“Don’t trouble yourself. I can look after myself.”
“As long as you look after yourself properly, you’ll hear nothing from me, Meredith.”
Arrogant man! His deliberate use of her name chafed her already frayed nerves. Meredith gave no thought to how reckless she appeared as she spun her horse about and tore out of the Finney yard. Digging her heels into Petunia’s flanks, she surrendered to the moment, hoping she sent dirt and earth kicking up into Nicholas Caulfield’s handsome face.
Her satisfaction was short-lived. Galloping away, her head cleared enough for her to realize how foolish she must appear. If she wanted him gone long before the supposed delivery of her son, she would have to rein in her defiant streak. How was he to be fully confident in her ability to care for herself and Oak Run if she behaved so recklessly? And one thing was for certain. The man could not be at Oak Run when she “gave birth.” Matters were already complicated enough without him underfoot then.
“Blast it,” Meredith muttered, slowing her horse to a trot. She had to avoid acting rashly in his presence. When forced into his company, she would be modest, demure, the perfect model of gentility—boring. He would leave for no other reason than to escape the absolute tedium of her company.
The woman fascinated him.
She was not quite the frigid piece of lace he had first determined. The way her eyes lingered on his naked chest testified to that. When they quarreled, sparks flew from her green eyes like a hot-blooded virago, lighting a fire in the pit of his gut that could not be quenched by any suitable means. She did not at all resemble the prim, retiring, drawing room lady he first thought her to be. Not when she looked upon him with desire. It was growing impossible to dismiss her from his mind. Especially since she hid something from him. Her nervousness around him could not totally be attributed to physical attraction.
He could not deny his annoyance as he watched her thunder away at breakneck speed, her auburn hair streaming in a wild banner behind her, the final remnants of her plait unraveling in the wind. He had half a mind to give chase and haul her bodily from that bloody horse. The woman was a menace to herself and her unborn child, regardless of how intriguing he found her. What was she thinking riding a horse like that? The idea of him tapping into all her fiery energy and seeing just how passionate her nature ran seized him. Scowling, Nick gathered his reins and swung himself into his saddle in one easy motion.
How had she managed all these years on her own exhibiting such poor judgment? He sighed and urged his horse into a trot. Most importantly, why did he care? Why couldn’t he just walk away? Slink back to the life he’d made? Why did he have to feel such bloody obligation to her, a sense of obligation that only increased with their growing acquaintance?
Nick tried to ignore the answer that teased at him like a pesky fly buzzing around the inside of his head. But it was no use. He wanted his brother’s widow, wanted the woman carrying Edmund’s baby. He gave his head a small shake. An attraction wrong on countless levels, but there it was, nonetheless.
As a man unaccustomed to self-denial, this spelled trouble. There was only one solution. He had to leave. Soon. Before he found out it was more than her auburn mane and tempting curves that attracted him.
Chapter 6
Meredith arrived to an empty dining room. Not unusual for a Sunday. Her aunt spent so much time selecting her clothes and turban for church, she often missed breakfast completely. Especially on the first Sunday of the month, when the vicar dined with them. Her aunt always wanted to look her best.
She exhaled, not realizing until that moment that she had been holding her breath in anticipation—and dread—of facing Nick.
Morning sunlight shot through the mullioned windows in bright beams, bringing the air to vibrant life with tiny motes of unknown particles. Turning, she let the warmth of the sun soak through her dress and into her back as she helped herself to eggs and kippers from the generous spread of food on the sideboard. Maree entered the room, leading her father to his chair with a firm hold on his elbow.
“Now, you sit yourself here and I’ll fetch you a nice plate of eggs and—”
“Coffee, lots of cream,” her father interrupted, his voice petulant as he settled in his chair.
Her father may have changed a great deal over the last years, but his preference for cream-laced coffee had not. Meredith smiled at the exchange as she succumbed to her sweet tooth and selected a plump sweet roll from the sideboard.
