“I’m looking for him, actually. We were to meet in the village, but—”
“In Tarrindale?”
“Yes. I—I have some work to do in the area. Research.” His eyes drifted again to her leg.
William Frazier was staying in Tarrindale? Nora’s heart rattled the bars of its cage. When she spoke, she fought to keep her voice even. “He’s not to be home until later. Our driver is picking him up at the station for the five o’clock train.”
“Ah. I’m sorry. I should have checked with him before I left to make sure of his plans.”
“Why are you walking to the stable?”
He dropped his eyes and might even have blushed. “Nosiness.”
“Excuse me?”
“I walked up the lane and it’s … it’s magnificent. The house, the grounds, all of it. We have nothing like this in America. I turned off the road and started wandering the grounds. I haven’t even been to the house yet.”
To have the gallant knight of her dreams blushing over impolite behavior struck Nora as perfectly delightful. She leaned back and laughed. The vigor of her ride, and the rush of excitement at Mr. Frazier’s sudden return to her life, and Christopher’s imminent return as well, turned her blood and breath to bubbles, and she laughed and laughed, until Middy danced restlessly under his saddle.
When she had the reins on her hilarity, she found Mr. Frazier grinning up at her.
“It’s very good to see you again, Lady Nora.”
“And you, Mr. Frazier.” Middy fidgeted again. “I need to take my horse back. If you’re not scandalised by my attire or my conduct, perhaps you would walk with me in the garden for a while?” She nodded toward the flower garden, arranged within a hedge maze.
“I’m not scandalised, my lady. Far from it.”
“Well then, if you’ll excuse us …”
He stepped back, and she turned and rode to the stable.
Although Nora was petite enough that she could still become disoriented in the hedge maze if she weren’t careful, it was only about shoulder-height to a well-sized man. It had been much taller for hundreds of years, but before she was born, her brother Peter had got lost in it when he was quite young, and it had taken her parents and the whole house staff the better part of a day to find him. Her father had immediately ordered it to be shortened so that he could see over it from any point.
It had apparently caused a scandal in the village, and cries had resounded over the demolition of history, but her father had never again let it grow any higher than five feet, five inches. He was impervious to the stain of scandal when he valued the cause enough.
With every step, Nora felt the breeches around her thighs and quivered with something like shame. She would never have wished Mr. Frazier to see her like this, in mud-spattered breeches and boots, her hair wild and sagging from its pins, the shape of her legs exposed all the way to her hips.
But why not? Why was her body something to be hidden under corsets and skirts? Why was her hair to be trained every day into a work of art? Wasn’t it just the same as the expectation that she never offer, or have, a thought or opinion that was her own? Wasn’t it all men telling women what to do, what to think, what to be?
Not who to be. What.
Who’d decided that a woman’s body and voice were shameful things? Men.
Well, here, alone at Tarrindale Hall with Mr. Frazier, Nora decided that hers were not.
She walked up to the maze with her shoulders square and her head high. He was standing, watching her approach the maze, so she knew how to make her way to him. She didn’t have to guess the path and hope she’d end up where he was; she could go straight to him and never make a wrong turn.
She met him in the middle, where a commodious courtyard had been fashioned from the walls of the hedge. A reflecting pool had pride of place at the centre, surrounded by granite benches and flowering shrubs. The season for flowers had nearly passed, but the varieties had been chosen for the colours of their foliage as well, so even in autumn, the garden burst with vibrant life.
“You went all the way to the centre,” she said as she came into the courtyard and walked up to him. She hadn’t really been thinking of privacy when she’d directed him to the garden—it was simply the nearest comfortable place to be, and there were benches throughout the maze—but now, she couldn’t help but see how hidden they would be, should they sit.
“I’ve never been in something like this. I wanted to see it all.”
“A lady’s reputation might be at stake, should she be found alone here with a man.”
Concern immediately creased his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Shall we go out, then?”
“No.” She gestured toward the nearest bench. “There’s no one near who would judge. My father is away until dinner.” She sat, and he followed, leaving a few inches between them. Nora stared at his thigh, clad in black, so close to her own, clad in dun.
“Your father is away? You’re alone?”
She laughed—and understood something interesting. Here at Tarrindale Hall, she felt stronger than she had in London. She felt comfortable, and herself, no matter that her father wished her otherwise. She felt equal to the man at her side. In London, she’d felt young and vulnerable, a damsel in need of a hero.
“Alone with a staff of twenty. And with you.”
He smiled, and then they were quiet, their eyes locked. Nora hadn’t before had such an opportunity to study his fascinating eyes—brown and green and gold, the colours shifting in the sunlight. That magnetism she felt that seemed to pull her body to his rose up inside her, and she turned away before she moved toward him. She studied the pool instead.
It gave back the blue sky and the rushing white clouds, and she watched the reflected scene for a while, searching for something to say. He was here for Christopher, not her, and she shouldn’t make assumptions.
“You say you have business in Tarrindale?”
“Not Tarrindale specifically. The coast. Probably Dover. Your brother offered Tarrindale as a home base while I research a project I’ve been working on.”
