by Alexia Praks
“The beating. It must have been if you’re having nightmares because of it. Well, I’ll show him—I’ll beat him back one day.”
Christine blushed, embarrassed because her nightmare actually had nothing to do with the beating. Or did it?
“Did I wake you?” She changed the subject.
“Yes, you were screaming for help. I don’t think you woke Grandmamma and Grandpapa though—they’re a bit deaf. And anyway, your screaming wasn’t that loud. You sounded more like you were crying or something.”
“I’m sorry I woke you, but I’m glad no one else woke up. Look, it’s still dark. You should go back to sleep now.”
Tyson didn’t move. He peered closer, searching her flushed face. “Did he beat you again in your dream? Is that why you cried for help?”
Christine just sat there, staring at him, dumbfounded. Well, what could she tell him? He wouldn’t understand she had actually dreamt that a big man was doing things to her that even she couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“Well?” he probed.
“I assure you, it was just a nightmare, Tyson.”
He gave her a look that told her he didn’t believe her one tiny bit.
“You go back to bed. I’ll be just fine, and if I am in trouble, I’ll just ask you—how about that?”
Tyson considered this for a few seconds and then nodded for he was getting rather tired. He moved back to his small bed. Christine sighed, and then she snuggled back beneath her blanket.
Dear God, that nightmare still shook her. At least it was just a nightmare and not the real thing. Thank God! A few minutes later, she went back to sleep. This time, though, there was no nightmare, but a deep voice echoed in her thoughts: “You’ll be mine soon, very soon.”
* * *
Christine’s grandparents forced her to stay in bed for the next week. She found it rather hard to cope for she was usually a very active person, and staying in bed simply bored her to tears, and, more importantly, it gave her too much time to think. Most of the time she’d start thinking about the dream, and she didn’t want to think about it at all because it unsettled her. She kept having it every night, though not always the same one. She had decided that it must be due to the beating.
The dream always started with him—this giant shadow of a man. He either cornered her or chased her, and when he captured her, he started touching her—everywhere—and then he started kissing her, too. She didn’t understand what it meant, but she knew that she was scared, and she was sure it would be very unpleasant if it was real.
It was morning, and she had just woken up from the dream again, though she had not screamed like she did that first time. It had been a week since the beating, and Christine knew that her wound had been healing nicely. She had high hopes that because her wound was healing her dream too would stop. They were related, after all.
She got up from the bed and slowly got dressed in her shabby breeches that had seen better days, the once snow-white shirt that now had turned a muddy color, and her one and only gray coat. Tying her curls at the nape with a thread of string, she made her way down the old, creaky stairs. As she landed on the last step, a voice said, “You shouldn’t be up and about, my dear. You are not yet well.”
Christine knew her grandmother would say that, but she knew also that if she were to stay in bed another minute, she’d simply die of boredom. So she squared her shoulders and said, as she stepped into the room that served as both the kitchen and family room, “I know you worry, Grandmamma, but I—”
She stopped short and stared at the handsome man sitting on the seat near the hearth. At night a week ago, she couldn’t see clearly what he had really looked like, but in daylight this man was simply too gorgeous for words. She could not seem to breathe at all as she stood there, staring at him in shock.
“Good morning, Chris,” came the deep voice.
Christine couldn’t help herself and shivered all over. She licked her lips, blinked twice, and said, “My lord?”
“How is your wound, boy?” Merrick asked, his eyes warm as he watched her walk slowly into the room.
Christine was very aware that he was examining her person—that her feet were bare and that she didn’t have her binding around her upper torso truly worried her. At least, she thought, she had her coat on, which helped a great deal to hide her femininity, and furthermore her breasts were not that bountiful, as her grandmother had said to her before when they had started to mature.
As if his eyes didn’t humiliate her enough, he said, “Do you not have socks? You will catch your death of cold in this weather if you do not wear socks.”
“Do come here near the fire, my dear,” Mr. Smith said.
“I’ll go up and get the socks,” Tyson volunteered and then dashed out the room.
Christine came to stand near the hearth and rubbed her hands to get some warmth. Blushing, she turned to look at Merrick and said, “What are you doing here, my lord?”
One shapely dark brow raised as the teal-blue eyes looked at her. “I would see how the boy I’ve saved from a beating is doing,” came the reply.
Christine’s blush deepened. She clamped her lips together and lowered her eyes.
Merrick did not miss the cute dimple on the side of the left cheek. He looked down to the bare feet again. Small and very delicate, they were by now turning purple from the cold. He liked the small feet, he thought. He looked back to the face.
“Come sit down here, boy,” he said, patting the seat next to him.
Christine obeyed the gentle command and came to sit beside him on the settee; her small frame appeared to have been swallowed up by his large one. He turned his torso slightly toward her and rested one arm over the settee just behind her head. Christine stared up at him and felt a sense of fright with him sitting so close to her. The feeling was oddly familiar.
She tried very hard to ignore him and stared at the fire instead. Mr. and Mrs. Smith looked at each other and then at Merrick as the awkward silence lengthened, but Merrick didn’t seemed to be aware of its existence.
