by Laura Landon
And it was all her fault. The first time his house guest looked at him, tears had run down her cheeks, the same as tears of fright escaped the eyes of every woman who saw his monstrously scarred features. Why should he expect her to be any different?
~■~
It had been more than a week since she’d seen Jonah Mason, Earl of Glassborough. Emma was glad. The longer he left her alone, the more peaceful her life was.
She only knew his name because the housekeeper, Mrs. Jefferies, had told her who he was. She’d also told her that his bark was worse than his bite, but Emma doubted that was true. She’d heard him bellow instructions to the servants in his deep, harsh tone.
At first she’d been frightened to death at the sound of his loud voice and abrasive tone. Yet, none of the servants seemed to mind. In fact, they entered her room each morning with smiles on their faces, giggling as if they considered their master’s bad mood a hilarious joke.
Emma tried to recall his physical features. Other than to remember how large he was and how broad his shoulders were, she had little memory of the man. But she did recall how easily he’d lifted her in his arms and how effortlessly he’d placed her over his shoulder, then mounted his horse with her in his arms. She did recall how safe he’d made her feel.
Emma closed her eyes and tried to remember more but there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Jefferies entered the room with a tray in her hands.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said placing the tray on the bedside table.
“Good morning, Mrs. Jefferies.”
After the woman helped Emma sit, she straightened the bed covers and placed the four-legged breakfast tray across Emma’s lap.
“How did you sleep last night, my lady?”
“Very well, Mrs. Jefferies. Thank you.”
“Lord Glassborough asked after you.”
Emma lifted her head and locked her gaze with the housekeeper’s. “He did?”
“Yes, my lady. He wanted to make sure you were progressing.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were progressing nicely, but you were far from ready to be up and about.”
“Please tell him I shouldn’t have to impose on his hospitality much longer. I feel much better and I’m sure I’ll be well enough to be on my way in a day or two.”
The housekeeper scoffed as if mocking a willful child. “You most certainly will not be ready to travel in a day or two, my lady. Perhaps in a week or two. But definitely not before that.”
Emma remembered the Earl of Glassborough’s harsh words and the angry tone of his voice as he impatiently scolded her to drink her tea. “I know how desperately his lordship wants me gone, Mrs. Jefferies. I will do everything in my power to comply with his wishes.”
“Oh, miss. Don’t be put off by his lordship’s curtness. It’s just that he’s not used to having guests at Glassborough Manor. I fear he’s forgotten how to conduct himself around company. Especially female company.”
“Does he deal with the staff harshly?”
“Ach, no,” Mrs. Jefferies answered on a laugh. “The master would never harm anyone. Even if the town fools think he might.”
That was an odd thing to say.
“Why do they think that?” Emma asked.
“No doubt because of what happened some six years ago.”
“What happened, Mrs. Jefferies?”
“’Tis nothing I can talk about. The master will tell you in his own good time.”
“I doubt that,” Emma said, taking a sip of the hot chocolate Mrs. Jefferies brought her each morning. “He hasn’t called on me once since he brought me here.”
“No doubt because he’s uncomfortable talking to strangers. Especially female strangers.”
“And the reason for that would be?”
Mrs. Jefferies paused straightening the bedclothes. “That will be for his lordship to share with you.”
“I see,” Emma said as she drank more of her hot chocolate and ate a piece of buttered toast.
“Can I get you anything else, my lady?” Mrs. Jefferies asked as she moved to the door.
“No, thank you,” Emma answered. When she was alone, Emma sank back against the pillows. She couldn’t remain in this position for long. There were several scratches on her back from the tree trunk that had fallen on her. The deep scratches prevented her from putting any pressure on her back.
Emma placed the breakfast tray to the side and gently turned in her bed. The mere effort of eating had completely worn her out.
She settled on her side to lessen the painful pressure on her back, then closed her eyes and slept.
~■~
Jonah paced the hallway beyond the room where his houseguest slept. He stilled his breath, intent upon listening. He thought he heard a noise and stepped close to her door, in case she was calling out for help. He was about to retreat when he heard it again.
She was crying out as if she was terrified of something. As if she was in pain.
“No!” he heard her cry out again. “No!”
He placed his hand on the latch of the bedroom door and pressed down. Another cry for help tore through the silence and he rushed into the room.
Lady Emma Randolph’s hair whipped about as she thrashed from side to side. She raised her delicate arms to shield her face as if to protect herself from blows she anticipated striking her. Jonah felt a hitch in his own breathing as he viewed the desperate beauty of the scene playing out before him.
Without hesitation he rushed to her side and gathered her in his arms. “Everything is fine, my lady. You are safe.”
She struggled a little while longer, then relaxed as he continued to comfort her. Her cries gradually lessened to whimpers that seemed to beg for protection.
“Help me. Please.”
Jonah couldn’t help but assure her. “You’re safe now. No one can harm you.”
The lady in his arms breathed a shuddering sigh, then struggled to return from the nightmare that had terrified her. Her eyes fluttered, then opened for a second. Then, longer.
