**
Drake’s face was a careful mask when Cleome and Garnett entered the sitting room. He was standing with his feet wide apart and his tightly clenched fists behind him. He motioned for them to be seated.
“Miss Parker has been promoted to the lofty position of secretary,” Drake said evenly to Garnett, his smoldering eyes momentarily on Cleome before his gaze turned cold and moved to the young laird. “As such, she has my permission—nay, my order—to entertain her guests here in the parlor, and to conduct her business in the study. There is no need for her to skulk about in the kitchen like a common pantry maid.”
“We were not skulking, Mr. Stoneham,” Cleome stated flatly, finding his use of the word amusing. But sensing he would not likely tolerate levity, she managed to keep a straight face. She also sensed that he was jealous of her friendship with Garnett and she found that idea intriguing.
“Well—certainly, sir.” Garnett addressed Drake a little too guiltily for Cleome’s liking. “Good of you to see it that way. Quite simply, I had some business to discuss with Cleome and did not want to deprive you of your sitting room.”
“May I ask the nature of your business, sir?”
“Perhaps I should have mentioned it before now, but I wanted to be quite sure, for I did not wish to jeopardize the young lady’s position here if it didn’t work out. I’ve been in touch with my late grandmother’s attorney in London, who also attended to legal matters for Cleome’s great-grandfather, Sir Henry, Lord Houghton. Knowing Cleome had no one else to act in her behalf, I took the liberty—”
“And?” Drake interjected when Garnett showed no sign of coming to the point.
“And, it seems Cleome has a relative, or relatives, who are indeed concerned for her welfare,” Garnett said, holding Mr. Landshire’s letter out to Drake. “This about covers the situation, I think.”
Drake took the letter from Garnett, examined it carefully, and then gave it back. Turning to Cleome, he said, “When Mr. Landshire arrives, please show him into the sitting room. I do not believe he would find the kitchen to his liking. I hope your newly discovered relations act in your best interests.”
“They will, I’m sure,” Garnett replied, smiling down at Cleome. “I think this will prove quite a windfall for two women who were left alone without provision.”
“So, it appears Miss Parker has you to thank for her good fortune,” Drake said. Cleome could not read his strange mood, and not wishing to appear too familiar in front of Garnett, she waited in silence for him to offer advice, as an employer would be expected to do. Instead, he glanced at her indifferently and uttered four distinct, impersonal words. “That will be all.”
**
Drake sequestered himself for most of the day, taking his horse out again for a needlessly prolonged ride later in the morning, and then retiring to his room in the afternoon to write what he told Cleome were “letters of a personal nature.” He had felt a brief satisfaction at her look of bewildered hurt, which she tried unsuccessfully to cover.
He had been a fool for not telling her all he knew of Jimmy Parker and of the document he still had in his safekeeping. She was over the shock of losing her grandfather, and on those rare occasions when her pride and temper had overcome her fear of Drake and her dependency on his charity, she had exhibited the strength of character necessary to receive what was her due. To allow her to go on believing that the little anecdotes he told her mother were invented to aid the invalid’s recovery was criminal, but he had not yet decided exactly what to do with Cleome. The mere sight of her fired his loins with a need such as he had never experienced.
Drake knew that withholding her mother’s marriage certificate, and thus Cleome’s respectability, would give him time to win her favor and to overcome the resentment she naturally felt towards the man who had brought her once secure world crashing about her lovely ears. On thinking anew of her unspoiled, innocent beauty, he groaned aloud and stirred himself from the chair where he had been sitting for the space of an hour, sipping brandy and trying to block out the picture of her that floated through his tortured mind.
When she had sprawled at his feet that morning, enabling him for the first time to legitimately put his hands on her and draw her close, and when she had looked up at him, her head resting on the crook of his arm and her blue eyes wide with surprise, and when the surprise had slowly changed to desire, it was almost more than he could bear. He would have taken her then, in that small wooded glade by the stream—and she would have submitted with equal passion—if that young fool Easton had not interrupted them.
