by Danice Allen
“There’s a good girl.” He pulled her fast against him, and she twined her arms about his neck in a close embrace. It was heartwarming to see the trust and caring so obviously in abundance between Zach and Gabby. Zach had a way with the child that Alex couldn’t help but admire. But it disturbed him, too. In fact, he resented it. Here was yet further proof of Zach’s greater claim to Beth’s love, Beth’s hand in marriage. Zach was intimately entangled in Beth’s family. They all loved him—damn ’em to hell.
“I’m famished,” Beth said, breaking into the tender moment, which, in Alex’s bitter opinion, was fast becoming maudlin. “Why don’t we all sit down and eat?” She darted a worried look toward Alex, which he tried to ignore. Much as he hated to admit it, he was feeling downright sulky.
They all did sit down, but only Gabby ate a good breakfast. Restored to her usual animated self, she carried the conversation, effectively centering it around childish concerns and interests. Everyone else seemed too preoccupied, too tired, or too miserable to do justice to Cook’s hearty victuals, or to begin an adult conversation until Zach began to talk of his plans concerning the tin mines and other estate renovations. As he spoke, turning frequently to Beth as if to gain her approval, as if her coming status as mistress of Pencarrow required her inclusion in every minute detail of his plans, his face fairly beamed with pleasure born of good intentions.
Beth listened and smiled encouragingly. Alex knew she was impressed by Zach’s changed attitude, just as he was. She did not know precisely how much Zach intended to reform, however, thought Alex with a resentment that he hated in himself. Beth still didn’t know about Tess, and Alex couldn’t tell her, even though knowledge of Zach’s relationship with Tess would most probably wedge antipathy between the lifelong friends. But Alex would not sink so low as to use Zach’s mistress to separate his brother from Beth. He had to be fair.
Beth sat directly across the table from him. He watched her as she listened to Zach. She fairly glowed with life today, and a prideful masculine part of him exulted in the knowledge that he’d given her that womanly glow. He wanted to touch her—so badly. Just a few inches separated his hand from hers on the table between them. It seemed cruel and unnatural that he had no right to touch her now in the sunlit routine of day, when last night by moonlight he’d made her his by every natural law attached to the loving sacrament between a man and a woman.
She must have felt his scrutiny. She turned. Their gazes met, meshed, and lovingly caressed. Alex swallowed hard. He had to find an opportunity to tell Zach the truth soon. But not, perhaps, till Zach had concluded the flurry of business he was about to arrange with his steward. To throw onto his brother’s teeth such unsettling news at such a crucial time would not be prudent or kind. Let him board up his tin mines; then Alex would tell him all. Meanwhile, the more distance he could keep between himself and Beth, the better. Only by denying himself the sweet intoxicant of her delectable body could he keep from shouting his love for her from the steepletop of the parish church.
Two weeks passed like the slow, crushing turn of a gristmill—heavy and grinding. Beth had seen little of Zach and less of Alex. One day, however, she and Alex found themselves unexpectedly alone in the Pencarrow drawing room, everyone else having gone out for a moment on some errand or other. She demanded to know why he’d been avoiding her, and he succinctly informed her that it was all he could do to refrain from throwing her onto the floor for wicked purposes. This urge frequently came upon him even while the room was inhabited by numerous people. If he was alone with her for more than half a minute, he’d surely ravish her quite thoroughly. Even as they spoke, he was mad with desire.
He said all this as he sat quietly in a chair, one leg crossed over the other in casual repose. But the burning intensity of his eyes told all. He wanted her with the same fervor that had kept her tossing and turning in her bed all night, remembering…. Remembering how moonbeams bathed the supple, rippling muscles of his chest and stomach in creamy luminescence. Remembering how his broad back and firm buttocks felt beneath her questing hands. Remembering how his mouth fit perfectly against and into hers. Remembering …
“But why can’t we be together?” she said. “How soon will you tell him?”
“We can’t be together because if I make love to you one more time, I won’t be able to stop myself from telling Zach. And we can’t tell Zach till he’s done with all this estate business.”
