But not as much as he hated himself.
‘Nathan cannot understand why a woman who once worked for my mother has been brought here to be taken care of in her final days. The explanation is simple. My mother was extremely fond of Betty and left clear instructions that she should be taken care of should she find herself in the situation she is now in.’
‘I don’t believe you. It is more than that. I know it. Your brother’s bitterness—and I would even go so far as to say hatred of my mother—was evident. I heard him tell you that he will not set foot in this house until she has left—which gives me reason to believe it is a serious matter indeed. He said something about exposing your sordid and most intimate family linen to scrutiny and that to avoid a public scandal my mother must leave this house. Which leads me to ask how a woman who is knocking on death’s door can possibly pose such a dire threat to your family.’
‘My brother was angry. He exaggerates.’
‘I don’t think so. I know there is something you are not telling me and I swear to you, Lord Rockford, that I will find out. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like you to leave so I can finish packing my bag.’
‘Forget it,’ he said coldly. ‘You are going nowhere.’
‘I do not remember asking your permission,’ Victoria retorted defiantly.
Laurence stared hard at her. He was unaccustomed to being challenged by grown men, yet here was this slip of a girl doing exactly that. At any other time he would have laughed outright at her courage, but his annoyance and irritation caused by his encounter with his brother was still too raw.
Suppressing the unprecedented urge to gentle his words, he said curtly, ‘It wouldn’t make any difference. I refuse to give it.’
‘Then please leave me alone. I wish I’d never come here and met you. I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for it. It has been thrust on me against my will.’ She breathed as if she couldn’t inhale enough air. ‘Don’t you understand that I don’t like you?’
Laurence looked at the proud young beauty who was glaring at him like an enraged angel of retribution and realised that she was on the brink of tears. He felt a twinge of conscience, which he quickly thrust away. ‘I know you don’t,’ he said coldly. ‘And you will dislike me a good deal more before I am through.’ He turned from her. In the doorway, he stopped and looked back at her, his angry gaze pinning her to the spot. ‘I mean it. You are to remain here. If your mother’s condition should take a turn for the worse during the night, you’ll put me to the trouble of sending for you. And you might be too late. Have you not thought of that?’
On that harsh note he went out, leaving Victoria feeling wretched and thoroughly deflated. Of course he was right. The hard facts were that her mother was too ill to be moved and, if she, Victoria, were to leave the Hall, there was every chance that her mother would take a turn for the worse and she would not be with her at the end.
Sinking down on to the bed, she knew she could not leave and cursed Lord Rockford with all her might for being right. She stared blindly at the closed door for a long time, her heart palpitating with frustration. A whole array of confusing emotions washed over her: anger, humiliation and a piercing, agonising loneliness she had not felt before.
Somehow, all in one day, life had become so much more serious. After just twenty-four hours of not knowing what was happening to her, of what was expected of her, she seemed to have no choice but to live and wait passively in a stranger’s house for this time to be over.
* * *
Over the following days Victoria didn’t come into contact with Lord Rockford. She suspected he was not a man who let down his guard or allowed anyone behind the professionally polite screen he projected to keep everyone at a distance. Everyone around him treated him with cautiousness—like a beautiful, healthy predator, something to be admired and feared, equally.
She realised her presence at Stonegrave Hall was the subject of a good deal of gossip and speculation in the servants’ hall—and she seemed to trip over a servant round every corner, there were so many. No one seemed to know how to treat her. She was neither a guest nor family, but the daughter of an old employee. But she had been educated at some posh school in York, so that made her different. However, when they realised she would be taking her meals in the kitchen or her room, and that Mrs Hughs and Jenkins were kindly disposed towards her, they accepted her presence in the house and got on with their work.
* * *
Craving some fresh air, Victoria escaped the confines of her mother’s sickroom for a little while. The scent of flowers assaulted her and she drew a deep breath. She paused in a secluded area of the garden. Taking an orange out of her pocket, she sat on a stone bench and began to remove the peel, putting it into her pocket to be disposed of later. She began dividing it into segments.
The sight of her stopped Laurence in mid-stride as he came round a bird topiary and his eyes warmed with fascination as he gazed at her. Seated on the bench, Miss Victoria Lewis presented a very fetching picture. Her head was bent slightly as she concentrated on the task before her, providing him with a delightful view of her patrician profile with its elegant cheekbones and delicate little nose. Sunlight glinted on her rich brown hair, picking out the golden lights, turning it into a shimmering rich waterfall that tumbled over her shoulders. Long curly eyelashes cast shadows on her smooth cheeks as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, dividing her orange.
Victoria was about to bite into one of the juicy segments when she saw Lord Rockford strolling towards her. It was the first time she had seen him since his brother’s visit and, recalling the angry words they had exchanged, she wondered how he would treat her. She watched him come closer, suddenly on her guard. Stealing a glance at his chiselled profile, she marvelled at the strength and pride carved into every feature on that starkly handsome face.
Standing before her, he looked down into her upturned face. Her body was tense and the translucent skin beneath her eyes was smudged with dark shadows. ‘How is your mother?’ he asked quietly.