But, Drake told himself, he had waited too long, he had wasted too much time, and now Easton had settled it like some dashing young Galahad. He was a spoiled, aristocratic dandy, accustomed to having whatever he wanted in life; and it was plain he wanted Cleome. He could have no honorable intentions where she was concerned, for his kind easily tired of the prey once the hunt was finished. And even if Garnett’s swooning, romantic heart overruled his brain, his highborn father would never stand for a liaison between them.
Rather, Drake corrected himself, he certainly would not as long as Cleome remained poor and nameless. That was where Drake held the winning hand, if he were contemptible enough, even now, to keep Cleome’s name and respectability from her. And he knew without a doubt that he was. If it would stop her from ruining herself at the hands of one of the virile gentry, or being completely lost to him as the wife of some raw-boned farmer, he would keep the proof of her mother’s marriage from her for the rest of her days. He tried to cheer himself with the thought that it was unlikely any relative would take a fallen woman, who was also an invalid, and her illegitimate, exquisitely lovely daughter under the same roof. He almost wished he had not assisted Ramona’s gradual return to health, but it couldn’t have been any other way. He owed too much to Jimmy Parker to watch his widow willingly relinquish her frail hold on life.
The midday meal had been a solitary, if self-inflicted, torture, for Drake had ordered it brought to his room. Fanny had been happy to oblige; and when he admitted her, she had strutted about, setting his place at a small table near the open window with much ludicrous swaying of her boyish hips and thrusting of her flat breasts. Recalling the obscene display, Drake groaned again, as if enduring a most unpleasant sensation. She was one of the most tireless women he had ever chanced to come across. He wouldn’t be surprised if she accosted him in the privy house. If she were not so entirely devoid of feminine charm, he would have eagerly sought the comfort her willing body offered, if only as a distraction from the unattainable pleasures hinted at by every curve of Cleome’s slight form and whispered by the rustle of her skirts.
Remembering her sweet mouth but an inch from his own, her lips parted expectantly at the moment Garnett had interrupted them, he groaned again and cursed himself anew. In spite of his careful guardianship of the music box and its contents, some well-intentioned relative could sweep Cleome away from him. On the morrow, Oliver Landshire would arrive with news that could take her away from the Eagle’s Head, and from him. Still, there was tonight.
A knock came at the door and Young Sam poked his head inside.
“Well?” Drake demanded harshly.
“It’s come, sir—up from London. The package you was askin’ after,” the groom said, and stepped into the room holding a large box.
“Find Miss Cleome and tell her to come to me at once.”
**
When Young Sam found Cleome in the dairy, checking on one of the cows that was almost ready to drop a new calf, he made Drake’s request sound like a matter of great urgency. Quickly, on her way into the house, she removed the smock she used for outdoor chores, hung it on the nail near the back door, and straightened her kerchief. She hurried upstairs but before she had a chance to knock, Drake opened the door, as if he had been listening for the light tread of her feet.
“Yes sir?” she inquired. “You sent for me?”
“Come in, Miss Parker.” He
stood aside for her to enter. She saw that he had moved the screen she had placed in front of his bathtub to another corner of the room and the bathtub was nowhere in sight.
“Is there something you need, Mr. Stoneham? I was in the dairy. I believe Juniper will calve at any moment—”
“Leave that to Old Sam,” he said brusquely and then softened his voice. “As a matter of fact, Miss Parker, there is something I require.” With that, he carefully folded back the screen, revealing the bed. Spread upon it was an emerald green ball gown that looked to be exactly Cleome’s size.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she murmured, stepping closer and examining the frock with wonder, lightly caressing the delicate fabric. It was silk and it felt like cool water swirling from a brook against her fingers. Trimmed with intricately worked lace and velvet cording, the dress was elegance itself.
