by Candice Hern
The biggest surprise of the day, however, had been her own reaction to what she’d learned. When she had seen young Davey in the kitchen with his mother and he had flung himself into her arms, it was clear the boy was quite recovered. There was no more reason for Verity to remain at Pendurgan. Yet when Gonetta had asked if Verity was still planning to instruct her the next day in the preparation of a lavender decoction for the toothache, Verity had consented without hesitation.
What had become of her resolve to leave Pendurgan?
Verity put down the brush and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks flushed warm with the answer to that question. She suspected that her decision had more to do with James Harkness than with other demands upon her time.
Just as she had been unable to abandon Davey, she was also drawn to help James, for surely he needed healing as well. Verity was not certain precisely what she could do, short of providing him a potion to help him sleep, but she felt compelled to do something.
Verity pulled her long hair over one shoulder and began to section it for plaiting. The one problem that still troubled her was the nature of the other fires. Captain Poldrennan had been so reticent on the subject, Verity wondered if perhaps there was some truth in the stories that placed James in the vicinity of each fire. Yet with James’s fearful reaction to fire, it did not make sense that he could be an arsonist.
Verity’s hands stilled. She knew nothing about diseases of the mind. Could a fear of fire be transformed into a fascination with fire? Had any of the unexplained fires coincided with James’s strange periods of blackout, when he could not recall where he’d been or what he’d done?
If that were true, there was still the very real possibility that her life was in danger, as Agnes had warned her. Maybe she ought not be so quick to drop her guard.
A soft tapping sounded on the bedchamber door. Before Verity could do more than turn around on her stool, the door opened and James walked in.
He stepped into the bedchamber and quietly closed the door behind him. Verity gave a tiny gasp and rose so quickly she knocked over the cross-legged stool on which she’d been seated. She wore a long-sleeved, high-necked white nightgown. Her dark hair, gilded by the flickering firelight, hung loosely over one shoulder. She clasped her hands, one tightly gripping a hairbrush, across her full bosom. The fire behind her illumined the shape of her body beneath the white gown. James’s own body, naked under the heavy brocade dressing gown, grew hard at the sight of her.
She looked beautiful. And terrified. Her dark eyes were wide with apprehension.
James stood awkwardly, watching her, uncertain what to say. Words ought not to have been necessary. He had been softening her up all through supper and was almost certain he had succeeded. Still, she looked genuinely startled by his appearance in her room, in his dressing gown. Surely she could have no question as to why he had come.
Her breathing came quick and shallow, causing her bosom to rise and fall beneath her crossed hands. James took a tentative step toward her. Verity closed her eyes, the merest tremor tugging her lips into a downward twist. It was a look of unquestionable pain.
An instant later, she dropped her hands to her sides, straightened her shoulders, and raised her eyes to meet his. There was no anguish or self-pity in that gaze, only resignation. She lifted her chin a notch. Proud resignation. She knew what he wanted and, clearly, was prepared to give in to him. Not willing, perhaps, but ready.
For he had bought and paid for her, and she could not refuse.
She stood before him, straight and tall. Nipples taut with fear or cold—or something else?—peaked the fabric of her nightgown, but she made no more move to cover herself. The heat of desire shimmered out from James’s groin all the way down to the tips of his toes. In that moment, he wanted Verity Osborne more than he had ever wanted any woman.
Without uttering a word, she stood there cloaked in little more than her brazen dignity, willing to let him take even that from her.
Because he had paid for her.
In a horrific travesty of a transaction, she had had everything else taken from her: her legal status, her rights by marriage, her identity, her home, her future, her reputation. She was left with nothing but her dignity, which she possessed in abundance. And for the sake of a few moments of pleasure, James was about to strip her even of that.
He could not do it.
“Forgive me.” James’s voice was harsh and unsteady through tight lips. “I should not have come.” He turned and quickly left the room, closing the door behind him.
Verity sank onto the edge of the bed and let out her pent-up breath in a whoosh. She placed a limp hand over her breast and felt the pounding of her heart beneath.
What had just happened?
Lord Harkness had finally come to her, just as she had been expecting since her very first night at Pendurgan. Shocked and a little frightened, she had nevertheless been ready to accept her fate. God forgive her, she had even experienced a prickle of excitement that it was finally to happen, for it was useless to deny the physical reactions triggered by this man.
All the sensations of last night’s kiss had seemed to ripple through her body once again, though he stood halfway across the room and never touched her. The dark red brocade of his banyan picked up the glimmer of the dying fire and gave him a devilish appearance. He looked dangerous and magnificent.
She had been ready to give herself to him, if that was what he wanted. Or needed. If that was the way to help heal his wounded soul, then she was ready to make the sacrifice.
Foolish girl! It had ended exactly as she might have predicted.
Verity slammed her fist against the counterpane. What was wrong with her? She had no call to feel physical desire for any man, but most especially this man. Her traitorous body ought not to feel even a suggestion of excitement or anticipation. Her wedding night had taught her what to expect, and there was nothing exciting to anticipate in what might have happened. Only disgust and dismissal. Just as it had been with Gilbert.