“Must you help him? Must you be gone all day inspecting the tin mines, too?” she returned petulantly.
“If I help him, the work will be done sooner. If I’m busy and away from you, I’m more likely to be able to control myself.” Alex sighed. “We can be grateful that Zach’s zeal to speedily dispatch his most pressing estate responsibilities is giving him practically no time to play devoted fiancé to you. Every time he touches you, I—”
“I know,” Beth said soothingly. “But he has been nothing if not a true gentleman. He does not press me for intimacies beyond the peck on the cheek I’ve allowed him. In fact, he’s been so sweet, so repentant, that I feel an absolute villainess by comparison.”
“It would be best if you stayed at Brookmoor till all of this is settled,” Alex said tersely.
“Then I’d never see you. Zach would come to Brookmoor, and you would not be about to act as chaperon. No, I shan’t take your advice in this instance, Alex.”
Alex’s mouth quirked in a small grin. “You’re a determined baggage, Beth. You’d never have made Zach a biddable wife.”
Beth’s brows rose slightly. She was about to retort that she wouldn’t make him a biddable wife, either; then she remembered that he still hadn’t asked her to marry him. He would, wouldn’t he?
“Now what, love?” he said, cocking his head to one side. “Have I made you angry by calling you a determined baggage?” His voice grew lower, softer. “But look at you! If you don’t suck in that lower lip this moment, I’m coming over there to nibble on it till it bleeds. Are protruding lower lips a family trait?”
Coquettishly she thrust out her chin and stuck out her lip even further. She saw his whole body tighten like a spring about to uncoil and fling itself across the room. His black eyes flashed a warning, a plea. In a moment he’d be next to her on the sofa, nibbling said lip, regardless of the imminent interruption. The crossed leg slid to the floor, and he had leaned ever so slightly forward when the door opened and Zach came in. They’d been saved by Zach’s unintended good timing, but what of the next temptation?
Frustrating days after this close encounter with passion, after which Alex had extracted a reluctant promise from her to help him resist making love to her, Beth was on her way to St. Teath to while away an hour or two at Mrs. Turley’s dress shop. She was driving the cabriolet, a lightly sprung pearl-gray equipage her father had given her as a gift shortly before he died. A glossy mare the same shade as the carriage pranced before it. One of the smaller stable lads stood on the back platform serving as tiger.
It was the first week of August, and the weather was as hot and steamy as Sadie’s plum pudding when it was freshly unwrapped from its cloth on Christmas Day. Generally Beth did not suffer from the heat, but though it was only midmorning, even she was feeling a bit wilted by the time the outskirts of town came into view.
St. Teath was a charming, bustling little village perched on a cliff above Port Isaac Bay. The cobbled main road of town was steep as it wound down to the small cove and stone pier below. Shops and cottages were crammed together tightly, their sturdy walls and shutters a defense against the many storms that blew in from the Sea.
Beth halted the cabriolet in front of Mrs. Turley’s shop, and the tiger jumped down from the back of the rig and took the ribbons from her while simultaneously helping her to alight from the carriage.
Beth smiled her thanks and instructed the boy to return for her at half past the hour of noon, allowing herself two hours to peruse through La Belle Assemblee and some of the other fashion magazines Mrs. T
urley kept in the shop for reference as well as for choosing patterns, colors, and fabrics for gowns. Then, if she had time left, she would browse through some of the other shops and perhaps pick up some peppermint drops at the confectioner’s for Gabby.
Beth watched the lad drive the carriage away to find a watering trough for the horse and a shady tree under which he might take a snooze. She should have brought a female servant with her to lend her countenance, she supposed. But she was feeling tetchy today and not of a mind for company, even if the company remained silent. The only company Beth wanted—needed—was Alex’s, and he continued to honorably fulfill his role as supportive brother and tramp about the mine-infested moors with Zach. It seemed their business would never be done. It did not help that Zach continually promised to be her most devoted and humble servant when the work was finished.
Beth wavered back and forth these days between guilt and desire, sympathy and frustration, helplessness and anger, a sisterly love for Zach and an all-consuming, not-to-be-ignored passionate devotion to Alex. All she really knew for sure was that she would go mad if her predicament did not culminate soon.
