* * *
Vincent leaned his head back against the door and closed his eyes. Thank goodness they had not been alone or he may not have been responsible for his actions. Not that he would do Miss Crawford any harm, but when she looked at his chest, then further down, the tip of her tongue jutted out and licked her upper lip, it was all he could do to just stand there. Had they been alone, no doubt he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless. However, he would have stopped there. Clearly the woman was an innocent or she would not have turned such a delightful shade of red.
It was also clear she appreciated what she saw. That had been his undoing, or perhaps what released the man in him. Had he not been so angry at being awakened, he would be embarrassed by his physical reaction, which was why he kept his hands folded in front of his response to her perusal of his body. He hoped his servants had not noticed, and if they did, never mentioned it to anyone else.
He straightened and walked toward the decanter of brandy. It was a normal reaction, and nothing he should be ashamed of. However, it had been so long since any woman had looked at him in that manner, as if she wanted to explore further because she enjoyed the view so far. Veronica used to look at him with the same light of appreciation in her eyes, after the initial wedding night and her fears had been overcome. Others had insinuated they liked the sight of his form as well, but they had been mistresses and were paid to do so. The reaction by one who was not required to show interest was another thing entirely.
A smile pulled at his lips as he poured of splash of brandy in his glass.
Veronica used to say she couldn’t keep her hands away. He felt the same about her. Thoughts of Veronica had kept him alive on the continent, through the ugliness of the battles and while recovering from his wounds. All he could think about when he traveled home was returning to her, their bed and making love to her until it was impossible to do so any longer. He never got the chance.
Vincent tossed back the glass of brandy and poured another.
That night was not her fault. Her death was not her fault, but his. No, the blame lay elsewhere.
He sighed and set the glass aside. At least he wasn’t thinking about Miss Crawford any longer and may be able to return to sleep. He wondered if Miss Crawford realized her eyes turned a dark grey when she was aroused.
Vincent groaned. The thoughts of Miss Crawford being aroused were not helping his current situation.
How could he be thinking about Veronica and Miss Crawford, and the arousal they both brought? He picked up the glass and tossed back the contents. Was it disloyal to think of another woman, be painfully aroused by her, when thoughts of his former wife floated in his brain?
Yes, he should and the guilt was welcoming, for it cooled his loins. Thank goodness because between the servants moving furniture and his physical state, Vincent was convinced he would not have been able to return to sleep.
With a sigh, he placed the glass back on the table, removed his dressing gown and crawled back into bed.
A large piece of wood knocked against his door. Vincent tried to shut out the noise.
“Oh, please, we must be quiet,” Miss Crawford insisted. She must be on the other side of his door for her words were clear even though they were low in volume. A low, sultry tone.
Is that how she would sound in the throes of passion?
Vincent sat up. He must not think of Miss Crawford in the throes of passion. That would keep him awake longer than the banging outside his door.
“Be careful,” she pleaded. “Don’t hit the walls or the door.”
Vincent stood. He would never get a wink of sleep while she was in the hall, right outside his bedroom. He grabbed a pair of trousers and a shirt. With quick movements he was dressed and grabbed a pillow from his bed before he stomped forward and yanked the door open.
As before, all eyes focused on him. Miss Crawford’s wider than the others, her face paled with fright. Was he really such a scary person?
“I believe I will find rest elsewhere.” He stomped past them and down the hall until he reached the stairs. Where was he to go? Noise, and Miss Crawford, were on this floor. They were moving furniture above, and the students were probably taking lessons below.
His house had been invaded and he was without a place of his own. There had to be somewhere. Ah, yes, the cellar. A chaise and chairs had been moved down there when he and Veronica had first married. After an intimate moment in the wine cellar, she had deemed it one of her favorite rooms and set about making it as comfortable as possible, in the event such activities occurred again, in the future.
Sadly, Vincent could not recall if they had. Oh, he wished he could remember. What did that say about his love for her, if he could not recall such important details?
The servants stopped what they were doing when he marched past them in the kitchen and took the stairs to the cellar. Let them think what they will.
* * *
Tess stood in the hallway, list in hand, and assigned the rooms. She wanted the girls settled, with their things put away, before dinner. Though she hated that Lord Atwood was forced to leave his chambers and find refuge elsewhere, it did make her job a bit easier.
The younger ones were upstairs. The older teachers had opted to take the three separate bedrooms, one of them formally being the storage area, and would watch over the girls who now would sleep in the large school room. The teachers loved the idea of having a sitting room away from the others. Since those three usually kept to themselves at the school, Tess was not surprised.
The older girls were on the floor with the original bedrooms. The three mischievous ones, Eliza, Sophia and Rosemary, insisted on sleeping together, as they had the night before, in the room across and at the opposite end of the hall from Lord Atwood. The remaining older girls also insisted on sharing three to a bed and in rooms as far away from Atwood’s as possible.
“It appears there are four, perfectly unused bedchambers,” Claudia announced. “I shall take this one.” She selected the one two doors down from Atwood’s.
“And I will take the one across from yours.” Mrs. Wiggons turned and grabbed the handle of the door.
