Once and Always

by Judith McNaught

  Victoria walked away from him on legs that shook. How could she have imagined they might be friends! He was cold and cynical and hard; he had a vicious, unreliable temper; and besides that he was obviously unbalanced! No sane man could kiss a woman with tenderness and passion one moment, then become outrageously flirtatious, only to turn cold and hateful a mere moment later. He was no lapdog—he was as dangerous and unpredictable as the panther he resembled!

  Despite the fact that she walked as quickly as she could, Jason’s long strides kept him easily beside her and they arrived at the circular drive in front of the house at the same time.

  The Earl of Collingwood was waiting for them, already mounted on his splendid sorrel with John comfortably ensconced in front of him.

  Embarrassed and angry, Victoria bade the earl a brief good-bye, smiled lamely at John and handed him his sail-boat, then rushed inside.

  John watched her, looked at Jason, then turned anxiously to his father. “He didn’t give Miss Tory a thrashing, did he?”

  The earl lifted his amused glance from Jason’s wet shirt-front to his lordship’s face. “No, John, Lord Fielding did not give her a thrashing.” To Jason he said, “Shall I ask Caroline to call upon Miss Seaton tomorrow?”

  “Come with her, and we’ll continue our business discussion.”

  Robert nodded. Tightening his arm protectively around his little son, he touched his booted heel to his restive mount and the sorrel cantered off down the drive.

  Jason watched them leave, his bland expression fading to one of grim displeasure as he permitted himself for the first time to face what had happened to him beside the creek.

  Chapter Nine

  BY THE NEXT AFTERNOON, VICTORIA still had not been able to put Jason’s earthshaking kiss out of her mind. Sitting on the grass beside Willie, she stroked his proud head while he gnawed on the bone she had brought him. Watching him, she thought again of Jason’s easy, smiling attitude when the kiss was over, and her stomach knotted as she compared her own innocence and stupidity to his sophistication and brittle worldliness.

  How could he have held her and kissed her as if he were trying to devour her one moment, and then joked about it the next? And where, she wondered, had she ever found the ability to match his lighthearted mood when her senses were reeling and her knees were knocking together? And after all of that, how could he look at her with those freezing eyes of his and advise her not to make the same mistake “dozens” of other women had?

  What made him behave like that? she wondered. He was impossible to cope with, impossible to understand. She had tried to befriend him, only to end up being kissed. Everything seemed so different in England; perhaps here, kisses like that were nothing out of the ordinary and she had no reason to feel guilty and angry. But she did. Loneliness for Andrew swamped her, and she shuddered with shame for her willing participation in Jason’s kiss.

  She glanced up as Jason rode toward the stables. He had gone hunting this morning, so she’d been able to avoid him while she tried to gather her wits, but her reprieve was coming to an end—the Earl of Collingwood’s carriage was pulling up in the front drive. Reluctantly, she arose. “Come, Willie,” she said tightly. “Let’s go tell Lord Fielding that the earl and countess have just arrived, and spare poor Mr. O’Malley a needless trip to the stables.”

  The dog lifted his great head and regarded her with intelligent eyes, but he didn’t move. “It’s time you stopped hiding from people. I’m not your servant, you know, and I refuse to keep bringing your meals out here. Northrup told me you used to be fed at the stables. Come, Willie!” she repeated, determined to take control of this small part of her life, at least. She took two more steps and waited. The dog stood up and looked at her, his alert expression making her certain he understood the command.

  “Willie,” she said irritably, “I am growing excessively impatient with arrogant males.” She snapped her fingers. “I said come!” Again she stepped forward, watching over her shoulder, fully prepared to drag the obstinate animal by the scruff of his neck if he refused. “Come!” she said sharply, and this time he followed slowly in her wake.

  Buoyed up by her small victory, Victoria walked toward the stables from which Jason was emerging, his long rifle hanging loosely from his hand.

  In front of the house, the Earl of Collingwood lifted his wife down from the carriage. “There they are, over there,” he told his wife, nodding in the direction of the stables. Tucking her hand affectionately in the crook of his arm, he started across the lawns toward the other couple. “Smile,” he teased in a whisper when her steps lagged. “You look as if you’re going to face an executioner.”

