“That would be most agreeable, Sir.”
Eleanor tried to ignore the disheartened feeling she got when she thought of him leaving for a meeting with the shipping agent, instead of being there to keep her company. “Why are you interested in developing the vineyard specifically? Does California not already have a rich variety of fruits?”
“Yes, the agriculture is well established now. The orchards are particularly bountiful, but there is always room for expansion. We’ve been producing good grape harvests for a few years. That’s why it’s an ideal time to experiment and diversify the varieties.” He rose from his seat and brought a long wooden box from where he’d stationed several on the sideboard at the start of the meal.
“Aha,” exclaimed James. “Another fine vintage?”
Rivers nodded, sliding the lid from the box to reveal a tall elegant bottle nestled in a bed of velvet, a mere shade darker than its own light-rose colored contents.
“A light sweet wine, to refresh your palate.” He opened the bottle and poured James a glass, then Frieda, moving slowly around the table toward Eleanor.
“The grape grows well amongst the other fruits?” Eleanor asked.
She turned to look up at him as he drew closer to her.
He nodded, and his gaze caressed her shoulders as if he’d touched her.
Goosebumps edged along her arms at his close proximity.
He bent to fill her glass with the rose colored liquid, before circling the table and taking his seat again, opposite her. “We enjoy weather similar to the successful wine producing regions of the Mediterranean and the soil is also similar, most excellent.” He looked straight at her. “The Craven land is rich…and receptive.”
Eleanor found it hard to match his direct gaze, for it was weighted with implication. She knew he was teasing her again, yet passion shone in his eyes. Desire, even. Her entire body flashed with heat in response, the pulse point in her core became charged and erratic.
“Indeed,” she murmured, her gaze eventually sinking from his.
* * *
Frieda Craven patted James’s hand across the table and nibbled on one of the delicate confections Mrs. Bramley had served on fine delft platters after the meal. Frieda couldn’t have been happier. Even though she was far from what was familiar to her, her nearest and dearest were around her.
Rivers was being discreet and cautious, she noted. In company, he usually had more swagger and affront than he’d been showing. It tickled her, for she’d wondered what he might make of James’s only daughter. As she sipped her dessert wine, she noticed him glancing at the portraits over the fireplace, and especially at that of Lily-Elizabeth, Eleanor’s Mother. Lily-Elizabeth had passed in childbirth. She had the beauty of a renaissance Madonna, Frieda reflected. James had oft written to his brother and Frieda of the comfort the child gave him in those sad, early years. Eleanor had grown into a beautiful young woman too, Frieda noted, proud of her niece. The girl had a passionate streak and spoke out on matters other young ladies would have a fit over. The tomboy in her did not eclipse the blossoming young lady. Frieda smiled whenever her niece’s spirit showed itself, and she noticed Rivers also seemed to be fascinated by the wayward young woman.
They were a fine match, Frieda decided. Neither of them were overly affected by convention nor were they touched by pretension. And there was definitely a spark between them. Rivers deserved a chance at such friendships, she reflected. His unfortunate family circumstances left him unwilling to pursue long relationships or entertain the idea of marriage. It was part of a sacrifice he’d made many years before, of which even she didn’t know the full circumstances. He was a fine escort, though, a gentleman and a connoisseur, and Eleanor might well enjoy his company – whilst she enjoyed the company of her dear brother-in-law, she thought to herself, turning to smile at James. He brushed up his whiskers as he observed her over his spectacles, his eyes twinkling.
Ah yes, it’s a fine moment we’re blessed with tonight.
* * *
The midnight hour was no less sultry and Eleanor stepped across her bedroom to catch any breeze from the window. There was none to be had. She drew her hand around the back of her neck. Her skin prickled with heat, and it wasn’t the weather causing it. Her thoughts were filled with images from the dinner, the things Rivers had said and the looks he’d cast over her. She was too restless to sleep and decided to take a lukewarm bath to refresh herself.
