Melody came to her rescue, a welcome event. “My sister would like to retire to her room.”
“I'll take her up.” Thomas lifted her, his arms holding her tightly as he mounted the stairs.
Of all the nonsense!
“I shall never heal with all this pampering!” Exasperation colored her outburst. “It will only prolong my time abed.”
Thomas grinned salaciously, murmuring, “Get used to it, sweetheart. I avow you shall be abed much more once you are mine.”
All color drained from her, the simple act of breathing difficult as panic threatened. Her body trembled with unconcealed apprehension, at once felt by Thomas. Thankfully, Melody excused herself under the ruse of finding Corinne downstairs. His eyes locked on hers in the hallway, expression softening as he regarded her intently.
“Does that frighten you, Evangeline?” He remained unmoving, demanding an answer, yet his words were gentle, almost sorrowful.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Very much so.”
“Because you know I shall touch you?” he asked softly.
She nodded, eyes cast downward in a mixture of shame and fear. It was inappropriate to even discuss, but a part of her needed him to understand.
“Look at me.”
Not a request, she complied, unable to deny him in her weakness.
“I will touch you. Everywhere, Evangeline. But I swear to you; I'll never hurt you. You will come to enjoy – and even crave my touch. Do you understand?”
Again she nodded, agreeing with him even though understanding eluded her. He'd do with her as he wanted, that much was clear.
“I see your confusion and feel your fear. Trust me.” He strode into the room and placed her upon the settee, grabbing a stool to prop her injured limb. “Have I lied to you thus far? Have I not kept my word?” he asked, timbre silky and soothing. He slid his hand atop the heavy material of her dress, caressing her calf.
Evangeline swore his body heat seeped straight through the layers of her dress. She inhaled sharply, nodding. “No. I mean yes. I mean...” Which question should she answer? Her mouth was so dry, no more words would come.
He chuckled. “I know what you mean, Evangeline. I will not break my word. Now rest.”
Her heart pounded long after he exited her room, relief and regret flooding her in equal measure.
“Evangeline,” Melody knocked, peeking her head inside. “Corinne will bring water to soak your foot later.”
“That will be fine,” she sighed.
“Do you wish some company?” Melody offered.
“I need some time alone, Melody. Please understand.” She meant to explain in more detail, but her sister hushed her with a knowing smile.
“I do understand. More than you may imagine.” Making her retreat, Melody paused. “I hope you will talk to me. Trust me. You'll feel better about everything.”
“You're the second person this afternoon to desire my trust,” she muttered.
“What?” Melody turned back, unsure at what she'd heard.
“Nothing. Nothing at all, Melody. We'll talk later.”
If not for her aching ankle, she'd rummage through the chest at the foot of her bed. Linens from her maternal grandmother, a tea set from her father's travels and other beautiful treasures sat neatly tucked inside, awaiting the day she'd place them lovingly on display in her own home. She sighed, a certain happiness overcoming her with the thought. Opening the brown leather bound book, Evangeline let the sketches and descriptions of various plants consume her attention, no thoughts of Mr. Masterson, nor of his touches, welcome during her self-imposed reprieve.
Opening her eyes, Evangeline yawned, stretching in sanguine contentment. Reality rushed to greet her, robbing her of the blissful sensation.
“Enough of this,” she chided inwardly. “You're acting with the utmost folly.”
The sooner she resigned herself the better, for her rampant thoughts and doubts should not be coddled. Thinking to seek her sister, she stood, testing her steps carefully. To her satisfaction, she steadily, if stiffly, set one foot before the other without faltering. Once in the hallway, which seemed much longer in her current discomfort, she sought Melody's room, hopeful to find her sister within. Stairs may be pushing her new found ambulatory success a bit far.
Did she hear crying? Nearing her sister's door, she found the room empty. Again, soft sobs found her ears. The sounds emanated from Mr. Lane's rooms! It could not be Mr. Lane, for the sighs and gentle moans were womanly. Had one of the maids hurt herself? Been reprimanded? Testing the doorknob cautiously, she found it unlocked and eased the door open slowly. Surely she should offer comfort.