“I’ve got the socks,” Tyson announced as he rushed back into the room.
Christine sighed with relief and was glad that she had something to do. She took the thick, woolen socks Tyson gave to her and put them on. Merrick was watching her as she did so.
Mr. Smith cleared his throat and said, “I thank you, my lord, for saving us once again.”
Christine eyed her grandfather and asked, “What happened, Grandpapa?”
Mr. Smith glanced nervously at his wife. Christine knew he thought he should have kept his mouth shut instead of blurting it out in front of her like that. But she was persistent and said, “Was there something that you didn’t tell me?”
Here was another silent communication between them, Merrick thought, as he watched husband and wife. Then Mrs. Smith said, “Mr. Barlow came this morning.”
“Did we not have enough?” Christine asked.
Merrick was amused. The boy already knew that they had been dealing with the landlord who was ready to throw them out due to the late payment this morning.
“No, my dear,” Mr. Smith said. “Not enough at all. In fact, I’m not sure how to deal with next month if—”
“I’ll find a job, Grandpa,” Christine said.
Merrick couldn’t help butting in. “And get yourself sick again?”
Christine looked at him. “We don’t have any choice, my lord. In fact, are you in need of a servant up at your house?”
Merrick knew it was coming, and he had been prepared for it. Sooner or later, Chris would have to find a job to support his family. He leaned back and said, “No.” He saw the pale face fall immediately.
“My lord,” Mrs. Smith began, “We will not bother you with our family problems.”
“Actually,” Merrick said, “I have a proposition for you, Mr. Smith.”
Christine looked up, her eyes bright with expectation.
Mr. Smith said, “A proposition for me, my lord?”
Mr. Smith nodded.
“I have a cottage down at Huntingdon Estate near the river. It has been neglected for some time and, come to think of it, so have my hounds.” He turned to Tyson. “Do you like dogs, Tyson?”
Tyson nodded his head enthusiastically.
“How about it, Mr. Smith?” Merrick asked. “I would need them trained for next summer for hunting.”
Mr. Smith said, “Your hounds keeper, my lord?”
Christine couldn’t help but laugh with delight. Merrick turned to look at her, the sweetness of her laughter singing in his ears.
Mrs. Smith caught hold of Mr. Smith’s hand and clutched onto it. “My lord, this cottage—it is far from your Huntingdon Hall?”
Merrick knew the woman was worried, though about what he didn’t know. “Yes, it is quite far. In fact, it is tucked deep in the woods near the river.”
She seemed to be satisfied with this, and Mr. Smith said, “Thank you, my lord. When shall we start?”
“How marvelous,” Christine said to Tyson, who was jumping with joy. “Near the river, and we get to raise hounds.”
“Not you, I’m afraid,” Merrick said.
Christine stopped her laughing immediately and looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You will come up and live with me at Huntingdon Hall,” he said, then turned to the grandparents. “I apologize for not asking sooner. I would like to take Chris to my home and raise him.”
Both Mr. and Mrs. Smith stared at him in shock, then turned to look at each other, clearly worried.
Merrick said hastily, “I assure you I will look after Chris like my own brother. He will not be neglected. Besides, Huntingdon Hall is only half an hour’s walk away from the cottage. You can visit anytime you want.”
“My lord, I do not think this is a good idea,” Christine said. She knew what her grandparents were thinking. Would she be safe up at the Hall? Would she be exposed to people who might notice her resemblance to her dead mother?
Merrick said, “I do not want to force you, Chris, but do you remember promising that if I ever wanted something of you…?”
“Yes,” Christine said uncertainly. Then it dawned on her, and she knew that she would have to go and live with him up at the Hall because there was no way she would turn back on her word. After all, she had promised to repay him in whatever way he wanted after he had saved her life.
THREE
Huntingdon Hall was a massive, four-story building of dark gray stone. Along the front section of the Hall were many long windows that overlooked the grand estate below with hills upon rolling hills.
Christine climbed the large-stoned stairs to the front entrance and knocked on the magnificent door before her. Instantly, it was opened, and an elegant, middle-aged man stared down at her from his majestic height. “May I help you?” he said.
“My name is Chris Smith,” she stated, staring at his spotless livery of white and blue and his neat white wig. “I’m here to see the Earl of Huntingdon.”
“Ah, young Master Smith. his lordship is expecting you,” the butler said.
A few moments later, the butler showed her into the study, announced her name, and left her there. Christine stood hesitantly in the middle of the room, watching Merrick, who was sitting behind a huge mahogany desk, his dark head bowed as he wrote in a book.
The silence stretched. She clamped her lips together and nervously looked about the room. It was enormous and beautifully designed. To her left were very tall, wide windows that overlooked the woods to the west of the estate. The thick red velvet drapes were drawn to each side of the windows, allowing winter light to brighten the room. On her right were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with hundreds of books, and stairs climbed to a balcony where more books were neatly placed on more shelves.
“Chris!”
She jumped. His tone demanded attention, but his voice caused her blood to sing. She gave him her sweetest smile, hoping it would please him.
“You may sit down on that seat.”