Slipping quietly out of her room, she crossed the landing to the grand bathroom and filled the ornate wash basin from the jug. She pulled off her nightgown and added fragrant petals to the water. Her friend Miette had sent her the box of petals from Paris, and their fragrance quickly intoxicated her senses as she sponged her torso. Refreshed, she put her nightdress back on. The material was fine lawn cotton and it clung to her damp skin.
Emerging into the hallway, she was captured by the look of the moonlight falling across the wide landing and crossed to the window to look out into the night. The sky was a dark velvety blue and alive with quivering specks of light. She stepped into the moonlight, bathing herself again. She was still warm. The bath had cooled her skin, not the heat burning within. That, she suspected, wasn’t going to be quelled too easily. Every time Mr. Rivers had looked at her it seemed to stoke the fire more.
The smell of the perfumed petals rose from her warm skin and she breathed deep their aroma. The scent was of jasmine and honeysuckle, tinged with a harder edge. What was it? An answer ticked at the back her mind.
She turned toward the rich tobacco edging into her senses.
A plume of smoke moved through the still air toward her.
Rivers stood against a pillar, some ten feet down the landing from her. He was just outside the light cast by the moon, but his white shirt was visible in the gloom, as was the outline of his easy posture against the darker background.
He slowly unfolded his long limbs and walked toward her.
She wondered how long he’d been standing there, realizing he must be able to see her whole body through her fine lawn nightdress against the light from the window. Eleanor’s pulse charged, her body burning up with sudden self-consciousness.
He was barefoot, wearing only trousers and the shirt hanging open at his sides. Her eyes passed across his bare chest as he came closer, the muscle of it drawing her gaze like a magnet. A thin silver chain nestled in his collarbone and twinkled in the light. His neck was long and sleek and some of his hair lay against the skin of it, trapped by the heat of his body. His naked chest was broad and the muscles finely chiseled. A fine covering of dark hair covered its perfectly formed muscles and tapered down into a slim black line of hair disappearing beneath his waistband. She closed her eyes, blinking her curiosity away, embarrassed at her own curiosity.
He drew up in front of her. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. It was too hot to sleep.” His voice was a dark, caressing whisper.
He looked concerned – he really thought he’d startled her.
She smiled. Her senses were indeed awry, yet it was an oddly pleasant sensation.
“You didn’t alarm me. I too had trouble sleeping. I hoped there might be a storm approaching to break the humidity of this weather.”
It was rather awkward and ridiculous, discussing the weather while they stood there in this loaded atmosphere, both in a state of undress. Instead of small talk, she wanted to reach over and kiss him, to taste his skin and feel his strong neck beneath her lips. The cotton of her nightdress chaffed at her breasts. Aware of the translucence of her attire, she laid her arm across her chest to cover herself, her hand resting around the back of her neck. The atmosphere positively crackled. She wondered if he felt it too. He gave no obvious clues.
Thunder crept across the skies, rumbling into their consciousness. She reached out and took the cigar from his fingers. The brief touch of her fingers on his left static in the air between them. Taking the cigar to her lips, she inhaled slowly, her lids closing over her eyes appreciative
ly.
He gave a husky laugh. “Was it this manner of behavior that resulted in your expulsion from the repository for young ladies?”
The smoke eased her senses and the remark amused her. She returned his smile. “Partly, I suppose.” Her eyes flicked quickly to his. For some reason she wanted to demonstrate her sophistication. “That, and the fact I was caught gadding about with a gentleman friend. Does that shock you?”
“No,” he answered, one corner of his mouth curled in amusement. “I learn quickly, do I not?” He inclined his head in mock deference.
She found she was disappointed not to have drawn some surprise with the remark, and toyed with the idea of telling him the real story of the thief in Egypt. She thought better of it, and offered him back his cigar.