As Maree prepared her father’s plate, Meredith set her plate aside to pour her father’s coffee, making certain to include a generous amount of cream. “Here you are, Father.” She set the cup in front of him, warning, “It’s hot.”
Ignoring her, he took a noisy sip, puckering his lips when he singed them with the scalding liquid.
“Careful,” Meredith chided, rubbing her father’s back.
Paying her no heed, he tackled his cup of coffee again. She sighed and exchanged knowing looks with Maree. Her father loved his coffee too much to exercise caution.
Amid this noisy slurping, Nick entered the room.
“Good morning,” he greeted, his gaze skipping over her to the selection of food at the sideboard.
“Good morning,” she responded, ignoring the stab of disappointment at the brief glance he sent her way.
Her father looked up from his coffee to stare broodingly at Nick’s back. Meredith’s breath suspended, anxious to see if her father would behave or not. She breathed easy when he resumed eating, indifferent to their presence as he turned to gaze out the window at the sunlight glinting off the vast landscape of green lawn.
Seating herself at the twenty-foot dining table, she forced her eyes on her plate, battling the temptation to stare at the man occupying far too much of her thoughts. Peeking beneath lowered lids, she discreetly watched him move along the sideboard. Her attention lingered on the superb fit of his breeches. Mortified by the direction of her thoughts, she wrenched her eyes away, pulled apart her sticky sweet roll and stuffed a generous portion into her mouth.
Cheeks burning, she was still chewing when he took the seat directly across from her, snapping his napkin once in the air before laying it over his lap. As she reached for her cup of tea, his gaze caught her. He watched her intently as he bit into a slice of jam-slathered toast. Dropping her eyes, she stared into the milky brown contents of the steaming cup she held with both hands.
“You look fetching this morning, Meredith.”
Her gaze dropped to her dress. It was the finest of her mourning gowns, the one reserved for church, but still depressing. Only a few more frills and some black beads graced the modest neckline. Nothing about the gown could be described as fetching. And she sincerely doubted her person lended any beauty to its moroseness.
“Your hair is lovely in that arrangement,” he added.
Her hand flew to her hair self-consciously. She usually wore it in a softer fashion for church, taking the time and effort to arrange it into one of her less severely knotted buns. The effort had not been taken on account of him.
Then, horrified that he might draw that very conclusion, she blurted, “Thank you. I always wear it so for church.”
He gave a small nod and returned to his breakfast, digging in with gusto. Clearly, he was a man who enjoyed his food. Meredith liked to cook and believed herself to be a fair hand in the kitchen. True, not many ladies could attest to such knowledge—nor would they want to. But she had not been a countess all her life. Before Oak Run her family had only two servants, and when Cook needed a hand in the kitchen, the task fell to Meredith. She watched as he bit into a sweet roll. He closed his eyes with a look of deep appreciation, and she wondered what he would think if he knew she had helped prepare them.
After several moments of awkward silence, she thought to announce, “We depart for the village church at nine, my lord.”
Nick blinked once before replying. “That is very well, my lady, but do not mistake that I shall be accompanying you.”
&n
bsp; Meredith felt the heat rise in her face and suppressed the urge to snap back that she had not presumed to think he would. But that would be a lie. Of course she had thought he would accompany them to church. It was what respectable Society did on Sundays.
Instead, she merely said, “Your arrival will be known to all of Attingham by now. Your presence will be expected. There will be…talk if you are not there.”
Setting his utensils on his plate with a soft clink, he leaned back in his chair and gave her a long, measuring look. It took every ounce of will not to squirm beneath his heavy regard.
“As you come to know me, you will find that I rarely do what is expected, nor do I live my life for the satisfaction of others.”
She scarcely registered the clench of her fingers around her knife and fork—only heard her biting retort. “How very convenient to live life with no concern save for yourself.” The instant the words left her mouth, she wondered what it was about the man that had her blurting the first thing to pop into her head. That had her reacting rather than pausing to think.
