“Well, first, it helps to be on your feet.”
She took his offered hand and together they made their way around the cleared area. The smoothness on his boots made him glide along and soon Jo had it pretty well figured out. Each time they passed where he could see Najja, he made a point to stare at her. She never moved. Her expression remained composed and blank.
The sound of tinkling bells reached them and he lifted his head and saw a two horse-drawn sleigh on the approach. Salvage and the two horses on Jo’s transport snorted before turning their attention away. He gripped Jo’s elbow and led her toward the shoreline, not wanting to be out there with these unknown person or people nearing.
He flicked his gaze back to Najja. She had shifted a bit but for the most part seemed to be doing her best to blend in the background. The sled turned and Colin got to see who it was. His heart sank. Francesca Kelly, Countess Valewood.
She was bundled up in white fur trimmed cloak, the thick red braid of her hair, which hung free from the hood, sliced through the alabaster like blood on snow. Her pale skin and her piercing eyes focused on him.
The smile that turned up her thin lips never reached her eyes. Immediately, he found himself comparing her to Najja. Pale skin to a beautiful brown, thin lips to full, entirely kissable ones, brilliant red hair to sable locks.
The differences were more than just physical descriptions. They were night to day and fire to ice. One, he wanted to hold and one he could care less if he ever saw again. Unfortunately, the one staring at him with hunger in her gaze was not the one he longed for.
“I went to your house, Colin,” Franny said, rising to her feet and carefully dismounting from the sleigh. “Your man said you were out. I am so glad I caught you.”
Jo stiffened beneath his touch and he stared down at her. Her normally cheerful expression was colder than the ice they stood upon. Feeling out of his depth, Colin flicked a glance to Najja. No help there, she wouldn’t even look at him.
“Countess Valewood,” Jo said in a frigid tone. She removed his touch and made her way to the shore. “Lord Clifton.” Then she and Najja climbed in the sled and headed off. Leaving him alone with Francesca.
Swallowing both frustration and disappointment, he left the ice and trudged up to where Franny stood, one hand clasping her fur cloak around her with matching gloves. Her eyes watched him with warmth and blatant invitation.
“Why are you here? We have nothing to discuss.” He whistled for his horse and mounted. “It is improper for you to be alone with me. You are a married woman.”
Her driver did an amazing job of pretending not to see or hear anything. Readjusting in the saddle, he stared down at her.
“Do not be harsh, Colin,” she said. “He is not the man I dream of every night. Nor the one I long for in my bed.”
“If that was to be an impassioned plea, Franny, it did not work. You made your choice.”
She moved closer, settling her hand on his thigh. The white of her glove a stark contrast to his black breeches. With two fingers, he lifted her hand from where it touched him and removed it. Lifting his gaze to hers, he held it, unmoved. “It would not be wise for you to seek me out ever again.”
“Colin,” she murmured with a pout, one hand reaching back toward him.
He maneuvered out of her grasp. “Do not play games, Franny. I have no wish for it.” He paused. “Or you.”
Fire snapped in her eyes making them burn eerily. “I would not make a good enemy.”
The hair on the back of his neck rose and he fought down a retaliatory growl. Leaning forward, he honed in on her face, which was still very nondescript. For a moment he wondered what attracted him to her in the beginning.
“Do not presume to threaten me, madam. You left me. Since then I have shown absolutely no interest in you, whereas since I have gained my titles you have sought me out thrice.”
“She is to young for you.”
“She who? Miss Adrys?”
“The young chit hanging on you. The one who just left here with her dark-skinned servant.”
He had to draw upon all his control to keep from responding to that as he would have liked. “My relationship with Miss Adrys is none of your concern.” Colin lifted the reins and moved Salvage out, only to stop and glance back. “If anything happens to her physically or even her name, you will wish I still sailed in His Majesty’s Royal Navy and was far from you. Do I make myself clear?”
Her deeply rouged lips moved but no sound emerged. Eventually, she nodded and he continued on his way, content his warning had been heard and understood. Back up by the road, he wavered between following it to Kittle Manor. Instead, he turned Salvage toward home and allowed the gelding to stretch out and run across the snow covered landscape.
He stayed out until he could no longer bear the cold. Still, it was with great reluctance that he turned for the warmth of Falcon House. He waved away the groomsman who arrived to take his horse and tended to him personally.
Darkness had fallen when he made it inside. Gloves and hat off, he passed them to Abel followed by his cloak. Without a word he strode to his study and shut himself in. Drink in hand, he stood before the roaring fire and rested one hand upon the mantle.
Even in the depths of the flames only one image came to him. Najja. His fingers flexed around his glass and he scrunched his eyes briefly. There was no refuge from her, no place he could be without her rushing to the forefront of his mind. His enchantress, she flowed through him as did his blood.
A knock at the door pulled him from the blaze. He drained his drink with an easy flick of his wrist then called out, “Enter.” Colin returned to his desk.
Abel stepped in and approached. “You have a visitor, my lord.”
He fought a groan of dismay. “Who is it?”
“Countess Clifton.”
