real garden.’
Lavinia shot her a sharp glance. ‘Don’t be so maudlin, Melly, we all have plenty of summers left in us.’
‘Of course you do.’ Genevra turned from the window. ‘We’ve got so many plans for the markets and things are already better.’ She gestured towards the window.
‘In fact, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go out and see if I can give your nephew some advice.’ If he was going to go forwards with his plans for the estate without consulting her, then it was time to talk. He could not treat her as if she were an invisible partner.
Leticia brightened at the prospect. Genevra could see the wheels spinning behind her blue eyes, none of it having to do with the conditions of the estate. ‘By all means, Genni. I’m sure Ashton will welcome any input you can give him.’
Genevra picked up her fur-lined pelisse from the chair where she’d draped it and headed out to the garden, careful not to look back for fear of what she’d see: smiles of matchmaking satisfaction on the faces of four old ladies. She had no intentions of satisfying them on that account, although that left her with no small amount of guilt.
It seemed deceptive not to tell the aunts about her new role in the estate, but she could only imagine how their matchmaking efforts would blossom if they knew, to say nothing of how Ashe would exploit those efforts. Ashe would throw in with the aunts and manipulate their influence to its maximum, a potentially lethal combination.
Genevra stepped around pockets of squishy mud, gingerly navigating the terrain, much like she’d have to navigate their upcoming conversation. Both she and Ashe each had time to assimilate the results and those results of the will had to be discussed. He had started this work in the garden without her permission. If this went unaddressed, who knew what other larger issues he’d attempt to supercede her authority on?
Genevra lifted her skirts, barely missing a puddle of mud. It was definitely much easier to appreciate Ashe Bedevere at a distance where one could afford to be entranced by the masculine beauty of his physique. Up close, there was much more than a pretty face to contend with: that seductive drawl of his, those eyes, those hands that knew just how to touch a woman, to say nothing of the man who played the piano so expertly, or who carried so many mysteries behind his green eyes—why hadn’t he come back sooner? Why had he ever left in the first place? What had happened between him and his father? What had he been doing all these years in London? How did all of that factor into the decision to leave him only forty-five per cent of the estate?
Perhaps it was the hope of discovering answers to those questions that kept propelling her into the gardens. Perhaps it was just the thrill that came with being in his presence. His conversation carried an edge, everything around him seemed to vibrate with an energy waiting to be unleashed. For all his roguish airs, Ashe Bedevere was turning out to be the most excitement she’d had in ages, his forty-five per cent nothwithstanding.
Ashe saw her coming and moved towards her, holding out a hand. ‘Here, Neva, let me help you over that so you don’t slip. We can’t have you twisting your ankle again.’
‘Aren’t you freezing?’ Genevra took his hand, shivering underneath the pelisse.
‘You don’t feel the cold once you get moving.’ Ashe shrugged. ‘What are you doing out here?’
They were three sentences in and Genevra was thinking it might be the nicest conversation they’d ever had. She hated to spoil it with business just yet. ‘I came out to see why you changed your mind. The last time we’d talked, you’d thought the gardens were a waste of time.’
‘I had a change of heart, that’s all. I can’t very well entertain with Bedevere in this condition.’ He was non-committal at best, a sure sign he was hedging. Before she could respond, he tucked her hand through the crook of his arm and began walking. ‘Come see what I’ve laid out. It’s all very simple compared to your plans at Seaton Hall, just colourful flowers and trees really, but it’s what can be managed this year with spring nearly upon us. Next year, I’ll do more. Right now, I want to focus on the front drive and this space off the drawing room since that’s what people are likely to see most.’
‘We,’ Genevra put in, stopping the conversation. ‘You mean “we” should focus on the front drive.’ She paused, letting him digest the import of that two-letter word. ‘I am the majority shareholder in the estate, whether or not either of us likes that arrangement.’
Ashe turned to face her squarely, arms crossed over his chest. ‘What exactly do you mean to imply by that reminder?’
Genevra met him firmly. ‘You cannot randomly make unilateral decisions about the estate, to say nothing of the finances. I need to approve of any expenditures. You must know by now the estate’s monetary resources are limited. We must make judicious decisions with the funds we have, together.’
‘This is my home.’ Ashe’s tic began to work. His short sentence said it all. He wouldn’t tolerate being reined in like a recalcitrant schoolboy. Neither would he tolerate an outsider asserting her authority.
Genevra softened, laying a hand on his sleeve. ‘I did not ask for this, Ashe. But we are in this together for the time being.’
‘What do you want, Neva?’ Ashe said in silky tones.
‘I want to help you with the gardens.’ If she could get a partnership out of this, she would be making progress. ‘Tell me your plans. Your aunts are already talking about how good it will be to walk in the garden again.’