She nodded and scurried toward the elegant chair he’d indicated.
“How are you?” he asked, his eyes roving over her.
“I’m fine,” she replied eagerly.
“And your wound? Has it properly healed yet?”
“Yes, my lord,” she said. “I’m better now. The wound took a long time to heal, but I’m good and healthy now, you see.” She stood up again to her full height and rotated one full turn on her spot, allowing him to inspect her body.
Amused, Merrick nodded for her to sit down again. “Welcome to Huntingdon Hall. Do you think you’ll be happy here?”
Christine found her throat tight, unable to believe that this was really happening to her.
He laughed. “What’s wrong, Chris? Cat got your tongue?”
She shook her head.
Merrick stared at her lips, now glistening bright red. A nice heat of liquid rushed through his being. He frowned, abruptly got up, and strolled to the far side of the room, where he pulled the bell rope.
She wondered if she’d annoyed him by her silence. Perhaps he was already regretting that he was now her guardian. When he returned to his seat, however, he smiled at her and showed nothing of his earlier annoyance. She sighed with relief and told herself that she must be imagining things.
“I’ll get Mrs. Ross, the housekeeper, to show you around,” he started.
She nodded her head again.
“Be careful there—you might break your little neck, and I don’t want to be responsible for that,” he said. She smiled at his joke.
A moment later, there were three rhythmic knocks at the door.
“Enter!” Merrick called.
The door opened to reveal a plump, elderly woman neatly dressed all in dark gray except for her white, frilly cap, gray hair escaping onto the nape of her neck.
“Mrs. Ross,” Merrick said, “this is Chris Smith. Please take him to his room, and later on you can show him around the Hall.”
“Of course, my lord,” the plump woman said. “Come this way, err…”
“Chris, just call me Chris,” Christine said, standing up.
“No, you will not call him Chris, Mrs. Ross. You will call him Master Chris, Master Chris Smith,” Merrick supplied.
“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Ross said, nodding her head at Merrick.
Christine paused as she joined Mrs. Ross and said with a smile, “Thank you, my lord. You are ever so kind.” With that, she went into the hallway.
Mrs. Ross took Christine to her bedroom and told her to rest while refreshments were being prepared for her. Christine, unaccustomed to this kindness and luxury, nodded mutely. A few minutes later, a maid brought in a tea set on a tray, placed it on the table, curtsied low at Christine, and then left.
“I will leave you to enjoy your refreshment, Master Chris. I will return soon to show you around the Hall,” Mrs. Ross said and left.
Alone again, Christine relaxed for the first time and turned her attention to the tea, her first time tasting it. About half an hour later, Mrs. Ross reappeared and took her for a tour around the Hall and introduced her to the household staff. By the time this was over, she was exhausted and was very glad indeed to have a bath in a huge hip tub, which she thought very pleasant. She took her time washing herself, enjoying the task tremendously. Once the water was cold, she reluctantly climbed out and dressed herself. Then she took a stroll about the Hall to familiarize herself with where all the rooms were. When she encountered Merrick’s room, she couldn’t help herself and wandered in.
The master bedroom was very large and elegant, nicely refurbished with thick velvet drapes and upholstery. A settee and two chairs were positioned near the hearth, and three windows overlooked the garden. On one wall were two portraits. One was of a youth wearing a navy blue riding habit and astride a horse. He was smiling, and he looked very handsome. She wondered who the bo
y was.
She turned her attention to the other painting. It was of an exquisite woman with blond hair and bright, metallic-gray eyes. Her perfect English-rose complexion made Christine’s heart ache for some reason, and she sighed.
“What are you looking at?”
Christine jumped. “My lord, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, blushing profoundly.
“Hmm, I came in a few seconds ago,” he said, grinning, and he admitted to himself that he liked observing the youth unnoticed, particularly when he had a dreamlike smile on his face. It amused him vastly, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the little brat.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked.
“I was just exploring,” she replied shyly, wondering if perhaps she had overstepped her boundaries.
“I see,” Merrick commented, noting the blush creeping up those delicate cheeks. “Stop calling me my lord—call me Merrick.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he interrupted. “Now, where’s my valet?” He glanced at her confusion and said, “Paris is not very good with time. He has very good eyesight, but he’s very deaf and very forgetful. You’ll know what I mean when you meet him. Damn, I need a bath and to get ready on time for the dinner party.”
“Would you like me to go and find him for you?” she asked helpfully, knowing very well that she’d never find the valet because she did not know what he looked like, and she’d get lost trying to find her way around.
Merrick said, “No. He’ll be here soon enough.”
Christine watched in fascination as he took off his jacket and then undid his cravat. She thought he seemed tired, but still he looked very handsome with his dark hair now in a disheveled state as he raked his fingers through it. She had the urge to tousle it and make it even messier.
Merrick glanced at her and chuckled. “Perhaps you would like to help?” he asked playfully.
Christine bit her lip shyly and nodded.
“All right, come along then. I’ll show you my wardrobe.” That being said, he grabbed her slender wrist and led her to the bedroom and then to the walk-in wardrobe.
