by Jenna Kernan
The room was chilly. It was the stone walls, she thought, rubbing her arms with her hands, then wrapping her old woollen shawl around her shoulders. Stone walls needed tapestries and blazing fires. She poked at the glowing embers and added more coal. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stared through the diamond windowpanes. From here she could see the crumbling walls of what had been the abbey church. And beyond it, the sea pounding on rocks.
Finally, she allowed herself to think about what had happened back there in the library.
Oh, heavens! Marry and inherit a fortune? How could this be?
Not for years had she imagined she would ever be married. She was not the kind of woman men took to wife. They liked little dainty things, simpering girls like the ones she helped train at Ladbrook’s School. Years ago, the idea of being a wife and a mother had made her heart miss a number of beats. How it had raced when she thought that Mr Allerdyce who had been so attentive, walking her home from church, treating her like a lady of importance, would come up to scratch, until Sally had discovered it was all a front. He was currying favour with Mary in order to get close to one of her pupils. An heiress. His parting words had made it very clear just what he thought of her as a woman. As hurtful and mortifying an experience as it had been, it had forced her to realise she would never be a wife.
Instead, she’d decided that her true vocation lay with her girls, being a teacher. That they were her family. She only had them for a short while, it was true, and their departures were always a wrench, but they were planned. It was not as though they abandoned her, but rather that she sent them out into the world with her blessing.
Now, this stranger, this deceased earl, had somehow engineered her into a marriage to a man she knew nothing about. She swallowed. What would it be liked to be married to such a man? He’d want an heir. Children. A family, just as she’d always dreamed. Her heart raced. Her chest tightened at the thought of being a mother.
It wouldn’t be a marriage born of romantic love. It would be for convenience. A practical arrangement such as people from the nobility entered into all of the time. For mutual gain.
He’d hardly been thrilled at the idea of marrying her to obtain what was rightfully his, now had he? He’d looked positively horrified when he realised what the will intended. As if he faced a fate worse than death.
She gripped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. Oh, great heavens, please let this all be a bad dream. Please let her wake up and discover it was a nightmare.
But she was awake. And it was horribly real.
What would Sally advise? Don’t trust a man like him an inch. Mary could imagine the hard look in her friend’s eye and the knowing edge to her voice. She’d been right about Allerdyce. And look at how easily her father had abandoned her after her mother’s death. But she couldn’t ask Sally for her opinion. She had to rely on her own judgement. And, so far, nothing the earl had said or done made her want to trust him.
Gradually she became calmer, her breathing less shallow, the trembles less pronounced. One thing she knew, she wasn’t going to force any man to the altar. Especially not a man like the new earl.
Her heart gave an odd little kick. The sort of pang that someone less practical might describe as disappointment. Not her, though. Let other women have their romantic notions. There was no room for them in her life.
There had to be some way out of this dilemma. And no doubt the earl would find it. Once more the uneasy prickles of a ghost walking across her skin rippled across her shoulders.
* * *
The earl did not come down for dinner, nor did any of the other members of the family. Mary dined in splendid solitude in the dining room and felt like an idiot. Three footman and a butler wasting their time serving her. If they had told her, she could have taken a tray in her room. She finished as quickly as she could and waved off an offer of tea in the drawing room.
‘Do you know where the earl is, Manners?’
‘In his study, miss.’
‘And where is that?’
‘In the south wing, miss.’ He bowed and withdrew, leaving her none the wiser, but determined to seek him out and try to come to some agreement with him about the future.
Outside the dining room, she turned right, because left was the direction towards the north tower and her room. It stood to reason the south wing must be in the opposite direction, if the corridors were straight. But they weren’t.
* * *
After a half an hour of criss-crossing various parts of the house, and once arriving back at the dining room, she was ready to give up.
There was one hallway she hadn’t explored yet, because it looked narrow and darker than most of the others. She took a deep breath and gave it a try. It had only one door.
A door that was ajar and throwing a wedge of light into the corridor. She peeped through the crack. Aha. She had found the study and the earl. It was a small room, filled with ledgers on shelves rising to the ceiling behind a battered desk covered in papers. The earl was standing with one foot on the brazier in the hearth and his elbow on the mantel, staring into the flames of a merrily burning log fire. His dog lay prone at his feet.
He wasn’t an elegant man, his physique was too muscular, his shoulders too broad, his features too large and square, but there was nothing about him to displease the female eye, especially not now when his expression was pensive rather than hard and uncompromising. He looked not much older than she was. Early thirties, perhaps. And not really so very overpowering from this distance.
Her heartbeat picked up speed and her mouth dried. All right, he was really intimidating. Afraid that if she dallied longer she would flee, she tapped sharply on the door.
Both he and the dog looked up. Thankfully, the dog’s head dropped back to its paws and its eyes slid closed.
But his lordship was a whole different matter. His whole attention focused on her. She could feel it like a touch on her face. For a moment, a very brief moment, warmth flickered in his eyes as if he was pleased to see her.