“Well?” he said with a smile. “Do you not care for it?”
“It is quite the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
“The fit looks to be accurate,” he observed. “Take it to your room and try it on. If there are alterations, they must be seen to at once. We haven’t much time.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Stoneham. I still don’t understand what you want of me.”
Bowing slightly, he said, “Miss Parker, I’d like very much for you to accompany me to the Easton’s Harvest Ball this evening.”
Her heart was instantly at war with her head. While she worried about where his surprising invitation would lead, she wanted more than anything to accept it. “But sir,” she replied at last. “The Eastons—everyone—would be scandalized.”
“As you have previously informed me. Will that bother you so very much?”
“I couldn’t possibly go. I am in mourning still—”
“Six months is enough mourning for a man who chose the path your grandfather did,” he said. “No more should be required of one so young and full of life.” His voice hardened almost imperceptibly and anger flickered briefly across his brow. “Are you so concerned about convention, mademoiselle—or do you hesitate because Garnett Easton would not like seeing you on my arm?”
The thought of Garnett laying such a claim upon her, without her permission, galled her to the core. “It is none of his concern, Mr. Stoneham,” she replied evenly. “What would be my purpose at the ball? Are you not worried that it would compromise your standing in the community?”
“No, indeed,” he assured her. “If you must know, Miss Parker, your purpose will be two-fold. First, I do not enjoy entering a roomful of strangers alone. Battle is one thing. A society ball is quite another.”
“And my presence will create a distraction,” she surmised. “And you’ll be able to assess the personalities of potential future marks and so increase your winnings.”
“I respect your intelligence too much to deny it,” he admitted, leaning closer. Capturing her gaze in his own, he added, “And in that dress, mademoiselle, you’ll make quite a breathtaking distraction.”
A sudden, unexpected thrill coursed through her. The intensity of it raced straight to the secret, feminine core of her being, spreading enticing tentacles of sensation throughout her body; and it warmed her entirely. She longed to wear the lovely dress; she would adore waltzing gaily in the Easton’s brightly lit ballroom—but more than anything else, she wanted to spend the evening in Drake Stoneham’s arms. She had to take a moment before she could answer him; and when she did, she was forced to wonder at her own daring.
“Because of your honesty, Mr. Stoneham, I accept; and I thank you for the compliment.”
Chapter Nine
Mother Nature herself seemed bent on honoring Lady Easton’s latest triumph, for it appeared the fine weather would hold in honor of the Harvest Ball. In the carriage that evening, on the way to Easton Place, Drake Stoneham studied at his leisure the blessings that same Nature had generously bestowed upon her daughter Cleome.
When she had come downstairs in the emerald green gown with delicate meadow sweet woven through her hair, he scarcely recognized her, for she was more beautiful than he thought any woman could be. The color of the dress brought a peachy glow to her freshly scrubbed complexion and a new brilliance to her wide, blue eyes. Earlier, he’d had Della and Mickey take his bathtub to her room, along with a selection of scented oils and soaps.
“Here I am, then,” she’d said affably, turning for his inspection at the bottom of the staircase in the little reception hall. “Will I serve your devious purpose this evening, Mr. Stoneham?”
“Indeed.” It took all his strength but he resisted reaching for her and burying his face in her fragrant hair.
“Truthfully, sir—I have my doubts.”
“Well, you should not. But there’s one thing missing,” he responded with quiet restraint, pulling a velvet jewel box out of his coat pocket. He opened it and she gazed upon its contents, awestruck.
“Oh . . . it is . . . exquisite,” was all she could say.
He took the emerald necklace out of the box and held it before her. “If you please, Miss Parker.”
“I’m to wear that?”
“I insist upon it.”
“But it looks so costly.”
“That it is. And it sets off your dress and makes you look quite fetching. But have no fear. As I protect all my valuables carefully, I shall remain close to your side.”
