In the dining hall, Jane pulled back the drapes on the tall windows as best she could, bringing some much-needed light into the room. Although the day was overcast, the view of the moors was exhilarating and Jane remained there for a long while, transfixed by the sight. If she did not have so much else awaiting her attention, she would have loved to go for a long walk over the heather-covered hills. With a sigh of contentment, Jane realized that she was heartened far more than she had ever been since her precipitous marriage began.
The knowledge brought back unsettling memories of her new husband that made her flush, and Jane fiddled with the drapes as she banished such thoughts. “I refuse to contemplate a naked man—any naked man—before breakfast,” she muttered to herself.
“My lady?”
“Oh!” Jane turned abruptly, her hand at her throat, to see Mrs. Graves standing behind her. Either the housekeeper moved especially silently, or Jane had been utterly lost in thought. Neither conclusion was particularly appealing. With a forced smile and nod to the woman, Jane took her seat, where she found her tea was accompanied by some dark toast and one egg.
Eyeing the rather unappetizing meal judiciously, Jane forced another smile to her lips. “Thank you, Mrs. Graves, this will do well for me, but I’m afraid that the viscount will require much more to eat. He has a…healthy appetite,” Jane explained.
“Indeed?” Although Mrs. Graves did not change expression, her intonation made Jane blush furiously. Somehow the image of Raleigh licking his lips as he relished a pastry came to mind and made her insides flop alarmingly. Her hand tightened on her fork as she blinked away the vision.
“That is all there is available,” Mrs. Graves said grimly.
Jane looked at the watery egg and burned bread. She had eaten worse, but Raleigh…She drew in a sharp breath. “I am certain that an account can be set up in the nearest village for the time being,” she said. She knew the amount of food it took to run even a small household, and although there were no other servants, the valet and maid would be returning shortly and would have to eat.
Mrs. Graves greeted Jane’s comment with her usual impassive countenance before moving silently toward the kitchen, and Jane wondered if the woman understood her thoroughly. Perhaps she was slightly deaf or suffered an illness. Her mouth was pulled down in the way of some older people, but she appeared to speak normally. Jane shook her head, knowing she had no business wondering about the decidedly odd housekeeper. She would have her hands full with the house for a while, she hoped.
Although Jane suspected that Raleigh would want to leave as soon as possible, she felt an unreasoning urge to stay. And when she thought of Westfield Park and the London town house, where she would never fit in, Jane wanted to dig in her heels even more firmly. Glancing around her at the sadly neglected Hall, she felt a sense of purpose that she had known only in her gardening.
There was nothing for her to do in London or Westfield Park, but here there was work aplenty. And here she could make a difference, even if it was only to repair the house so that Raleigh could sell it. Although the thought gave her a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, Jane knew that she could never convince her husband to make this eccentric building his home.
No, she would not dwell on the impossibilities, but upon what she could accomplish, and that meant directing all of her energies into convincing her husband that they should go through the accumulations in the Hall, at the very least. Filled with new purpose, Jane reached for her knife, picked up the toast and gingerly scraped it before, taking a big bite.
She was just drinking the last of her tea when she heard Raleigh’s voice from the doorway. “Lud, I thought I’d never find my way back to civilization,” he said, leaning against the woodwork with exaggerated relief.
Suppressing a smile, Jane set down her cup, but her eyes stole back to him. He moved with careless grace as he stepped forward, filling the room with his presence and dispelling the shadows in a way the feeble light could not. He wore a dark green coat and fawn breeches and gleaming boots that drew attention, as always, to his perfect physique.
And now she knew just how perfect. Gulping the last of her tea, Jane told herself that she was unaffected by his spurious charm, but the liquid settled uneasily in her stomach. In truth, she felt as if she had swallowed a slew of bugs instead of the simple brew, and she caught her breath, stunned by the sense of familiarity engendered by the sensation. It haunted her, like bits and pieces of a forgotten dream. Firmly pushing the thought aside, Jane rang for the housekeeper as Raleigh took a seat nearby.
“Where the devil is Antoine?” he asked. “I went through three neck cloths this morning and could not achieve a satisfactory knot.”
Jane sniffed, irritated at his petty personal concerns. Raleigh and his clothes! Raleigh without his clothes was a far better bargain to her way of thinking. Emitting a small, helpless sound of dismay, Jane realized just what she had been thinking. The vision of Raleigh, his bare chest bathed in the candle’s glow, burst into her brain, refusing to be vanquished.
“He probably did not expect you to rise before noon,” she said disparagingly.