“The Channel tunnel.”
Sparks seemed to flare from his eyes. “You know?”
“Christopher told me about it. He thinks it’s foolish.”
“Yes, he says as much at every chance.” He narrowed his regard and leaned in. “What do you think?”
At first, Nora didn’t know what to say. Her tongue had atrophied from lack of use. “I think … I think that from the first moment a man picked up a bone and used it to break something, no one has ever taken a step forward without a crowd of naysayers at his back. Or hers. There are always people who think the thing that hasn’t been done cannot be done. I think the only knowing is to try.”
Mr. Frazier’s mouth fell open, and Nora worried that he, too, was appalled that she would speak about something of which she had no right to know. But he said, “You are a remarkable woman, Lady Nora.”
“Am I?” She felt warm, as if the heat of his body had doubled her own, and she turned her eyes away from his.
He caught her chin on his hand and turned her to him again. “You are.”
Her heart railed for freedom, making such a commotion inside her that Nora could scarcely think. She would shame herself again if she stayed in this maze with this man for much longer. She’d misread him once before, and she couldn’t take the risk again.
Even were she not misreading him, even if the pull she felt were mutual, what did that mean? Did he want to wed her or simply woo her? If he would wed her, how? Her father would never agree, no matter what her aunt had thought. It was hopeless; whether he cared for her or not was of little consequence to that truth.
Before she made a fool of herself—or more of a fool than she already had—Nora stood. He stood as well.
“I should go in. Luncheon will be served soon. You can join me if you’d like, but it will be humble—it’s only me, after all.”
He studied her close
ly, like he thought her as confounding as she thought him. “I like a humble meal. Thank you.”
“Go round the front so Gaines can invite you in. Otherwise, were he to find you in the house unannounced, he might have a stroke.”
What she did next happened without thought or sense. Even the impulse to do it went through her unnoticed. She found herself rising up on her toes before him, lifting her hand to pick up a curl of his hair that rested atop his collar, letting its dark silk coil around a finger. He tipped his head, surprised, and she pressed her lips to his cheek.
She’d never done anything like that before in her life. But oh, his beard was velvet on her lips, so much softer than she’d imagined! And his scent—rich and spicy, like old leather and good wool. That hot clench at the bottom of her belly flared and tightened, and her knees shook. She wanted to wrap her whole body around his and devour him.
Shocked at herself, she dropped to her heels and muttered, “Excuse me,” then turned, meaning to scurry away with all possible haste before she abased herself utterly and lost any chance of ever again seeing that look in his eyes when he’d held her chin.
But he gasped, “Nora!” and grabbed her arm, pulling her around, drawing her firmly to his body. Her body touched his at every point. He towered over her, overwhelmed her. “Nora,” he said again, quietly, and slid his other hand over her jaw to push his fingers into her hair. His head descended until his lips hovered over hers. His breath danced over her skin. “May I kiss you?” he whispered.
There was only one proper answer, but it wasn’t the right one. “Yes,” she murmured back, and his mouth covered hers.
A whimper escaped Nora from somewhere. His mouth was hot and his lips soft, so soft, but they’d set off clamoring explosions inside her, and she grabbed the shoulders of his coat lest her legs give way and she fall to the ground.
The hand that had yet held her arm released her, and that arm swept around her waist, and then she was safe. She wouldn’t fall; he held her steady, and she could turn all her attention to his perfect mouth on hers.
Then she felt his tongue, like liquid fire, nudging at the seam of her lips, and she threw her head back in shock.
He held on and looked down on her with heavy-lidded eyes. His open mouth glistened, and his breath shook like hers. “Have you never been kissed, Lady Nora?”
A snap of disappointment hit her at his use of her title again. She’d felt an intimacy between them when he’d used only her name. Now, there was distance again. “Of course not.”
“Would you like me to kiss you again?”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back. He gave her an inch. “What is it you want of me, Mr. Frazier?”
“I want all of you, Lady Nora. But your hand most of all.”
The kiss had clearly befuddled her. “What?”
“I would like to marry you.”
Her knees failed at their task. He held onto her sagging body and kept her from falling, and helped her to sit again on the bench. “You want … but why?”
“Because I love you.”
She covered her mouth with both hands, to be sure to stuff any unseemly cries back down her throat, and he smiled and continued, “I thought what I felt was only infatuation, and I hoped to get to know you better while I was here on the coast before I asked, but seeing you today, talking to you again, I don’t see the point in waiting. I love you, Nora. Would you be my wife?”
Yes! Yes! Yes! But how? How could they? What had changed since she’d left London? Her father wouldn’t consider one failed Season to be the end of the effort to get her matched to a duke or an earl, and Mr. Frazier was neither. Black disappointment shouldered aside her momentary joy, and she sighed. “I would love nothing more, but my father … “
“It’s important to you to have his blessing?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but yes. I cannot defy him so starkly. It would break his heart, and it’s been so broken already.”
“All right, then. I’ll be working here for weeks. Possibly months. I’ll use that time to bring him over to my side.” He grinned and brushed her hair from her face. “I’m very good with words, Nora. I’ll make him see. And in the meantime, we can get to know each other better.”
