by Cheryl Holt
“I like it very much.”
“It’s quite decadent, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s extremely decadent.”
“I’m amazed to find you using it. I would have predicted it’s a tad too debauched for you.”
“I’m trying to fit in. All of the other women bathe here, so I figured I should too. I’ll seem like less of a stranger.”
“You are trying to fit in at Dunworthy Castle. You are trying to make a spot for yourself with my cousins?”
“Don’t look so astonished.”
He stared at her, his gaze potent and meticulous. “You’ll never fit in.”
She scowled. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because, Winnie Watson, you are utterly extraordinary, and everyone at Dunworthy is absolutely ordinary. How could you ever become one of them?”
It was such a lovely statement that she smiled. “You think I’m extraordinary?”
“Yes. I haven’t had any complaints about you recently, but I can’t imagine you’ve been idle. What hornet’s nest will you stir next? Can you give me some warning so I’m not caught off guard?”
“I thought I’d have your office cleaned and straightened. Or maybe I could work on the main hall?”
“How about if you begin with my office? It will ruffle fewer feathers.”
“I don’t care if I ruffle feathers,” she said. “Your kin are rude and lazy, and they don’t have your best interests at heart.”
“I realize that, but we don’t have to deliberately antagonize them, do we?”
“I don’t know how else to proceed—except to bluster forward.”
“I’ve noted that about you.”
Suddenly, he shoved himself out of the corner, and he surged through the water so he ended up right beside her. He yanked a comb from her hair, which was annoying. She hadn’t been keen to get it wet, so she’d pinned it up in a haphazard fashion that wasn’t solid.
His removing the one comb caused the others to let go, the lengthy tresses drooping, and she grabbed his wrist to deter him before he could wreak even more damage.
“Stop that,” she demanded.
“I want to see you with your hair down.”
“Well, I don’t want you to see it that way.”
“Too late, Winnie.”
She pushed him away, and as she did, she noticed his knuckles were cut and bruised.
“What happened to your hand?” she asked.
He studied the appendage as if he hadn’t previously detected any injuries.
“It’s nothing,” he insisted.
“It’s not nothing,” she protested. “How did you hurt yourself? You must have been fighting.”
“I wouldn’t call it fighting precisely.”
“What would you call it?”
“Inflicting necessary punishment on someone who deserved it?”
“Who deserved it?”
“The cook and his assistant who you chased out of my kitchen.”
“You pummeled them?”
“Yes,” he said, as if that sort of behavior was perfectly normal.
“I didn’t expect you to beat them for me.”
“It didn’t have anything to do with you. It’s our tradition. They shamed me and disgraced themselves, so they had to pay the price.”
“Are they all right?”
He shrugged. “They will be in a few days.”
Her jaw dropped in shock, and she wasn’t sure how to view the situation. She’d grown up as the only child of a famous, important gentleman whose acquaintances had been famous and important too. If they’d had disagreements, they verbally argued. They’d never brawled. They’d never resolved their differences with fisticuffs.
In her world, violence was frowned upon and considered the type of conduct engaged in by the lower classes, so she was fascinated and disturbed in equal measure.
She held both of his hands and scrutinized them. He was embarrassed by her determined assessment, and he jerked away.
“I’m fine,” he groused.
“You don’t look fine to me.”
“My wound is bothering me much more.”
“What wound?”
“From the duel I fought? The one that got me kicked out of the army?”
“You were wounded?”
“Yes.” He scowled. “I thought you knew.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It aches a bit, and it saps my energy and makes me surly.”
“Where is it located? Can you show me?”
“Yes.”
He pointed to the side of his chest, just under his shoulder. A nasty scar was visible that she hadn’t noted prior, and she gaped at it with no small amount of consternation.
“It’s so near to your heart,” she murmured. “You could have been killed.”
“It wasn’t quite that dire, but it was bad enough.”
“You’re a master of understatement.”
“It took me an eternity to recover, and my shoulder is still a mess. My doctor has warned me that it won’t ever completely heal, but luckily, it hasn’t affected me as much as it might have.”
“My goodness.”
“The hot water in this pool helps to ease the pain, and the elders around Dunworthy have always insisted the spring has magical curative powers. I soak as often as I can.”
“And I interrupted your private moment.”
“I don’t care that you interrupted.”
Without pausing to consider, she reached out and laid her hand over the scar. The edges were rough and jagged, a glaring reminder that male lives could be dangerous and hard. She wished she could wipe away the signs of what had happened to him, that she could lift her palm and his skin would once again be smooth and unblemished.
The interval grew incredibly intimate. They were frozen in place, their gazes locked. Ultimately, he closed the distance between them and kissed her. She’d like to claim she was surprised, but she wasn’t. She’d been betrothed in the past, so she knew how a man appeared when he was contemplating amour.
The kiss was very sweet, very dear. He simply brushed his lips to hers, then pulled away.
She smiled at him and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yes, I should have.”
“We’re not loafing in your hot springs pool and misbehaving.”
