The Mistress of Trevelyan

by Jennifer St Giles

  In the third-floor hallway, I passed Maria, who looked at me in utter surprise. I assumed it was because she’d expected my meeting with Mrs. Trevelyan to have lasted longer. That was until I reached my room and found the new things from Mrs. Talbot’s dumped in a nasty pile on the floor. Nothing looked as if it had been destroyed, just thrown down as if it all were of little worth. This time I had no doubt as to whom had been in my room and why.

  Apparently Mrs. Trevelyan didn’t need to be able to walk. Not when she had servants to carry out her ill will.

  I stood there with my hands clenched as I fought back tears. The jumbled mess was only clothes, and not even dirty ones at that. I’d been cleaning up worse piles most of my life, and I shouldn’t view this one as being any different. But I did. These were my new things. I found I wasn’t as practical as I thought myself to be, for I barely restrained myself from going to Maria’s room and returning the favor.

  9

  During the night, I hoped for rain. None appeared, no matter how many times I peered out of the window. I cursed my unfailing good constitution, for I failed to develop an ailment, no matter how hard I prayed for one. I searched my mind for any legitimate excuse to keep me from the stables but found none worthy enough. I then resorted to wishing lightning would strike.

  It didn’t.

  Sunday morning dawned brightly, promising a healthy dose of sunshine. I didn’t even have the luxury of using my lessons with Justin and Robert as an excuse to avoid the stables, for I had half of the day free. Still, I dallied, spending an inordinate amount of time deciding what to wear before finally settling on a gown of deep blue with tiny black pinstripes. I thought the color complemented my gray eyes and brown hair. I fussed with my hair. I dusted my room, twice. Then I sat back down and waited for something, anything, to happen until my conscience wouldn’t allow me to delay any longer.

  Much to my consternation, no accidents befell me as I walked to the stables. And worse yet, any reason I could think of to avoid the horses did nothing but draw another condemning look from Benedict Trevelyan in my mind’s eye. It daunted me that even when he wasn’t about, I could shut my eyes and see him all too clearly.

  As I neared the entrance to the stables, he seemed so real in my mind that I could hear his deep voice speaking as if wooing a lover.

  “You are greedy for affection this morning, aren’t you? You love being stroked, love the feel of my hand upon your neck.” I closed my eyes. My hand instantly went to my throat and touched the spot where I imagined I could feel him.

  “There. Hold right there. Doesn’t that feel good?”

  The sound of an answering whinny brought my eyes wide open. I stepped into the shadowed recesses of the stable, where I found Benedict Trevelyan in front of a stall, caressing a horse bigger and blacker than the one he’d ridden yesterday.

  A layer of fresh hay covered the floor. I could smell the sunshine sweetness of it among the strong odors of animal and leather. Dust motes danced in the streams of light threading their way through the stable, giving an overall ambience of warmth—definitely not the dank lair of a beast. Above each or the stalls were names branded into the wood—Odin, Frigg, Fjorgyn, Balder, Hodr, Rind, Indu, Bragi, Loki, Vali, Freyja, Sigyn, Narvi, and more, all from Viking legend—and I found myself rather interested. It would seem the master of Trevelyan Hill had a penchant for the unusual, something the oppressive staidness of his study didn’t reveal.

  “Good morning, Miss Lovell. I see your punctuality does not apply to appointments with horses.”

  My eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, and I saw that he—dressed more simply than the day before in riding pants and a shirt—regarded me with dry amusement. Considering the effect his casual dress and relaxed air had upon my sensibilities, it was a wonder I could speak.“I, um, mistakenly thought it would rain. Did you not hear the thunder?” Surely he had to hear it. My heart was roaring.

  He only lifted an eyebrow in the face of my blatant lie. “Indeed. Thunder? Perhaps you heard Thor being set free in the pasture. He tends to make a lot of noise. But there’s no harm done. I have plenty of time this morning, and Gunnlod is a patient girl.” He brushed the horse’s mane.

