“I would have suggested taking a stroll there together, but the weather has changed, and we would both be soaked. It is not an easy path to climb when the weather is this inclement, it is over a mile, and the path will be very overgrown and slippery.”
“Perhaps we could go tomorrow if the weather is fine?” she suggested.
“I will look forward to it, but for now perhaps we should explore the house further to see if Farrant and myself missed anything and you could tell me a little about yourself while we wait for the weather to clear…”
Knowing that Verity had walked from her house and had entered through the walled garden, which was now left unlocked. He was anticipating spending some time getting to know her and that prospect was even more attractive than actually discovering any treasure…
Damn silly of him to be thinking so when the treasure was so important.
He would of course offer to send her home in his carriage, or escort her home, should the freezing rain decide to let up. It did not look likely that it would stop soon, and he prayed that it would continue for some considerable time.
Chapter 6
Verity took a discreet peek at Rupert as he went through a few boxes they had dragged from the attic. Though he and his man Farrant already searched through the items, he hadn’t groused or complained that she wasted time going over them again.
He is patient. And she liked that about him immensely. Over an hour had passed, and their search through the tomes, scrolls, and books which had been hidden away revealed no clues and no jewellery or valuables.
“Why do you think your Uncle Frederick did not leave this treasure in his will and with his bankers?” she asked, putting back some leather-bound books which looked incredibly old in a box. Her fingers itched to explore the pages further and Verity hoped she could procure an invitation to explore this library and its books.
“I have no idea, but will ask Farrant if he can give any insight into his late master’s thinking.”
Rupert who had been sitting on the carpet, glanced up, a shock of hair falling over his forehead and almost into his eyes. His masculine beauty stole her breath again for precious seconds and she glanced away briefly into the fire. It was such reckless madness that she was here with him in this exceptionally large manor and alone in the palatial library. And it was more than that he had truly promised fifteen percent of whatever trove they found. That money would help her greatly and allow her a financial freedom which had only been thought of in her wildest imaginations.
He had claimed he wanted to woo her…that he might steal kisses again and yet she hadn’t been able to resist the desire to help him. Worse, she hadn’t been able to deny that she liked him. It had felt so improbable. She hadn’t been able to answer him for in truth she did not understand her alarming reaction to him, especially that it went beyond a physical feeling.
It had been more than that; she wanted to know this man and understand the complicated feelings he aroused in her.
Not even with her dear Richard had she felt such a strong physical attraction, or such an immediate sense of liking, of comfort. It had taken months of wooing from Richard before she had fallen for him, but her very first meeting with Lord Rupert had sent her pulse skittering, filled her belly with butterflies, and made her sleep restless.
A part of her which had been hidden away for a long time, the part that still dreamed of a man to call her own, children, and happiness had cracked open at that very first kiss. It sounded silly whenever she reflected on it; however, it was still an irrevocable truth.
And that curiosity had pushed her to join him in this treasure hunt, even when she thought it unlikely a man of his stature and honour would ever accept a bride who had already discarded her chastity. And despite feeling such fright at the thought of opening her heart to love and the pain of loss again.
“You are staring at me, Lady Verity, and with such a look,” he said tenderly. “I believe I would give you half of the treasure to know what you are thinking now.”
She smiled. “I am staring because I am awaiting your answer.”
His mouth twitched. “It is a question I’ve asked myself numerous times. Perhaps Uncle Frederick wanted to torment me or give me a challenge or perhaps he had sensed how bored I was with my usual pursuits. I wish he had left me more than the sonnet, so I might have understood his reasoning.”
There was an ache in his voice that had Verity staring at him. “You miss him.”
A lopsided grin appeared on his face. “Every day. He understood me better than most.”
A knock sounded before she could probe more, and the housekeeper entered with a tea trolley and some small sandwiches and cakes. They fell silent while she arranged their repast on a small walnut table by the fire. Verity stood, admiring the extensive bookshelves which seemed to stretch from floor to ceiling. She studied the shelves farthest away from the bank of windows realising they were much shorter than the others. She padded over, examining it, and with a jolt of excitement she whirled around.
“What is it?” Rupert asked her, dropping the miniature portrait he was holding and surging to his feet.
“I think this bookcase might hide a secret lair,” she cried excitedly.
His face creased in astonishment before he chuckled. “A lair?”
“Yes. Push your hand behind the shelf right here,” she said, grabbing his hand and urging him over. “Do you feel the ridges? I think…I think it might be the spine of a door, surely.”
He frowned, feeling along the edge of something behind the bulk of the bookshelf. “I feel it,” he muttered. “What in God’s name?”
They faced the bookshelf together, peering at every book and its spine.
“Farrant and I did not consider a secret entrance. The manor is old, and I visited Uncle Frederick often, and he never once mentioned secret chambers!”
“If this is designed like any of those in the gothic romances I read, we only have to find the lever that would control the mechanism to open the door. Normally it is disguised as a book.”
