by Cheryl Holt
She didn’t hesitate to reply. “I’d walk into Frinton and board a ship at the harbor. I’d order the captain to whisk me around the world and to not stop until I’d visited every corner of it.”
It was a romantic’s response, and it tugged at his heartstrings.
He’d met many poor relatives, and he’d been in much the same position after his father had died: a charity case, an unwanted burden. It was such a heavy weight to carry, yearning to belong, but never being accepted or even particularly liked.
His investigations had revealed all he needed to know about Beatrice and Clayton Carter. They were petty, greedy people, and he was surprised she hadn’t been corrupted by them.
“How about your cousin, Millicent?” he said. “Will you gossip with me about her?”
“No, and you are much too nosy for your own good.”
“The stable hands tell me she’s a spoiled tart.”
“Mr. Shawcross! Cease your disparagement of my cousins!”
“I like how it makes your eyes flash with temper.”
“It’s so dark out here that you can’t possibly see my eyes, so don’t pretend you’ve been gazing into them. You’re simply trying to goad me into chatting about topics I have no interest in discussing, but I can’t imagine why.”
“I’m not very adept at casual conversation.”
“You’re right about that.”
“While I’m in residence,” he said, “I should spend some time with you so you can smooth over my rough edges.”
It was the perfect moment to scoot a little nearer, to start the false flirtation he intended to pursue. Yet as he did, the strangest thing happened. Their sides were forged fast all the way down to their feet, and the most powerful surge of energy was flowing from his body to hers.
If he’d pointed a finger, sparks might have shot out the end. He’d never felt a commotion like it, and it was obvious she felt it too. She glanced up at him, and suddenly, his senses were aroused and inflamed. He was giddy with a curious sort of joy he’d never previously experienced.
“You’re sitting much too close to me,” she said.
“I’m not sorry.”
“You should move over.”
“I don’t think I will.”
She laid a palm on his chest to push him away. Her hand was directly over his heart, and it had begun to hammer quite fiercely.
What was wrong with him? He was overcome as a green boy with his first girl.
Before he could dissuade himself, he leaned down and kissed her. In the entire history of kisses, it wasn’t all that intimate. He simply brushed his mouth to hers, then drew away.
He was aghast over his folly and assumed she would utter a remark that would humiliate him to his bones, but she smiled and told him, “I haven’t been kissed in the moonlight in a very long time.”
He smirked. “Is it a habit of yours to dawdle in the dark and allow men to kiss you?”
“I had that beau when I was seventeen. I won’t claim I never let him.”
“I want to do it again.” The words practically burst out of him.
He dipped in and initiated a second embrace, and she permitted it for a minute or two, then she eased away.
A thousand comments swirled between them, and he was being pelted by the worst urge to confess his woes to her. He was positive she’d be a good listener, that she’d chew over every morsel and absolve him when he was through.
He was guilt-ridden over everything that had transpired in Africa. He was anxious to describe how Sir Sidney—his hero and mentor—had been murdered, how the incident had generated a vortex that had sucked away what he’d loved about his life.
Their adventurous journeys were over. His friend, Nathan Blake, hated them all and with valid reason. They’d left him for dead and had sailed home without him. He would never forgive them.
Raven had resigned his spot on the expedition team so he could finally chase down the revenge he was owed by the Carter family, but he’d reveled in the world Sir Sidney had provided, and with it destroyed, he was feeling lost and adrift.
His foundations had been yanked away. He loathed being on the coast, scheming on strangers and trying to achieve the result he’d sought forever. He was terribly afraid the conclusion might not bring him the satisfaction he craved.
What if it didn’t? Where would he be then?
But he would never voice such needy observations to anyone.
She studied him, then stood and said, “I’d better return to the house.”
“Must you?”
“You’re a bit too much man for me, Mr. Shawcross.”
“I’m a bit too much man for every woman.”
“I’m certain that’s true, but for me, it’s particularly pertinent.”
“Will you climb to the promontory tomorrow?” he asked. “If you’ll tell me when, I’ll join you.”
“I can’t sneak off to secluded locations with you.”
“I beg to differ, Miss Carter. I might be just what you require to brighten your dreary existence.”
“My existence is fine, and I doubt you could ever brighten anything, but I suppose you’re allowed your little fantasies.”
He couldn’t bear to have her depart, which was incredibly odd. He was a solitary individual who was used to being alone and on his own. He liked it that way, but he reached out and linked their fingers as if they were adolescent sweethearts.
“If you won’t climb to the promontory,” he said, “how about if we meet out here tomorrow night?”
“No, and stop tempting me. You’re like the Snake in the Garden, filling my head with ideas that are dangerous and wrong.”
He grinned. “I’ve tempted you?”
“Yes, you rogue, and you know you have too. Aren’t you leaving for London soon?”
“I’m in no hurry. I’d tarry if I could be convinced there was a good reason.”
“I could never be the reason.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Very sure.”
He was still holding her hand, and he pulled her to him and kissed her yet again. She participated with an amount of joy that was thrilling, but she was the one to end it.