With narrowed eyes, he replied, “Phrase it however you like. I simply do not subscribe to the hypocrisy of sitting in a church surrounded by an overprivileged Society that sings alleluias on Sunday and practices hedonism the rest of the week.”
“I have never heard such sacrilegious drivel in all my life!”
He lifted an eyebrow and asked blandly, “Indeed? Country living has left you quite sheltered, then.”
She scowled, not appreciating his insinuation that she was limited in some way. “I don’t dispute a great many churchgoers fail to practice what is preached on Sundays. They are only human, after all. However, the majority does aspire to live rightly, including members of the very overprivileged Society you yourself are part of.”
“That is where you are wrong. I may have been born to this world, but I don’t belong to it. My father saw to that.” The sudden angle of his head and angry glint of his eyes should have warned her to let it go, to accept that he was a man outside her realm of knowledge and she had no business tangling words with him. Besides, she was doing a poor job of behaving demurely and modestly, as she had only recently avowed.
Even bearing this in mind, Meredith heard herself saying, “But you are here, acting very much the part of lord of the manor to my eyes.”
“Temporarily, I assure you. Even if you should deliver a daughter, I shall find a way out of my obligation to Oak Run, the title…and you.”
She experienced a contrary twinge of hurt at that last bit. Which was absolutely absurd. She did not want to be bound to him any more than he to her. He returned his attention to his food, and Meredith breathed a bit easier, released from his intense scrutiny.
“I will be free again,” he muttered so softly she barely made out his words. They sunk into her head gradually, like a pebble sinking through water and settling at last into a riverbed.
Slumping back in her chair, her eyes narrowed with sudden insight, as if seeing him for the first time. He really wanted no part of Oak Run. His apparent indifference to the news that she carried Edmund’s child was because he was in fact…indifferent. He did not long to take up the title. For him, it was a yoke about his neck—the shackles and dictates of Society. He lived by no code other than his own. His rules were none but his own. Respectability, responsibility, Oak Run, the earldom…he viewed it all as a prison sentence.
Armed with this knowledge, she idly wondered if he would even care about her deception. Perhaps he would help her carry it out. No, an unlikely possibility and not worth the risk. Still, she felt better knowing she was giving him what he wanted. A way out. Rising to her feet, Meredith dropped her napkin on her plate.
He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not yet nine. Are you off already to join the pillars of Society?” He snorted faintly. “Don’t be fooled by them, Meredith. None possess the charity in their heart that you hold in your little finger.”
Convinced she misunderstood his words, that he did not mean to compliment her, she gave him a puzzled look. He did not know her well enough to make such a judgment, and he would hardly think her charitable if he knew the fraud she perpetrated against him.
As if to erase his backhanded compliment and remind her of his innate shamelessness, he added, “Was my half brother such a saint too? Did he attend church with you?”
Meredith suffered the laughter in his eyes and immediately recognized that he knew Edmund. Probably better than she ever did. Which was not saying much. Edmund’s tailor probably knew him better than she had. The only thing Meredith knew about her late husband was that he had wanted nothing to do with her. Had found her so distasteful that he could not bear consummating their marriage.
Despite her desire to remove the smirk from his face, she could not refute his mocking question. She shot another glance at her father, unsure whether to leave him alone with Nick. Her father, however, appeared blessedly oblivious to their conversation. A good thing. He would have been appalled to know he sat beside a pagan.
Meredith moved from the table in a dignified swish of skirts. “Excuse me, my lord. I don’t want to be late for the service.” In the threshold, she paused to add, “The vicar dines with us tonight. Perhaps you can engage him in a discussion on the lack of charity among his parishioners.” With the barest smile tugging her lips, she exited.
Nick stared broodingly at the door where Meredith disappeared, feeling like an utter ass for needling her. It never seemed to fail. Minutes into a conversation, and she provoked him. He stabbed at a bit of egg, cursing under his breath. It had been a long time since he found himself in the company of a genuine lady. Perhaps he could blame his breach on not recalling how to behave.