  “Which is more or less how I feel,” Caroline admitted, shooting him a sheepish smile. “I know you will laugh, but Lord Fielding rather frightens me.” She nodded at her husband’s astonished look. “I am not the only one who feels so—nearly everyone is in awe of him.”

  “Jason is a brilliant man, Caroline. I’ve made enormous returns on every investment he’s been kind enough to recommend to me.”

  “Perhaps, but he is still horridly unapproachable and . . . and forbidding, for all that. Moreover, he is capable of giving the kind of crushing setdowns that make one positively wish to sink. Why, last month, he told Miss Farraday that he dislikes simpering females—particularly those who cling to his arm while they are simpering.”

  “What did Miss Farraday say to that?”

  “What could she say? She was clinging to his arm and simpering at the time. It was most embarrassing.”

  Ignoring her husband’s meaningful grin, she smoothed her white gloves over her long fingers. “What women see in him, I can’t imagine, yet they continually make cakes of themselves when he is about. True, he’s rich as Croesus, with six estates of his own and heaven knows how many pounds a year—and, of course, he’ll be the next Duke of Atherton, too. And I’ll do him the justice to admit he’s uncommonly handsome—”

  “But you can’t understand what women see in him?” her husband teased, chuckling.

  Caroline shook her head, lowering her voice as they neared the couple. “His manners are not at all nice. Quite the contrary—he is shockingly blunt!”

  “When a man is relentlessly pursued for his wealth and title, he should be excused for losing his patience now and then.”

  “You may think so, but for my part, I have the liveliest compassion for poor Miss Seaton. Only think how terrified she must be, living in the same house with him.”

  “I don’t know if she’s terrified, but I have the impression she’s lonely and in need of a friend to show her how to go on in England.”

  “She must be quite miserable,” Caroline agreed sympathetically, watching Victoria, who had just reached Jason and was speaking to him.

  “The earl and countess have arrived,” Victoria was saying to Jason, her manner coolly polite.

  “So I see. They’ve followed you here,” Jason explained, “they’re a few paces off to your right behind you.” He glanced at her again, then froze, his attention riveted on something behind her and to her left. “Move!” he ordered, pushing her roughly aside as he swung his rifle to his shoulder. Behind her Victoria heard a low, terrible snarl, and suddenly she understood what Jason meant to do.

  “No!” she screamed. Striking out wildly, she knocked the barrel of the weapon into the air and flung herself to her knees, wrapping her arms around Willie and glaring at Jason. “You’re insane! Insane! What has Willie done to deserve being starved and shot?” she demanded hysterically, stroking his head. “Did he swim in your stupid creek or—or dare to disobey one of your orders—or—”

  The rifle slid through Jason’s numb fingers until the barrel was pointing harmlessly at the ground. “Victoria,” he said in a calm voice that contradicted his taut, pale features, “that isn’t Willie. Willie is a collie, and I lent him to the Collingwoods three days ago for breeding.”

  Victoria’s hand stilled in midstroke.

  “Unl
ess I’ve lost my sight and my mind in the last minute, I would guess the animal you are clinging to like a mother protecting her babe is at least half wolf.”

  Victoria swallowed and slowly stood up. “Even if he isn’t Willie, he’s still a dog, not a wolf,” she persisted stubbornly. “He knows the command ‘Come.’ ”

  “He’s part dog,” Jason contradicted. Intending to pull her away from the animal, he stepped forward and seized her arm—an action that brought an instantaneous reaction from the dog, which crouched down, snarling and baring its fangs, the hair standing up on its back. Jason released her arm, his fingers slowly working toward the trigger of the rifle. “Move away from him, Victoria.”

  Victoria’s eyes were riveted on the gun. “Don’t do it!” she warned hysterically. “I won’t let you. If you shoot him, I’ll shoot you, I swear I will. I’m a better shot than I am a swimmer—anyone at home can tell you that. Jason!” she cried brokenly. “He’s a dog and he’s only trying to protect me from you. Anyone could understand that! He’s my friend. Please, please don’t shoot him. Please . . .”

