by Cheryl Holt
She was aghast. “You really expect I could act like that?”
“I haven’t quite worked it out in my head, but in my experience, humans can be very corrupt.”
“What a sad, sad world you live in.” She waved a hand over her person. “Take a good look at me, Mr. Dunn. Do I appear to be the type of female who would utter bogus assertions and cheat unsuspecting fools?”
“Again, Miss Watson, in my view, people are capable of any nefarious conduct. Especially women.”
She pulled herself up to her full height, but it was very short next to him. “I’ll have you know that my father was Sir Walford Watson.”
“The hero of the India Fighting Forty-Second? Is that what you’re claiming?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, the very one.”
He scrutinized her, then laughed. “He was not.”
“He was, and I am affronted that you possess such a despicable opinion about me. We’re barely acquainted, yet you constantly insult and offend.”
“It’s your own fault, Miss Watson. You simply bring out the worst in me.”
“Go away, Mr. Dunn.” She made a shooing motion with her fingers. “Go into your castle and drink ale with your rude relatives. I’m certain there must be something at which you’re proficient, and that’s probably it.”
He tsked with irritation. “You’re such a sassy little tart, but you shouldn’t boss me. I don’t like it.”
“I’m not sassy, and I’m not bossing you. I am incensed! Will you please leave?”
“No. I’m enjoying myself out here. You’re incredibly entertaining.”
“If you won’t leave, then I will. I’ve had enough fresh air for one evening.”
She tried to skirt by him, but oaf that he was, he blocked her in.
“Move,” she fumed.
“No.”
“Move!”
She placed her palms on his chest and shoved him, but his torso was hard as a rock. He had the audacity to clasp hold of her wrists as if to push her away, and for the briefest instant, they froze. With him touching her, the sensation was so shocking that it seemed as if sparks had ignited.
She yanked away, but lost her balance, and he leapt to grab her. Suddenly, they were pressed tight, their bodies crushed together all the way down. She could feel every inch of his anatomy, his broad chest, his strong arms, his thin waist, and muscular legs.
The intimate positioning was seductive, and she was suffering from a wrenching desire to wrap herself around him, to beg him to keep her, to help her, to save her. He had sturdy shoulders, the kind a woman could lean on when she was in trouble, and Winnie was definitely in trouble.
But she quickly grasped her folly. So did he, and they drew apart.
“Pardon me, Miss Watson,” he murmured. “Are you steady now?”
“Yes, I’m very steady.” But her pulse was racing, her knees weak. She was overcome as the flightiest debutante.
“Why don’t you head inside?” he said.
“I believe I will. If you’ll let me by?”
“Oh. Of course.”
He finally stepped away, and she scooted past him. At the stairs, she peered back, and it occurred to her that she couldn’t bear to have the conversation end.
The moon was rising behind him, painting him in silvery shades so he looked ghostly and ethereal. To her great aggravation, he’d turned away from her and was facing the sea—as if he’d already forgotten about her.
She never liked to be ignored, and she called to him. “We’re not finished discussing this.”
“Discussing what?” he asked, but he didn’t glance at her.
“Your sister, Rebecca, and her daughter, Jane Prescott.”
“You never stop nagging, do you, Miss Watson?”
“I’m not nagging. I have important things to tell you. I don’t babble for no apparent reason.”
He frowned over his shoulder at her then, and his eyes were shimmering, reflecting the moon. “When I told Ellen you could stay, I figured you’d wind up being a huge pain in my ass. Was I right?”
“Don’t be crude, and don’t use foul language in my presence.”
He scoffed. “I was right. You’re a pain in my ass, and you haven’t been here a full day.”
“Don’t make us depart tomorrow.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“We don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Whose fault is that? Not mine surely.”
“We just need some assistance, Mr. Dunn. I’m a woman who’s all alone in the world, and I have two children to keep safe. I’m begging you to show us some mercy.”
“Don’t beg. It’s the worst way to garner my attention. I don’t respond to emotional entreaties. They don’t work on me.”
“What does work?”
“In my humble opinion, women only have one thing to offer that interests me in the slightest.”
She’d once been engaged to be married, so she wasn’t exactly an innocent. Still though, it took her a moment to recognize it as a salacious comment. His hot gaze wandered down her torso, and his lurid attitude set her temper on fire.
She gasped with outrage. “Was that a…a…lewd proposition?”
“No. You generate no lewd thoughts in me at all. You’d talk me to death before I could have any fun with you.” He pointed to the stairs. “Please head inside, Miss Watson, for if you don’t, I might have to take drastic measures in order to shut you up.”
“You would not,” she muttered.
“Don’t pretend you can read my mind and guess my behavior.”
“Then don’t pretend to be a fiend.”
“It’s my castle,” he said, “and you know the old adage about a man’s castle.”
“It’s his home?”
“I’m glad you noticed. Now go!”
He barked out the last, as if she were a soldier serving under his command. She jumped and scurried away like a frightened rabbit—which she hated.