They turned a corner and the wind lessened. ‘I want to make the aunts an outdoor room of sorts here, with roses and stone benches and comfortable places to sit where they can bring their work.’
Genevra stared hard at the man beside her. Where had he come from? This was not the Ashe Bedevere who sparred so seductively with words, who challenged her at every turn with his cynicism.
‘What do you think,
Neva? Will they like it?’
‘Yes, I think they will.’
‘And will you? Will you come and sit with them in the summer and do whatever it is you do?’ There was a glimmer of his seductive self stirring to life in those green eyes. It was a softer version than she was used to, but seductive all the same.
‘Of course you can help me with the gardens, Neva.’ She was acutely aware of Ashe’s other hand covering hers now where it lay on his arm. ‘I meant to ask you the other day at the inn, but you were so set on refusing my proposition, I thought it best to wait.’
This had been his proposition? Genevra suddenly felt foolish beyond words.
She’d given him quite a dressing down for a proposal she’d felt would be nothing short of scandalous and all he’d wanted was some help with his gardens.
She gave a short laugh and shook her head. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
‘You must think I’m a shrew.’
‘I think you’re a woman alone in the world. I think you’ve had to learn to protect yourself in the absence of anyone else to do it for you and I think you do an admirable job.’ He spoke quietly, his finger tracing another of his circles on the back of her hand.
She looked up, able to meet his eyes this time. ‘I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me for a long time.’ She cocked her head and gave him a contemplative stare. ‘Are we becoming friends, Ashe Bedevere?’
He laughed. ‘I hope not. Women and men can’t be friends, not for any long period of time.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘It’s the sex, Neva.’
There was the Ashe she knew. Well, thank heavens, he wasn’t gone entirely.
‘That’s too bad. I was hoping we’d be friends.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Ashe replied in easy disagreement. ‘Friendship is safe, Neva. It’s a little interpersonal limbo you can live in somewhere between not acknowledging your attraction to someone and giving full vent to it. If I were you, I’d hope for something more. Now, before you cut up at me for that—I can see that you want to—come see the old fountain and tell me what you think.’
Just like that, the friendlier version of Ashe Bedevere was back, the safer version. There was a begrudging truth to what he said, Genevra thought as they trudged across the garden. The safe Ashe, the compassionate Ashe she’d seen today, talked of gardens and plans. The wicked Ashe talked of feelings and hard truths and things she didn’t want to admit to herself.
The fountain was dirty and dry, the basin full of dead leaves from years of neglect. ‘I know it’s in bad shape, but I am hoping a good cleaning will help.’ Ashe reached down and scooped out a handful of brown leaves.
Genevra nodded. ‘If it’s like the one at Seaton Hall, the hydraulics have been turned off. A good scrubbing and a look at the pipes will solve your problems.’
‘I played a lot in this fountain as a boy.’ The nostalgic quality of his tone caught her off guard. She turned to face him, trying to imagine this grown man as a small child.
‘Did you have a boat?’ She tried to picture him in a sailor suit.
‘A ship actually, a four-masted schooner. It was my pride and joy. I spent hours sailing it. Sometimes, on warm days, I’d put my feet in the water.’ Ashe bent down and scooped another handful of leaves out. ‘I’ve not thought of that for years. Alex had a boat, too. Often times we’d play together and have glorious naval battles.’ His voice trailed off, leaving his thought incomplete. But she could guess where his thoughts had gone, back to those happy days running around the estate with his brother and not a care in the world.
‘Whatever happened to your boat, Ashe?’
Ashe looked away from her towards the fountain. ‘Henry broke it.’
‘On accident?’
‘No, he broke it quite on purpose. Alex gave him a black eye for it.’
Genevra idly picked at dead leaves on the edge of the fountain. ‘Is that why you dislike your cousin? Because he broke your boat?’ She gave a quietly coy smile, but Ashe was in deadly earnest.
‘There’s not one event that made me dislike my cousin. It’s a combination of many events. But Alex and I were always able to handle him.’
‘You’re a lot like your brother,’ she murmured. ‘He talked often of growing up here.’ She hesitated at the last. Discussion of Ashe’s brother was new ground and he’d been so touchy that night in the conservatory when she’d mentioned his father. But his reaction today was far different.
‘My brother was here?’ Ashe’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.
Genevra nodded. ‘Didn’t you know? Your father kept Alex here after the breakdown. He was here when I arrived in the area last June. I gathered from the aunts that he wasn’t physically incapacitated in any way, his mind had just gone somewhere else and not came back.’
She could see the pain in his eyes at the thought and rushed on to alleviate it.
‘Alex was always telling
stories about the two of you when you were younger.’ She paused, her gaze going to an invisible point over his shoulder so she wouldn’t have to look at Ashe.