  I blinked with disbelief when the horse seemingly nodded its head up and down as if she’d understood what he’d said. I had to have imagined it. “She is named for another wife of Odin’s? The giantess?”

  “Correct. She’s big, but she’s gentle. When you are ready to ride, she will be perfect for you.”

  Shaking my head, I stepped back. “I do not think that I will be ready for that for at least”—I looked at the horse— “ten years.”

  He laughed.“I will give you ten days, but let’s not borrow tomorrow’s trouble. Come say hello to Gunnlod, and then I will take you to see her colt.”

  Reluctantly, I took two steps closer, stopping a few feet away.

  “Bragi would be the colt?” I asked, following Odin’s family tree, hoping that Benedict Trevelyan would forget about introducing me to the horse if I kept him talking.

  “Right again,” he said, then surprised me by reaching out and taking my hand, pulling me beside him. “Come along, Miss Lovell. Gunnlod does bite, but only apples and at Odin when he’s in her way.” To prove his point, he held out an apple.

  I had no time to think about the warmth of his skin against mine or the comfort his touch imbued on my nerves, for Gunnlod’s giant head pushed farther from her stall to merely inches from where I stood. To my surprise, she gently extracted the apple from Benedict Trevelyan’s hand, leaving all of his fingers intact. I laughed as she crunched, eating the whole fruit in seconds. She seemed— harmless? No, just less of an ogre than I imagined.

  “Your turn,” he said holding out an apple to me.

  “No, Mr. Trevelyan. I must say, you do that so well, I would just as soon watch you—”

  He plopped the apple in my hand. “Miss Lovell, surely a woman who had the wherewithal to apply for a teaching position with no credentials can muster up the courage to feed a gentle horse an apple.”

  I looked at the apple, then at him. I blinked several times, searching for anything to distract him. “Mr. Trevelyan, if you have any complaints about the proficiency or methodology of my performance as a teacher, please do tell—”

  “Miss Lovell, as of this moment I have none. Unfortunately, I am not as patient as Gunnlod and would greatly appreciate it if you would cease delaying.”

  He knew what I was up to. I drew a righteous breath, set to deny his charge. Then I met his amused gaze and exhaled in defeat.“Very well. If you have no wish to discuss—”

  “Miss Lovell.”

  I sighed. Holding my hand flat, with the apple on my palm, I extended my arm as far as I could. I thought my heart would leap from my chest as the horse swung her head my way. She parted her lips, revealing her huge teeth as she opened her mouth. My hand shook, my body shivered, and my breath caught in my throat, nearly strangling me.

  Then suddenly I felt myself encased in steady warmth as Benedict Trevelyan stepped in behind me and slid his hand beneath mine. “Easy now. If you jerk your hand away, you will frighten her.”

  Frighten her! What about me? I barely felt the horse nab the apple from my hand as my fear fell beneath the onslaught of new sensations Benedict Trevelyan brought. Just inches from my ear, the deepness of his voice and the heat of his breath reached inside me and set me afire. It was as if my body were a hearth and my unmentionables the dry kindling waiting for his spark. I was aware of every brush of his body through the fabric of my dress. I was aware of every breath he took and of every breath I couldn’t seem to draw. And everything that happened the other night flooded my mind. I remembered in every detail the contours of his chest beneath my fingertips, the heat of his maleness pressed to my softness, and the intensity of his gaze as he had stared at me in my nightgown.

  I grew light-headed. I’d been too nervous to eat this morning, had only picked at my food last night, and now t
he flood of sensations sweeping over me seemed to be carrying me away with them. Spots wavered before my eyes. My arms and legs became heavy with a tingling sensation. My blood rushed faster and roared a warning in my ears. “Mr. Trevelyan, I do believe that I am going to fai—”

  The last sensation I had before a dark fog filled my mind was that of strong arms wrapping around me, picking me up before I fell.

  I quickly recovered my senses and found myself ensconced in Benedict Trevelyan’s arms, my heart still thundering, my mind dazed. Heavens, the man had the most unprecedented effect upon me.