He drew it slowly from her fingers, his own sliding across the back of her hand. She followed the thin dark line of it with her eyes up to his lips on the cigar, where hers had been a moment before. The line of his lips, hard yet full, holding the promise of passion – her whole body fluttered with yearning for the touch of them.
He moved nearer, his head lowering to close the distance between them, and eased a few strands of hair back from her forehead. “I believe you are a very contrary woman and you think you can shock and impress anyone you choose.”
His voice was low and amused, his smile intimate, knowing.
She flashed her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, provocatively, a thrill traversing her body at the thought of him trying to fathom her out. He was interested in her, that much was clear. She nurtured a growing sense of accomplishment. He was as much as issuing her a challenge to impress him, and Eleanor was a woman who loved challenges. “You think you have me all worked out, do you, Mr. Rivers? Well, we’ll see.”
Her thoughts raced with ways in which she might impress or shock him, and she was about to take action when a sound drew her attention, muffled conversation and laughter. It came from her father’s room. There were two voices and one was female. It was Frieda’s voice.
Eleanor turned away, taken aback.
“Oh, my, it seems the world wise young lady can be shocked.” He was amused at her reaction.
Before she had time to reply, he inclined his head and bade her goodnight.
She nodded back, speechless at his sudden departure, and watched him walk into the darkness at the other end of the hallway before returning to her room.
She leaned against the inside of the door for several moments. Her body had quickly grown warm again and she walked around the room to cool herself. It was stupid of her not to have realized her father and Frieda were quite so close, the clues had all been there. Perhaps she’d been too involved in her own attraction to Rivers to notice their relationship. After a while, the surprise faded and she realized she was pleased.
She approached the bed and pulled the nightdress over her head, throwing the streak of white lawn down on the pillows. She lay across the abandoned linen sheets and tried to clear her mind. However, the smell of tobacco caught her attention again and she picked up the nightdress. Drawing it to her face, she inhaled the smell. Burying her face deeper in it, she thought she could smell him, the delicious male scent of Mr. Peter Rivers.
She wondered if he’d guessed she wanted him to kiss her, to feel his mouth on hers, his body pressing against hers. She turned her face onto her pillow.
Thunder roared up in the distance, the storm was getting close.
The sound of it couldn’t mute her thoughts. She twisted in her bed, a low moan in her throat. As the skies flashed with lightening and opened, the scene she desired filled her mind and flooded through her body.
Chapter Three
The Lady Falls
The following morning was crisp and clear. The midnight storm had cleared the air. Eleanor decided her fevered cravings of the night before must have been the fault of the torrid atmosphere. She tried not to let the image of Rivers interfere with that opinion. He was gone for the morning, which was probably for the best.
Perhaps she’d gone about indicating she was an independent woman in the wrong manner, she reflected, as she took her breakfast in bed. Her hints at liberation didn’t seem to impress him at all. She would have to find another way to demonstrate to him she was a sophisticated sort, a woman of the world who was able to handle herself whatever the circumstances.
After she dressed, she met with Mrs. Bramley and planned the menus for the week, which they always did the day before market day. By mid-morning she had dealt with the post and joined Frieda for a ride.
It wasn’t long before Eleanor had her aunt recounting the adventures of her youth. Eleanor listened with her eyes on the horizon, seeing not the land before her, but beyond, in her imagination. Frieda’s accent enlivened each image, the undertones of her German heritage showing through. She often paused, as if to find the right words, as if English was still new to her. Eleanor listened but sometimes her thoughts went to the discovery of the night before, to what she’d learnt of Frieda’s relationship with her father. How long had Father had feelings for Frieda, she wondered? Had he made a sacrifice for the sake of his brother when he’d left the two of them in California, all those years before?
“Was David similar to my father?” she asked, tentatively.
Frieda smiled, as if unsurprised by Eleanor’s curiosity. “They were similar. In looks, they differed only in coloring and the set of their eyes. In personality they matched each other well as companions.”