Evangeline stopped dead in her tracks, mute at the scene before her. Desperately, she begged her legs support her, flee with her, but the leaden limbs dully ignored her silent command. Not with tears or pain, but with rapture did her sister cry out gently, her nakedness encompassed beneath Mr. Lane! He moved over her, his hips thrusting against Melody in untamed rhythm as he roved her body with his mouth. He was naked! At last, her legs moved. Tearing her eyes away Evangeline slipped out, closing the door behind her before she exhaled. She steadied herself against the wall, her first few feeble steps spent fighting to contain the violent shudders claiming dominion over her entire being.
Dear God in heaven!
Melody would be ruined if any discovered her in such a state of... of – Evangeline could not assign a name to what she'd witnessed. The sounds reached a crescendo, then quieted into silence. Forcing herself to move quickly she reached her room and closed the door, eager to hide away before anyone spotted her. She'd not be capable of communicating at the moment. For indefinite minutes she sagged against the sturdy door, unable to forget what her eyes had moments before beheld. Words and images, both her mother's and her sister's, whirled in her mind, vying for supremacy. The act was violent, vigorous, multiplying her terror by the second, yet Melody had looked anything but terrified. She certainly hadn't sounded so, either. Neither had she been lying still as Mr. Lane plundered her body.
An hour or more passed, yet peace eluded Evangeline. Soft tapping sounded upon her door, and even those timid sounds sent her harpooning from her chair. A sense of naked exposure invaded, and she worried her lower lip in nervous anxiety, certain any who looked into her eyes would be privy to that private, awful act she'd witnessed. Guilt draped round her shoulders heavily. She'd never betray Melody, no matter how troubled she was over seeing her sister behave so...wantonly. Neither could she imagine enduring such beastly attentions.
“Come in, please,” she invited, her pretended peace carrying nicely.
Quite the deceiver of late...
Mocking her own vile behavior satisfied her inner primness. For now.
“Evangeline?” Melody called in, speaking as if nothing at all had occurred, as if she'd not, an hour hence, been open and lewd, writhing – writhing and naked! - beneath Mr. Lane. She was quite the deceiver as well!
Her anger left her then, her harsh accusation bitter in her thoughts. Melody was sweet and lovely. She must be hopelessly in love to welcome such wildness upon herself. Poor Melody! Her sister's actions banked resolve in Evangeline's heart.
Exactly why I shall never – never! - allow myself to fall in hopeless, foolish love with any man.
“Yes, Melody?”
“Would you like to come down to dinner? Father sent me to ask.”
“Of course. I'm not on my death bed. I merely twisted an ankle.” She regretted the harsh tone at once.
“Mr. Masterson will be up to help you.”
Ever sweet Melody was, even in the face of rudeness. Her rudeness. “Melody?”
“Yes?”
“Forgive me. I had no call to speak so unkindly.”
A pregnant pause left Evangeline to wonder if she'd truly injured Melody's sensitive feelings.
“It is all right, Evangeline.”
Footsteps announced Mr. Masterson, who strode through the now open door. “Ready
?”
In the low light of dusk she could not discern whether his eyes shone green or steely gray. His clipped greeting sent greater apprehension through her, and she jumped when he reached for her.
“I'd like to walk,” she informed.
He studied her a moment. “If you'd like to try.” Offering his arm, Thomas walked slowly to gauge her steadiness. “Much better.”
Evangeline smiled prettily. “Yes, it is. If I had to sit still one more day, I...I may have...well, let me say I've sorely missed my afternoon walk.”
“Miss Grey, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two unpleasant things I must point out. First, you are nowhere near ready for a walk. Second – and this may relieve your frustration over the first – the snow would prevent a walk in any case.”
“Oh! Christmas snow could never count as bad news, Mr. Masterson, I shall watch out the windows if the moonlight is bright.”
“The sky is quite dark tonight.”
“Perhaps tomorrow, then,” she laughed. “But it is Christmas Eve. Nothing can spoil that.”
