Nevertheless, he held no compassion for her current circumstances: wet, cold, and shivering.
The bloody woman still held her head high, not an ounce of panic as he stalked toward her. People he’d known his entire life scattered when he walked toward them, even with a smile on his face; however, Miss Adeline stood her ground…and smiled at him!
It was unfathomable she’d remained alive long enough to stumble upon Faversham Abbey. She had no notion of the danger she’d put herself in being at the plant, in this storm, surrounded by the villagers.
Or perchance it was Jasper who did not seek to subject her to the idle chatter of Faversham proper.
Either way, the closer he got to her, the more his irritation spiked, and the quicker the villagers dispersed until only a handful remained.
“What are you doing out here in the storm?” he barked over the sound of the growing tempest, now fully upon them. “You will catch your death.”
She ignored his question; instead, she stepped forward and clasped his forearms. “You were magnificent, Lord Ailesbury,” she commended, a new light filling her hazel eyes until they fairly glowed in the darkness. “The man, Emily’s husband, certainly would have been crushed without your help.”
“I asked what you are doing here.” He paused, sucking in a deep breath, only to have it exhale in a rush. “It is not safe.”
“Not safe?” A haze of confusion clouded her stare. “You worry about my safety, my lord. What of yours? You are the one who rushed into a collapsed building to single-handedly lift an entire wall off a trapped man with no regard for your own well-being.”
“I did not single-handedly—“ His words cut short when her brow rose as if challenging him to deny his own bravery, or dispute the outcome of this night had he not come immediately. “It matters naught who helped and who didn’t, this is my plant. I am responsible for everyone who dedicates their time to its success.”
“Come now.” She shook her head, rain dripping down her face, plastering her long locks to her cheeks and neck. “That was about far more than mere responsibility.”
Would he admit the overwhelming need to save Grovedale, his deep-rooted need to make certain the tragedy that’d taken his own parents did not happen to one of his servants? He’d been a young boy, but their death had altered his life in ways a child couldn’t understand. But to lose a spouse? Jasper shuddered to think of the heartbreak Emily, his dedicated maid at the Abbey, would have endured had Grovedale not been rescued. Nor would he dwell on the repercussions within the village as a whole if more locals died because of Jasper and his family name.
Hell, Jasper had never forgiven himself for his lack of strength during that stable fire, but now he was a man. A man who’d worked tirelessly for years to build his strength so as not to ever fail another again.
No one under his protection would perish if Jasper had anything to say about it. Including the foolish woman before him, her body now wracked with shivers from the cold rain and heavy winds.
“We should return to the Abbey, immediately.” Jasper didn’t wait for her to answer, nor give any thought to the villagers departing without so much as a kind look in his direction. Had Miss Adeline noticed the group’s outright fear of him? “I will collect my horse and assist you up onto yours. Remain here, I will return in a moment.”
At his hard stare, she nodded.
Turning, Jasper made his way toward the side of the building where he’d tethered his steed, making certain to keep his distance from the remaining villagers. There was no need to draw attention to their strained relationship if Miss Adeline hadn’t already taken note of the peculiar way the townsfolk avoided the Beast of Faversham.
“M’lord?” a thin voice called at his back.
Jasper’s first instinct was to keep moving, collect his horse, and be gone from the plant—Miss Adeline safely at his side. He had no interest in a confrontation with a villager regarding anything that’d happened that day. He only longed to return to the Abbey, be out of the cold, don dry clothes, and serve himself a tumbler of Scotch.
And so, Jasper lowered his head and continued toward his horse.
“Lord Ailesbury!” the man persisted.
Jasper slowed and turned toward the vaguely familiar voice. Grovedale walked—or rather hobbled—to keep up with Jasper’s pace. Jasper stopped when he saw the man’s struggles. He was injured and in need of a physician…and several days’ rest.
“Grovedale. You should find your way home. I can have the cart and horses readied for your trip if needed.” Jasper attempted to keep his stare focused on the man’s face and not his clutched arm and lame leg—nor the blood slowly seeping through the man’s trousers. “I will send the physician posthaste. And your wife, as soon I return to the Abbey.”
“I—“ The man’s eyes clouded, though if they were true tears or only the runoff from the rain dripping down his face, Jasper was uncertain. “Thank ye, m’lord, for save’n me. I be eternally in your debt.”
Grovedale lowered his head and placed his good arm across his chest, his hand clenched in a tight fist.
“No, it is I who owes you,” Jasper countered. “I should have had those walls checked years—“
“No, m’lord.” Grovedale vigorously shook his head. “It be me. I shouldn’t have been work’n at all. Ye shut the plant down for a reason.”
“Be that as it may, I am still responsible for your injuries. I will make certain the physician is at your disposal, and Emily has a fortnight off. And you can take as much leave as needed until you are recovered.”
“But we can’t be do’n that. We’ll starve, m’lord.”
Jasper slashed his hand through the air, halting the man’s protest. “Everything will be taken care of, Grovedale. Rest, and keep Emily close. That is what I demand of you right now.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Grovedale bowed, taking a step back, bowing once more. His face contorted in pain the entire time. “Ye be too kind, m’lord.”