In the meantime she would order a dress made. Something rose pink. Next to nothing at all, Alex preferred her in pink. Those had been his precise and very satisfying words. A womanly smile curved her lips as she smoothed her willow-green morning gown and straightened her straw bonnet preparatory to entering the shop.
Just as she stepped forward, however, she spied a familiar figure from out of the corner of her eye. She turned and observed Dudley strolling down the street in her direction, his lank form looming taller than anybody standing near him, his bright thatch of carrot-colored hair gleaming in the sunshine, his thumbs hooked in the waist of his white breeches. He did not see her; he was studying the different wares on display in shop windows and did not seem in a hurry to arrive at any particular destination. She supposed that Alex had given him permission to enjoy a day in town. Certainly he was not much needed at Pencarrow when Alex was gone nearly all day every day.
Although Beth was disinclined to seek company, somehow the idea of a friendly chat with Dudley was cheering. She liked him. And he was Alex’s valet, intimately involved in all those rituals of dress and grooming that enhanced Alex’s innate attractiveness. Like a romantical miss who foolishly treasured objects and people attached in some way to her beloved, Beth found herself drawn to Dudley. Perhaps she could contrive to turn the conversation toward Alex. It would be a pleasure to at least speak of him.
She walked toward Dudley and raised her hand in greeting. When he did not see her, she was about to call out his name, but a young woman stepped up from the road to intercept him just then. Dudley halted and gave the girl his complete attention. Beth stopped and watched. She was but a few feet away now and could see both of them clearly, but she could not hear their conversation. She hesitated to interrupt them, though she was burning with curiosity as to who the young woman was.
The girl was beautiful. Beth thought she’d seen her about town before. Indeed, she was the sort of person one couldn’t help but notice. She was petite, a bit shorter than Beth. Her hair was butter yellow but had a sheen like fine silk. Braids adorned her temples, pulling her hair away from her face to fall in a mass of waves down her back. Her profile was fair and finely hewn; her skin—at least from a distance—looked as clear and smooth as marble but with a blush to it. Her ivory gown was as fine as Beth’s own, which piqued her curiosity further. The girl couldn’t be a servant because she was too well dressed. But if she were gentry, Beth should have known her from the social gatherings hosted by the local upper crust. Possibly she was a rich merchant’s daughter.
Beth’s forehead creased in puzzlement. No longer caring whether it was polite to interrupt them or not, she started to walk toward the pair. She had to know who the girl was. She had a strong feeling that if she didn’t know her, she ought to.
As she approached the absorbed couple, she noticed that the girl had draped a Venetian lace shawl about her in such a way that it fell low about her waist and stomach. Beth wondered why anyone would feel the need for a wrap on such a hot day. The girl fingered the goffered edging of the shawl with small nervous fingers.
“He’s well, then?” Beth heard the girl say wistfully as she stepped up to them. As they both realized that someone had joined them, they looked up simultaneously. Beth smiled first at Dudley, then at the girl.
“Good morning, Dudley,” she said cheerily. “Are you doing errands for Lord Roth or are you having a holiday?”
Beth did not know what she expected in the way of a greeting, but certainly she expected some sort of reaction. Dudley seemed chipped out of stone. He stood as motionless as a statue, his freckles in harsh relief against the suddenly pale color of his skin. The girl’s reaction to seeing Beth was identical. She did not move, and the pretty blush in her cheeks fled, leaving her as white as a corpse. Beth was instantly chagrined. Indeed she had been amiss to interrupt them. She could only conclude that there was some sort of an understanding between the pair. But who was the girl inquiring after?
“Miss Tavistock!” Dudley blurted out at last. “Fancy meeting you. I had no notion that you meant to come to town today.”
“How could you, Dudley? I’ve not been to Pencarrow today, and I hardly endeavor to keep you appraised of all my activities,” Beth returned teasingly. The playful remark elicited only a forced chuckle from Dudley and nothing at all from the girl, who had fixed her gaze to a spot on the ground and was biting her lower lip. There was a pause, during which an introduction between the two women ought to have been made if one was going to be made at all. But no introduction was forthcoming. This surprised Beth, since Dudley was usually so polite.