He couldn’t quite stop his shock from flashing along his features. A visit from his mother had been the furthest thing from his mind. Pushing to his feet, he strode around the desk to the door.
“Prepare the red room,” he ordered, opening and stepping through the door.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Drawing room?” he asked over his shoulder without slowing.
“Yes, my lord.”
At the door between him and his mother he paused before he pushed through. His mother sat near the fire, her head bowed. The flickering light showcased the increased lines in her face.
“Mother.” He spoke softly, having no wish to scare her.
She glanced at him but didn’t get to her feet. Her gloved hands were tightly clasped.
“Colin.”
“Is everything all right?” He sat across from her in a plush chair.
“You stayed away for Christmas.”
Guilt assaulted him, he had done just that. Avoided his mother and spent time in the presence of the woman who owned his heart. The one he desired.
“I spent time here over at Kittle Manor.”
“I have heard you have been spending a great deal of time with the young Miss Adrys.”
He fought his knowing smile. It was bound to come up. “I enjoy Lord Adrys and his family, they were in Africa for fifteen years.”
“I know. Should I expect to hear wedding banns?”
“No, Mother. Jo is like a sister.”
One brow lifted. “Jo?”
Colin sighed and filled his mother in on the circumstances which led to his meeting Lord Adrys and his family. Through it all, his mother listened and made noncommittal responses. Finished, he leaned back and found her watching him intently.
“Yes?”
“I also heard there is a…boy staying with you.”
“Pug?”
Her nose wrinkled as she frowned. “Pug? His name is Pug?”
“So he tells me,” Colin replied, completely amused by how distraught she appeared.
She took a moment to compose herself. “Why is he here?”
“Because he had no wish to continue li
ving on the streets and being beaten.”
“This boy cannot be your heir.”
His amusement fled. “Who I choose as my heir is my business, Mother. Is this why you came? To tell me I need an heir?”
“Considering what just happened to your brothers and father, do you not think it pragmatic?”
“The ones responsible for that have been caught and dealt with.” His cousin had been handled and would never see the light of day. Not anything he needed to share with his mother. She’d had a hard enough time recently no sense in adding to it by telling her the one responsible for the death of her husband and eldest boys was her own relation.
“You are getting on in years.”
“I am hardly on the cusp of death, Mother.”
She huffed and removed her gloves. “It would be pertinent.”
“So you just wish me to father an heir.” He imagined Najja pregnant with their child and almost smiled.
“Yes,” a pause, “as long as she comes from an acceptable family.”
There was the rub. “I have no desire to wed a chit who debuts her first Season, Mother. And the others I have seen at parties hold nothing for me as well.”
“No woman has caught your eye?” At his hesitation, her eyes lit with expectation. “Who is she?”
This was new for him. Having his mother asking him such personal questions. Hell, she’d find out soon enough.
“Who, Colin?”
“Her name is Najja. She came to England as the companion to Miss Adrys.”
She gasped, fingers clenching around her kid leather gloves. “A companion? You have been hanging around this family to get closer to the companion?”
Nonplussed by her incredulity, he flicked a hand along the black material of his breeches. “While not the entire reason, yes, it is part.” The Dowager Countess Clifton looked positively stricken. “I would be more than happy to marry her and start creating heirs.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, she has no wish to remain in England. So that places us back to no prospects, Mother.”
Colin got to his feet. “If you will excuse me, Mother, I have a few more matters to attend before the meal. A room has been prepared, the red one. I remember you saying how much you like the color.” He sketched a bow and took his leave.
Two days later he called Abel into his study.
“Yes, my lord?”
Shuffling some papers, he barely removed his attention from the work before him. “Could you tell my mother I wish to speak with her?”
“Of course, my lord. I will inform her the moment she returns.”
“Thank you.” He lowered his hands to the desk, this time focusing on the pale face belonging to his butler. “Wait. When she returns? Where did she go?”
Colin knew Abel had very little change in facial expressions but the one he saw now bespoke nervousness.
“Countess Clifton headed over to Kittle Manor.”
Hell. Unease swarmed him. His mother was checking out Najja. He longed to ride over there but made himself stay. “See to it then,” he muttered, refusing to allow any emotion in his voice.
“Yes, my lord.”
When the door closed behind Abel, Colin leaned to pour himself a drink. He wondered if he would be allowed back to Kittle Manor after this.
His mother versus Najja. That was a volatile combination. And as scared as he’d been of his mother as a boy he couldn’t decide whom he felt more concern for.
Chapter Sixteen
“Najja.”
She lifted her head to find Lord Adrys standing there. “Yes sir?”
“There is someone here to see you.”
Najja had to physically stop herself from reaching for her weapons. No one should be looking for her.
“Najja?”
“Begging your pardon, my lord.” She got to her feet and returned the book before trailing after Hayworth to the door. He led her to the receiving room and left her alone at the door. Unsure, she hesitated for a moment and raised a hand to knock preceding her entrance.
An unknown woman sat on a chaise, a cup and saucer in one hand, while with her other she stirred with a small silver spoon. Stopping at the edge of the thick Persian rug, Najja clasped her hands and waited. The woman had dark hair and thin features. Exhaustion prevalent along with cunning. In a split second, Najja became even more alert.
