Benedict Trevelyan frowned.
“I mean Mr. Stephen Trevelyan’s.”
“Actually,” Stephen Trevelyan said, walking up with Katherine Trevelyan, her arm tucked in the crook of his, “it is a gift for you, Miss Ann.”
“Still wooing the ladies, Stephen?” Mr. Henderson said. The room seemed to fall quiet at his remark. As a governess I shouldn’t have been addressed as a lady of the family, and to speak so openly of wooing …well,that was rather improper.
“One can only hope,” Stephen Trevelyan replied, cheerfully filling the void. “Open the box, Miss Ann, and let me know if I have succeeded.”
I held out the gift. “I really cannot accept this, Mr. Trevelyan—”
“I insist,” Stephen Trevelyan said, refusing to take the gift back.“Open it.”
I had no choice without seeming rude. My hands shook a little as I slipped off the ribbon and loosened the golden paper. The smell of rich chocolate immediately enveloped my senses as the elegant scroll of Ghirardelli met my eyes. His thoughtfulness touched me.“Thank you, Mr. Trevelyan, but you should not have bought me anything.”
Stephen Trevelyan shrugged. “I could not get Justin and Robert a treat without rewarding their diligent teacher. And I must say, this ‘Mr. Trevelyan’ situation is most annoying. If I cannot induce you to call me Stephen, I insist that you at least call me Mr. Stephen.”
Another barrier between the Trevelyans and myself fell away, like sand between my fingers. I couldn’t seem to hold onto my distance. I tucked the box of chocolates into my hand. “Then you must call me Ann,” I said, wondering where this path would end. To refer to myself as Miss Ann seemed pretentious.
Constance Ortega laughed.“My, I had not made the connection before, but Anns have had ill luck among royalty. Why, did not Henry the Eighth behead an Ann for—”
“Connie, you pick the most morbid facts of history to dwell upon,” Stephen Trevelyan said, interrupting.
“Not to worry,” I said. “My actual name is Titania.” The moment my name left my mouth, I pressed my fingers to my lips in shock. Never in my entire life had I told anyone the name I’d been christened with.
“Aha,” Mr. Henderson said. “I was right. Definitely a queenly beauty.”
“My word,” Stephen Trevelyan said, untangling himself from his sister and extending a courtly bow to my feet. “I had no idea we were being graced by the presence of a queen. Please forgive our slight.”
Burning heat fanned my cheeks. What had possessed me to expose myself so? I didn’t know what to make of this whole exchange. Stephen didn’t seem to be mocking me, but I still felt the sting of embarrassment.
Benedict Trevelyan frowned. “Stephen, if you are truly paying homage, then why not offer Miss Lovell a sherry instead of mocking her with archaic foolery?”
“She said to call her Ann,” Stephen Trevelyan said. “Or, more beautifully, Titania. But you are quite right, Benedict. I will fix everyone a drink. After all, that’s what I do best, is it not?” The tension between the Trevelyan brothers always lurked beneath the surface, rearing its head at unexpected moments. I noted that Mr. Henderson kept glancing at the two brothers.
“And what country was Titania queen of?” Constance Ortega asked.“I do not recall—”
“In Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Titania is Queen of the Fairies,” Benedict Trevelyan said.
“She falls in love with a mere mortal,” Stephen Trevelyan added from across the room.
“Actually, it was an ass,” Mrs. Trevelyan said, rolling into the room in her wheelchair like a dour cloud.
Mr. Henderson laughed. “I see you’re as sharp as ever, Rosalind. Illness has not dulled your wit. Titania did indeed become enamored of an ass.”
I might have found the moment mortifying were it not for Stephen Trevelyan. He crossed the room and handed a glass of sherry to Constance, his mother, and me. “Then I will hold out hope for myself,” he said, moving over to a decanter of amber liquid. “I do believe the mortal was only made to look like an ass by a mischievous spell, Mother, Alan.” He poured three more drinks, giving Alan one, and carrying one to his brother. “Here’s a toast to being”—he glanced at everyone in the room—“an enamored ass.”