“Well, I had better get on with my business.” Beth was acutely uncomfortable but still exceedingly curious. “I’ve come to see Mrs. Turley to order a new gown.”
“It was delightful to see you, miss,” Dudley said, bowing. “If I can assist you with packages, I would be pleased to meet you wherever and whenever you wish.”
“That won’t be necessary, Dudley.” Then, with a sudden inspiration, she turned to the girl and said, “That’s a lovely gown you’re wearing. Did you have it made at Mrs. Turley’s shop?”
The girl looked up, apparently startled to be spoken to. Beth decided she must be shy and smiled warmly at her. The girl was not put at ease by Beth’s friendliness, however. In fact, she looked uncomfortably hot and agitated, as though she might swoon. Beth observed damp wisps of flyaway golden hair sticking to the girl’s slender neck. Her lips were bled of color, lifeless.
“I … I made it myself, miss,” the girl replied in a defferential tone, as if speaking to a superior. The voice was sweet, but there was a slight roughness in the accent, as though she had not had the benefit of an education.
“You look very much heated,” Beth commented kindly. “Perhaps you should sit down in the shade somewhere, and Dudley can fetch you a drink of water.”
“No,” she answered quickly. “I’m quite well. Don’t trouble yourself about me, miss.”
Indeed, her manner and address suggested that she was a servant, but Beth couldn’t imagine anyone managing to dress so well on a servant’s wages. Even though the girl had said she’d made the dress herself, the fabric was worth several pounds. Not to mention the Venetian lace shawl and the cameo brooch nestled in the gathered material of her bodice. That brooch … It was pale peach and ivory, with a delicate lacing of gold all around it, framing the silhouette inside most charmingly. It was very like the one Zach had described to her.
“What a lovely brooch,” said Beth with genuine admiration. “My fiancé bought me one just like it, but he lost it before he got home to—”
“I … I must go!” the girl exclaimed, a patch of hectic color appearing on each cheek. “I’m meeting someone. Pardon me, sir, m-miss. I must go.” Then she turned and stepped hurriedly into the road, not looking either way despite the clatter
of hooves on the cobbles and the jingling traces of two large horses pulling a fast-approaching hay wagon.
“Watch out!” Beth called, her heartbeat paralyzed by the possibility of a dreadful accident.
“Tessy, watch out for the wagon! Tessy!” yelled Dudley, but the girl seemed deaf and blind to everything around her as she continued to move into the center of the thoroughfare while the wagon closed in upon her. As if in slow motion, Beth turned to look at the driver of the vehicle. He was a coarse, hard-looking fellow, occupied in the process of lighting a cheroot. He did not see Tessy, nor would he have been able to stop in time even if he’d looked up at that very instant.
Beth’s instinct was to rush into the road and pull or push the girl out of harm’s way. But before she could act on this urge, Dudley bounded past her, dashed onto the cobbled pavement, grabbed Tessy by the arms, and hauled her to the opposite side of the road in the very nick of time.
The two horses reared up and whinnied, and the driver delivered a string of curses that would have made the devil himself wince. Then, having vented his wrath, he continued on his way as if nothing had happened. Chaos broke out on the walkway as Tess fell into the swoon that had been threatening to occur for some time. Dudley, who had not let loose his hold upon her arms, lowered the both of them to the ground and gently cradled her head against his thigh. Beth crossed the road and nudged through the knot of people gathered around them.
“Stand back. Stand back, please!” she ordered in her most authoritative manner. “The poor girl needs some air. Don’t crowd her.”
At Beth’s admonitions, most of the people moved away and went about their business. The few who remained murmured sympathetically and hovered at a more discreet distance.
“Is she all right, Dudley? Did she swoon from fright? Is she ill, or is she just too hot?” Beth asked with a characteristic flurry of questions as she got down on her knees next to the unconscious girl. She reached into her reticule and found a fan, snapped it open, and began to ply it through the air next to Tessy’s pale face.