“Well, Uncle Frederick was always terribly original,” Lord Rupert said drily. “It is unlikely he would follow anything that appears in a gothic romance.”
Verity laughed and started to pull at the books on the highest shelf. She wasn’t tall enough to reach, and before she could grab a stool, warm hands settled on her hips.
“I’ll lift you,” he murmured, his breath wafting against the tendril of hair curling on her forehead.
A weak-kneed feeling assailed Verity, and her heart fluttered like wild birds in her chest. This close, she smelled his warm male fragrance. He made her body come alive, but never before felt hunger crawled through her body, and she trembled in his embrace. What madness is this? Considerably disconcerted, she said, a bit breathlessly, “There is a stool. I can stand atop it, my lord, there is no need to lift me.”
His foot lashed out and kicked away the stool. “What stool?”
Verity giggled. “You are outrageous!” and how warm he made her feel, and with a sense of shock, Verity admitted how cold she had been inside.
Then he lifted her with such effortless ease and muscular grace. She tested each book, and a sigh of disappointment left her when they yielded no result. On the third row they found some success, and Verity and Lord Rupert shared a shocked but excited glance when with a groan, the door swung open.
The brightly colored nature of the room startled her, for she had been expecting something dark and gothic. This was more exotic, giving hints of far off lands and sumptuous luxury. It was a small room but comfortably furnished with three small sofas with several cushions, a carpet, and a table with an assortment of paraphernalia atop it, all in bright, vibrant colours with clashing oriental patterns. High in the ceiling, rain pattered against glass windows and even in this room they could hear the rumble of thunder.
“There is nothing suspicious about this room to need to keep it hidden,” Verity said.
Lord Rupert
slowly walked about the chamber, trailing his fingers over the sofa's padded arm, to the decanter on the table. “I think this was a place Uncle Frederick could disappear inside whenever he needed, perhaps whenever he felt the outside world, and other people, pressing in on him. I am amazed I never noticed the windows of it outside and failed to ascertain its existence.”
Rupert plucked what looked like a miniature treasure chest off the table and flicked open the latch. He sucked in a sharp breath, and she hurried over to his side and peered into the chest.
“It is exquisite,” she said, staring at the glittering red ruby nestled in the small box.
“I was beginning to doubt its existence,” Lord Rupert said gruffly, “but this might be a piece of the treasure.”
A careful search of the small but cosy room revealed the ruby to be the only example of treasure. However, there was a small bookcase, which seemed to contain scrolls and books in strange languages.
“I have no idea if these are of value or not, but I suspect they could be…”
Lord Rupert lowered himself into the sofa, staring at the ruby. It was hard for her to decipher his contemplative expression.
“Does finding this here fit with anything from the sonnet?” she asked, sitting beside him.
“No. But now I am wondering if there are many hidden passages and rooms like this in the manor.”
Verity frowned. “I do not think he scattered the treasure about the manor and the grounds. His sonnet implied it was in one place. Perhaps this ruby is here because it had some meaning to him?”
Lord Rupert scrubbed a hand over his face. “I hope it did not, for I intend to sell it for a pretty sum for it right away. I will send my man to see it done. I do believe I might get at least a thousand pounds for it.”
“That is a goodly sum!”
“It is, and it will allow me to do some significant repairs to my tenants’ homes and clean their ditches before Christmas. Many widows lost their husbands and sons in the war are struggling to survive. This will allow me to ensure their larders are filled comfortably for a few months at least.”
There it was again, that rush of sensation that filled her with warmth.
He glanced up and the frown between his brows disappeared. “You are staring again, Lady Verity.”
“You are incredibly thoughtful and kind,” she said huskily, that sweet warmth filling her chest and expanding throughout her body.
His eyes widened slightly. “I do nothing extraordinary.”
“You do not seem flush in the pockets, yet your first thoughts upon finding a small fortune were for others. I…I find that admirable.”
Holding her regard, he closed the box and rested it on the table.
“I…thank you, Verity, but I do not want you to think me completely selfless. I plan to purchase something for myself as well.”
“Such as?”
“A shawl and a hairpin for my mother.”
She smiled at him. “That is also for someone else.”
He scowled at her.
“Does it bother you that I might think you are kind, my lord?”
He grinned as if he saw the silliness of it. “I just did not want you to think me perfect and or too saintly, then end up one day disappointing your expectations. Heavy is the crown of sainthood.”
“I would not dare think a right rogue such as yourself could be too good.”
They shared a small chuckle between them before they fell into silence.
Verity was painfully aware they were just staring at each other, and how remarkably intimate their position was.
“Does your mother intend to live here with you?”
“No,” he murmured. “We have the most charming cottage in Hampshire. My father died a few years ago, and home is where she feels closest to him. All their memories are there, and she will not leave him. We have promised to visit each other often.”
“It was a love match.”