Jonah knew the moment she realized he was holding her. He felt her stiffen.
“You have nothing to fear. You’re safe now.”
Her eyes closed and her breathing gradually calmed. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. A silly nightmare, I’m afraid.”
“A very real nightmare, if I were to hazard a guess.”
Her vibrant blue eyes closed tightly. “Yes, a very real nightmare.”
“Who are you afraid of?”
When she didn’t answer, Jonah changed his question. “Who were you running away from?”
When she refused to answer a second time, Jonah gently released her and filled a glass with water. “You might as well answer me. I won’t give up until you do.”
He held the glass to her lips and let her drink. When she finished, he sat beside her on the bed. “Who?”
“My stepbrother,” she answered without shifting her gaze from his.
“Why?” Jonah hardened his gaze and steadied her chin with his forefinger when she tried to look away from him. “Why?”
She breathed a steady breath. “My father is…was…the Marquess of Willowbrook.”
Jonah couldn’t hide the surprise from his face.
“Did you know him?”
“Yes. I knew and admired him. As did most of London.” Jonah also knew the marquess was one of the wealthiest men in England. As well as one of the most influential men in the House of Lords. “I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Thank you.”
“So why were you running away?”
“On my twenty-first birthday, I will receive a trust from my father worth several hundred thousand pounds.”
Jonah couldn’t stop the look of surprise. “And when will that be?”
“In six months.”
“Then, let me guess. Your stepbrother has arranged for you to marry someone you find unacceptable.”
Jonah watched as
Lady Emma nodded.
“Is the gentleman your brother has arranged for you to marry that reprehensible?”
“Yes, he is. He is one of the most disgusting men in Society. Not only do I refuse to marry him, but I decided years ago that I will never marry anyone.”
“You don’t intend to marry?”
“No.”
“Must I guess the reason?”
The lady lifted her penetrating gaze but did not shift it from his face. “Don’t say it as if it’s some petty girlish whim. I have yet to meet a man who can love me and not just my money.”
“I see,” Jonah said.
“Do you, Lord Glassborough? How very astute of you.”
Jonah chuckled. The woman was clearly convinced that a man’s motive couldn’t be trusted, so why should she expect him, an unworthy man, to understand circumstances that had brought her to that conclusion?
She couldn’t know that she wasn’t the only one in the room who had been betrayed in the name of love.
A memory of the heart-wrenching scream when a maid discovered Jonah’s fiancé’s dead body the morning of their wedding wiped the smile from his face. A vision of his last sight of his betrothed as she vowed to her mother that she’d rather be dead than marry a man she could never love—a monster of a man who frightened her to death—clouded his vision.
He heard Constance’s trembling voice as she told her mother that she could never abide allowing such a loathsome monster to touch her. Let alone make love to her.
And she had put truth to her words by killing herself.
But that was his story, not Lady Emma’s. He refocused his attention on her.
“Do you think it so impossible for anyone to love you for yourself?”
“Oh, they all profess their undying love. Until I tell them that the money they think they will inherit after we marry will not come with me.”
“I don’t understand,” Jonah said.
“It’s a choice I give them. They can marry me if they truly love me, but the money they’ve heard I will inherit will not come with me.”
“So, you’ve managed to tie it up somehow?”
She saw the skepticism in his eyes.
“I had my father attach a codicil to the legal documents that stated no amount over fifty pounds could be withdrawn without my signature until I’m twenty-five.” She smiled. “That had a remarkably cooling effect on their affections, I can assure you.”
“Has no one agreed to your terms?”
“No, my lord. Money is a powerful magnet. Even men who have a great deal of their own wealth crave more. It kills them to let my wealth sit in idleness when they can become more influential and powerful if they can combine their wealth with mine. But those who are desperate for what I have are eager to pass me over when they realize they will have to wheedle it out of me a few pounds at a time. They are quite happy to turn away in search of a female desperate enough to marry them even though she will never be loved.”
“Which you will never consider doing,” Jonah said, not as a question, but as a statement.
“No. Which I will never do.” Emma pressed her head into the pillow and closed her eyes. “Greed is a very powerful motive. I have found that words of love spill from their mouths quite easily when there is a possibility the money they will inherit when they marry me will make them rich.”
There were so many arguments he could offer her, so many choices she could make other than the one she had set upon. But Jonah looked at her closed eyes. It was obvious she was tired. “You need to rest,” he said, then pushed himself from the bed. “We’ll talk later. If you will excuse me,” he said, and left the room.
As he closed the door he knew he’d missed his moment. He should have told her she wouldn’t have to worry about him wanting to marry her for her wealth. Love was too precious a thing to let something like money thwart it. Even though he was on the brink of losing everything he owned, he would never consider marrying another female for the money that would come with her.
Never.
At least, not a second time.
Chapter 3
Emma took a few steps across the room, then turned and made her way back to her bed. She rested a few moments, then repeated the trek from one side of the room to the other. After she’d rested a few more minutes, she rang for Mrs. Jefferies.