Frieda rode sidesaddle, unlike her niece, her grey wool outfit smartened by a crisp white cravat shirt beneath. As they covered the length of the estate, Frieda shared her anecdotes, describing the elaborate escape that had to be organized when she ran away from her strict family to join David and James Craven in their adventures. Eleanor was delighted.
On their return journey, Frieda encouraged her mount closer to Eleanor’s and spoke quietly. “Eleanor, you witness my affection for your father and you wonder, so I will be candid with you.”
There was a heavy, deliberate implication in her words and it wasn’t lost on Eleanor. Her aunt’s expression had grown serious.
“We were young and passionate and we all three bonded with one another on that journey. At times of peril, human nature brings you closer. I was their woman, and they were as one man to me, all those years ago.”
Eleanor had never heard the likes of it. Two men, as one? Oh yes, she’d witnessed all manner of relationships in her travels, having encountered hedonists and blue stockings – not to mention all manner of accepted practices in countries abroad. At the grand old age of nineteen she assumed there was little left in the world to astonish her. Apparently she’d been wrong. She should have looked closer to home. Two men, as one? Eleanor rode on in stunned silence as she tried to absorb the information.
This was why being close to James was easy for Frieda. It had always been the way of it. Had her father always loved Frieda, and not her mother? Or had he loved both women? Eleanor was truly astonished and tried to come to terms with the fact she was not as worldly as she’d once thought. Eventually she found the words to ask her next question.
“If that is the case, how did you...” Her voice trailed off.
“How did I decide who I should marry? Is that what you are trying to ask, Eleanor?” Frieda smiled gently at her, as if it were a completely natural question and it was always the woman who chose the man.
Eleanor frowned. “Yes, I suppose it must have been difficult if you loved them both.”
“It would have been impossible for me to choose. Thankfully they decided.” Her eyes glistened with the faint hint of tears. “Your father was the eldest, and David took me aside and told me James would have to return to England, to continue the family line. If they found the new land, which they did, it would be David’s beginning. Your grandfather had encouraged them to travel in their youth, but he wanted them back. In my heart I believe they wanted to have their adventure then return home together. When they met m
e things became complicated.”
She was quiet for a while, immersed in her memories.
Eleanor tried to organize her thoughts, unsettled by Frieda’s words and what they revealed. She realized her picture of their relationships had been incomplete. Frieda drew her horse alongside Eleanor’s and took her hand.
“I loved them both equally. It is difficult to explain now. We three understood each other well. There was trust. Circumstances forced the hand of fate, though. If things had been different, I might have had a beautiful daughter like you, Eleanor. As it was, David and I never had children.”
Eleanor sighed, beginning to understand the strength of Frieda’s feelings for her father. “You must consider me your daughter, Frieda. For in heart and spirit, that is what I am.”
The older woman squeezed her fingers and nodded, emotion welling within her. “That makes me happy, child. With you and Rivers in my life, it’s as if I’ve a daughter and a son, for he’s as much as that to me.”
“Does he have family of his own?” Eleanor asked, her curiosity redirected at the mention of Rivers.
“He doesn’t have contact with them,” Frieda replied, as she urged her horse on. “He’s rather silent on the matter of his past. I think there have been dark times for him which he would rather not revisit.”
A handsome stranger with a mysterious past?
Eleanor was captivated, her imagination running riot.
* * *
Rivers walked toward the stable as the two women returned. They were deep in conversation, conspiratorial, infectious laughter escaping to punctuate their words. He paused to watch them. Frieda, as ever the strong horsewoman, was sitting elegant and comfortable on her mount, her controlling hand on the rein assured. Eleanor was more at one with the animal she rode. She responded to the rhythm of the horse, following each graceful step of the creature with her own movement. As they drew to the end of their ride, she leaned forward to stroke his proud neck, laying herself across his mane, all the while talking over her shoulder to Frieda. Her expression was happy and carefree, her hair escaping its constraints at her nape.
Catch Me If You Can Page 3