He leaned close, and, knowing he meant to kiss her again, she pursed her lips and closed her eyes and waited to have that bliss again. But it didn’t come. She opened her eyes—he was right there, watching her with an amused curve at the corner of his mouth.
“Open your mouth for me, Nora.” He took hold of her chin again. This time, with his thumb, he tugged downward until her mouth opened. His hands framed her face, and his mouth was on hers, and his tongue—it pushed into her and found hers—oh! Oh!
Nora grabbed at anything she could—his sleeves, clutching the wool into her fists—as the whole world changed. She was full of colour and light and sound, and oh, how full of feeling she was. His tongue brushed hers, swirled around it, found its tip. His lips moved over hers, supple as silk. His fingers held her face, nearly burned her with their heat. His beard brushed her cheeks. His breath roared in her ears. Or was that her breath? Or was it her heart, her racing, roaring heart, bursting through the bars of her ribs?
He eased away, ending the brilliant cataclysm with a tiny kiss to the corner of her astounded mouth. “Oh, Mr. Frazier,” she gasped. “You are my unicorn.”
“Nora,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
She tried to remember how her eyelids worked.
“Nora,” he chuckled and gave her a nudge. “Come on.”
She made her lids lift and saw him, a swirling blur before her eyes. A galaxy.
“Say my name.”
“William,” she said, aloud for the first time. “William.”
“Can you love me?”
“I can. I do.”
Again he drew her so close their bodies seemed to merge, and again he kissed her. This time, she understood what she should do. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He grunted and groaned, the sounds reverberating in her mouth, and Nora understood that she made him feel the same beautiful things he’d introduced to her.
Her whole life was different now. Her whole world. Hope exploded all around her, all through her. Hope and love and possibility.
She was loved. For the woman she was.
EIGHT
William smirked at the butler standing guard in the corner of the library. Since he’d opened the door and found William standing outside it, he’d not allowed him from his sight. Mr. Gaines took his position as manager of the household seriously, and apparently, he considered ‘guardian of his lady’s virtue’ to be among his responsibilities.
That was fine with William. He wanted nothing that would alarm Nora’s father about his intentions. In fact, he didn’t want his intentions to be known yet at all. As far as Lord Tarrin was concerned, William was here for one purpose only: to study the feasibility of his tunnel project.
His father had wanted to kill the project; he wanted him home. There was work to be done, and progress to be made, in California. But William had argued that leaving now would be leaving potential on the table. His father’s response had been typically Frazier: if William felt so strongly about the project, then he should take full responsibility for it—its failure or its success.
So William was funding this extension himself—and not merely as an excuse to be near Nora. He believed in this project and wouldn’t be satisfied to walk away without being sure it was truly hopeless. If it was a failure, he would survive the attempt. If it were to succeed, however, he might eclipse his father, and possibly his grandfather as well. He was sure that the idea itself was sound. If it failed, it would be because he couldn’t convince the people here to see its promise.
He’d never thought of himself as a visionary like they, and he’d never been as deeply invested in the business as a way of life as they. His ambition lay in Sacramento, and someday perhaps Washington. But every time someone had told hi
m ‘no’ in England, he’d taken one more step toward obsession over this project. Maybe that was why his grandfather and father were visionaries. Maybe what the Fraziers truly were was obstinate. He’d been called arrogant often enough in the past four months—because he wouldn’t back down.
He’d jumped ahead of his intentions with Nora, he thought, simply because she was the first person in all of England to have expressed his own thinking about the tunnel. He’d meant to move much more slowly, to be sure of his feelings, and of hers, before he spoke of intention, to be mindful of the siren call of infatuation and keep reason in control. Then she’d spoken his own mind to him, and he’d been sure.
It had had nothing to do with her sleek, supple legs encased in tan riding breeches or the way her thighs had sloped to a pert derrière. He’d seen women in pants before—it wasn’t common in America, but women who worked the earth, on ranches and farms, sometimes dressed for maximum practicality. And he’d seen his share of women out of pants and everything else. He understood the female form.
To see Lady Nora Tate dressed in that manner, however, was different. In London, she’d been attired as a proper lady, in elegant silks and tasteful jewels, long gloves and pointed shoes, her hair braided and coiled into elaborate constructions. To see her in breeches, spattered with mud, her hair windblown and bursting free of its unworthy bindings, her color high and her dimpled smile wide—he’d felt he’d seen Nora, the true woman, and the impact had been sensual and immediate. A revelation.
Not one sufficient to render him irrational, however. He’d asked for her hand with reason at the helm. He’d simply been sure much more quickly than he’d anticipated.
Nora made her moves on the backgammon board and bore two of her dark checkers off. She had five left; he had seven. She looked up at him, challenge beaming from her bright eyes, and he focused his attention on their game and shook out the dice: five and four. He studied the board she’d left him, and she did as well. He had no choice but to leave a single checker vulnerable on a point, and she knew it when he did. She leaned back in her chair and linked her hands across her middle, the picture of confident patience, waiting for her chance to destroy him.
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