“Yes, my lady,” the housekeeper said when she entered Emma’s room. “Did you need something?”
“Yes, Mrs. Jefferies. I believe I’m well enough to get up for a while. Would you help me down the stairs? I’d like to visit the library and choose something to read.”
“Are you quite sure, my lady?”
“Yes.” Emma pushed herself from the bed. “I need to get stronger and I won’t do that lying in bed all day.”
“Would you like me to get one of the footmen to help you?”
“No, Mrs. Jefferies. I’m sure I can make it down with your assistance.”
“Very well, my lady.”
Mrs. Jefferies helped her to her feet, secured Emma’s dressing gown at her waist, then wrapped her arm around Emma’s shoulders and guided her from the room. “The master has an excellent library, my lady. I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking.”
“I’m sure I will,” Emma said as she made her way down the stairs.
Emma kept her hand looped through Mrs. Jefferies’ arm as they made their way across the foyer.
“Careful now.”
Mrs. Jefferies slowed their pace to guide Emma through the upheaval in the front hall. Everything was shrouded in tarpaulins that covered the floor and windows. Scaffolding reached from floor to ceiling, and a small stockpile of building supplies was neatly confined to the corner by the front door. Hearing a noise, Emma looked up and was surprised to see that at the very top, looking for all he was worth like Michaelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel, the Earl of Glassborough lay on his back applying spackling mud to exposed joints in the beamed ceiling.
“My lord, whatever are you doing?”
She watched him carefully stow his trowel before he turned to his belly and greeted her. Her breath caught in her throat at the handsome sight. Creamy mud streaked his cheeks and jaw, highlighting his strong features that seemed practically rakish with a swatch of auburn hair plastered across his forehead.
“I almost had it repaired before this early spring snowstorm hit, but…now I have to do it all over again. The weight of the snow weakened my temporary mend, you see, and the roof seems to have landed there, there, and all the way over there.”
He swept an arm downward, and now she saw the small drifts of snow that had collected in corners of the scaffolding. Bits of broken timber were littered across the floor, evidence of the collapse that must have happened sometime in the night.
Emma smiled. “You’re putting some poor craftsman out of work, my lord. Surely you should put this kind of job out for hire, I would think.”
His pleasant, relaxed features transformed into something that spoke of discomfort. “Yes. Well. Under normal circumstances one surely would.”
With a gruff nod he flipped to his back and continued his work, slapping each beat of the trowel a bit harder than truly seemed necessary.
Emma glided away, feeling the need to tiptoe across the littered floor until they entered a long hallway.
That had been an odd encounter. She wondered what she’d said to cause such a reaction.
“I didn’t mean to upset his lordship, Mrs. Jefferies.”
“Ach, not to worry, my lady. The master meant no harm. He’ll be pleased, he will, to find you in the library later. He does love his books.”
Mrs. Jefferies reached a hand forward, beckoning Emma to continue, but a large double door on her right caught her eye.
“What room is this?” Emma asked.
“The drawing room, my lady.”
“May I see it?”
Mrs. Jefferies hesitated as if debating whether Lord Glassborough would object or not. But in
a moment, the housekeeper opened the door and let Emma enter the room.
It was dark and musty, the drapery drawn tightly across the windows and the furniture covered with dust cloths.
“Is this room never used?”
“No, my lady. There’s no longer a need. His lordship doesn’t entertain.”
Emma stepped back quickly, pulling the doors closed against the chill that had pervaded the gloomy room.
“And this one?” she asked when they reached the next closed door.
“The morning room, my lady.”
“May I see it?”
“It’s much the same as the drawing room, my lady.”
“The windows must face the east, though, if it’s called the morning room,” Emma said.
“Yes, my lady. When the drapery is open, the windows allow the morning sun to flood the room.”
“But the curtains are drawn?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Emma didn’t wait for permission to enter the room, but turned the knob on the door and entered.
The high-ceilinged morning room was much the same as the drawing room they’d previously entered. The heavy window coverings were closed, there was no fire in either of the room’s two fireplaces, and protective cloths covered the furniture.
“Does Lord Glassborough never have guests?”
“No, my lady,” Mrs. Jefferies answered after a brief hesitation.
Something was amiss. Lord Glassborough was an earl. He was titled. Surely he was well thought of in the area.
“Why does he lack visitors?” Emma asked.
The expression on Mrs. Jefferies’ face made it obvious that she had no intention of answering. Emma turned to exit the room and Mrs. Jefferies followed behind her. She led Emma to the library and opened the door.
“Oh,” Emma said when the door swung wide. “What a beautiful room.” Emma stepped to the center and turned in a slow circle to admire the magnificent collection of books arranged on beautifully polished carved wood shelving.
Two of the walls contained shelf after shelf of books covering all manner of farming practices and animal husbandry. The other two walls held everything from simple cloth-bound books to magnificent leather-bound tomes. “Lord Glassborough must love to read,” she said when she reached shelves that contained the classics.