Victoria was surprised by his unexpected gentleness and relieved to hear civility in his tone. ‘Very ill,’ she replied, relieved that his anger from their last encounter seemed to have dissipated. ‘She doesn’t cough as much and she sleeps a great deal. I—I don’t think it will be long.’
He nodded, his expression sombre. She was upset, he could see that, and he was determined to treat her with the extra care and gentleness her situation called for. What she needed right now was all the solid strength that he could give her, not the shocking revelation of what would inevitably come later.
‘I’m saddened to hear it. I am not completely heartless, Miss Lewis. I am not totally insensitive to your situation.’
‘I do know that.’
His gaze swept over the garden. ‘I was working in my study when I saw you come out into the garden. It’s a shame to think of anything being conducted within doors on such a day as this.’
‘So you thought you would come out into the garden.’
‘Something like that. I wanted to apologise to you for the other day. You were upset—’
‘Upset and angry—and still awaiting answers to my questions,’ she interrupted, wanting to appear haughty and coldly remote—anything but miserable, for that was tantamount to weak and helpless.
Laurence glanced away to avoid the puzzlement and scrutiny in those wide eyes, finding it increasingly difficult to maintain the subterfuge and silence Nathan had imposed on him. ‘After overhearing my brother’s words you had every right to be angry. But I have done nothing to justify your anger. I merely wanted to make sure your mother was cared for.’ He looked at her levelly. ‘For this, do you honestly think I deserve your bitterness and animosity?’
Victoria’s shoulders drooped. She swallowed and looked away. She felt confused and miserable, no longer entirely right, y
et not completely wrong, either. ‘I—I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what you deserve.’
To her surprise, the blue eyes watching her showed no sign that he had taken offence. Instead, Lord Rockford’s long lips curved. ‘Whatever it is, save it for my brother.’
‘He was very angry. However, I do apologise for accusing you of interfering when you brought my mother here. I may not show it, but I am indeed grateful—and I assure you, Lord Rockford, that it is not my intention to disrupt your household.’
Those candid eyes lifted to his—searching, delving, expressing her gratitude—only made Laurence feel more than ever like a disgusting fraud. He paused, then, his smile deepening, he said, ‘Thank you. I respect your frankness. I hope the servants are looking after you.’
Victoria, her gaze locked in the blue of his, felt a tingling sensation run over her skin. She blinked, then frowned. ‘How thoughtful of you to ask. Yes—thank you,’ she replied. ‘Everyone is being very kind.’
‘And you like the house?’
‘Very much—but then, who would not?’ she said, warm in her admiration. She lowered her eyes. An odd sensation, a ripple of awareness slid over her nerves, leaving them sensitised. It was most peculiar. She would have put it down to the touch of the breeze, but it wasn’t that cold.
Beside her, Laurence raised his brows, his predator’s smile in evidence. Her dress was hardly fashionable, but it hugged her contours, emphasising their softness, leaving him with an urgent longing to fill his arms with their warmth.
‘Are—are you and your brother close?’ she dared to ask. Looking up, he trapped her gaze.
‘As close as brothers can be. Until he married Diana Ellingham and bought the Grange halfway between here and Cranbeck, he ran the estate in my absence.’
Victoria hesitated, searching his eyes. ‘And now you’re back you can do that yourself.’
‘For now. My business is in London, which is where I’m often to be found. Either there or on board my ship bound for foreign parts.’
‘It sounds exciting. What is the name of your ship?’
‘I own a fleet, Miss Lewis, but I’m rather fond of The Saracen. It was my first vessel, you see. I’m very proud of it.’
‘Aren’t ships usually named after women?’
‘Not in my fleet.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because they are more trustworthy.’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘And ladies are not.’
His reply was a world-weary crooked smile and a shake of his head.
She smiled. ‘I see you’re a cynic, Lord Rockford.’
‘Absolutely, and I’m not about to change. Have you been to London?’
‘No, but I’ve always wanted to go. My friend, Amelia Fenwick, is to go this summer with her parents. Her grandmother, Lady Elsworthy, lives in the north of the city. I was invited to go with them.’
‘And?’
‘I declined the invitation. With Mother the way she is, I couldn’t possibly.’
‘No, of course not. How is your arm, by the way? Better, I hope.’
‘Yes, thank you, it’s much better.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Come. Walk a little way with me.’
He didn’t ask, he stated, Victoria noted. They walked in silence for a moment, then he stopped and looked down at the orange.
‘That looks good. You were about to eat it when I interrupted you. Please, go ahead.’
For want of something to do, Victoria popped a segment into her mouth. It was juicy. The tangy sweetness erupted in her mouth and the juice ran down her chin.
Laurence stared at her mouth as she chewed it, tempted to lean closer and claim her mouth in a deep, luscious kiss, to taste the fruit’s sweetness on her lips. She fumbled for her handkerchief only to find to her mortification that she didn’t have one.
Laurence laughed softly. ‘It looks delicious.’
She nodded and offered him a cautious smile, covering her mouth with the back of her hand in embarrassment. ‘I appear to have forgotten my handkerchief.’