“You are a menace, Mr. Shawcross.” Her tone was scolding. “And I can’t figure out why I loafed with you a single second.”
“You’re bored and lonely, and I think you could let yourself like me.”
“I think you might be right, but I won’t roll the dice to find out if you’re correct.”
She jerked away and dashed off, and he glanced over his shoulder and called, “It’s late and very dark. Would you like me to walk you to the house?”
“I don’t dare be seen with you.”
“Would I get you in trouble?”
“In more trouble than you could ever imagine.”
“I might be worth it.”
She laughed. “No, you wouldn’t.”
Then she was gone. He watched the path, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her as she strolled across the park, but there were too many trees in the way. Finally, he sighed—with what sounded like melancholia—and he turned toward the water and stared at the breaking waves.
Off on the horizon, he observed the lamp on a passing ship, and he wondered where it was headed and why he wasn’t on board.
CHAPTER THREE
“The birthday guests will be arriving today and tomorrow.”
“Yes, and we’ll be living in a madhouse.”
“My father will be here.”
Rebecca nodded at Alex. He was a handsome boy of ten and her cousin Clayton’s bastard son.
He’d been sired a decade earlier when Clayton had been a young man reveling in town with little guidance or supervision. He’d had an affair with a pretty girl, and she’d died shortly after Alex was born.
Clayton had met her in London during the Christmas holidays when he’d been at university. According to
Beatrice, she’d been a doxy who’d enticed him in the hopes of glomming onto some of his fortune. Beatrice refused to provide more information than that, so Rebecca had no idea what sort of person Alex’s mother had truly been.
But she was painfully aware of what his lazy, spoiled father was like. Alex had inherited only stellar traits, and they hadn’t been supplied by Clayton, so Rebecca suspected the tales about Alex’s mother were false. His mother had likely been a beautiful, perfect saint.
No one at Carter Crossing had had any notion of Clayton’s spurious conduct until a vicar had contacted Beatrice and demanded she assume custody of Alex. She’d been shamed into bringing him to Carter Crossing, but she’d always been aggravated that she’d relented.
She’d dumped him in Rebecca’s lap when she was nineteen. She’d raised him ever since, and he was the sole aspect of her life at Carter Crossing that was palatable. He made her feel as if she was accomplishing a worthwhile goal, and they were kindred spirits, despised by their Carter kin, not really wanted, and viewed as a heavy burden.
Beatrice pretended to be very pious, liking how it shaped her reputation in the community. She disdained the lower classes, being especially contemptuous of the poor, whom she deemed to have created their own problems. She never donated to charities, insisting it simply encouraged the downtrodden.
She was particularly scornful of people with base antecedents, with Rebecca and Alex being the most prominent examples of immorality she could find.
She never ceased to complain about how their dubious ancestries were a stain on the family. When Rebecca was a child, Beatrice’s insults about her parents had cut into her like a sharp knife, but she’d gradually learned to ignore the taunts.
She was teaching Alex to ignore them too, but he hadn’t required much training. He was confident, cocky, and a master at exhibiting condescension in a quiet manner. Beatrice could never rattle him or deflate his massive ego. She was his grandmother, but she acted as if he didn’t exist, which was probably just as well.
It meant he rarely had to suffer the brunt of her rage or derision, and her words bounced off him like dull arrows.
Rebecca had come to the estate at age three, and there had been no protector or champion to watch over her. She’d been frightened and lonely, and she hadn’t comprehended what had happened to her. Alex had shown up as a rambunctious toddler, and he’d had Rebecca firmly planted by his side.
His relationship with his father was difficult, but then, Clayton was more pompous and vain than Beatrice. He behaved as if he had no illegitimate child, and he never glanced in Alex’s direction.
Clayton’s snubs didn’t bother Alex. Though he didn’t recall his mother, he possessed a great affinity for her, and he understood how badly she’d been treated by his father. He wasn’t very forgiving.
“Yes, your father will be here,” she said.
“I suppose I’ll have to spend the next two weeks in hiding.”
“I think that would be for the best.”
Beatrice would expect Alex to be invisible while they had company, and he had a stoic attitude about the entire situation. He didn’t want to fraternize with his father’s friends anymore than Clayton wanted him too.
“I was wondering about something though,” he said.
“What is it?”
“One of Sir Sidney’s team members will be at the party.”
“I heard that. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
Sir Sidney had been murdered by a native tribe in Africa. The whole kingdom had staggered through months of funerals and memorial services as he’d been extensively eulogized. The men who’d trekked with him were famous too, and one of them was about to be in residence!
“I’d like to meet him,” Alex said. “I’d like to listen to some of his stories.”
“I might be able to introduce you, but we’d have to be careful.”
“I’ve decided I’d like to be an explorer when I grow up. I’d like to journey to Africa and other wild places like the Sinclairs.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Sebastian Sinclair and Lord Selby began traveling with Sir Sidney when they were ten. Why couldn’t I do that? I don’t know how to start though, and I thought I could ask him some questions that might help me figure it out.”