But it was more than that. He found it diverting to bait her. So diverting that the room felt empty without her animated presence. It was as if all life and energy had been sucked out with her departure. The sudden, loud slurping of Meredith’s father drew his attention, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Nick shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips at the prolonged noise. The old man set his cup on its saucer with an unsteady hand and resumed his absent stare out the window.
The full loss of Meredith’s company settled like a heavy weight on Nick’s chest. For the first time in years, he yearned for the company of someone else. Strange that it happened to be Edmund’s widow. A woman he should dislike on principle alone.
Chapter 7
“I don’t know why you are so upset, dearest,” Aunt Eleanor pouted.
Meredith sighed and tried to explain her disappointment once again. “I simply wish you would have consulted me before inviting half the neighborhood to dinner.”
“You exaggerate. Mr. Browne, Sir Hiram, and the Stubblefields hardly constitute half the neighborhood.”
“Felicia Stubblefield is the biggest gossip around. Inviting her is inviting the entire neighborhood. And you know Sir Hiram makes my skin crawl.”
“What else was I to do? They know the new earl is here, and the vicar was already coming to dine. I couldn’t very well exclude them, not when Felicia angled for an invitation.”
Meredith took hold of her aunt’s elbow, stalling her outside the drawing room where their guests waited. “Did it occur to you that perhaps Lord Brookshire does not want the neighborhood raining down upon his head? That I do not? Especially as his presence here is only temporary.” She hissed this last bit.
Aunt Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear,” she whispered woefully, and turned to stare at the drawing room door as if a snake lurked within instead of the guests she had invited. “I had not considered that.”
How their circumstances could ever be far from her aunt’s mind when it consumed hers at nearly every moment was unfathomable to Meredith. Her deception marred the horizon like a perpetual cloud, at times worrying her so much that she hesitated to go about her day, afraid that someone might run up to her at any moment pointing and shouting, “Liar, liar!”
“I realize
that, Aunt.” Meredith gave her aunt’s shoulder a comforting pat, helpless against the long-ingrained need to console her. “Don’t fret. We shall manage.”
Drawing a deep breath, she strove for an air of optimism. Some good might come of her aunt’s poor judgment. An evening with local gentry might be just the thing to chase Nick back to London.
Pasting a smile on her face, Meredith entered the drawing room, black skirts swirling around her ankles. The three gentlemen rose to their feet and bowed. Baron Stubblefield’s daughter, achingly pretty in pink muslin, lounged on the chaise like an empress. She gave Meredith a brittle smile that failed to reach her eyes. Only nineteen, Miss Felicia Stubblefield reigned as the diamond of Attingham. Even so, Meredith found it hard to like the girl whose cold blue stare always slithered over her with such disdain. Struggling against feelings of inadequacy, Meredith raised her chin and complimented Mr. Browne on his morning’s sermon.
Felicia glanced to the door. Her tapping foot clearly indicated her impatience. Meredith could guess the cause of it, and her suspicions were confirmed when Felicia finally broke down and asked, “Is Lord Brookshire not joining us? Miss Eleanor said he would dine with us this evening.”
Meredith did not miss the way the girl glared accusingly at her aunt. “Lord Brookshire is a man full grown and not accountable to anyone but himself.”
“Have no fear, Miss Felicia, no man would miss out on such lovely dinner companions,” Sir Hiram inserted, the elegant sweep of his hand indicating all three ladies present.
“Quite right, Rawlins,” Baron Stubblefield chortled, patting the considerable bulge of his belly to add, “And Lady Brookshire’s cook is the finest in these parts. No gentleman would miss an invitation to dine at Oak Run.”
They all laughed. Except Mr. Browne, who took a small sip of tea through pinched, disapproving lips. The vicar’s sermon had been longer than usual and given to more ceremony today. Meredith suspected he had taken great pains, expecting Lord Brookshire to be in attendance. The vicar’s immediate questioning of her following the service on the issue of Lord Brookshire’s whereabouts only confirmed her suspicion.
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