He had to be told. If no one had told him, she had to. ‘I think that’s where his mind lives now, back there in his childhood with you. He liked the story about the time you climbed the apple tree and sat up there all day eating apples until your stomachs hurt.’
A brief grin flashed across Ashe’s face. ‘We’d been told to go pick the apples and we didn’t want to, so we decided to eat them. We thought doing it that way would make it look like we’d picked them since there wouldn’t be any apples in the tree for proof. We didn’t count on the stomach aches afterwards. We were so sick.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘Where is Alex now?’
‘He’s been moved to a private institution outside Bury St Edmunds. It’s a nice place where they care for people like him. Henry thought it would be best,’
Genevra said. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t know.’ She could see it was an enormous surprise to him.
Her heart went out to him in that moment. For all his audacious behaviour and flirtatious ways, he wasn’t without redemption. He loved his brother. Impulsively, Genevra put a hand on his sleeve. ‘I could take you to see him, if you’d like.’
He nodded without words. ‘Was Alex brought home for the funeral?’
Genevra shook her head. ‘No, I offered to drive over for him, but there were so many other arrangements to make and Henry thought—’
Ashe exploded at that. His quiet reserve had become a storm. ‘I do not want to hear the words “Henry thought.” one more time.’ Alex should have been here. He should have been here to say goodbye to his father. He should have been here always, he should not have been shuffled off to strangers or put out of the way as if he doesn’t exist. This was his home. He was safe here.’
He bowed his head, his eyes shut tight. She could see the tic in his cheek jumping with a ferocious effort to hold on to his control.
‘Mrs Ralston, please excuse me.’ He did not wait for a response. He turned on his heel and walked away from her with a rapid stride that suggested he might not reach his destination before he broke. It took all of her will-power to not run after him. She’d had two glimpses into his depths and it was rapidly becoming clear to her that Ashe Bedevere was not all he seemed. Heaven help her, such a revelation only served to make him that much more irresistible. A rake with a soul was a rare thing indeed.
Chapter Ten
How had it come to this? It wasn’t the first time he’d asked himself the same question since his return. Ashe wanted to kick something, punch something, do some violence, so great was his anger, his outrage, his grief. But there was nothing to hit, nothing to break in the vast openness of the Bedevere parklands. All he could do was run and he did, just as soon as he was out of Genevra’s sight. Boots weren’t the best shoes for running, but Ashe shoved the discomfort aside and ran, letting the wind take his hair and bathe his face, letting his legs pump up a
nd down in rapid motion in the fleeting hope that the activity would keep his emotions at bay for just a little longer.
Everything he’d kept so carefully tamped down inside him since his arrival was threatening to break loose. Hell, it wasn’t threatening, it had broken loose after all this time. He’d held on to his control long enough to get out of Lady Hargrove’s bedroom, long enough to get home, long enough to take stock of the situation.
But his time was up.
His feelings, those things most of London believed he did not possess, would have their day. He hadn’t had them the day he’d faced Lord Longfield at twenty paces over an accusation made at cards. He hadn’t had them when he’d cut off Lord Hadley’s curricle coming around a sharp curve in a dangerously mad race that could have seen him dead. But, by God, he was having them now.
Ashe had no conscious idea of where he was headed, only that he was headed away: away from Genevra Ralston and her grey eyes that saw too much; away from his gentle aunts who looked to him for support; away from Henry and his treacherous coveting; away from Bedevere and the responsibilities it posed.
Aimless as his mad journey was, he wasn’t surprised when his feet stopped running to see he’d arrived at the one place on Bedevere property he hadn’t been yet—the domed mausoleum. Ashe braced himself with an arm against the stone sides of the structure and bent over, trying to gather his breath. The intensity and the distance of the run had left him winded. He hadn’t run out here since he’d been in his teens. He and Alex used to play out here when they’d been younger, and later they’d raced out here in friendly competition.
His breath gathered, Ashe sat down on a stone bench placed at an angle for better viewing of the mausoleum. It was a handsome building with its dome and Palladian columns. A regal resting place for generations of Bedevere males, generations that went back long before the Bedeveres were earls.
Ashe supposed that might be why he was so attached to being ‘Mr Bedevere’. It had always been the family’s name, just as this house had always been the family’s house, although other properties had presented themselves with the earldom. In the great scheme of history, the title of Audley was relatively new come to the family, the earldom only four generations old. But Bedevere had been around nearly as long as England. Growing up, he and Alex used to fancy they were related to Sir Bedevere, who’d sat at King Arthur’s fabled table. That probably wasn’t true. But who knew? The remembrance began to calm his roiling emotions.
How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption) Page 8