The lamplight cast the hewn lines of his face into shadows made deeper by the stubble of his beard. His hair was rakishly tousled, and his skin gleamed with underlying power. His eyes burned so darkly that he brought the demon door to my mind. I realized then that I, as a fair maiden, hadn’t fled. I’d succumbed.
Leaning on one hand, he unbuttoned the top of his trousers, and I tensed, remembering the fullness of him I’d seen at his bath. Though I’d dreamed of him, I hadn’t imagined the joining of our flesh, hadn’t known this sensation of being vulnerable and invaded were part of the pleasure. I gasped, tensing as I realized what would happen next. Was I ready to know a man’s passion completely? Ready to fall completely to my ruin?
Benedict rolled off of me, groaning as in great pain. Covering my breasts, I sat up, unsteady from a strange dizziness. He must have sensed my tension, felt my question, my dilemma.
“Benedict?” I whispered, setting my hand upon his back.
He jerked from my touch, standing, but keeping his back toward me. His massive shoulders shook as he drew in deep breaths of air.
“Miss Lovell, life has taken many things from me. My honor, such as it is, I still call my own, although others do not. You must forgive me and forget this ever happened. You are a woman under my protection. I was wrong to ever kiss you. Wrong to ask you to come to me. And wrong to have awakened you in the mad hours after midnight. I can only claim temporary insanity to have allowed this to happen, for I have nothing but dishonor to offer a woman.” He spoke harshly, his words sounding like a storm-swelled wave crashing against the dark cliffs of the bay.
He left without a backward glance. Left me aching for the man who’d just spoken with such hopelessness. The smell of rain and his scent—sandalwood and leather— clung to me from his wet clothes. I sat for a long time amid the damp covers in my rain-wet gown, feeling the chill of the early hours of dawn steal around me. What had he meant? No honor but dishonor? What had happened that had put such hopeless pain in his voice? Only then did I recall Stephen’s inscription to Cesca, and anger filled me. What had they done?
And what had I done? I’d aroused the passions in a man that I could never openly love. And I was a woman who’d never accept a relationship out of wedlock. I knew what pain that brought. It was something my mother and I had had to bear every day that we lived.
I arose the next morning with the sniffles and a heaviness burdening my chest that declared Sunday wouldn’t be as bright and promising as the weather indicated. Benedict was a tortured man, and my inquisitiveness, this need I had to explore the sensations of his kiss, had only added to his pain. For surely I’d provoked him into our passionate encounter.
Yes, he’d kissed me, but I’d been taunting him by pacing around in my nightgown, and I had asked him to kiss me. And when he tried to bring a halt to the madness, I’d kissed him. I couldn’t let him bear the full responsibility. I decided to address this situation where it had all begun, in the stable. Benedict was wont to spend his early mornings there, and since the day saw fit to dispense with the nighttime rain and mete out a bit of sunshine amid the clouds, I knew I would find him there.
It was amazing what a difference a little time made, for I marched into the stable without even a thought for the horses housed inside. My mind was filled with Benedict, which had my stomach twisted in knots and my heart teetering on a precipice. For I knew what I had to say would seal my fate to forever remain a spinster, and a great part of me wasn’t happy with that decision. Indeed it was most miserable at the prospect of never again experiencing the incomparable pleasure he’d given me. But there was no other choice for either of us.
I saw him the moment my eyes adjusted to the dimness. He wore breeches, boots, and a shirt that seemed to cling to him as his rain-sodden clothes had—or my imagination had them doing so. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, leaving his strong, corded forearms bare as he worked, unaware of my arrival. The immense broadness of his shoulders moved with power and surety. He brushed Gunnlod with exquisitely long strokes and murmured softly to her.
My mouth went dry. Everything feminine within me throbbed as I recalled his strokes and whispers last night and the pleasure that followed. Never had I thought I’d envy a horse, but I did. Perhaps I was being too hasty in my decision to speak with Benedict. I’d driven him to passion once by my unseemly behavior; Surely I could do so again. One more kiss wouldn’t hurt…
A picture of Benedict’s face twisted with pain flooded my consciousness. No. I would own up to my responsibility, assure him that I understood the situation, and give him my word that I’d not entice him again. Dabbing at my nose with a handkerchief, I readied myself for the confrontation. I’d give him my solemn oath that what happened last night would never happen again.