“It is what any lord should do for his people,” he countered. “Now, be off. Watson has arrived with the cart.”
The servant turned slowly and hobbled back toward the waiting villagers, all avoiding Jasper, their backs to him as they greeted Watson and prepared to load Grovedale.
He’d told himself for years it was better this way. He was Lord Ailesbury. He was the master of Faversham Abbey. He was the owner of Home Works. There was no requirement that these people be his friends, or he theirs. Though that had never stopped the terrified, lonely little boy inside him from longing to return the relationship between his family and the people of Faversham to what it had once been—before the fire, the many deaths, and Jasper’s disfigurement.
The rain had lessened at some point during his conversation with Grovedale, the winds even relenting slightly as the clouds parted overhead.
That did not decrease his need to see Miss Adeline home…err, to the Abbey, before she fell ill from the cold.
Jasper untethered his mount and turned to retrace his steps through the gathering mud to where she waited, except she wasn’t where he’d left her. Instead, she was a few paces from where he and Grovedale had been speaking a moment before, only her triumphant smile at his bravery had disappeared. Her hand was now pressed to her chest, fingers splayed as her mouth hung open.
Shock? Amazement? Adoration?
He hadn’t the slightest notion what expression she tried to convey—or, far worse, what she’d overheard during his conversation with Grovedale.
Jasper dismounted at the front door of the Abbey, only pausing for a moment to see that a footman assisted Miss Adeline from her mare before he strode toward the house. He was a sopping, muddy, filthy mess, and she was little better. As they rode back in silence, chills had set in, making it increasingly difficult for him to keep his hold on the reins.
He could only imagine the struggle for her to remain in her sidesaddle, burdened with the weight of her saturated gown and the icy bite of the wind in her
face.
The most outrageous occurrence rocked Jasper to his core.
He was angry—or still angry.
He hadn’t felt such raw, powerful fury in many years. He’d truly only been overcome by this level of emotion twice: directly following his parents’ deaths, and then again when his aunt had succumbed. Aunt Alice had been like a mother to him, and she’d been taken far too early for a woman as caring and alive as she.
On those two occasions, Jasper had been well aware what caused his shift in mood.
But, as he stalked into the foyer, he could not reconcile what had upset him so on this occasion.
Was his ire at Emily for offering the bloody riding habit for Adeline to wear?
Was he angry at Abbington’s part in locating the woman’s bow and quiver among her stowed belongings?
Did he resent his stable master’s betrayal for having a horse saddled for her to ride?
Or, more pointedly, did his annoyance lay solely with himself for bringing the woman to Faversham Abbey in the first place?
Jasper wasn’t certain how he’d expected his servants to react to their surprise guest, but catering to her every whim, even defying his orders, was not it at all.
Faversham was not a safe place for the likes of Miss Adeline, especially when the woman was hell-bent on finding trouble at every turn.
He growled as Abbington wrapped a blanket about his quaking shoulders at the same time his wife, Mrs. Hutchins, did the same for Adeline.
When had Jasper started thinking of the woman as simply Adeline?
She was still a stranger to him—and he to her.
“See that Miss Adeline is taken to her chambers immediately, and have dry, clean clothes brought for her.” He addressed Abbington and his housekeeper, who no doubt watched his every move. “We cannot have her returning to London and her family ill.”
Or have her stranded for a longer period of time at Faversham Abbey while she convalesced.
His feet sloshed in his Hessians as he stomped into the library, slamming the door behind him. The echo dared any of his most loyal servants to betray him again—or to so much as stray a single step from his commands.
Bloody damnation.
The woman was nothing but a distraction, a dangerous disruption to his orderly life.
Jasper poured himself a healthy tumbler of Scotch, emptied the glass in one swallow, and poured another before moving before the hearth. After only a moment of pacing, he tossed the blanket Abbington had wrapped around his shoulders to the lounge followed by his wet jacket. His shirt and trousers were also soaked through, but blessedly, the spirits had halted the worst of his shivers.
The energy he’d exerted while extricating Grovedale was enough to keep the worst of the cold at bay, and his clenched jaw stopped his teeth from chattering. Miss Adeline hadn’t had the same adrenaline rush to keep her chills under control.
If anyone deserved to catch the ague, it was Jasper.
He’d brought the trouble into his normally peaceful and well-maintained home. It was his own fault that memories, longings, and guilt from his past assaulted him at every turn since the woman arrived. It had been years since he explored his unending guilt over his parents’ deaths or allowed the all-consuming anger to take hold of him in such a way.
The carriage needed to be repaired with all due haste.
As soon as Watson returned from seeing Grovedale home, he would demand the servant work all evening—and into the night—to make certain Miss Adeline was on her way back to London at first light.
Jasper took a healthy swallow from his tumbler, welcoming the sting as it traveled down his throat and warmed his stomach further.
It was imperative that he suppress his anger and keep the beast that threatened to overtake him at bay. It would not be at Jasper’s hand that the villager’s suspicions were confirmed. He may appear the beast outwardly but he’d worked every day of his life to make certain that inside he was kind, compassionate, and ever the noble gentleman and lord.