She turned her back to him then and he fastened the jewels around her slender neck, inhaling deeply her natural sweetness mixing enticingly with the heady scent of the delicate perfume he’d selected for her. Now, sitting across from her in the moonlight, Drake delighted in her nearness, stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Lightly fingering the emeralds that caressed her ivory skin as if reliving a pleasant recollection, she caught him at his game and smiled at him.
He was forced by convention and his own growing need of her to look away after returning her smile; but he resolved then and there, no matter what it took, to make her his own. He would wait and see what this quest of Garnett Easton’s brought, what relative would come forward to offer Cleome a new life . . . and then he would, quite simply, talk her out of it. He would make her want him as much as he wanted her.
**
Laughter and music competed with the night sounds of the English countryside as Drake helped Cleome out of the carriage and escorted her into the Easton’s grand mansion. When she entered the ballroom on his arm moments later, there was a brief but noticeable lull in the happy chatter as the first families of Oakham stopped to stare.
The footman stationed at the door to the ballroom took Drake’s card, read what the gambler had scrawled there and then announced, “Mr. Drake Stoneham of Stoneham House, in London. Miss Cleome Parker of Eagle’s Point, near Oakham.”
It was as if everyone in the Easton’s ballroom was momentarily frozen in time, trying to decide if there could be any sport for them in having this interloper in their midst. Only the music went on without missing a beat, before the revelers continued their talking and laughing. Drake had wisely waited until most of the guests arrived and the dancing was well underway before he and Cleome made their entrance. A lilting waltz was just beginning, and after the elegantly-suited doorman called their names, Drake swept her out onto the dance floor. Garnett was the first to cut in.
After a whispered promise to finish their dance later, Drake surrendered Cleome to their host. But, she noted with satisfaction, he took up a watchful post near the swirling dancers, his eyes following her as he chatted with Sir Rudgely and the vicar.
“’Pon my word, Cleome,” Garnett said, breaking into her thoughts. “You have rendered me quite speechless.”
“You, sir? Never!” she exclaimed, enjoying the music and the fact that she had created a stir. “Do you think it awful of me to come with no invitation of my own?”
“On the contrary—I think it superb. And as Drake’s guest, you have neatly side-stepped that terrible oversight.”
&n
bsp; Before Garnett could say more, a tall young man resplendent in evening dress tapped his shoulder. “My apologies, Easton; but you’re not keeping this pretty morsel to yourself,” he said and waltzed Cleome away. He introduced himself as Count Paolo Paresi and trying to flatter her with a compliment about her “bewitching eyes,” he pulled her close to his slender frame—much too close. Although he was handsome, with a build and coloring similar to Garnett’s, Cleome didn’t like him. She felt there was something not quite right about him, as if his banter had some ulterior motive. She was relieved when another young man touched the nobleman’s shoulder and danced her away.
Garnett’s friends surrounded her throughout the evening, all clamoring for a turn with her, but Cleome found herself scanning the room repeatedly for Drake. For such a large man, he was a graceful dancer and it was not surprising that any woman privileged to enjoy a set with him fell under his spell.
**
Elizabeth Easton took a deep breath and scolded herself for being ten kinds of fool. Still, he had not declined her offer to show him the new greenhouse the gardener had built under Garnett’s direction, and some of the plants that flourished there. She would wait but ten minutes, she decided, not a second more; and then she would rejoin her guests and ignore him for the rest of the evening. She didn’t know what it was she hoped for—he was young and perhaps not terribly experienced. More than once she’d tried discreetly to get Drake Stoneham’s attention, but to no avail. After the interlude they had enjoyed on his arrival in Oakham, she’d hoped for more; but he had been strangely distant. And tonight, he had eyes only for Cleome Desmond or Parker or whatever her name was.
A step sounded on the gravel walk outside the little building and suddenly Paolo was there. “Ah, signora,” whispered the dashing Italian count. “How lovely you look in the moonlight.”
The Lodestone Page 15