“I should have kissed you the day I met you.”
“We could barely speak civilly then. I don’t believe kissing ever occurred to you.”
“I’m a man. It’s all I think about.” Abruptly, he said, “I want to do it again. I want to do it all night.”
“We shouldn’t—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he dipped in and proceeded. This second embrace was nothing like the first. Where the first one had been chaste and innocent, this one was slow, sultry, and very, very decadent.
His tongue was in her mouth, his hand in her hair. He dragged her off the bench and shifted her onto his lap, so her torso was wedged between his thighs, her breasts pressed to his chest.
Their bodies were wet and slippery, and she should have yanked away and run off, but the pathetic fact was that she was thrilled and delighted. He was handsome, dashing, and intriguing. What woman wouldn’t love to be with him like this?
He kissed her lusciously, thoroughly, deliciously. He kissed her methodically, meticulously, scrupulously. He kept on and on and on until she worried she might faint from being so overwhelmed.
She couldn’t guess how long they continued, but it was long enough that the torches burned out and the flame on her lamp began to wane. He finally noticed and drew away.
“You’re quite good at this, Miss Watson,” he said. “You must have had some practice.”
“Maybe I have and maybe I haven’t,” she retorted.
“I also suspect you like me more than you should.”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.�
��
He laughed and nodded to where her towel and clothes were folded into a neat pile. “Why don’t you head out first?”
“I can’t climb out while you’re watching.”
“Why not?”
“My undergarments are drenched. It would be extremely indecent for you to see me.”
“I’ll shut my eyes, and I swear I won’t peek.”
“I don’t believe you, so you should leave before me.”
“No. It’s late, and I can’t allow you to tarry by yourself.”
He lifted her off his lap and pitched her out into the water. She fumbled around, nearly panicked, then remembered it wasn’t deep. She steadied herself on her knees, and she studied him, absorbing every detail, deciding he looked like a lazy, imperious king.
She couldn’t bear to part from him. The prior time they’d socialized had been at their supper, then she hadn’t talked to him for several days. What if he got tired of her and requested she depart? Then she’d never be with him like this again, and the prospect left her sad and frightened.
“Could we dine together tomorrow?” she asked before she could convince herself not to.
“I’ll think about it.”
“I have a thousand ideas on how we can improve the castle so you’re more comfortable. I should tell you about my plans.”
“You’re so full of energy and vigor. It exhausts me.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re glad I’m here.”
“I’m not about to admit it.” He gestured to her clothes. “Go now. I’m weary, and I’m anxious to fall into bed, but I can’t leave until you do.”
“We shouldn’t have dallied like this,” she felt compelled to say, then she grinned. “But I’m not sorry.”
He grinned too. “Neither am I.”
He pushed away from the edge and surged over to her. He kissed her yet again, and it was desperate and determined, as if he was afraid he’d never have another chance.
“You have to go, Winnie,” he told her, “or I can’t be responsible for my actions.”
“What might you do?” She evaluated him and observed an inferno of masculine desire that tickled her innards and set her pulse to racing. “Oh. I understand.”
“As you are Miss Watson and not a Mrs., I don’t imagine you could possibly comprehend what I’m pondering, but I’m at the limit of what I can tolerate with you.”
“Tell me you mean that in a good way.”
“I mean it in a very good, very dangerous way.”
He touched a finger to the tip of her nose, then he shoved her to the stairs. He spun away and faced the far wall of the grotto, giving her the privacy she needed to climb out.
Her chemise and drawers were soaked, but she wasn’t about to strip them off and put on the dry ones she’d brought. She patted a towel over her arms and legs, then tugged on her dress. She peered over for a final glimpse of him, and she was irked to discover that he’d sneakily spied on her.
His gaze brimmed with a new intensity, and while she’d never viewed herself as the type of female who could drive a man wild with lust, it was clear there had been a sudden shift in their relationship.
“You wretch!” she scolded. “You peeked—when you swore you wouldn’t.”
“It was worth it.” He stood, water dripping off his shoulders and chest. “Get back in here.”
“No, I can’t. Not now.”
“Come!” he said more sternly.
“No,” she repeated.
He started toward her, as if he’d grab her and drag her in. She blanched with alarm, scooped up her things, and flitted away. She ran to her room without stopping, but with every step, she glanced behind her, terrified he might have chased after her, but being horribly disappointed to realize he hadn’t bothered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What is your opinion of Lord John?”
Bobby looked over at Jane and shrugged. “He’s all right I guess.”
“I like him,” Jane said. “Why don’t you?”
“He’s too much like our Uncle Peyton.”
“In what way?”
“First off, he was a soldier, so he likes to bark orders and have them obeyed.”
“True.”
“And second, he doesn’t care about anything that matters.”
Jane scowled. “Why would you say that?”
“The castle is falling apart, and the servants are lazy and inattentive. If I was lord and master here, I’d have all of them whipped.”
“You would not,” she scoffed.
“I would.”