“A most beautiful one,” he said gruffly, his gaze intent on her. “Tell me, Lady Verity, what do you like to do? The other day we spoke for so long. I still recall your funny tale of the butcher chasing the pig down Buckland Dinham High Street, of a lady called Mrs. Blanchard being sweet on Dr. Wint, and of Mary’s dreams. You spoke little of yourself.”
And though their walk had been lovely, and she enjoyed every moment, Verity had been deliberate in her evasiveness. “I…there is not much to tell,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“Are you afraid to tell me?”
Her heart gave a violent jolt, and it took several moments before she said, “I enjoy reading immensely and taking long walks in the woods.”
“Do you read often?”
She nodded. “Every day. In those pages, I find an escape that is just wonderful.”
“And what is it that you run from?”
Her heart gave another powerful lurched. “I…I am not running from anything. I read because I find stories beautiful and complex, and thrilling. My senses are captivated for a few hours, and the world becomes a place where…”
“Where you do not feel lonely?”
Yes. But she did not dare say it aloud. Verity was dismayed by the feeling stirring in her heart. She’d convinced herself she needed nothing more from life, yet with a few questions an ache of unfulfilled need rose inside like a gathering storm.
He shifted perilously closer. “Tell me, Lady Verity, what captivates you when you are not reading?”
“I also garden,” she whispered, suddenly embarrassed by the emptiness of her life. As quickly as the feeling consumed her, she pushed fiercely pushed it aside. Verity would not let this man, who was bound to be a fleeting presence, allow her to feel any sort of regret over an existence she had chosen for herself.
“Is there anything you wish for, but it appears far from your reach?”
Her throat went tight at the look in his eyes, which said that he wanted to give her whatever unattainable desire she owned. A man to call my own…a lover, a husband, at least three children. A love that was kind and passionate and one that would endure many years together. Her heart ached terribly, and did she not say all of that, but replied, “Riding as well. When you had mentioned you love riding, I wanted to tell you it was another delight we share,” she admitted candidly, a smile in her voice. “I used to ride regularly, but that is a pleasure I’ve not had in some time. We…I am not able to keep a stable.”
“I shall get you a horse and we will ride in the mornings together.”
“You are outrageous! I couldn’t accept such a gift!”
He smiled. “No, but I am falling in love.”
Verity gasped and felt herself flush with warmth. “You are outrageous!”
She stood, smoothing down the front of her gown, unable to meet his eyes. “I think it is time I return home,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I will return tomorrow. The verses of the sonnet implied that the grounds—”
Her words faltered when he stood and with just one step, he was right before her. It took such courage to lift her face to his because he could discern the powerful need quaking through her.
He cupped her cheeks. “Do not shy away from me.”
“Rupert!”
“Yes, Verity?”
She fought to gather her composure at their proximity and lost. Her fingers trembled, and her heart raced. “Rupert, I—”
Her lashes fluttered close when he lifted her face to his.
“Open your eyes,” he said, his tone a bit uneven.
She complied, noting the flush against his elegant jawline and the glitter of need in his eyes.
“I am going to kiss you.”
And by telling her, he gave her an avenue for retreat, but she could do nothing but stare up at him helplessly.
“And I am going to marry you.”
She laughed, and it came out a breathless and alarmed sound.
He dipped his head and caught her mouth with his in a passionate kiss. Verity did not pull away but lifted
her hands to twine them around the nape of his neck, kissing him back with chaotic need pulsing through her. His mouth urged her to part her lips, and when she did, he touched his tongue to hers.
Verity moaned and shivered in his arms.
Her whole body turned liquid, her breasts swelling inside her gown, a pulse of heat rushing to that secret place between her thighs. All from a kiss. A sob rose in her throat, and he swallowed it, ravishing her mouth with devastating expertise. His hands did not stay idle, one held her to him and the other roamed slowly over her, cupping, touching, moulding from her throat to her breasts and her buttocks. And he never released her mouth from his wonderful kisses. And she did not want him to. Verity wanted to live in the moment, to bask in the passion, to revel in the joy of feeling so alive when she had felt empty for so long.
They tumbled to the sofa and their lips parted briefly.
His eyes were dark with arousal and a tenderness that had her heart stuttering. She wanted to protest that they hardly knew each other, but that assessment felt so wrong. There was a sense of knowing beating inside her heart, a feeling of belonging, and it was with this man poised above her, staring down at Verity as if she were the treasure he had been searching for all along.
She pulled him down to her and brushed her lips against his, and he pressed her back against the cushions and kissed her breathless. He cupped one of her breasts through her gown, rolling and squeezing her achingly sensitive nipple, sending piercing shards of pleasure travelling straight to her core. Verity arched into his embrace, a fever of need burning in her veins and sweeping aside all thoughts of modesty and proper behaviour.
She was so lost in passion, it was with a sense of dazed arousal she became aware that her day dress had been pushed to her mid-thighs and Rupert was on his knees before her, staring at her womanly centre, his expression a grimace of desire.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 111