“On that note of intellectual insight, I think we will adjourn to the dining room,” Benedict Trevelyan said dryly.
Mr. Henderson extended his arm to Constance Ortega. She nodded like royalty receiving her due as she passed by me. It was only as Katherine Trevelyan glided by with her dress flowing about her like a cloud that I realized she hadn’t said a word at all. Hadn’t participated in the conversation. It was as if she wasn’t there, and I shivered as I caught the scent of roses wafting from her.
The same aroma of roses, only thicker, more sweetly overpowering, assaulted me when Stephen Trevelyan rolled his mother into the room. I remembered that the same scent had been lingering in my room when my belongings were disturbed.
Before I entered the dining room, Benedict Trevelyan put his hand upon my arm, drawing my attention as he spoke softly.“Miss Lovell. I have neglected to tell you something important. My sister, Katherine, she is deaf and does not speak. You will have to make allowances for her—”
“Please,” I said, placing my hand on his, feeling the vibrant warmth of his skin. “There’s no need to say any more. I understand.” My heart went out to Katherine Trevelyan. What must it be like to be locked in a world of silence? I then remembered Robert saying “Aunt Kaff” didn’t like to talk. She couldn’t. “Does she know sign language?”
“Yes—she’s very eloquent with her hands, you might say.”He looked at my reddened hand upon his, and I moved to pull mine away, but he flipped his over and caught my fingers. “I captained my ship for many years. My hands became callused and roughened, for I joined my crew with the work, never believing I should ask a man to do what I was not willing to do. I make no apologies for the honest work I did or the calluses I garnered. You should not either.”
He released my fingers, but my skin continued to burn from his touch. Never was I more thankful that he continued to call me Miss Lovell. To relinquish that barrier of formality between us would make things entirely too uncomfortable. I entered the dining room in a daze, somehow finding the presence of mind to seat myself.
It wasn’t until well after the first course that the echo of Benedict Trevelyan’s words and the heat of his touch settled to a steady throb in my mind. Only then was I able to reflect on the events of the day. Many things had been brought to my awareness. They swirled like a storm through my thoughts.
I’d gained a sure footing in my teaching methods. So far Benedict Trevelyan had no complaints concerning my role as governess. I also decided that the boys and I would take sign-language lessons. I was very curious to know more about Katherine Trevelyan. She wasn’t what I expected at all. And Benedict Trevelyan… he was more than I expected. So much more that I stood on ground that shook with every glance he directed my way.
During my time here, I’d become less of a stranger within the Trevelyan home, yet it wasn’t a safe harbor. The sensation I had was one of slowly moving into a dark storm. Or, even more accurately, I was Alice in Through the Looking Glass, with the room, the house, and the world about me suddenly growing smaller, trapping me inside as the Queen of Hearts called for my head.
I flicked my gaze at the others, finding both Mrs. Trevelyan and Katherine Trevelyan staring at me. At that moment I knew what poor Anne Boleyn must have felt as she was condemned and beheaded for crimes with no true judge or jury on her side.
Shuddering, I glanced through my lashes at Constance Ortega. She was in the midst of listening to Mr. Henderson recount how he witnessed the infamous Jesse James and his band of outlaws robbing the box office of the Kansas City Fair last year.
“From the articles in the Kansas City Times, you’d think Jesse James is Robin Hood or a noble knight. It is disgusting. The man’s a common thief and should be hanged.” Mr.
Henderson said.
“I hear there is more to the story,” Stephen Trevelyan said.
Mr. Henderson raised his brows. “Are you condoning crime?”
“No,” Stephen said. “But I do think extenuating circumstances play into situations. When Jesse was younger, Federal soldiers terrorized his family. They flogged Jesse and dangled his father repeatedly from a tree with a noose around his neck, leaving him so damaged that they might as well have murdered him. If the South had won, Jesse James most likely would not be an outlaw now. He would be some war hero fighting for independence. I say, circumstances can drive any man over the edge.”
The glance he sent Benedict Trevelyan made me remember Stephen’s drunken accusations on my first day in the Trevelyan home. How can you live with yourself after what you did? She’s dead! Pretending none of it ever happened won’t make it go away. It won’t change what I did, and it won’t change what you did either.