“Benedict,” I croaked meekly, instead of speaking with the firm decisiveness necessary to my new resolve. He swung around to face me. The tired lines of a sleepless night made his stern expression harsher. I stepped hesitantly his way until I stood before him.“Might I speak with you on an important matter?”
My word, where had my determination run off to?
“Very well, Miss Lovell. I expected you would have no choice but to do so.” He sighed even as his body tensed, as if a heavy weight had dropped upon him.
I hesitated a second. It would seem we were back to our customary formality, which might be a good thing. What did he mean by no choice? “It, um, concerns …Master Justin’s upcoming birthday. I think it necessary for us to have a party for him. Making a child feel special, letting him know that he is valued, is essential to his self-worth. Also, there was a problem with their herb garden. We have replanted it, and our profits will be delayed, but a trip to a financial institution this week will give them something to look forward to while they wait for the new plants to grow. Do you have time in your schedule? Wednesday would be best, as they have music lessons on Tuesday and sign language instruction on Thursday.”
Benedict blinked. He drew a breath so deep that when he exhaled, the warmth of his breath washed over me, carrying with it a scent that reminded me of the taste of his kiss. My mouth watered.
He shook his head as if he’d been asleep. “Did you say a birthday party and a trip to town, Miss Lovell?”
I forced a smile to my lips.“Yes. If possible.”
“They are more than possible,” he said, staring oddly. “I consider myself blessed, Miss Lovell.”
Blessed? I wondered what he meant, but I couldn’t seem to formulate any thoughts. I could only return his stare. My lord, I had no idea that when I looked at Benedict this morning, I’d only be able to see him as he was last night— half naked and burning with passion. Did he see the same?
The same heat that scorched my cheeks flamed in his eyes.
Thank goodness Gunnlod intervened by nudging Benedict’s back. Apparently she wanted more of his caresses. I understood her completely.
“Tell me, Miss Lovell. Is it my imagination, or are you no longer terrified of this hoofed beast?” Benedict turned back to brushing his horse.
I watched his strong hands. Gunnlod seemed to quiver beneath his attention. I knew how she felt. “I must confess that I have developed a kinship with her.”
Benedict’s head snapped around.“Indeed? What brought about this miracle?”
Good Lord! Had I just admitted kinship to a horse? I straightened my spine; hopefully he wouldn’t guess at the true meaning behind my words. This would never do. “It was a practical decision,” I said, searching for an answer. “Based on her superior intelligence in her dealings with Odin, I have decided that Gunnlod isn’t a horse.”
My gaze settled on the broadness of Benedict’s back, and I had to fist my hands in the skirts of my dark green muslin dress, for my fingers itched to touch him.
Benedict stopped brushing and faced me. “Are you well this morning, Miss Lovell?”
I dabbed at my nose again. “Fairly well, Mr. Trevelyan, just a case of the sniffles.”
<
br /> “I meant mentally. If Gunnlod is not a horse, then what is she?”
“Why, a-a-a kindred spirit, Mr. Trevelyan,” I said, parroting the first thing that managed to penetrate the fog in my mind.
His lips twitched. “Excellent. Then you have no aversion to taking her for a ride this morning?”
“Me?” My voice barely peeped past my clogging throat.
“Yes, a quick turn about the training ring. We have just enough time before Justin and Robert are due for their lesson.”
The moment he said that Justin and Robert would soon be arriving, I knew my fate was sealed. Still, I tried to avert disaster.
“Why, you have just brushed her down. I am sure she’d rather relax in her stall than cart me about a circle.”
Benedict raised one eyebrow. “On the contrary. I think she would enjoy the company of your kindred spirit.” He handed me the brush, his fingers lightly touching my palm. The wood of the brush was warm with his heat, which flowed right to my unmentionables. “Finish brushing her while I ready up a sidesaddle.” He left, moving to the saddles.