Alex had never previously voiced such an exotic dream. In the past, he’d talk about being a soldier or a sailor—normal pursuits that a typical British male might relish. But an African explorer? Why would such a peculiar notion have occurred to him?
“What brought this on?” she inquired. “I had no idea you were pondering such a big path.”
“I’ve been reading Sebastian Sinclair’s travelogue about when he was a boy. He rode camels and camped in desert tents and sailed down jungle rivers in canoes. His book is very thrilling. Would I be a good explorer?”
“You’ll be terrific at whatever profession you choose.”
They were on the rear verandah, with Rebecca having stepped outside to relax for a minute. The maids were dusting the parlors, in a frenzy to have the house in pristine condition for when Clayton arrived.
While Beatrice was ostensibly in charge of the manor, Clayton owned the property. It was his home and his servants. He was hardly ever in the country though, preferring to wallow in his more extravagant activities in town. When he deigned to visit, they were all anxious that he be happy with how things were rolling along.
Suddenly, Beatrice called from a parlor window, “Rebecca! Come here at once! I must speak with you!”
“I’d better go,” she murmured to Alex.
“Don’t stand too close to her. Rumor has it that she bites.”
Rebecca grinned. “Don’t be impertinent. You’ll only land yourself in trouble.”
He grinned too. “I’m never impertinent. I’m simply stating the facts.”
She chuckled, realizing it was exactly the sort of comment Mr. Shawcross would have made, and Alex was very much like him, both in looks and cocky temperament. He had Shawcross’s same dark hair and blue eyes, their features so similar they could almost be related.
He whirled away and flitted down the stairs into the garden. He had chores in the stables and was supposed to work there, but he wasn’t very conscientious. The Carter family blatantly pretended he wasn’t one of them, and he felt little loyalty.
For a boy of ten, he was very mature, very shrewd in his assessment of people, and she wished she had half of his steely aplomb.
She watched him depart, pausing to adjust her attitude, then she spun and went inside. It was always difficult to confer with Beatrice. She’d grown more adept at it over the years, had learned sly methods for dealing with the persnickety woman, but it was never easy.
Beatrice was in the dining room, the windows facing the verandah, so she’d have had a clear view of Rebecca chatting with Alex, and she’d be irked to have been reminded of their fond connection.
What had she expected though? Rebecca had been given full authority over him since he’d first been delivered to Carter Crossing. Of course they were fond.
She breezed into the room, determined to skip through the conversation without letting Beatrice goad her. It was a lovely day, and she’d been kissed in the moonlight the night before. She was walking on air and wouldn’t allow Beatrice to ruin her merry mood.
Beatrice was seated at the table, as usual nibbling on a plate of sweets. As a result, she was very fat. She was fifty, her gray hair pulled into a tight bun, her eyes a pale gray that were icy cold. She never smiled, and Rebecca wondered if she’d ever experienced an enjoyable moment in her life. Most likely not.
Millicent was seated with her mother. She was twenty, fetching and curvaceous, having managed to avoid her mother’s passion for desserts, so she was still slender and shapely. She was blond and blue-eyed, a very classic British girl in her habits and tastes, and as with her brother Clayton, she was very spoiled.
She and Rebecca
got on well enough, kind of like sisters who weren’t particularly affectionate. Normally, they were cordial, but every once in awhile, Millicent would forget herself and treat Rebecca like a servant. When Rebecca had been younger, she’d tolerated Millicent’s occasional disregard, but they’d come to an agreement about mutual respect, and Millicent was unfailingly polite.
“What did you need, Cousin Beatrice?” Rebecca asked, her tone soothing and helpful.
Millicent answered. “She’s about to browbeat you over nothing. What would you imagine she needs?”
Beatrice frowned at her daughter. “Don’t be smart, Millicent. You know I can’t abide it.”
Millicent scowled. “Does that mean you’re not going to browbeat her?”
“Your presence isn’t necessary for this discussion,” Beatrice told her.
“Can you stand to be alone with her?” Millicent asked Rebecca. “Would you like me to stay?”
Rebecca never jumped in the middle of their petty spats. “You’re being a nuisance, Millicent. Please don’t upset your mother.”
“Yes, Heaven forbid that we upset her.”
Millicent leapt up and sauntered out, her attitude making it clear that she wasn’t happy with her mother, and Rebecca would hear about it soon enough. Millicent deemed Rebecca to be a confidante and ally, when in reality, she just tried to keep her head down and remain on everyone’s good side.
As Millicent’s footsteps faded, Beatrice said, “Clayton will arrive shortly. Are we ready for him?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And the guest bedchambers? You’ve checked those?”
“Of course. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
“The man from the Sinclair expedition team isn’t traveling with Clayton, so he’ll be here tomorrow. He’s to have the blue suite overlooking the park. It’s the fanciest we have.”
“I figured that’s what you’d want, and I’ve informed the staff.”
“Be sure there’s an array of liquor in his sitting room. That sort of fellow probably likes to have a brandy before bed. Or he might prefer whiskey. Give him several choices, so he’s not left questioning our hospitality.”