  He’d carried me to a bench inside the stables. The wall above us had various metal bits and leather reins neatly hanging from shiny hooks. Wooden structures draped with colorful blankets supported expensively carved saddles. I could smell lemon oil, hay, animal sweat, and earth. But stronger than any other scent around me was his scent. He stared at me, a deep frown furrowing his brow. I stared at him, taking in the shadow of his granite jaw, the curving softness of his lips, and the heated interest in his eyes.

  “Forgive me, Miss Lovell. I had no idea how deep-seated your fear was. Are you all right? Do I need to call the doctor?”

  Never in my life would I tell him that it wasn’t my fear of horses that had overwhelmed me. “No. No doctors. I am of the opinion that unless I am upon my deathbed, they are more apt to hinder than help. A cup of tea most often does more good.”

  His lips twitched, drawing my attention to them. “I see we are of the same opinion, then, but I swear by a properly aged brandy rather than tea. Since we have neither here, I suggest you rest a minute. You are quite flushed.”

  As he spoke, I found myself fascinated by the smoothness of his lips and the dip that split his chin. My fingers itched to feel the textures filling my vision—rough, silky, smooth, and warm.

  I didn’t think there was any part of him that wouldn’t be warm, very warm. No wonder I was flushed, and in a quandary, too. I didn’t know whether to embrace the fact that I had fainted—for otherwise I don’t think I would have ever known how heavenly it felt to be held by him—or to be appalled, a reaction that would have been instinctive two weeks ago. A few short weeks ago, I would have found the notion that a man could make me faint laughable.

  “Somehow, Miss Lovell, you have managed to attract a piece of hay.” He reached up and brushed his fingers through the wisps of hair just behind my ear. His action brought to mind the words he spoke to Gunnlod as I stood outside the stable. You are greedy for affection this morning, aren’t you? You love being stroked, love the feel of my hand upon your neck.

  “Yes,” I whispered to the voice in my mind.

  His eyes dilated, his breath rasped, and I bit my lip to keep myself from whispering yes again.

  “Careful,” he said.“You will hurt yourself, you… should not… do that.” He brushed his finger over my lip, soothing my bite. I gasped as a lightninglike bolt of pleasure struck me deep inside. I freed my lip, and he bent his head toward mine. I knew with a shock that he would kiss me. My lips parted. My breath caught. Then his warm, supple lips touched mine, briefly, fleetingly, as if it were something not quite real. Indeed, were it not for the strength of his hands digging into my arm and leg where he gripped me, I would have thought I had imagined it.

  He stared at me, his face but inches from mine, his eyes so intense and black that I was but seconds from drowning within them. He appeared flushed and quite shocked as well.

  I could not possibly allow myself to faint again. Yet that dizzy sensation seemed determined to render me senseless again. Practicality saved me, or ruined me—I was not sure which—for when I tried to sit up, he helped me do so, then quickly moved away from me. I immediately felt the loss of his body next to mine. He looked at me, then began to pace as stiffly as the granite his eyes and fisted hands had become.

  Had I thought everything about him warm? He seemed cold now, as if winter had suddenly rushed in and covered him with frost.

  “Miss Lovell, I fear I have taken horrible advantage of your weakened state. I understand if you wish to leave my employ.”

  His words sparked my anger. I jumped up from the bench, steadying myself. “Are you terminating my employment, Mr. Trevelyan?”

  “No, but I understand should you wish to. I should not have kissed you—”

  “Let me be perfectly clear about this matter. If and when I have no use for you as an employer, you shall hear those words directly from me.”

  His eyes widened as he realized that I’d used—almost exactly—the words he had said to me in his office Friday afternoon.

  Some people are given to misinterpreting the actions of others, led astray by the intricacy of their thoughts. Apparently, Benedict Trevelyan and I were two such people. Just so he would have no doubt that as an employer and as a man he had in no way taken advantage of me, I let him know exactly what I thought about the situation.

  “I am insulted that you think me such a ninny. I assure you, Mr. Trevelyan, that had I found your kiss repulsive, I am intelligent enough to say no. Why, I am even capable of protecting myself in certain situations. I can shoot straight and know all men are vulnerable if you know where to strike. Besides, I cannot say that you really did kiss me. I hardly felt your lips upon mine.”