She never let anyone get the upper hand, never let anyone think they were smarter or more superior. Her breeding, education, and bloodlines could match most any person in England, and she deemed all men to be idiots. She never permitted them to bully her.
She reached solid ground, and as she huffed through the courtyard, she devised a dozen pithy insults she could have hurled to put him in his place. He was the most obstinate, inflexible male she’d ever met, and considering some of the dolts who’d crossed her path, that was really saying something.
At the door into the main hall, she halted and whirled around. For a wild instant, she truly supposed she might march out and continue their invigorating quarrel. But when she looked up to the spot where they’d been standing, he was no longer there. He’d walked on, providing proof that she must have bored him silly.
The realization left her oddly deflated. She whipped away and acted as if she hadn’t glanced back.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Where are you going?”
“Into the village.”
Melvina glared at her daughter, Ellen, wishing she could make her obey simply by flashing a stern look, but she’d never been able to coerce Ellen on any issue.
“Which village?” Melvina’s tone was ominous. “To Dunn? Or Dunworthy?”
“Dunworthy.”
Dunn village was located on the island. It was a small community of cousins, mostly fishermen and smugglers. Dunworthy was the town across the water. It was bigger, with a larger harbor and more commerce.
“You’re spending an awful lot of time over in Dunworthy,” she complained.
“So?”
“You have chores here.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, you might not have chores, but it’s not appropriate for you to be away from home so much.”
“Yes, Mother, I should be like you. I should lock myself in this dreary castle and never set foot outside.”
“I
set foot outside constantly. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I have friends to see and things to do.”
“What friends? What things?” Melvina demanded.
“Nothing and no one that would interest you at all.”
They were in the main hall, and Melvina was sitting in her favorite chair by the fire. Breakfast was over, and it had been disgusting. She should have marched down to the kitchen and scolded the cooks, but they never listened to her, and they never improved, so what was the point?
The hall was still full of malingerers. Most of the men had left for their fishing boats, but the women and children were loafing, acting as if they had no responsibilities that required tending. They were taking furtive glances at Melvina and Ellen, and Melvina kept her expression carefully blank, not eager to have them realize she and Ellen were quarreling again.
Of course Ellen ruined the charade by flouncing off in a dramatic huff, and Melvina gnashed her teeth.
She and Ellen were very different, so they were always at odds. Melvina had been happy growing up at Dunworthy, and her dreams had never extended beyond the castle walls. In their tiny part of the globe, the most important person was the lord of the island. As a girl, it had been her cousin, Duncan Dunn, and she’d been fortunate enough to snag him for her own.
Ellen didn’t value Melvina’s exalted position. She thought the castle was an ordinary place, a boring and decrepit place she was anxious to escape.
They’d been fighting for ages, ever since Ellen had learned there was such a thing as boarding school. She had her Uncle John’s wanderlust, and she refused to accept that females weren’t allowed his sort of freedom.
A woman’s role was to marry, birth babies, and please her husband, but Ellen didn’t understand the satisfaction of that type of normal existence.
What did she expect instead?
Three cousins had already approached Melvina to ask for Ellen’s hand, but Ellen had laughed at all of them. She insisted she would hold out for a dashing prince who would carry her away from Dunworthy, but where would she find such a remarkable specimen?
“Mother!”
Her other child, Huntly, blustered up, and with how he addressed her, she bristled with temper.
“Excuse me, Huntly, but what did you say?”
He halted and reddened with embarrassment. “May I speak with you, Melvina?”
He was never permitted to call her mother, but he was such a dunce that he always forgot.
He was ten, a fat, lumbering, and stupid boy who aggravated her with his whiny ways. He’d been born more than a year after Duncan had died, the result of a quick romp with a visitor who’d been traveling through the area. If Ellen needed any evidence of the dangers of fraternizing with outsiders, Huntly was the proof.
Melvina had hidden her condition until the very end, and initially, she’d hoped to pretend Huntly was Duncan’s son and heir, but people had snickered and mocked her, so it had been impossible to pass him off as the new Lord Dunn.
She was morally inclined, so she would never confess to having a babe out of wedlock. She claimed he was an orphaned cousin sent to live at Dunworthy, and she’d forced everyone else to embrace the lie too. Anyone who jeered at her behind her back was flogged and cast out.
She wondered if John had heard the rumors about Huntly’s parentage, if he was upset about them. Might it be the reason he hadn’t proposed? So far, he hadn’t mentioned marriage, but it was their time-honored tradition that a man wed his brother’s widow.
She’d like to raise the subject with him, but she had no idea how. And with Huntly being such an idiot, it might scare John into thinking—should they have a son together—he would turn out to be just as unpleasant and incompetent.
“What is it, Huntly?” She could barely conceal her irritation at being interrupted.
“I’ve been trying to be friendly with Bobby Prescott, but I can’t be.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve explained that I am the leader of the children in the castle. I get to pick the games we play, but he says he doesn’t have to listen to me.”
“Ignore him.”
“Could you talk to him? Could you tell him he has to obey me?”