‘Here, allow me.’ He produced one of his own and, moving to stand in front of her, he gently gripped her chin with one hand, then proceeded to dab her mouth with the other. When he was finished he dropped the hand holding the handkerchief, but the other remained. His gaze fastened on her mouth, he brushed her full soft lips with his thumb, which was as gentle as a butterfly’s wings.
Victoria felt a shiver of awareness low in her belly and gazed up at him. As though he read her thoughts, he looked deep into her eyes. As their gazes connected, Victoria’s voice failed her. She swallowed hard, feeling flushed and feverish all of a sudden. She could not seem to look away. She held her breath, her heart pounding. His deep-blue eyes resembled smouldering sapphires on fire as he slowly bent his head, giving her time, perhaps, to step away from him. Or scream. Or stop him.
She did neither.
They stared at each other uncertainly. Magic quivered like a plucked violin string between them. The garden seemed smaller, the sun more richly golden as it played over Victoria’s wary face, caressing her soft cheeks and illuminating her eyes.
Locked in the spell of her amber, sultry eyes, Laurence could not look away. Once again, she defied his expectations. Instead of flying from him in scandalised dread like a genteel miss, she stayed where she was, an innocent temptress, all elegance and demure charm, waiting for him to do what? He found her physically desirable, but he also feared that he might find her irresistible on longer acquaintance. Her chest rose and fell in soft, rapid anticipation, her hands still holding the orange.
They were mere inches apart, their faces close, and still she did not back away. He could feel the warm, beguiling sweetness of her soft breath on his hand lingering beneath her chin—he studied every intricate twist and whorl of her glorious curls.
Laurence could not understand why this girl dazzled him. It was like looking too long into the sun’s glare. She drew him to her with a power that enthralled him, overcoming his survivor’s sense of caution and his will. Yet the closer he went, the more hopelessly lost he became, his senses climbing to some exalted bliss. She stood before him like some captive goddess. The sunlight played over the gold-silk embroidery of her dress. He stared at her body with a hunger that went beyond the physical. He lusted for her, but as his gaze swept back over every inch of her lovely face, her eyes whispered to him of the elevating companionship he had so long been starved of.
His conscience stirred and the memory of another time, another girl, came back to torment him. His survivor’s wariness warned of a thousand dangers, yet hope danced painfully like flickering flames torturing his implacable will.
Maybe—just maybe, whispered his vulnerable heart, there was still something left inside him that was worth saving and this girl could be his salvation, someone to inspire him, someone to hold her ground no matter how loudly he roared. Someone to understand about the deepest problems that troubled his soul.
His smouldering stare took in the sight of her rapt face, so innocent, so ripe for seduction. He gazed at her beautiful, waiting mouth, so pink and soft and simply begging to be kissed. He lowered his lips to hers, but halfway there he paused, checking himself harshly, and quickly berated himself, telling himself that he was running true to form—he never could resist a beautiful woman. But Victoria Lewis in many ways was still a child—and very impressionable.
He could not take advantage of such an innocent. He had come within a whisker of kissing her, but tasting a girl who was vulnerable and soon to be traumatised by her mother’s death was simply not good form. He raised his head, unable to believe he was letting the chance to kiss this delectable creature slip through his fingers.
Victoria stared at him, her head tipped back slightly, her rose lips parted. Suddenly wary a
nd on her guard, she drew back, a stirring of anger in her heart. The silence that had fallen between them had thickness and texture. Lord Rockford’s behaviour towards her was most improper—indeed, it could be described as flirtatious and not entirely honourable. She was the daughter of his mother’s maid who would very soon have to earn her own living, while he was a lord, a powerful man in the world he inhabited. The gulf between them was immense and she could never be to him more than a woman in a hidden house on a back street to be visited in the dark, in secret and in shame.
She stepped back. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Please don’t do this. It is not proper and certainly not acceptable to me.’
He smiled at her gently. ‘You’re right. That was foolish of me. I apologise for having exceeded my place.’
‘Yes, you did,’ she replied primly, trying to still her quaking heart.
‘I don’t make a habit of trying to kiss pretty young ladies in gardens—although I have the feeling you wouldn’t find it unpleasant.’
‘As to that we shall never know,’ she told him stiffly. ‘I don’t know what kind of overtures you think you’re making, but I will not accept them. I think you should stop and consider my circumstances and the difference in our stations in life. If you are flirting with me, then you should know that I don’t like being kissed because it amuses you. When a man kisses me, I would like for him to mean it.’
Well, damn me for a sinner, Laurence thought, amused by her chastening words. He straightened up and, looking at her hands and the leaking orange, he gave her his handkerchief, hoping to put the incident behind them. ‘If you aren’t going to eat that, you would be wise to wrap it in this before the juice stains your dress. You can keep it.’
Victoria looked into his eyes, into his face and, despite her harsh words of a moment before, felt a most peculiar shiver slither down her spine. She blushed and blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him, a humorous, playful glint in their depths. ‘You’re not, by any chance, attempting to make me feel grateful, so that I’ll imagine myself in your debt?’
The Master of Stonegrave Hall Page 6