They arrived at the top of the staircase, and she hesitated.
“Nervous to attempt this so soon?” He smiled, dispelling his brooding.
She supposed it brooding, for in truth, she could not know what to think it. Mr. Masterson held within many facets. “I dare to press my luck. Here, if I hold both the railing and your arm I shall achieve success.” Carefully, Evangeline alighted the stairs one at a time, her attention focused on the task until relief washed over her at the final step. “Merry Christmas to me!” she announced with self-congratulatory cheer.
Thomas chuckled. “Ah...Miss Grey, you do harbor a vice after all. Pride.”
Melody and Mr. Lane rounded the corner, their quiet laughter stifled in the company of others. Evangeline's good cheer ebbed and a furious blush roasted her cheeks to a fiery hue.
Act natural and stop blushing like a ninny!
Her inner command offered no help as she continued to flush in mortified knowing.
“Dinner is ready,” Melody laughed. “Hurry! Everyone is waiting. We're going to sing carols after dinner and Father says he has a surprise!”
“We'll be right along,” Thomas answered, appraising Evangeline with interest.
Too much interest for her sensibilities to endure at present, which only served to heat her to a full blown crimson shade.
“Evangeline,” Thomas husked, leaning close, “what has you aglow with such a beautiful blush?”
She blinked, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her mind fumbling to locate some string of words to fling at him in answer. Her quick wit failed miserably, for she could conjure no utterance whatsoever.
Thomas only smiled, her silence amusing him further. “Is that so,” he murmured in reply to her speechlessness. “Miss Grey rendered mute.” He brushed his finger across her closed lips in a faint caress. “Pretty though it is, I'll have your secret soon enough.”
Leading them toward the dining room, Thomas squeezed her hand gently, his low chuckle intimating an understanding Evangeline knew certain he lacked. It unnerved her all the same.
Thomas could no longer ignore the shift, however subtle, in his perspective. Miss Grey promised much more than a practical arrangement to solve his dilemma and a challenging diversion to woo and bed. Ever increasing regard grew in his twisted heart. He'd no right to want her, to desire her true affections – nor her body. But his hypocrisy, his depravity, honored no boundary. Inside, the soul he'd denied and buried beneath hedonistic pleasures raised a battle cry, demanding release from its self-imposed prison. The inner conflict waged on, and Thomas feared the outcome. He ceded ground with every encounter, Miss Grey's hidden and tender nature eroding his hardened heart's resolve to merely possess without forming deep attachment.
A fool he was to believe she could truly be his; he destroyed those who dared to love him completely. First his brother in the name of pride, then his father out of his shame, for he could not bear his father's kindness after what he'd done. It had seared his soul in more terrible torture than any physical punishment could inflict. So he'd turned away, indulging in wild behavior, willing his father – all his family – to turn him away as he knew he deserved. They never had.
For the first time in many years Thomas Masterson yearned to be worthy of regard, of respect, of love. Atonement beckoned in the small, plain and prim Miss Evangeline Grey. He would endeavor to earn her; and yes, possess her, body, heart and soul.
* * *
Parents and daughters had exchanged gifts in the early dawn, the simple presents given with love. Even the unpredictable Mrs. Grey was of kindly disposition, Thomas noted with satisfaction. His earlier observation of her cutting remarks toward his soon-to-be bride heated his blood with anger. A more genuine woman he could not confess to knowing. She did not deserve her mother's cruel words. Once they married, Opal Grey would not be permitted such free reign with her tongue.
“These are lovely, just lovely!” Evangeline stated, running her fingers against the supple buckskin leather of her new gloves in unabashed delight. “Thank you, Father.”
A rare, broad smile graced her usually schooled features, and Thomas vowed to elicit those smiles often in the coming months and years. Each one would he count a reward.
“My dear, you are quite welcome,” Albert responded warmly. “Now, if there are no objections I'd like to eat.” He chuckled and stood, waiting until his family and guests did likewise. “The heavy snowfall makes travel impossible. Therefore, we shall give thanks at present and read from the Scriptures before the hearth later.”