“I agree with Stephen,” Constance said. “Circumstances change everything.”
I shook my head. “Justify crime by circumstances, and you will throw away justice. There would be no point in laws or punishment for those guilty of breaking the law.”
“Justice has a way of serving herself in life. The guilty always suffer—don’t you think so, Benedict?” Stephen Trevelyan asked.
Benedict Trevelyan ignored the question and changed the subject after giving his brother a cold look. I shivered.
Throughout the meal, I wondered what personal experience drove Stephen Trevelyan to defend an outlaw. And I wondered even more what had kept Benedict Trevelyan silent during the discussion. He was such a rigid man; I had expected him to argue against his brother. That he didn’t spoke volumes to me.
7
I’m not sure what devil possessed my dreams, but I found myself once again upon my knees on a picnic blanket in Holloway Park with Benedict Trevelyan sitting a mere foot before me. Only this time, when my gaze collided with his and desire flared between us, he grabbed my shoulders. Then those lips that were so stern fell upon mine with unbelievable softness. I leaned his way, and his arms encircled me, brought me close to his warmth, melting me into him. I floated within the pleasantness of his embrace, like a cloud on a summer’s day being caressed by the sun.
Slowly, a darker presence penetrated my haze. The sensation that someone stood watching me renewed itself, racing up my spine, shocking me awake. My heart leapt to my throat as I spied a black form hovering at the end of my bed within the room’s midnight shadows. I tried to scream, but fear swelled so quickly within my breast that my cry for help turned to a croak.
The sound alerted my intruder, for the black form stepped back from my bed and disappeared into the darkness. The click of a door shutting spurred me to action. I scrambled to my feet, anger bursting inside me. How dare someone enter my room and frighten me so!
I didn’t know which way the intruder had left, but I automatically rushed to the door leading out into the hall, since that is where I most often felt as if someone watched me.
Jerking upon the handle, I jarred my clenched teeth when I met with resistance. The door was locked, just as I’d left it before retiring to bed. I swung around, hurrying to the schoolroom and nursery. I never locked that door, in case Justin and Robert should ever need me during the night.
I didn’t see anything lurking in the dim moonlight of the schoolroom, but I decided to take no chances. I returned to my room to light an oil lamp and retraced my steps. Nothing in the schoolroom appeared disturbed. Rather than thoroughly searching the closets and under the desks, I followed my need to check on Justin and Robert. Once I saw they were asleep and safe, then I’d come back and examine the room more closely.
As I passed through the schoolroom, the faint wisp of Benedict Trevelyan’s scent brushed across my senses, equally disturbing and comforting in its presence. I couldn’t fathom that the master of Trevelyan Hill would enter my room at any time, and certainly not in the middle of the night. Such a breach of propriety didn’t seem in keeping with his nature. Yet did I really know him?
The rumors of his wife’s death crawled through my mind like scurrying spiders, and I hastened to the nursery, pushing on the door as if my life depended on getting there to escape my thoughts. The door flew open and banged against the wall.
Justin and Robert continued to sleep, safely tucked beneath their covers, but my sigh of relief became a small scream as a man abruptly rose from the rocking chair in the shadowed corner.
In my haste, I tripped, falling back against the doorjamb. Unbalanced, I fought to keep my hold upon the oil lamp as I struggled to stay upright.
Benedict Trevelyan appeared from the dark shadows. He rushed at me, grabbing the lamp from me and catching me about the waist. We both might have fallen had he not pulled me tightly against him and I braced myself in his arms.
“Damnation, Miss Lovell. Would you kill us all in a fire? What are you doing here?”
“The boys…I was worried …my word! You have frightened me out of my mind.”
And truly I must have taken leave of my senses, because my hands were splayed upon his chest as if fastened by an unknown force to his heat and bolstering strength. I was consumed with the feel of him beneath my fingertips and the penetrating effects his body had upon mine. The hard muscles of his thighs and loins, buffered by the molded wool of his trousers, pressed into my softness, leaving me with no illusions to his power or his maleness. He was a man of large proportions.