Melvina couldn’t figure out how she’d produced such hideous offspring. She’d admit to not having many maternal tendencies, so she hadn’t exactly doted on them, but she was beautiful, smart, and cunning. Yet her daughter was a disrespectful shrew and her son was a trembling coward. How could that be?
“No, I can’t help you,” she snapped. “Buck up and show him who’s in charge or head to your room and play by yourself.”
She shoved him away, and he trudged off without argument. Then she relaxed in her chair, watching Bobby and Jane Prescott with a jaundiced eye. She didn’t care about Bobby and didn’t like to have him on the premises. He was a handsome, vibrant, and captivating boy who was instantly adored by others.
Gradually, he would start being compared to Huntly and the other Dunn boys who lived on the island, and it wasn’t a comparison that anyone would want made.
She was determined to be rid of him, just as she was determined to be rid of Miss Watson. Both of them were reminders that there was a bigger world out there, that it was full of educated, fascinating inhabitants. Ultimately, it would stir jealously and covetousness, and they weren’t emotions that should be swirling.
Melvina, herself, was quite jealous of Miss Watson. The gorgeous, chic creature posed a danger to Melvina’s happiness. Miss Watson could tempt a blind man, and John wasn’t blind, so she had to go—just as soon as Melvina could send her packing.
It was Jane Prescott who needed to stay.
Melvina hadn’t disclosed it to a single soul, but she had received the letters from Miss Watson and the Benton estate agent, Mr. Slater, where they’d implored John to permit Jane to come to Dunworthy. Melvina hadn’t replied to the annoying missives. It had all happened before John had returned home, wounded and disgraced, after being kicked out of the army.
Their plaintive requests had scarcely registered with Melvina, and she’d certainly never believed the girl would simply arrive with no warning or notice. Jane was Rebecca’s daughter, and Rebecca—it seemed—was a secret whore rather than the saint her deranged mother had always painted her to be.
It dawned on Melvina that she and Rebecca had committed the same sin of illicit fornication. If Rebecca was a whore, what did that make Melvina?
The question was easy to answer. By copulating with a stranger, Melvina had been trying to birth a son and heir who would have cemented her position at Dunworthy, which was a lofty goal. What had Rebecca been doing?
Miss Watson entered the hall, and she strolled over to Jane and Bobby. She conferred with them, then continued on. She was wearing her shawl and bonnet, so she was probably taking a walk.
How long would John let her tarry? How much hospitality was warranted?
With her out of the castle, Jane would be alone for a bit, and it was a benefit for Melvina. Jane was a bastard daughter, but she was an earl’s bastard daughter. Might she have a trust fund? Might she have an allowance? Was there a fat dowry tucked away somewhere?
It was worth finding out, and if she controlled the girl, she would control the money.
She smirked with resolve. She and Jane had to become fast friends, and there was no better time to begin than the present.
* * * *
“How was London?” John asked.
“Cold, gray, and rainy—as usual.”
John flashed a weary smile at Freddie Townsend, and Freddie smiled too, feeling relieved. Anymore, he was never sure where he stood with John, and he was constantly struggling to ingratiate himself again.
They’d always been best chums, best mates. From the day they’d met at boarding school when they were ten, they’d been thick as thieves, but Freddie’s recent antics—where John had been unwittingly swept into the center—had po
ked a hole in their bond that he was desperate to mend.
Their relationship had been fraught with relentless problems, and it was all Freddie’s fault. He was a dodgy, unreliable fellow, and he openly admitted it. He blamed his lack of moral fiber on his father who’d been a gambler and wastrel.
He’d sired five boys without having the fiscal means to help any of them get established as adults, so they’d had to scrape and scrounge just to survive.
Freddie’s oldest brother, Charles, had attended university before all their wealth was squandered, so he was a lawyer in London, but he was the only one who’d landed himself a professional career. The rest of them were a lost cause.
When John was such a remarkable individual—tough, strong, and decent—it went against the laws of nature that he would have remained close to Freddie. But John was very loyal, very fierce in his defense of any underdog, as Freddie had been all his life.
Freddie was brilliant and had stupendous ideas, but he was cursed with ill-fortune. John had rescued him, had bailed him out of jail, had paid his debts, had chased off bill collectors, had pummeled bullies.
Yet with his latest debacle so fresh in their minds, their connection had shifted. John wasn’t quite as amused by Freddie as he used to be. He wasn’t quite so indulgent or sympathetic, and Freddie was walking on eggshells. The slightest wrong comment might wreck them forever.
“You won’t believe what I learned in the city,” he said.
“What?” John asked.
“My brother, Thompson, is engaged.”
John’s jaw dropped. “Engaged…to be married?”
“Yes. Isn’t it shocking?”
“Who is the lucky girl? Or knowing your brother, should I say the unlucky girl?”
“Her name is Maud Bates.”
“I assume she has some money.”
“Of course. And a house and a dowry.”
“Why didn’t you snap her up instead?” John said. “How did Thompson jump in line in front of you?”
“Charles arranged it. He’s Miss Bates’s lawyer, and after he realized the extent of her assets, he insisted Thompson propose immediately. I never had a chance at her.”