  Turning on my heel, I marched from the stable, barely restraining myself from kicking at the hay. I had always known I wasn’t a woman who incited passion; but I suppose in my secret dreams, I hoped that should I ever be kissed, the man would have felt something more than guilt. I expected that when the grand event happened, there’d be no question in my mind that I had been kissed either. Shouldn’t it have been like I felt before swooning, instead of a frustrating feather of a promise?

  When I reached my room, I determined I wasn’t fit company for anyone and spent the rest of my leisure time with my sketchbook. I could not decide if I wanted Benedict Trevelyan to kiss me again or not. Sitting on the cushioned seat beneath the window, I drew until the lowering of the afternoon sun and the tolling of the grandfather clock told me that my first day and a half of freedom had ended. The picture I had drawn of Benedict was the best I had ever done. I drew him at the helm of a ship amid a raging storm, his hair wildly blowing, his dark eyes daring and determined, his muscled limbs and torso bursting with energy. Every stroke I had drawn held a sensual longing that was made readily apparent in the miniature picture I had sketched in an upper corner—that of Benedict kissing me as if I were the only woman in the world for him.

  Heat fanned my cheeks, and I nearly ripped the picture from my pad, but I couldn’t. So I gathered a good dose of my practicality and ignored the portrait and my spinsterish musings. Though I might entertain in my dreams a kiss from a man such as Benedict, such things had no business in reality. His kiss in the stables was but a brief incident of intimacy brought on by my foolish behavior. Fainting, indeed. Why, I was shamed on behalf of my stout constitution and issued myself a stern lecture. After that, I busied myself planning the lessons for the next day over several cups of bolstering tea before changing for dinner.

  Last night it had only been Benedict Trevelyan, Stephen Trevelyan, and Constance Ortega at dinner. Both Mrs. Trevelyan and Katherine Trevelyan had sent their excuses, something I had almost done after finding my new belongings tossed to the floor, but then I decided to present a calm, unruffled facade to Mrs. Trevelyan’s chicanery.

  And tonight I would do the same, only this time it was because of Benedict Trevelyan. He’d mentioned at dinner last night that he would be traveling frequently over the next few weeks, and fool that I was, I didn’t want to miss seeing him.

  As I left my room, I again felt as if I was being watched. It was a most exasperating situation. Though no one stood in the hall and all doors appeared shut, I decided to confront whoever was spying on me.

  I turned in a pirouette, holding my dress out prettily. “Don’t you like this? It is so comforting to know that you are watching over me. I give you my thanks.” The
n I curtsied and started walking primly down the corridor, but then decided to go one step further. I swung back around and began opening every door all the way down the hall. There were nine other rooms besides the schoolroom, the nursery, and mine, and only one of them was locked— the door to Nurse Maria’s. The rest of the rooms were neatly turned out and apparently unoccupied. I decided that I had a good idea who my watcher was. Having settled that matter, I headed downstairs, feeling rather triumphant.

  Entering into the parlor adjoining the dining room, I met Benedict Trevelyan’s gaze first. He stood across the room, one elbow on the mantel and an uncustomary drink in his hand. It looked suspiciously like brandy. He gave the appearance of being relaxed, but I felt an undercurrent of wariness from him.

  My lips twitched as I recalled that he’d substitute a brandy for a doctor. It would seem he was in the need of bolstering, too. Our gazes held for a moment longer than usual, but his manner toward me didn’t change. “You look lovely tonight, Miss Lovell.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Trevelyan,” I said, slipping farther into the room, feeling confident in a cornflower muslin gown with sprigs of white lace adorning its modest neckline and sleeves. “I find this shade of blue perfect for a summer evening.”

  He visibly relaxed. Apparently my response eased him from the eggshell on which he’d perched. “It suits you,” he said.“Would you care for sherry?”

  I glanced at his brandy. “No, thank you. I had tea earlier. Several cups of it.”