His white shirt lay unbuttoned, exposing a fluidity of smoothly sculpted muscles corded with power that drew my gaze to the contours beneath my fingers and beyond. Black hair, soft and curly, smattered his chest then funneled into a straight line that disappeared where my hips met his…I snatched my gaze back upward and lifted my hands from him as if burned.“Oh, my… I…”
He blinked at me, and a look of interested surprise overtook his irritation. Any doubts that I had about his character just moments ago flew from my mind.
“Miss Lovell?” he questioned, pulling me even closer.
“Mr. Trevelyan,” I gasped, my hands falling to his shoulders as the pressure of his chest upon my breasts lit a fire in my blood. Heat flushed my cheeks and pooled in unmentionable places that ached to feel more of this man. I moaned, needing to breathe, needing something more than—
He groaned, a deep, harsh sound of turmoil. I shot my gaze to his face. His mouth lay in a grim line above his clenched jaw, and his dark eyes burned as hotly as the flame of the lamp reflecting in them. He slid his hand down my back, halting at the curve of my hip, and pulled me tighter to him. Every womanly nerve within me clamored for his attention while every practical part of me screamed in alarm at the insistent press of his maleness against me.
His gravelly voice raked over my sensibilities.“I am not a man given to cautioning others of their folly, but you again tread upon dangerous ground. I suggest you return to your room quickly, or—”
He didn’t have to tell me what the “or else” would be.
“Yes,” I said, backing away as he released me slowly, almost reluctantly.
He stared at me intently as I did, and I realized that my threadbare nightgown was practically transparent in the lamplight. But it could have been as thick as newly sheared lamb’s wool, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Not at this moment.
Holding the lamp higher, he stepped forward as I stepped back and I began to babble.“I did not mean to disturb you… an intruder was in my room… I wanted to assure myself that Justin and Robert were safe… I am sor—”
“What?” The power of his voice slashed through mine. He grabbed my arm, wrenching me to a protective place behind him.“An intruder in your room?”
“Yes. Standing at the foot of my bed. I awakened to see—”
“Why did you not tell me immediately?” He didn’t wait to hear another word. He marched to the open doorway of my room, lamp raised to dispel the shadows. Compelled, I followed, and gasped as I ste
pped into my room, nearly bumping into him. A window was opened wide to a marauding breeze; it billowed out the heavy drapes and stirred the bed curtains, making them sway like ghosts about my bed.
“I did not have that open,” I whispered, shuddering.
Unable to speak, I watched him cross to the window, peer out into the night, then shut and lock it. When he found the door to my room locked, he didn’t comment on it, but proceeded to search the entire room—under the bed, behind the drapes, in the armoire, and even within the cedar chest at the bottom of my bed.
It wasn’t until he displaced my robe from the bottom of my bed that I again gave thought to the state of my undress. Hoping to escape his notice, I quietly gathered my robe, and as I slid it on, I glanced his way.
He had stopped his search and stood about three feet away. I had one arm in my robe and my other arm back behind me, searching blindly for my sleeve.
“Is it your wish to see me burn alive?” he asked, seemingly frozen in place. His gaze had centered itself below my chin. The look in his eyes surpassed the gleam of the demon door or even the blaze of a roaring fire. It equally thrilled me and frightened me. When I looked down I saw that my gown was stretched tightly across my chest, leaving the coral tips of my breasts clearly visible.
I groaned in embarrassment, turning from him and struggling harder to find my errant sleeve. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to face the man again.
Suddenly I felt the neck of my robe lift, and his firm hand guided my arm into my sleeve. Then he settled the robe on my shoulders.
“Forgive me,” I said.“I had not realized—”
“It is entirely my fault. We shall leave it at that and not speak another word of the matter. I see no sign of an intruder. Is it possible that you’re mistaken about not having the window open and only saw the bed curtains move in the darkness?”
Though I knew this to be completely impossible, I swallowed my pride and latched onto this excuse, instinctively knowing that this torturous encounter would end sooner if I did. “I may have. But would you search the schoolroom and the nursery also?”
The Mistress of Trevelyan Page 10