Foolish, foolish girl! For a brief moment, her own reluctant attraction to this dark stranger had made her forget to expect rejection. She had long been resigned to the knowledge that she could never be desirable to a man in that way.
The look of agonized distress on James’s face just before he turned to leave spoke volumes. Perhaps he needed her, or thought he did. Yet when it came to the point, he could not want her. No man could. She had learned that from her husband. She was not normal.
Verity wiped tears from her cheeks and returned to the dressing table. She righted the stool and sat down, then began once again to section her hair. The only good that came from what happened was that James had recognized the futility of a physical relationship before it was too late. She did not think she could have endured the full force of his disgust if he had made the attempt.
But that look of anguish on his face haunted her. Verity suspected his need grew from the pain and shame and guilt of what had happened, both in Spain and at Pendurgan. She understood pain in many forms. Though she might not understand his specific type of pain, she nevertheless was drawn to do what she could to ease it.
Perhaps that was the least she could do for two hundred pounds. Even if it meant putting herself in danger.
After a sleepless night, James crept down to the breakfast room earlier than usual. Tomas brought him the usual tea and toast and jam. He never felt much like eating in the mornings, and this morning the bread was dry and tasteless, the jam oversweet. He pushed his plate away and was about to leave when Verity entered.
“Good morning, my lord.” Her voice was cheerful and she actually smiled.
What the devil?
He cleared his throat and began to compose an appropriate apology for last night’s intrusion when Tomas entered. He served her toast and jam from the sideboard and asked if she’d like tea or chocolate.
“Tea, please, Tomas,” she said in a bright, convivial tone. “And a boiled egg, I thi
nk. I’m famished!”
Tomas nodded and left them alone. Verity began spooning the jam on a thick slice of toast and said, “It’s a beautiful morning, my lord. Clear and sunny. I trust you slept well?”
He gazed at her in astonishment. Was this some sort of playacting? She could not possibly be this cheerful, this friendly after what he’d almost done last night.
“No,” he said, “I did not. Verity, I—”
“You still have trouble sleeping? Then you must allow me to make up something for you. I have some valerian root that will make a very effective infusion. Shall I make it for you tonight?”
Thoroughly confused, James ran his fingers through his hair and glared dumbly at her. “Please, Verity, this is outrageous. There is no need to pretend.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord?”
He fidgeted in his chair. He had hoped to have more time to contrive an acceptable apology. “I’m sorry,” he said, “for disturbing you last night. It was unconscionable of me. I do not want you to think that just because—”
“It is quite all right, my lord. There is no need for you to apologize. I quite understand.”
“You do?” How could she possibly? Or was she simply so relieved that he had not gone through with it, that she was willing to pretend it had never happened?
“Even so,” he said, “you must allow me to say that I regret my behavior—not only last night’s, but also the way I practically mauled you the night before. It was unforgivable and I assure you it shall not happen again.”
Verity waved her hand in front of her face as though whisking away a pesky insect. “It is forgotten,” she said. “We shall not speak of it again.”
Tomas returned with tea and a boiled egg perched in a delicate cup. Verity expertly cracked the shell and spooned a bit of egg onto her toast. As she took a bite, James rose to leave.
“I bid you good morning, then.” He wanted nothing more than to make a hasty exit. Her apparent willingness to forgive him made him oddly uncomfortable. Before he could take another step, though she said, “Oh, please wait. It is such a lovely day, I thought I might ask you a favor.”
Ah. Here comes the payment for last night, he thought. She was going to leave Pendurgan. A knot formed in his stomach. He managed to utter, “Yes?”
She smiled at him. It seemed a genuine smile. He sensed no masked fear or anxiety. Yet he knew that she had always feared him to a degree. Should she not fear him all the more after he had barged, half naked, into her bed chamber last night?
“You must tell me if it is a great imposition,” she said, looking him squarely in the eye. “But it is a beautiful sunny day, and there have not been many since I arrived. And one cannot count on too many more such days before winter sets in.”
James nodded for her to continue. “It is just that I have seen as much of Pendurgan as possible on foot. I wondered if…is it possible you have a horse I might ride?”
She continued to astonish him. “You wish to ride?”
She gave him a smile so brilliant, it was as if she’d held up a light to dazzle him. The knot in his belly uncoiled into something else altogether.
“It has been so long since I’ve ridden,” she said. “It would be such a pleasure to do so. And to have you show me about the estate.”
It was too much. He had to sit down. “You…you wish me to ride with you?”
“If it is not a frightful imposition and you are not too busy.”
He was not too busy. Within the hour, feeling decidedly uneasy, he rode out of the main stable yard by her side. Jago had mounted her on Titania, a sleek little bay mare. Verity had a good seat, though it had obviously been a while since she’d ridden, and she laughed a good deal before she found her way with the mare. Though sunny, the air was chill with a bite of wind, and after a short time, Verity’s cheeks grew flushed with the cold. She looked beautiful, even in the slightly shabby habit she’d donned.