His gaze shuttered. His jaw hardened.
Perhaps not, then. Perhaps he had been expecting someone else, for a moment later his lips formed a flat line and his eyes were icy cold. Almost as if he was angry. And yet she did not feel as if his anger was directed at her. It seemed to be turned inwards.
He left the hearth and strode to the middle of the room. ‘Miss Wilding,’ he said with a stiff bow.
She quelled the urge to run and dipped a curtsy. ‘Lord Beresford.’
‘Have you once more lost your way? Did you need an escort back to your chamber? Allow me to ring the bell for Manners.’
The irony in his tone was not lost on her even as his deep voice made her heart jolt, before continuing its rapid knocking against her ribs. Never in her life had she been so nervous around a man. Not that she met very many men in her line of work. Fathers, mostly. In a hurry to depart. Or men pursuing her girls and needing to be kept at bay.
She decided to ignore his jibe and boldly stepped into the room. ‘May I have a word with you, please, your lordship?’
He frowned darkly, but gestured for her to sit in the comfortably stuffed chair in front of the desk. He went around and sat on the other side, clearing a space before him, stacking papers and account books to one side. His face was almost entirely in shadow, while she sat in the full light of the lamp. ‘How may I be of service?’ he asked, politely enough to almost settle her nerves.
‘We must discuss this will.’
She sensed him stiffen, though his hands, linked together on the ink-stained wood, remained completely relaxed. He had strong hands with blunt-tipped fingers. Practical hands, bronzed by wind and weather and scarred across the knuckles. Labourer’s hands rather than those of a gentleman.
After a small pause, he sighed, a small exhale of air, as if he had been holding
his breath. As if she had caught him by surprise. ‘I suppose now is as good a time as any.’ His voice was expressionless.
‘Was the lawyer able to provide any advice on how the terms might be broken?’
‘No. You are perfectly safe on that score.’
He thought her a fortune hunter. The desire to bash him over the head with something rose up in her breast.
But how could he not, given the terms of the will?
The chill in the air was palpable. The suspicion. ‘Perhaps you would like to explain why the earl...my grandfather,’ he choked out the last word, ‘would leave the bulk of his fortune to you?’
‘He is the benefactor of the school where I grew up and now work. He supported me there when I was orphaned. That is all I know.’
The earl made a soft sound of derision.
She bridled. ‘It is true. I swear it.’
His hands flattened on the table. ‘Then he was not your lover?’
She gasped. ‘You are jesting.’
The silence said he was not.
‘How dare you suggest such a thing?’ She shot to her feet.
He followed. ‘Sit,’ he said coldly. ‘You wanted to talk. Let us have this out.’
‘Not if you are going to insult me.’
‘Sit of your own volition or by my will.’ His voice was soft but the menace was unmistakable.
She did not doubt for a moment that the brute could overpower her. ‘Touch me and I will scream.’
His face darkened. ‘And who will come to your aid, do you think?’ he asked softly.
No one. She swallowed.
He let go a displeased sigh. ‘Please, Miss Wilding. Take your seat. You are right, we have things we need to discuss.’
For a moment she hesitated, but it was foolish to dash off having worked up the courage to face him. She sat and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Very well, but do not cast aspersions on my character.’
His gaze didn’t waver from her face. ‘Look at this from my perspective. I am trying to understand why my grandfather left you his fortune. Lover is an obvious answer.’
Her hackles rose again. She hung on to her anger. ‘Isn’t it more likely I did him some favour? Perhaps rescued him from danger.’
He snorted. ‘What sort of danger?’
‘He could have ridden past Ladbrook’s School where I teach one day and been set upon by footpads. Seeing him from the classroom window, I might have charged out to save him with my pupils at my heels. As you know, there is nothing more daunting to the male species than the high-pitched squeals of a gaggle of females, particularly when armed with parasols.’
Oh dear, now where had all that ridiculousness come from? Her stomach tightened. Rarely did she let her tongue run away with her these days. It seemed she needed to get a firmer grip on her anger.
He picked up a quill and twirled it in those strong fingers. Fascinated, she watched the only sign she’d ever seen that he was not completely in control. ‘But it didn’t happen that way,’ he said drily.
‘No. But you must admit it is just as plausible as your scenario. He was a very old man.’
‘You think to toy with me, Miss Wilding? I can assure you that is a very dangerous game and not one you are equipped to play.’
‘I have no idea why he left his money to me in this fashion.’
‘Let us hope you do not. If I discover that you are a willing instrument in this plot of his, things will not go well for you.’
The air left her lungs in a rush at the obvious threat. ‘I can assure you...’
‘You need assure me of nothing. There will be no marriage.’
‘You must have done something to deserve so terrible a fate?’
He didn’t seem to notice the irony in her tone. ‘I drew breath when I was born.’ The quill snapped.
She jumped at the sound.
He tossed the two pieces aside.