“You wished to see me, my lady?”
Blue eyes centered in on her face. Disappointment shone brilliantly and narrow brows raised slightly. The woman stopped stirring and took a sip before returning cup, saucer, and spoon to the serving tray.
“Why are you here?”
The question gave Najja pause. Perhaps this was not the room she should have entered. It was possible Adrys took her to the wrong one. “I apologize, my lady. I had been told someone wished to speak to me.”
Shrewd eyes narrowed. “I am waiting for Najja.”
She hid the wince over the slaughter of her name’s pronunciation and waited with patience. It didn’t take long before the reality of it sank in and the woman’s eyes widened with a mix of disbelief and dare Najja say it, horror.
“This is preposterous.” The words were lined with ice. “You…well, you are not even English.”
Najja didn’t move, merely watched the woman she would any potential threat. With caution.
“Have you nothing to say?”
“You asked no question, my lady.”
“Do you know who I am?” The pinch-faced lady took another sip of her tea.
“No, my lady.”
“Countess Clifton.”
Colin’s mother. Calling upon her years of remaining expressionless, Najja gave no outward action the name meant anything to her. All she did was dip a slight curtsey.
“You know my son, I am informed.”
“Yes ma’am. Lord Clifton is known to me.”
The gray-coifed head shook. “Even a commoner would be better.” A deep breath before she continued, “How well do you know my son?”
Really well. “I am the companion to Miss Adrys. I have seen him on several occasions when he comes here.”
The countess waved her to a seat. “That is a very roundabout way of telling me absolutely nothing. Perhaps then, you could share with me why my son has said he would be more than happy to marry you and begin creating heirs.”
Her heart pounded almost out of control. Marriage to Colin would be…impossible. Father’s face frowned upon her and she stopped the fantasy. She perched on the edge of a chair.
“I cannot speak for Lord Clifton, ma’am.”
“So you have no intentions of claiming a child with him?”
Lifting a brow at the forward question, Najja answered, her own voice cold. “I am here for Lord Adrys and his family. I would never do anything to shame them. If there is nothing else, I have things to do.”
“I have no need for you any longer, I have what I came for.”
Najja stood and bobbed before walking to the door.
“One more thing.” The Dowager’s voice rang sharp and clear.
Gritting her teeth, Najja smoothed out her expression then rotated back. “Ma’am?”
“Did you know my son was in love once?”
Francesca. Countess Valewood. She knew. “No, I did not know.”
The guest picked up her cup and closed her eyes briefly as she inhaled. “I wonder. He never once had the gentleness in his eyes with her as he did when he spoke your name.”
Najja ignored the flutter in her belly. “Perhaps you should speak with your son on these matters, ma’am.”
“How long has it been since you have seen him?”
With a sigh, Najja returned to the vacant seat across from Colin’s mother. Seated, she loosely clasped her hands upon her knees. “I saw Lord Clifton two days ago. Miss Adrys was at the lake and he rode by. He stopped to talk with her for a short bit.”
“Just to her?”
Najja shook her head. “No ma’am. Countess Valewood stopped by as
well.”
“I see.” She sipped more tea. “Do you not find this interesting? My son, an earl, ignores women who are good matches for him and tells me he would marry you.”
Ignoring the shaft of pain that lanced through her heart, she weighed her response. “I am but a companion, ma’am. I could not deign to assume what your son meant.” The woman didn’t speak, merely stared at her, seeming to see even more than Najja wished discovered. “If that is all, ma’am?”
“Yes, yes.”
Najja stood and gave another bob before exiting the room to find Jo waiting. The moment she spotted her, Jo hurried to her side.
“What happened? Is everything okay?” Jo asked. “Who wanted to see you?”
“Colin’s mother.”
Jo’s eyes widened before she slid an arm through hers. “She wanted to meet the woman her son loves.”
Those words were continually more difficult to ignore each time she heard them. Did he love her?
“I am not a woman for him, Jo.”
Her friend squeezed her arm. “Of course not. You are the woman for him.”
Najja smiled, disguising the pain in her heart the best she could. “You believe in love.”
“Of course I do. Now come on, I want to play chess.”
“She does not act like a companion.”
Both women froze at the sound of Countess Clifton’s voice. They turned and faced her. Her cane, gripped in one hand, tapped as she moved closer. There was no similarity to Colin in this woman. She never would have figured her to be his mother.
“She is my friend.” Jo’s tone fell crisp and absolute.
“Her words have no bearing on me, Jo. Let her say what she will.” Najja spoke low and in her native language.
“No, Najja. You are a part of our family and I refuse to allow anyone to speak ill of you,” Jo replied in English. “Was there something you needed, madam?”
The countess continued to approach and Najja instinctively adjusted her stance to best protect Jo. The pale face was drawn tight and thin brows converged expressing her displeasure.
“I know not what my son sees in you.”
Najja kept her mouth shut and her expression blank. Just once, she would love to be able to speak up for herself. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a luxury she had.
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