I had two choices: throw down the brush and run as if my life depended on escaping, or stay just a little longer with Benedict. Perhaps if I were to gather my courage enough to sit a moment in the saddle, I’d find the strength to say what I’d come to say. Not that I didn’t need to speak with him about Justin’s birthday and the trip to the bank, but those issues weren’t as imperative as addressing last night’s events.
Gunnlod stood perfectly still. Slowly, I moved the brush to her side and gently stroked her. She smelled of hay, sunshine, and something more primal, something as alive and powerful as the heated muscles quivering beneath my touch. She reminded me of Benedict’s restrained strength, and my desire to soothe him doubled.
Before I realized it, Benedict had returned, and I’d brushed Gunnlod with more than just a stroke or two. It shocked me to find that my fear had abated like mists beneath the rays of the sun.
Setting down the brush, I stood aside as Benedict slid a blanket and padding on Gunnlod’s back, then hefted the sidesaddle in place with ease. Soon he had all the buckles adjusted and declared her ready to ride.
“Today, I will lift you into the saddle. We can work on having you mount another time. I just want you to get the feel of a horse beneath you. I think, Miss Lovell, that given your nature, once you have galloped with the wind, you will be addicted to the freedom.”
Before I had a chance to ask him what in my practical nature had misled him to think such a thing, he encircled my waist with his hands and lifted me from the ground.
“Oh,” I gasped, my hands settling on his shoulders for balance. I nearly sighed with the pleasure of touching him again. The sensations of being close to him, even under the pretense of a riding lesson, were too sweet to sour with a discussion of my unseemly behavior last night. I decided to enjoy Benedict’s touch for now and speak with him later. Perhaps the discussion would be more suited for the oppressiveness of his study.
He set me in the saddle and showed me where to hold on, which was a good thing. For had I not had something to anchor me, I would have fallen when he adjusted the stirrups. Having his hands under my skirt, guiding my boot into the leather straps, was nearly as intimate as a kiss.
“All set,” he said, stepping back. Upon the huge horse, I towered over Benedict, but the strangest thing happened. As he led me from the stable, I felt as if I were daintily small— a diminutive lady with a conquering knight. It wasn’t nearly as terrible as I thought it would be. The experience lifted my heart a little, as if I’d won a major battle that I hadn’t even known I was losing.
We made one trip around the training ring, and I’d just grown accustomed to the precariousness of my perch when Justin and Robert scrambled up, laughing and excited to see their governess upon a horse and asking to ride Cesca. The rest of the morning passed quickly as Benedict led Robert around on Cesca and then taught Justin how to use the reins. It was an easy time of laughter and fun, exactly what the children needed to share with their father.
We were just finishing up when Robert came and pulled on my skirt.“Miss Wovell, can we check for babies, yet?”
I took his hand. “Sprouts. I think it is too early yet, but we can go to the garden and see.”
“Jus, you want to come?”
“No,” Justin said, kicking the dirt in the training ring. “Somebody will just destroy it again.”
“They will not,” Robert cried, eyes and fists scrunching tight. I could see the thundercloud about to burst, and I rushed to stop it. I took hold of the back of Robert’s loose shirt.
“Wait!” I said, but they were too angry to hear.
Justin yelled back. “Will too. You just wait. They will destroy it again.”
“Will not,” Robert screamed. Pulling from my grip, he went flying at Justin with fists ready.
“What is this about?” Benedict boomed, snatching Robert up by the back of the lad’s pants.
Robert punched the air. “They killeded our babies, and Jus says they will do it again.”
“That is enough, young man.” Benedict set the boy firmly on the ground but held him captive by the steel of his authority. “Calm yourself,” Benedict said, squatting to Robert’s level. “The only place violent anger is acceptable is if someone is attempting to kill you. Otherwise you will learn to conduct yourself in a gentlemanly manner even in the face of difficulties. Do you understand me, son?”
Robert’s face fell, and tears flooded his eyes. “What if they killeded your babies? What would you do?” he asked his father.