A shiver ran down her back. She fought her instinct for sympathy. ‘A little melodramatic, isn’t it?’
‘Much like your tale of rescue.’
She frowned. It was time to play the one and only card in her hand and hope it was a trump. ‘Why don’t I just sign over the money to you? I need only a very little for myself.’
‘The perfect solution.’
She let go a sigh of relief. She really had not expected him to see reason so quickly. ‘Then I will leave in the morning, once the papers are signed.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It can’t be done. The money only comes to you if you marry. I will put the best legal minds to work on finding a solution, and in the meantime you will remain here.’
‘I can’t stay. I am expected back at the school.’
‘Then tell me what connection you are to the earl.’ His fingers drummed an impatient tattoo. ‘His by-blow, perhaps?’ he said flatly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She stared into the shadows, trying to see his expression, trying to see if he was jesting, while her mind skittered this way and that. ‘You think me the late earl’s daughter?’
‘You look like a Beresford.’
He thought they were family? Her chest squeezed. Her heart struggled to beat. The air in the room seemed suddenly thick, too dense to breathe. That had been her first thought, also. Her wild hope, but not in the way he was suggesting. Good Lord, did he think the earl was requiring his grandson to marry his aunt? Technically incest, even if he carried not a drop of Beresford blood. ‘That is disgusting.’
‘Exactly.’
She leaped to her feet and made for the door. ‘I will leave first thing in the morning.’
Before she could reach the door, he was there, one hand holding it shut while he gazed down into her face. For a big man, he moved very quickly. And surprisingly quietly.
Judging by the tightness of his mouth and the flash of steel in his eyes, he was not pleased. ‘You, Miss Wilding, are not going anywhere until I say you may.’
She shrank back against the door. ‘You have no authority over me.’
‘Apparently, I do.’
She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘According to the solicitor, you are my ward.’
Chapter Three
‘Utter nonsense.’
‘Savary informed me that he told you that you need my permission to wed.’
‘That does not make you my guardian.’
‘No, but since I have taken over the responsibilities of the earldom, that makes me your guardian.’
‘The late earl was not my guardian. I have no need of a guardian, I have lived by my own efforts for years.’
‘You have lived off this estate.’ He pointed to a ledger on the desk. ‘Each quarter a sum of money was paid to a Mrs Sally Ladbrook for your keep and education. A very princely sum, I might add.’ His gaze dropped to her chest, which she realised was expanding and contracting at a very rapid rate to accommodate her breathing.
His eyes came back to her face and his jaw hardened. ‘And then you show up here in rags hoping for more.’
Damn him and his horrid accusations. Her hand flashed out. He caught her wrist. His fingers were like an iron band around her flesh. ‘You’ll need to be quicker to catch me off guard.’
‘What kind of person do you think I am?’
His expression darkened. ‘A Beresford.’ He cast her hand aside.
Never had she heard such hatred directed at a single word. It must have tasted like acid on his tongue.
‘You are a Beresford.’
His eyes widened. ‘I doubt there are many who would agree. Certainly not me.’
‘Then you should not be inheriting the title.’
‘You are changing the subjec
t again, Miss Wilding.’
The subject was as slippery as a bucket of eels. ‘I have had quite enough of your accusations.’
‘Are you saying you didn’t come here seeking money?’
She coloured. ‘No. Well, yes, for the school. It needs a new roof.’ Among many other things it needed. ‘But I have never met the earl before last night. And there certainly have been no vast sums of money coming to Ladbrook’s or to me.’
He glanced across the room at his desk, at the account book, clearly not believing a word.
A rush of tears burned behind her eyes, because she knew it could not be true, unless... No, she would not believe it. ‘I need to go back to the school. I need to speak to Mrs Ladbrook.’
He stared into her face, his gaze so intense, she wanted to look away. But she couldn’t. Didn’t dare, in case he thought she was lying.
Why did it matter what he thought?
Yet she would not stand down. Once more there was heat in that grey gaze, like molten silver, and the warmth seemed to set off a spark in her belly that flashed up to her face. Her cheeks were scalding, her heart pounding against the wall of her chest as if she had run a great race.
Slowly his hand moved from the door to her shoulder, stroked down her arm, his fingers inexorably sliding over muscle and bone as if he would learn the contours of her arm.
His expression was grim, as if this was not something he wanted to do at all, yet he did not stop.
She tipped her face upwards, her lips parted to protest... Only to accept the soft brush of his warm dry velvety lips. Little thrills raced through her stomach. Chased across her skin.
And then his mouth melded to hers, his tongue stroking the seam of her mouth, the sweet sensation melting her bones until she parted her lips on a gasp of sheer bliss and tasted his tongue with her own. Feverishly, their mouths tasted each other while she clung to those wide shoulders for support and his hands at her waist held her tight against his hard body.
She could feel the thunder of his heart where his chest pressed against her breasts, hear the rush of her blood in her veins. It was shocking. And utterly mesmerising.
