by Danice Allen
“I’m wasting your time,” she confessed with an apologetic smile. “I can’t decide. I shall have to come back another day.”
“As you wish, mademoiselle.” The answer was stiff, but the smile remained intact, as bright and false as paste diamonds.
Outside, Beth welcomed the heat of the sun on her shoulders, the press of humid air against her skin. Her life was good. This fact was made forcefully clear by a comparison with Tessy. She didn’t know particulars about the girl, but she felt an instant liking, an instant sympathy, for her. She wished she could help her, yet there was no outward indication that Tessy needed or wanted help. Even if they were destined never to meet again, Beth felt as though she’d been touched by Tessy and reminded of her own good fortune.
Beth stepped onto the walkway and began to climb the hill in the direction the tiger had driven her carriage. She thought of Alex, and her spirit soared. Stirred by this exhilaration, every nerve in her body was sensitized, every sense keenly awakened to the sights, sounds, and scents all around her. The azure blue of the cloudless sky. The quaint stucco and brick of the squat little houses and shops with tidy yards no bigger than a square of calico and just as riotous of color. Gold-dusted snapdragons, granny’s bonnets, columbines, and larkspur, all in blooming profusion.
Beth welcomed even the fishy smell of the sea. Passing the bakery, she breathed the aroma of fresh-from-the-oven bread and cakes. Strolling by the Nag’s Head Inn just as someone came out, she caught a glimpse of men sitting around a long table, eating and drinking and making merry. Their loud, deep laughter made her smile.
The pull and flex of muscle felt good, too, as did the fall of soft muslin against her legs as she walked along. Beth felt blessed to be alive, blessed to be in love. If only everyone could be as lucky as she!
Sweat trickled down Alex’s neck and inside his collar. His hair slanted across his forehead in damp waves. He had long ago shed his coat and wrapped it around the saddle pommel. His horse was so heated and thirsty that the poor beast was lathering at the mouth. It was just past noon and the hottest day he could remember since coming to Cornwall.
“The creek is just ahead,” said Zach, wiping his arm across his perspiring upper lip. “We can water the horses, then cross at that narrow spot closest to the house.”
Alex nodded. If he understood Zach correctly, the spot where they would cross was exactly where he and Beth had made love in the tall grass near the oak tree. He had avoided that particular section of the estate for the last two weeks. He’d wanted no reminders of that glorious night, for he had needed to keep a tight rein on his desire till he deemed it an appropriate time to tell Zach about himself and Beth.
Presently the shrubs and trees that followed the meandering creek came into view. He and Zach guided their horses through and around the foliage, stopped at the creek beneath the shade of a clump of overgrown juniper, and dismounted. The horses immediately bent to drink. Alex and Zach stooped by the pebbly shore and cupped water to splash over their faces and necks.
“Hotter than Hades,” commented Zach.
“Hotter even than that,” Alex returned, easing himself down on the grass by the bank, one leg tucked under him and the other bent at the knee. He rested one arm on the raised knee and tore fistfuls of grass with his free hand.
Zach sat down near him, his legs crossed Turkish style. “What’s hotter than Hades, brother?” he asked lazily.
“Cornwall in August,” Alex answered, throwing a wad of grass into the creek and watching the water sweep it away.
Zach chuckled, then fell silent, his eyes seeming to rest on the rippling stream, but Alex suspected that Zach was thinking about Tess. He hadn’t been to see her since the mine episode. Alex knew this for a certainty, since he and Zach had been together almost constantly.
Alex hadn’t discussed Zach’s decision to leave his mistress since that first time Zach had brought it up. He was hoping that Zach would change his mind. There would be no need to terminate the arrangement once Zach and Beth’s engagement was broken. But today they’d seen to conclusion the most pressing tasks on the estate, and there was no reason why Zach couldn’t visit his mistress for the purpose of saying good-bye.
There was also no reason why Alex couldn’t tell Zach about himself and Beth. He was tempted to bring up the subject immediately, but the grim set of Zach’s mouth indicated that he was not in the mood for such a revelation. After dinner, when they were both refreshed from a bath and some good claret, he would do the deed. God, how he dreaded it! But worse than his dread of telling Zach was the torment of wanting Beth and living without her.