Natalie and Tess shared a look. “I will take the one across the hall from Lord Atwood.” Natalie grinned. “It is not as if I have anything to worry about since vampires only prefer maidens.”
“Then perhaps you should take the one next to his,” Tess bit out. She had already seen the room and realized immediately that it was meant for the lady of the house, Atwood’s wife, or it would not have a door adjoining the two rooms.
“Oh, no, that one is for you.” Natalie grinned back.
“I don’t think it is proper that anyone take that room. Perhaps I should share with you.” Tess retorted.
“And waste a perfectly lovely, quiet and private bedchamber. I don’t think so.” She disappeared into her room and shut the door before Tess could say another word.
Claudia and Mrs. Wiggons did the same, leaving Tess standing in the hallway herself.
“The bed is quite comfortable, or so I am told,” Lord Atwood commented as he walked down the hall.
“Goodness, how long have you been standing there?” Tess hoped he hadn’t heard much.
“Only long enough for the four of you to decide who must have the chamber connected to mine.”
Would her face forever heat in his presence?
“However, if rumors were to be believed, wouldn’t Miss Pritchard be the safest candidate?”
He had heard that comment. Oh dear. Such information could ruin her friend. “Lord Atwood, I must ask you not to repeat what you may have heard.”
He stopped and looked at her. “That Miss Pritchard is not an innocent?”
Oh, dear, if he threw Natalie out, or worse, said something to one of the parents, Natalie would be on her own, alone in the world. “I beg of you, do not judge her on a past circumstance.”
“You believe me so cruel?” His face hardened and she wa
sn’t sure how she had insulted him. They were discussing the state of Natalie’s reputation.
“It is just that, well, you know, if society learned. . .”
“Miss Crawford,” he began, his tone harsh. “I am sure there is a reasonable explanation for the state of Miss Pritchard’s lack of innocence.”
Tess took a step back, not sure if he believed she insulted him or was ashamed of her friend. Either way, neither set well with Lord Atwood.
“Young women are vulnerable. She could have trusted a man who promised to marry her. She could have succumbed to too many spirits, or worse, not given a choice in the matter. What is sad is you, and apparently everyone else, sees her as ruined.”
Tess was stunned by his speech. Never had she dreamed Natalie would be defended in such a manner. But she knew Natalie wasn’t ruined, not that she could share the circumstances of her past with anyone and never would.
“Then you don’t judge people by past actions?” It would be too much to hope for, but she had to ask.
“Only if those actions are serious enough to be judged, or if the person has not had to face the consequences yet.”
All hope that he would view her in a favorable light dimmed.
What did she care what he thought anyway? They were only sharing a house, until they could return to the school. She and Atwood were not even friends so it shouldn’t matter. However, on some level it was bothersome. What would he say if he knew of her past? The crime she had been accused of? The crime she committed?
It wasn’t worth considering because he would never find out. She would use any means necessary so that he never learned the truth.
* * *
Vincent stepped into the dining room, expecting his dinner to be served and waiting him in his usual place. The room was empty. Not even the slightest aroma could be detected. He turned and stalked back into the entry. “Wesley.”
The valet hustled from the end of the hall. “Yes, my lord.”
“Where is my dinner?”
“In the dining room.”
“If you look, you will see that it is not there.”
Wesley lifted his chin and looked his employer directly in the eye. “Sir, as we have guests, and this is their first night in the house, your dinner has been served where they are taking theirs.”
“In the nursery?” Vincent questioned. This was beyond ridiculous.
Wesley rolled his eyes. “They are not children, Lord Atwood, but young ladies. They are in the formal dining room awaiting your presence.”
Vincent groaned. He had not been in the large dining room since before he went off to war. He had almost forgotten it existed. Wasn’t it bad enough that he had to share his house with these women and girls? Must he now take dinner with them?
He stalked further down the hall and stopped at the entry to the formal dining room and stepped in. Three dozen young faces, one headmistress and six teachers looked up at him expectantly. Vincent groaned but took his seat.
The servants immediately began placing bowls before his guests, though none bothered to eat. His was the last to be set and he was grateful to see the soup contained large pieces of chicken and several vegetables. There would be more courses later, but this was enough to get him started.
He picked up his spoon and dipped it into his bowl. As he brought it to his mouth, he caught the eyes of his guest. They all stared at him. Some had a look of shock, others disapproval. He laid his spoon on the side of the bottom plate. “Do you not find the meal to your liking?”
“It is not that, Lord Atwood,” Miss Crawford explained. “However, one should not eat before saying grace.”
Grace? He couldn’t remember the last time he had prayed. Perhaps it was right before he thought he was going to die. Or maybe it was over his wife’s body.
Everyone around the table held hands. Miss Crawford sat immediately to his right and held her hand out. Mrs. Wiggons on his left did the same. With a sigh he clasped both of their hands and bowed his head.
He heard barely a word of the prayer. Instead he wondered what other changes this group would bring to his household and doubted any would be pleasant.
For a while he gazed upon her without either motion or speech,
and during this pause, all was again become hushed and serene;
and the stars shone brightly in the clear heavens.