  Weak with relief, she watched Jason’s hand relax on the rifle and again the barrel slid harmlessly toward the grass. “Stop hovering over him,” he ordered. “I won’t shoot him.”

  “Will you give me your word as a gentleman?” Victoria persisted, her body still blocking Wolf as she sought to prevent a fatal confrontation between the courageous dog that was trying to protect her and the man with the deadly weapon who was prepared to kill him for doing it.

  “I give you my word.”

  Victoria started to move away, but then she remembered something Jason had told her and quickly put herself between the two combatants again. Eyeing Jason suspiciously, she reminded him, “You told me you aren’t a gentleman and you said you have no principles. How can I know you’ll honor your given word as a gentleman should?”

  Jason’s pantherish eyes gleamed with reluctant amusement as he looked at the defenseless young woman who was simultaneously championing a wolf and mutinously defying him. “I’ll honor it. Now, stop behaving like Joan of Arc.”

  “I’m not certain I believe you. Would you swear it to Lord Collingwood as well?”

  “You’re pressing your luck, my dear,” Jason warned softly.

  Although quietly stated, it had the undeniable ring of a threat, and Victoria heeded it, not because she feared the consequences but because she felt instinctively that Jason would do as he promised. She nodded and moved away, but the dog’s huge body remained poised for attack, its threatening gaze riveted on Jason.

  He, in turn, was watching the animal, the rifle still ready at his side. In desperation, Victoria turned to the dog. “Sit down!” she ordered, not really expecting he would obey the command.

  The dog hesitated and then sat at her side.

  “There, you see!” Victoria threw up her hands in relief. “He’s been well trained by someone. And he knows your gun can hurt him—that’s why he keeps watching it. He’s smart.”

  “Very smart,” Jason agreed with dry mockery. “Smart enough to live right under my nose while I, and everyone else for miles around, have been hunting for the ‘wolf’ that’s been raiding chicken houses and terrorizing the village.”

  “Is that the reason you go hunting every day?” When Jason nodded, Victoria unleashed a torrent of words, all designed to forestall Jason from saying the dog couldn’t remain on the estate. “Well, he isn’t a wolf, he’s a dog, you can see that. And I’ve been feeding him every day, so he’ll have no reason to raid chicken houses anymore. He’s very smart, too, and he understands what I say.”

  “Then perhaps you could mention to him that it’s impolite to sit there waiting for the opportunity to bite the hand that, indirectly at least, has been feeding him.”

  Victoria cast an anxious look at her overeager protector and then at Jason. “I think if you reach for me again and I tell him not to snarl at you, he’ll get the idea. Go ahead, reach for me.”

  “I’d like to wring your neck,” Jason said, half-seriously, but he grasped her arm as she asked. The animal crouched, ready to spring, snarling.

  “No!” Victoria said sharply, and the wolf called Willie relaxed, hesitated, and licked her hand.

  Victoria expelled a breath of relief. “There, you see, it worked. I’ll take excellent care of him—and he won’t be the least bother to anyone if you let him stay.”

  Jason wasn’t proof against either her courage or the imploring look in those brilliant blue eyes. “Chain your dog,” he sighed. When she started to object, he said, “I’ll have Northrup inform the gamekeepers that he’s not to be harmed, but if he ranges onto someone else’s property, they’ll shoot him on sight. He hasn’t tried to attack anyone, but farmers value their chickens, in addition to their families.”

  He prevented further argument by the simple expedient of turning to greet the Earl and Countess of Collingwood, and for the first time, Victoria remembered their presence.

  Mortification made her feel hot all over as she forced herself to face the woman Jason apparently regarded as a model of propriety. Instead of the haughty disdain she expected to see on the countess’s face, Lady Collingwood was regarding her with something that looked remarkably like laughing admiration. Jason made the introductions and then strolled away with the earl to discuss some sort of business dealings, heartlessly leaving Victoria to acquit herself as best she could with the countess.

  Lady Collingwood was the first to break the uneasy silence. “May I walk with you while you chain your dog?”

  Victoria nodded, rubbing her damp palms on her skirts. “You—you must think I’m the most ill-behaved female alive,” she said miserably.