“Alex, did you know that posies made out of honeysuckle have a special significance?” Zach asked abruptly.
“What do you mean?”
“According to Granny Harker, our local witch-apothecary, the exquisite fragrance of the honeysuckle stands for the sweet nature of the one who gives it.”
“Oh?” Alex turned and watched Zach intently.
“Yes. You see, if the ribbon that ties the posy is to the left, the flowers speak of the sender. If the knot is to the right, the sweetness of the recipient is paid tribute to.”
“Who’s giving you posies, Zach?”
Zach’s mouth twitched, then stretched to a stern line. “No one. Tessy used to, and I used to give them to her.”
“Do you miss her?”
If possible, Zach looked even grimmer. “Yes. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll forget her, as she’ll forget me.”
When Alex did not reply, Zach turned to him with a penetrating look. “I wonder you haven’t been urging me to pay her my farewell visit. You don’t seem to care anymore whether or not I keep her.”
“I probably shouldn’t have tried to advise you before,” Alex replied dismissively. “Why don’t we return to the house now? I need a bath.” Alex stood up, walked to his horse, and stroked the stallion’s damp black coat with a soothing hand.
Zach stood, too, and caught his own horse’s bridle. “A capital idea. Talking in this curst heat is too fatiguing anyway.”
“I would like to talk to you after dinner tonight, though,” Alex told him with a serious look.
Zach raised a brow. “Certainly, brother. I shall save my breath to cool my broth, as they say. Or I’ll save it till after dinner when you may turn into a regular jaw-me-dead and lecture me thoroughly about my duties, after which I shall have to defend myself. I’m quite certain you’ve been saving up a lecture or two over the past weeks, since you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. Are you coming?” He mounted his dapple gray and waded the horse into the creek.
Alex patted his horse. “Go ahead. This fellow’s not ready to move just yet. I’ll be along shortly.”
“As you wish,” said Zach, and he crossed the creek and headed for the gates of Pencarrow.
Alex watched till his brother was inside the gates and out of sight; then he mounted his stallion and crossed the creek, immediately dismounting on the other side. He tethered the horse to a branch near enough to the creek so that the beast could drink, if he felt the inclination, as well as enjoy the expansive shade of the large tree.
Alex wasn’t sure why, but he needed to see the spot where he and Beth had made love. Perhaps he needed to relive the experience to fortify himself for the ordeal of facing Zach. He leaned against the tree and gazed toward Pencarrow, remembering how she’d looked as she’d crossed the field of tall grass. All in white, her rich brown hair tumbling about her shoulders and down her back, she’d seemed more the substance of dreams and visions than reality. At first he thought he’d gone mad and conjured up the image out of his intense desire to placate the sweet-creeping madness. But she’d been real.
He pushed away from the tree and turned, reaching out to touch the bark, remembering how he’d pressed her against the trunk in a frenzy of passion. His pulse leaped and quickened at the memory.
Then he walked toward where they’d lain in the grass, looking for an indentation. Weeks ha
d passed. Wind and rain, as well as animals that stalked and scampered through the grass daily, had made it impossible to determine exactly where they’d made love. There was no evidence, no proof, that they had ever been there. Perhaps it had been a dream after all.
Then he saw them. First one, then another, like cats’ eyes winking in the night, the pearly buttons of Beth’s night rail caught and reflected back the sunlight. He reached down and plucked one from the grass, examined it, and rolled it between his fingertips as if it were a precious gem. Then he picked up all the others he could find and deposited them in his breeches pocket.
He turned and walked to his horse, mounted, and headed back to the house, well fortified for the evening ahead. After all, dreams and visions did not lose buttons in the grass.
Chapter Thirteen
As Beth tooled her cabriolet through the gates of Pencarrow, she reached for her watch locket to observe the time. It was two o’clock. Alex and Zach usually returned home for a nuncheon in the middle of the day, and she was hoping that, by an odd chance, they’d still be there. Driving along the main road from St. Teath, she’d turned impetuously onto the lane that circled around by Pencarrow. She had intended to go straight home, but the urge to see Alex was overwhelming. And the sweltering day provided her with a perfect excuse to stop for a cooling drink of cider.