Wake Not the Dead
Johann Ludwig Tieck
Chapter 9
Though it was past midnight, Tess could not return to sleep. It wasn’t from lack of comfort for she could not recall lying in such luxury before. In fact, the softness of the bed and sweet smell of the lavender scented sheets sent her into slumber immediately. The memories woke her and ever since, she had tossed and turned, trying to forget. If only she could avoid thinking at night, then perhaps she could sleep. But, with the darkness came her past, visions from the night her uncle had been killed, the blood-covered floor, her red-stained footprints through the room and the soaked hem of her gown. She couldn’t forget Percer’s laughter and threat that he would see her sent to the gallows. Or could she block her escape out her window that same night.
She got out of the bed, shook the memories from her mind and pulled the belt tight on her robe. Tess walked toward the window and pushed the curtains aside. There was not much to see, especially in the darkness of the night. Above, stars shown down, but the land behind the house held only forest. Dark trees swayed in the breeze.
Perhaps she should have left England. She now had enough funds she could go where she pleased. However, the continent was far too dangerous given the upheaval with France and she feared America was too far away, too foreign. Yet, what was really holding her here? It wasn’t as if she had family. On the other hand, Claudia, Natalie and Mrs. Wiggons were her family as she was theirs.
What if the school could not be rebuilt? The workers returned late in the afternoon but had not met with Atwood until after dinner. Neither she nor Mrs. Wiggons had been a part of their conversation so she did not know how much work would need to be accomplished. She only knew what they had been able to retrieve a view items from her room, such as her journal and a case that held small pieces of jewelry, letters and documents – items that had belonged to her parents. It was too dangerous to go further into her room, so she was still without clothing, other than the dress she had worn the night of the tempest. Was that only twenty-four hours ago? She shook her head and turned. So much had happened it seemed more like a week or a month. Tess could only hope the repairs were completed soon for she doubted Atwood wanted them to stay very long.
Thoughts of Atwood brought an entirely different set of memories to her mind. His sculpted chest, dark eyes, unruly hair. . .
No, she would not think of his image either or she would never sleep.
A book. That is what she needed. A long, boring book to put her to sleep. Perhaps a treatise of sorts. Those never failed to do the trick.
After she rolled up the sleeves, for the third time tonight, of the robe she borrowed from Claudia, Tess made her way down the hall, then the stairs, until she stood outside of Atwood’s library. The door was ajar and she peeked into the room. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, but he was not seated behind the desk. Perhaps he had retired early. Or, maybe he had gone to visit his wife’s grave.
The clock struck down the hall and Tess jumped at the sudden noise. One chime. Tomorrow would be difficult enough while she tried to teach her lessons in a new location without being exhausted as well.
Chances were Atwood had not yet returned from the cemetery so she had time to sneak in, borrow a book and be back in her cozy bed before he returned.
Tess pushed the door opened and walked silently into the room. She lifted the lamp from the desk and carried it with her so she would have enough light to read the titles. Certainly there was something dreadful enough to lull her back to sleep.
* * *
He heard her long before he saw her. Thank goodness it was Mis
s Crawford. Or perhaps, it was more dangerous because it was Miss Crawford. He wondered what could have possessed her to come into his library at this time of night when she knew he would be working. Worse, she was not even properly dressed. The robe she wore must be two sizes too big given the hem drug on the carpet behind her. Miss Crawford must have borrowed it from Miss. Morris, for she was the tallest teacher and stood almost a head above Miss Crawford.
He should alert her to his presence, but did not feel compelled to do so. This was his library after all. Besides, he was glad for the chance to study her, without her knowledge.
She lifted the lamp to read the titles on the shelf above her head. The robe shifted, dropped and exposed her bare shoulder. Did she not have anything on beneath her robe? This situation was more dangerous than he originally believed.
Miss Crawford turned to look at another stack of shelves. The robe pulled away and revealed a shapely ankle and calf. Her feet were rather delicate with small, dainty toes. Miss Crawford definitely had nothing on beneath the overlarge robe, not even serviceable slippers on her feet. Was she out of her mind to wander his house in such a state of undress? Had she no idea the affect she would have on any man?
He brought the glass to his lips and downed the brandy. Perhaps she would leave soon. Leave him in peace. In the meantime he allowed himself to absorb her appearance. Black curls hung loose down her back and he wished he could see her face. However, if he could see hers, she would see him and it was best that she was unaware of his presence, especially in his current physical state.
That was twice in one day that he had found himself in this predicament. Worse, it was brought about by the same woman. The other ladies hadn’t caused this type of reaction, only her, and he could not begin to understand why. However, it had been a very long time since he had enjoyed the intimacy of being with a woman. Still, that did not explain why it was only Miss Crawford who brought about the urge to couple. Of course, the four older ladies would not have moved him to such a state. But Miss Pritchard and Miss Morris were attractive as well. And, given what he knew of Miss Pritchard, one would think he would desire her above the others as she was no longer an innocent and teased her friend in a manner that would suggest she did not mind a more private relationship with a man. Yet, he had no desire for Miss Pritchard or Miss Morris. Only Miss Crawford.
To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1) Page 7