Feasting around the breakfast table, Thomas left off his pensive brooding, conversing freely.
Chapter Seven
“Cherry Hill will have a small winter crop to harvest; therefore, it is imperative my spring barley be of the highest quality.” Thomas discussed his plans with Albert openly.
“You'll need to purchase feed then?”
“I'll need to supplement, but my Uncle Winston has agreed to supply most of Cherry Hill's need. Money will be no concern.”
“Do you plan to malt at Cherry Hill?” Albert's tone conveyed surprise.
“That is my aim. In past years the spring barley was sold to an ale maker for malting, but I've plans to speak with a gentleman about distilling whiskey.”
“Whiskey, Thomas? But it takes at least three years to turn a profit!” Concern marred Albert's visage. “Three years without income?”
“Only at Cherry Hill,” Thomas clarified. “I've already the funds at my disposal for set up. With my inheritance and the income from the portion invested, expenses will be covered without the barley profits.”
Albert regarded his future son-in-law sternly. “And if the whiskey does not do well?”
“The whiskey will do well, Albert. If there's one thing I know, it's good whiskey.” Thomas' lips curved into a determined half-smile. “T. S. Masterson Whiskey.”
Albert chuckled, an odd glint sparkling in his sharp eyes. “Thomas, son, I rather think Grey Masterson Spirits has a nice ring to it.”
Thomas stuttered a moment, confusion evident in his expression. “I do not understand, sir.”
“That is apparent,” Albert stated wryly. “What I mean to say is this. A venture into the business is a bold, but wise move. Establish your product while the market is small; it will give you an edge.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Thomas agreed.
“Although,” Albert added, “you cannot claim it scotch. Perhaps you will decide upon bourbon?”
“Perhaps. Have you a preference? It seems I've acquired a partner.”
Albert boomed his accord. “Indeed, Thomas.” The older man leaned precariously across his desk. “My daughter shall demand our heads on a platter! Whiskey men! You'd best wed her before revealing your new business venture, my boy. Evangeline will be in fits!” The older man dismissed his use of his daughter's name without thought, for he watched Thomas grow serious.
“You suppose she will think less of me?” He was dead serious. Breaking into the whiskey business was a solid financial decision, but his ultimate aim remained true. He wanted Evangeline Grey's respect.
“She'll settle into it. Have no qualms, Thomas. My daughter holds to rigid standards; it's true. But given half a chance to learn the process, she'll come around – and near outshine the both of us in no time!”
“Join us, of sorts? I cannot imagine!” Thomas doubted the truth of Albert's assessment.
“My daughter knows a woman cannot hold a front place in business. She'd never behave in such fashion. But she's a good head on her shoulders, solid business sense as well. She'll support you in every way given time.”
Thomas pondered his friend's words a long while, nursing his brandy in the quiet. Doubting himself, his plans! Only a lovesick fool behaved thus. He was a man, and while he desired the love and respect of Miss Grey, he would hearken to no one. His mind was decided at once.
Whiskey men.
“I see you brooding plainly, Thomas,” Albert spoke at long last. “Proceed with your plan, but take my advice; make no mention until the time is ripe.”
Silence settled between them again, an easy peaceful one. When Albert finished his spirits he pushed up from the chair. “My daughter...,” his voice trailed off and a heavy sigh escaped him. “Take care of her. Give her...” But Albert let the thought die, unspoken.
Thomas watched as Albert retreated, wondering what exactly the man had been about to say. He wanted to declare he'd do whatever necessary to care for Evangeline; instead he kept his own council. Some thing or event gave her reason to be wary of physical touch. Thomas meant to uncover the source and banish what lurked behind her stern facade.
* * *
Evangeline avoided speaking alone with Mr. Masterson to her utmost ability, certain he'd pry about her vexation of those few nights past.
Bread and butter!
There he was again.
Having only recently harnessed her tumultuous, traitorous imaginings, she dreaded an encounter with the man inspiring the vast majority of her disquieting thoughts.
A Practical Arrangement Page 9