Beth did not pull up decorously in front of the house, but instead took the carriage around by the stables and left it and her horse in the care of the tiger before walking into the house through the kitchen garden. All the neat crops of lush vegetation and plots of flowers, girdled by a brick wall, looked wilted and bowed from the heat. Inside the kitchen she discovered the scullery maid sitting at the long, knife-scarred preparation table lethargically scraping potatoes.
“Hello, Kathy,” Beth greeted her.
Kathy pulled up from her slump and smiled wanly. “Good afternoon, miss,” she said. “What brings ye here in the middle of such a hot day? If ye’ve come t’ see the master, I’m sorry t’ tell ye I just seen ’im ride off not more’n ten minutes ago.”
Beth’s shoulders drooped with disappointment. “I see. He and Lord Roth have resumed their estate business for the afternoon, I suppose?” She pulled off her bonnet and pushed back the frizzed tendrils of hair that fell across her damp forehead. That morning her abigail had swept Beth’s hair atop her head and secured it with oystershell combs, but now most of it fell loose about her neck and face. The humidity gave her hair twice its usual curl and thickness, and it was already quite hard to tame without the added volume pulling it down.
“No, miss. Lord Roth never left with ’im. I believe his lordship’s still in the house. One o’ the lads just took up buckets o’ water fer a bath fer ’im.” Kathy grinned. “Though I ’spect I ought not t’ be mentionin’ such things to a lady.”
Beth returned Kathy’s smile, but the corners of her mouth twitched with the effort. A strong mental image of Alex bathing had disordered her thoughts and weakened her limbs, not to mention weakening her resolve to keep her promise to stay away. Visions of long muscular legs barely fitting inside the close confines of a copper tub caused aching knots of desire to form in her stomach.
“S-so Lord Roth is here, but Master Wickham isn’t?” she said, trying to appear nonchalant as she picked up a piece of peeled potato and took a bite. She swallowed and discovered that her throat had become exceedingly tight, making the lump of barely chewed raw potato stick and scrape all the way down.
“Aye, miss, the place is as quiet as a tomb t’day. Sadie’s at the widow Beeny’s, makin’ her monthly charity visit. Bound t’ be gone all afternoon till time fer dinner. Too hot to stir out o’ the house leastways. If ye’re fixed in one spot, I say stay fixed till eventide cools the air and makes it fit fer travelin’.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Beth readily agreed, a deliriously wicked idea forming in her head. “But what of Stibbs? I should think he’d still be stalking about the house issuing orders, the heat notwithstanding.”
Kathy smiled impishly. “Stibbs is sleepin’ in the cellar ’tween the wine racks, miss. Coolest place in the house, ’tis.” Then Kathy suddenly sobered, adding, “Don’t tell no one I tol’ ye that, will ye? Stibbs’d have my hide!”
“Don’t worry, I shan’t tattle. Besides, I don’t blame the old griffin for snoozing away such a dreadfully hot afternoon. But where’s Dudley? I saw him in town this morning. Has he returned?”
“Mr. Dudley said he’d be out o’ the house till dinner at least. He was in here this mornin’, crowin’ that his master had give ’im the whole day off t’ do as he pleased. Wisht I had the easy life of a valet.” Kathy pronounced “valet” in a sarcastic singsong and with a wrinkled nose.
“I doubt Dudley meant to brag,” said Beth, automatically rising to Dudley’s defense, though her thoughts were elsewhere. “Won’t you fetch me a tumbler of cider, Kathy? I’m absolutely parched.”
“Aye, miss,” Kathy replied promptly as she stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. “Where will I serve it to ye?”
“Pour it now, and I’ll take it with me upstairs. I believe I’m going to heed your advice and rest in my usual chamber till the afternoon heat has subsided somewhat. And will you also send some refreshment out to my servant who attended me here? He’s watering the horse. Tell him I won’t be going home for a while.”
“Aye, miss.” Kathy bobbed her head and walked into the larder, returning in a moment with a heavy crockery pitcher. She poured a brimming glassful of cider and handed it to Beth.