At her request, James showed her over the whole estate. They rode past the home farms, mostly dormant this time of year, and the threshing barns where the girls’ voices rose sweetly on the wind as they sang while preparing seed wheat. They rode through the pastures where only a handful of sheep lingered while their relatives met their fates in the slaughtering barns.
“It is not the best time of year to appreciate the farms,” James said as they skirted the busy smokehouse.
“I grew up in the country,” Verity said, “and enjoy all the seasons of farm life. This season of death and reparation is no less important than the spring rebirth.”
He asked her where she had grown up, and she spoke longingly of Lincolnshire and its lush wolds. He learned she was the only child of a country squire. It seemed odd that he knew so little about her, when she surely had been told all the wretched details of his past. He would like to know more about her marriage and how it came to such an ignominious end, but he dared not ask and break the spell of pleasant amity that had so unexpectedly grown between them today.
She looked about her and laughed at the strangeness Cornwall had presented when she first arrived. “But now,” she said, her glance sweeping the vista of farmland and moorland beyond, “now I believe I quite like it.”
He reined in. “You do?”
“Oh, yes. You may all attempt to turn me away with your piskeys and your ghosts, but I have grown fond of this place and the people and their musical voices. Goodness, but it was difficult to understand the local people at first.”
“Ah, but ’ee has no trouble now, does ’ee?” James said in his best Cornish.
Verity laughed. “Not a bit,” she said and galloped on ahead.
When James caught up, she slowed and turned to him. “Could we explore the moors?”
“If you’d like.”
“Oh, I would indeed.”
And so they left the green farmlands and stone hamlets behind and headed toward the rugged boulder-strewn moorland. They slowed as they passed Wheal Devoran while Verity peppered James with questions about the mine and its workings. She seemed mesmerized by the rhythmic rattle and hiss of the great bob engine, and he was only just able to stop her from dismounting to explore the mysterious workings within the engine house. She did, however, extract a promise to do so on another day.
When they reached the High Tor, Verity grew quiet. They dismounted and sat silently for a while atop one of the granite boulders.
“This is all yours, then?” Verity swept her arm in a slow circle over the land below.
“Not all. Just the parts we rode over. The farms. And the mine.”
“And St. Perran’s.”
“And St. Perran’s. But over there—see?—is Bosreath. That is Alan Poldrennan’s family estate. And beyond that is Trenleven, the Nance homestead.”
“But your estate is much more vast than the rest, is it not?” she asked.
“We have been lucky in Wheal Devoran, and Wheal Justice before it played out. Mine profits support the land.”
“And the people.”
“Yes.”
“You are good to your people, my lord.”
“I daresay they might disagree with you.”
“I do not believe so. Oh, they may dislike you”—she shot him a glance—“but they cannot complain of your treatment. Your mine is successful and employs men and women of St. Perran’s and other villages, I’m told. Your tenant cottages in St. Perran’s are kept in good repair. The church is well maintained, and the Methodist meetinghouse as well. Your people have a lot to be thankful for. And you have a great deal of responsibility.”
“It is late,” James said, not wishing to head down that conversational path. “We should be getting back.” He stood and retrieved the horses. Verity stood on a boulder and he lifted her into the saddle. When he had mounted, she drew Titania up beside him.
“The name does not suit you,” she said.
“What?”
“Despite what you’d like the world to believe, you are a good man, my lord. You are
not at all heartless.”
Later that evening, as he sat in his usual spot in the library with his chair turned away from the fire, Verity entered carrying a steaming cup. It was the valerian infusion she had promised. Perhaps recalling that other time they had been alone in the library, she set the cup down on the candlestand near his chair and quickly took her leave.
He sipped the bitter brew and considered its maker. Today seemed to have been her way of letting him know that she did not harbor the fear and loathing he had expected after last night. She thought him a “good man” despite all she’d heard to the contrary, despite even the way he had treated her.
He stopped trying to understand why, but he had the distinct impression she wanted to be a friend to him. There was nothing coy or flirtatious about her manner, so clearly she was not inviting another seduction.
God knew, he still wanted her. But he admired her too much to take advantage of her again. He found the notion of her friendship strangely comforting.
He downed the last of the infusion and screwed up his face in distaste. He shook his head and chuckled. Perhaps her friendly manner had been a ruse to set him off-guard so that she could poison him. He shuddered involuntarily at the foul aftertaste lingering on his tongue.
He picked up the book he had been reading when Verity entered, but after a few pages the words began to blur. He set the book down, trudged upstairs, and, to the stunned amazement of Lobb, fell straight into bed.
James slept through the night for the first time in more years than he could remember.
The following days settled into a new pattern, always ending with Verity mixing up her infusion and taking it to James in the library. The day after their ride, when they had met again at the breakfast table, Verity had asked him if the drink had been effective.
“I slept like the dead,” he replied and gave that little twitch of the mouth that generally passed for a smile. In an instant, though, his manner became serious and his words faltered. “I…I cannot tell you what that means to me or…or how grateful I am. I do not recall the last time I felt so rested.”