Benedict, in the act of standing, froze. He set his hand on Robert’s shaking shoulders. “If anyone ever tried to hurt you or Justin, they would not live to see the next day.”
Benedict spoke with fierce sincerity. And even though I saw how his words reassured Robert, I still shivered at the deadly menace in Benedict’s voice. He was indeed capable of murder. And more frightening than that, I was, too, should I need to protect Robert or Justin. The crime of murder, it seemed, wasn’t based on any deep moral conviction, whereupon one could assure oneself of never committing that crime. Instead, it hinged on a primal part of oneself that could never be driven into extinction. Stephen was right; circumstances did mitigate the crime.
“Can you tell me the meaning of this outburst, Miss Lovell?” Benedict stood and pinned his direct gaze on me.
“Last Wednesday we found our herb garden destroyed.”
“Did a storm ruin it?”
“No. It had been deliberately vandalized.”
“Surely you must be mistaken. Perhaps a deer or a rabbit ate the plants.”
I shook my head. “And churned up all of the bordering rocks? The plants were not eaten, they had been dug up and left.”
“But who would do something so senseless, and why?”
I glanced at the boys. I didn’t want to say anything else in front of them. “Might we continue this discussion later, please?”
“Certainly. Be in my study an hour before dinner.”
Providence smiled on my plan to speak with Benedict about last night, and for the first time in my life I frowned back at it. I thought perhaps I’d take a brisk walk to town and see Mr. McGuire. Not only would I learn what he’d wanted to tell me yesterday, but I’d most probably clear my head and rediscover my determination. For once, the thought of going to see Mr. McGuire didn’t bring a smile to my lips. I’d much rather climb into my cloudy blue bed and pull the covers over my head and… feel Benedict’s touch all over again.
I was still frowning when I returned to my room a short while later, whereupon I discovered my things out of order, as if they’d been hastily searched. My gaze immediately located the book of poetry inscribed to Francesca. It thankfully was on the settee where I’d left it last night. After some thought, I decided that Benedict didn’t know of the book’s existence. It had most probably been placed on the shelf after Francesca’s death by a maid, and
had gone undetected since. I knew I couldn’t chance leaving it in my room again.
I was almost completely certain Stephen had given it to Francesca in a declaration of his love, but I wanted to know for sure. I wanted to look into Stephen’s eyes when I gave him the book. I wanted to know if a murderer lurked behind his laughing blue eyes. I’d have a note delivered to him, asking him to see me in the family’s sitting room on his floor.
Taking the book, I wrote a quick note and set about my mission. I passed Dobbs in the foyer, then turned around, deciding to settle a matter with him, too. He was studiously examining the furniture for dust.
“Mr. Dobbs, it is imperative that I speak to you about a certain matter.”
He turned, lifting his nose a tad.“Indeed, Miss Low-well. And what would that be?”
I ignored his deliberate name goading and went directly to the problem. “It has come to my attention that you are carrying tales like a pack of coyotes.”
His mouth gaped as far as his eyes popped. “Whatever are you babbling about?”
“I am speaking of telegraphed tales specifically. In the future, should you take umbrage with my conduct, I appreciate it if you would wait and discuss it with Mr. Trevelyan upon his return. To endanger his life by sending him an urgent telegraph, simply to strike out at me, is underhanded and unnecessary.”
Dobbs turned purple. “Miss Lovell. I determine what is necessary and what is not. How dare you infer that I am incompetent!”
“Not incompetent, Mr. Dobbs. Just crying wolf over a mere dog. Now, where will I find Mr. Stephen Trevelyan at this hour?”
I decided to deliver the note myself, by slipping it under Stephen’s door and then waiting for him in the family sitting room. Stephen’s rooms were located across the corridor from Katherine’s. I knew the way, yet the impropriety of what I was about to do had my nerves jumping. I shouldn’t be meddling in the Trevelyans’ affairs, and I knew the sooner I began conducting myself within the stiff strictures of my practicality, the better off I would be. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Benedict as he was last night. Torn by honor. In pain. And I couldn’t seem to keep myself removed from the fabric of the Trevelyans’ lives.
The Mistress of Trevelyan Page 21