“Thank you, Kathy,” Beth said in what she hoped was a calm manner, since her insides felt like a bowl of quivering blancmange. Then she smiled and walked sedately from the room, her glass of cider in one hand and her bonnet ribbons clutched in the other. She ascended the stairs, progressed down the gallery to her chamber, entered the room, and closed the door softly behind her.
Now in secret she could give vent to the rising tide of emotion that was threatening to wash out to sea every vestige of her common sense. She set the glass of cider and her bonnet on the dressing table and sat down on the edge of the bed, pressing her hands together and squeezing them between her knees in the hope that it might help her to stop trembling.
It didn’t. She trembled all the more. She’d seen and pitied some man’s mistress that morning, but what she was contemplating doing was as brazen and reckless as anything a fancy piece would do.
The house was virtually empty, except for a few servants who were probably sapped of all their energy and curiosity by the excessive heat. Many, like Stibbs, might be snatching a nap in a cool corner while the upper servants were absent from their posts. And there she sat in one bedchamber, aching for Alex, while he was in another bedchamber, probably stark naked.
Beth’s hands flew to her hot face. She propped her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands in an agony of indecision. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to go to Alex’s bedchamber this very moment and throw herself into his arms, the risk of discovery be damned. But the prudent thing to do would be to drink her cider, bathe her flushed face, rest for a few moments, and then return home without ever allowing Alex to know she’d been there.
He’d told her quite clearly that he wanted to refrain from making love to her till he’d told Zach about them. She supposed this decision was based on a need to reestablish a code of honor and loyalty toward his brother, which she was sure Alex felt had been severely compromised. Perhaps by denying himself, and her, he was also inflicting a sort of punishment on the two of them, which made him feel better.
“Oh, I don’t care,” Beth muttered between her fingers. “Denying my need for you doesn’t make me feel one jot better, Alex. I’m a selfish creature, and unrepentant, too, I suppose.” She lifted her face from her hands and found her gaze had settled on the plump figure of a cupid embroidered on the fire screen. She’d never paid much attention to the playful stitchery picture of a naughty, naked cherub poised wit
h quill and arrow in the midst of a garden paradise. But today it leaped out at her, seeming to imply that love was as fanciful as a myth and came to people as unpredictably as an errant arrow sent flying through the air by an aimless cupid.
Beth did not believe such a stupid theory for a moment. She stood up, resolution filling her heart. She and Alex were meant to be together, and their need for each other was as natural and blameless as a babe’s need to suckle at its mother’s breast. Before she lost her newfound courage, she lifted the glass of cider and took a bracing drink. She snatched a look at herself in the mirror and saw a wild-eyed woman with heated cheeks and hair in a tumble about her face, but she had no patience to stay and tidy herself, for every second she spent at her toilette was time spent away from Alex.
She opened the door and scanned the gallery for signs of life. There were no discernible sounds, no footfalls, no distant conversations hanging indistinct on the heavy air. She crept out and closed the door behind her, releasing the latch with the self-consciousness of a house burglar. She tiptoed down the hall and around the corner till she was in the gallery in which Alex’s bedchamber was located.
Lord, if someone saw her now, it would be well nigh impossible to explain why she happened to be where she was, since no common apartments where people congregated could be found in that section of the house. Then, having reached the door she meant to enter, she stretched forth a hand to open it. What would he do? Would he shout with surprise and overset the tub, alerting the entire household to her shameless foray into a bachelor’s bedchamber?
No, he was much too cool and clever for that sort of behavior, she decided, though her heart beat like hard rain on a tin roof, fierce and loud. But what if Shadow was inside? He might bark. Then she remembered that she had seen Shadow in the mews, asleep in the hay, when she’d left her rig at the stables. She turned the knob … silently, thankful that Stibbs made sure the knobs and hinges were kept oiled. As she slowly opened the door, her view of the room widened. First she saw the scarlet swags of moreen curtains pulled back from the open windows to admit whatever capricious breeze might come along, the mammoth bed set on a dais and covered with a red silk counterpane, and finally, the black marble Adam fireplace, a fairly recent addition to the largely Tudor-style house. And there on the tiles in front of the fireplace was the copper tub, and inside it … Alex.