  “No,” Caroline Collingwood said, biting her lower lip to control her mirth, “but I think you are undeniably the bravest one.”

  Victoria was stunned. “Because I’m not afraid of Willie?”

  The countess shook her head. “Because you aren’t afraid of Lord Fielding,” she corrected, laughing.

  Victoria looked at the stunning brunette in her elegant finery, but what she saw was the mischievous gleam in those dancing gray eyes and the offer of friendship in her smile. She had met a kindred spirit in this seemingly unfriendly country, she realized, and her spirits soared. “Actually, I was terrified,” Victoria admitted, turning toward the back of the house where she had decided to chain her dog until such time as she could convince Jason to let him come into the house.

  “But you didn’t show it, you see, and that is a very good thing, because it seems to me that once a male realizes a female is frightened of something, he uses that knowledge against her in perfectly horrid ways. For example, as soon as my brother Carlton realized I was afraid of snakes, he put one in my handkerchief drawer. And before I was quite finished having hysterics over that, my brother Abbott put one in my dancing slippers.”

  Victoria shuddered. “I loathe snakes. How many brothers do you have?”

  “Six and they all did perfectly wretched things to me until I learned to retaliate in kind. Do you have any brothers?”

  “No—a sister.”

  By the time the gentlemen finished their business discussion and joined the ladies for an early supper, Victoria and Caroline Collingwood were on a first-name basis and well on the way to becoming fast friends. Victoria had already explained that her betrothal to Lord Fielding was an error made by Charles—but with the best of intentions—and she had talked about Andrew; Caroline had confided that her parents had chosen Lord Collingwood as her husband, but from the things she said and the way her eyes lit up whenever she spoke of him, it was perfectly obvious to Victoria that she adored him.

  The meal sparkled with their laughing conversation as Victoria and Caroline continued exchanging confidences and comparing some of their childhood exploits. Even Lord Collingwood contributed stories about his boyhood, and it soon became apparent to Victoria that all three of them had enjoyed carefree childhoods and the security of lo
ving parents. Jason, however, refused to discuss his own youth, though he seemed to genuinely enjoy listening to the stories they were telling of theirs.

  “Can you really shoot a gun?” Caroline asked Victoria admiringly while two footmen served trout sautéed in butter and herbs and covered with a delicate sauce.

  “Yes,” Victoria admitted. “Andrew taught me how because he wanted someone to give him competition when he shot at targets.”

  “And did you? Give him competition, I mean.”

  Victoria nodded, the candleglow catching the fiery lights in her hair and turning it into a molten halo. “A great deal of it. It was the most peculiar thing imaginable, but the very first time he put the gun in my hand, I followed his instructions, aimed, and hit the target. It didn’t seem very hard.”

  “And after that?”

  “It became easier,” Victoria said with a twinkle.

  “I liked sabers,” Caroline confessed. “My brother Richard used to let me be his fencing partner. All it takes is a good arm.”

  “And a steady eye,” added Victoria.

  Lord Collingwood chuckled. “I used to pretend I was a knight of old and joust with the grooms. I did quite well in the lists—but then, the grooms were undoubtedly reluctant to knock a fledgling earl off his horse, so I probably wasn’t as good as I thought I was at the time.”

  “Did you play tug-of-war in America?” Caroline asked eagerly.

  “Yes, and it was invariably the boys against the girls.”

  “But that isn’t fair at all—boys are always stronger.”

  “Not,” Victoria said with a laughing, rueful look, “if the girls manage to choose a place where there is a tree and then contrive—very casually—to wrap the rope partway around the tree as they’re pulling.”

  “Shameless!” Jason chuckled. “You were cheating.”

  “True, but the odds were against us otherwise, so it wasn’t really cheating.”

  “What do you know of ‘odds’?” he teased.

  “As they pertain to cards?” Victoria asked, her face lit with infectious merriment. “To tell you the shameful truth, I am nearly as adept at calculating the odds of various hands as I am at dealing the cards in such a way as to produce those particular hands. In short,” she admitted baldly, “I know how to cheat.”