One day, he had faith, his ugly mask would fall and his people would see the man beneath.
Today had not been that day, no matter the good Jasper did.
Tomorrow…tomorrow he would send Miss Adeline on her way, repair the damage to the gunpowder plant, announce his plans for expansion, and move to hire additional villagers at both his estate and Home Works.
Adeline would be gone, though forgotten was an entirely different matter.
Even in his current mood, Jasper could picture how she’d looked as she watched him earlier after Emily’s husband had been pulled from the debris. There wasn’t even a need to close his eyes. No, she was there, before him, as he stared into the open flames of the hearth.
Her hair had been tousled and tangled in wild abandon…something Jasper had gotten used to seeing. Gone were the perfectly curled and pinned tresses he’d witnessed in the dining hall that morning. Vanished was her assured nature after donning the scarlet riding habit as he’d admired her at the bottom of the stairs before their hunt. Her eyes had been alight with what? Fright, terror, pride, amazement, and…something bordering on affection? He must have been mistaken, catching a glimpse of her and infusing his own inner feelings onto her.
Truthfully, Jasper had been possessed by a sense of fright and terror when he agreed to allow her to hunt with him. That had swiftly changed to pride and amazement when she took down the first turkey with her superior skill at archery.
But affection?
It was an utterly foreign emotion to Jasper.
Certainly, he cared for his servants. He’d outright loved his aunt and uncle, and must have held the same feelings for his blooded parents, even though he’d been too young to truly understand the bond that existed between a boy and his family.
No, there had been no look of affection or adoration.
It simply could not exist between the pair of them. Adeline belonged in London, and Jasper at Faversham Abbey.
It had been an act of selfishness that he’d brought her to the Abbey to begin with, but by no means could be keep her at Faversham.
Never should their paths cross again once she departed on the morrow.
Chapter 11
Adeline stood inside the library with her back pressed against the door, watching Lord Ailesbury pace back and forth before the fire as he downed yet another glass of what she could only imagine were spirits. He’d been so consumed with his musings, that he hadn’t heard her slip into the room and close the door behind her.
The light from the hearth cast a shadow across the entire room as he pivoted once more and followed the same path he had several times earlier. His profile was to her, and Adeline took the time she had to explore the harsh line of his jaw, the aristocratic set of his nose, and his long, cocoa-brown hair. His garb was not that of an earl, but everything about the lord screamed wealth, power, and control. His stride was sure and solid. The sun-kissed, golden glow of his skin spoke to his many hours—and days—working out amongst his people…those same people who’d just as quickly turned their backs on him.
As he reached the far side of the room, he turned once more, his chin lowering, and his empty glass clutched tightly to his chest. This was the side of him that was at odds with everything she knew of the man thus far. Yes, his scars were not who he was, but from this angle, Ailesbury appeared alone, helpless, and adrift. His posture was not as rigid, his shoulder dipped slightly. His footfalls were not as precisely pronounced. He almost appeared fragile, as an infant did shortly after birth until they grew strong enough to hold their own head high and ultimately walk on their own.
Not an infant, but a bird with a clipped wing.
This man before her—his drive to help those around him, his need to care for all who called Faversham home, his reclusive nature—longed to soar. Something held him back, though, and it was not his injuries.
No, it had nothing to do with his outward self.
Suddenly, Lord Ailesbury paused, letting out
a quiet sigh before closing his eyes and turning his stare to the ceiling above. His hand fell from his chest, the tumbler sliding from his grasp to the rug-covered floor before it rolled under the edge of the lounge, forgotten.
Adeline held herself back from going to him and wrapping her arms around him, doing all within her power to right the situation…every wrong done to him…anything that could bring him to the low point he was in at that moment.
Yet, she didn’t move. She was an unwelcome guest in his home. No matter how wonderfully his servants treated her, Adeline suspected the earl only wanted her gone. Returned to London and her family. He would desire her nowhere near where she could bear witness to what transpired within Faversham Abbey.
She should flee, return to her chambers, and discard the wet riding habit for a clean, dry gown, putting as much distance between her and Lord Ailesbury as the large estate would allow. It was seemingly what he wanted and, surprisingly, Adeline realized she desperately wanted to please the man before her, even if that meant never seeing him again. He’d bidden her go to her room and change, yet she’d disobeyed him. It was the old Adeline resurfacing.
The young, impulsive, headstrong girl who’d arrived in Canterbury at twelve, and the same woman who’d departed the place nearly seven years later.
This was not the woman who’d been forced to stand back and watch as her best friend and brother found a love Adeline suspected would always be denied her. It was the broken woman who’d been made to sit back and watch as her father passed away, forever cast in the light of a stranger to his eldest daughter. Now, she was the woman who’d been charged with delivering her youngest sisters to boarding school because her mother barely found strength to leave her private chambers following the death of her mate and husband.
Only a day at Faversham Abbey, and Adeline had reverted to the selfish child she’d once been before loss and a brief glimpse of love had entered her life. Yes, she’d been an outsider, watching Theo and Alistair as they embarked on their journey to wedded bliss, but it had opened her eyes.
Adeline (Lady Archer's Creed Book 3) Page 9