It was a great frustration for him that he wasn’t his father’s legitimate son. The man had sired two daughters with his lawful wife. If he’d been able to marry Bobby’s mother—if the cad hadn’t already been married—Bobby would be Earl of Benton now. The fact that he wasn’t was stupid and unfair.
When his father had died, he should have inherited Benton. He’d have been in charge and in control, and he’d have evicted the estate agent, Mr. Slater, who’d been so cruel to them.
He’d have forced everyone else to leave too, then he’d have moved into the manor where he belonged. He’d have kept Miss Watson and Jane there with him. He’d have kept their half-sister, Daisy, with them too.
Her aunt had taken her away from Benton, and the woman had claimed they might be allowed to visit Daisy someday, but adults were mostly liars. He doubted they’d ever see Daisy again.
“Lord John can’t help it if the servants are lazy,” Jane said. “They’re all his cousins. It’s difficult for a person to make his relatives behave.”
“He could if he wanted to. Uncle Peyton was exactly the same. He just floated through life, and he pretended he’d be kind to us, but he wasn’t.”
It was a galling admission, probably the worst one he’d had to swallow in the months of tragedy and strife they’d endured.
Their Uncle Peyton, whom they’d never previously met, had been home on furlough from the navy. When they’d finally been introduced to him, he’d seemed wonderful, but in the end, he’d been as horrid as Bobby’s father. He’d promised they could remain at Benton, but the minute they were less anxious, he’d had Mr. Slater kick them out.
“Can I tell you a secret?’ Jane asked.
“Don’t you always?”
“I think Lord John is sweet on Miss Watson.”
“Why would you think that?”
“He stares at her constantly.”
“He’s not sweet on her. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I hope they get married. Then we could stay at Dunworthy. You and I would be safe, and Miss Watson would be safe too.”
“Why would you want to stay here? It’s awful.”
“It’s better than camping in a ditch.”
“You shouldn’t forget where we came from,” Bobby firmly stated. “You shouldn’t forget who we are. We don’t deserve to live like this.”
“How do we deserve to live, Bobby? Stop being such a pompous idiot.”
She flounced off and raced up the trail that led to the castle, and he blew out a heavy breath.
They’d walked to Dunn village to watch the fishermen cast off in their boats. Several of them had called to Bobby, inviting him to jump aboard and pitch in, but he hadn’t, and he supposed he should have.
Because he’d grown up at Benton, he’d developed a sense of entitlement. He thought he was special. He thought he was above everyone, particularly the slothful peasants who populated Dunworthy Island.
It should have been recognized by all that it was beneath him to work side by side with the servants, but why would he believe that? As he’d been informed his whole life at Benton, he was naught but his father’s bastard, and his presence reminded people of his father’s immoral character.
Perhaps it was time to lower his standards. On Dunworthy, he was simply one more mouth to feed, and so far, he hadn’t been earning his keep.
He felt a weighty responsibility to Miss Watson and Jane. Jane was his sister, so his duty to her was clear, but Miss Watson was all alone in the world. For the prior three years, she’d lived with them in their cottage at Benton. It had begun to seem as if she was another sibling who needed his protection.
She was smart and highly educated, but she didn’t know how to take care of herself, and Bobby had appointed himself as her champion.
Lord John couldn’t toss them out of Dunworthy. Bobby was only twelve, and if they had to depart, he couldn’t support Jane and Miss Watson. Maybe he should learn to fish so Lord John would realize he was chipping in.
Jane was upset, which he hated. Other than his half-sister, Daisy, Jane was his sole kin, and he couldn’t bear to quarrel with her. He proceeded to the castle too, determined to locate her and apologize.
He hurried across the drawbridge and as he entered the courtyard, Jane was over by the door into the main hall. Doltish, stupid Huntly was blocking her way.
He was younger than they were, but he was a huge, hulking boy who used his large size to intimidate others. Ever since they’d arrived, he’d been bossing and scolding them.
There were numerous children with him, and they had Jane surrounded and were taunting her.
“Let me by, Huntly,” Jane was saying as Bobby approached.
“No. Not until you swear fealty to me,” the foolish cretin told her.
“I’m not swearing. It’s wrong.”
“This is my castle, and you’ll do as I command or you’ll leave.”
“This is Lord John’s castle. Not yours.”
She tried to skirt by him, but he grabbed her.
“You’re hurting my arm!” she complained. “Release me!”
“I won’t. Not until you listen.”
Bobby marched over and yanked Jane away from him.
“Don’t ever touch her,” Bobby said.
“Or what?” Huntly mulishly asked.
“Or you’ll answer to me.”
“Am I supposed to be afraid of you?”
“Yes.”
Huntly was taller than Bobby, and he probably weighed sixty pounds more. When he grabbed Jane again, Bobby couldn’t help himself. He punched Huntly as hard as he could, and Huntly dropped like a stone. His nose was bleeding, and he was screeching like a banshee, wailing over and over, “He hit me! He hit me!”