Raleigh only laughed. “Even I found it difficult to lie abed too long on that tattered couch, but I shall survive. Perhaps the new regime will do me good, eh?”
Nodding hurriedly, Jane tried desperately not to blush, but she felt his gaze upon her, steady and studying. “Did you hear anything else during the night?” he asked softly, and Jane gave up all hope of hiding her flushed face from him.
“No, I slept like a stone.”
“As did I,” Raleigh said. “Though I kept dreaming that a door was slamming.”
Jane felt an odd sense of agreement, but said no more as Mrs. Graves entered, placing a pitiful supply of dishes on the table. The expression on Raleigh’s face was comical, and Jane had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing.
The housekeeper, without waiting for comment, slipped silently toward the kitchen, but Raleigh stopped her with a strangled sound. “Mrs. Graves. I can see that you need additional staff during our stay. Perhaps you can hire some temporary help from the village for a few days.”
Slowly, in an almost ominous manner, Mrs. Graves turned back toward the table. “No one will come,” she intoned.
“What’s that?” Raleigh asked, looking bewildered.
“Is it so far?” Jane said.
The housekeeper did not even glance at her, but continued staring stonily at Raleigh. “No one comes to Craven Hall. Ever.” With that rather cryptic pronouncement, she once more moved to leave.
“Nevertheless, I would greatly appreciate your assistance in this matter,” Raleigh called after her. She did not answer, but disappeared into the shadowy passage beyond.
Dumbfounded by the woman’s behavior, Jane made the mistake of looking at Raleigh to gauge his reaction. Instead of certain surprise, he had a mock expression of terror on his features that made her choke back a giggle.
“Positively chilling,” he said, with a shudder. Picking up his fork, he looked down at his plate and made a face. “As is this swill! Runny eggs and burned toast! And not enough of it to feed a bird. Lud, do you suppose the woman is trying to drive us away?”
Unable to answer without laughing, Jane shook her head mutely. “As if any sane man would need an excuse to flee this wretched wreck,” Raleigh muttered. He had just lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth when the sound of footsteps made them both turn toward the doorway.
Jane blinked in astonishment as Antoine burst into the room as if being pursued by demons, and she heard the clank of Raleigh’s fork hitting his plate.
“My lord!” Antoine gasped. His neck cloth askew and his mustache twitching wildly, the valet looked sadly harried.
“Lud, Antoine, what the devil happened to you?” Raleigh said, raising his quizzing glass to inspect the Frenchman.
“We have been held hostage by those…those cretins at that excuse for an alehouse!” Antoine answered, his ches
t heaving with the force of his agitation.
Jane looked at Raleigh in alarm, but her husband only eyed his valet with speculative interest. Perhaps the Frenchman was known for such exaggerated behavior. “Someone held you against your will?” Raleigh asked, his tone skeptical.
“Those vile…villagers! At first they would not give us a room, and then they tried to keep us there!”
Raleigh appeared unconvinced, but then Madeleine, who had followed Antoine into the room, spoke up. “It is true, my lord. When we arrived last night, they refused to give us a room!”
“Sacre bleu! They called me a coward!” Antoine exclaimed in outraged accents. “They accused us of abandoning you at Craven Hall and fleeing for our lives. After we finally got it through their thick English skulls that you were perfectly well when we left, they practically threatened you, muttering about the dire fate awaiting you here.”
“Something besides musty rooms and vermin?” Raleigh asked dryly.
“Blood and death!” Madeleine said, with a disgusted sound. “Such nonsense as I have never heard before! And when finally we were given rooms, they were deplorable!” she added, with an accusing glance toward Raleigh. Jane, having never seen her maid appear more affronted, shrank back into her seat.
“Hmm. Miserable accommodations seem to be the curse of Northumberland,” Raleigh said.
“Well, I, for one, cannot be expected to ignore such conditions. I have received a gentlewoman’s education and was trained by the countess’s own personal attendant!” Madeleine said.
“Perhaps you can find a room more to your liking here,” the viscount answered her, turning to wink boldly at Jane. “I suggest you consult with the housekeeper on making those arrangements.”
Caught between laughter and outrage at her husband, who obviously was having one on the poor maid, Jane could only stare at him as he inclined his head toward the kitchens. “And while you are about it, see that we have some help from the village.”
“Sacre bleu! My lord, you cannot mean for us to stay here?” Antoine asked in horrified accents.
“Why not?” Raleigh asked with a grin. “I did. Now, since my…uh…breakfast is cold, I think I will go into the village myself to meet with the solicitor—that is, if I can find my way out of the house.”
Antoine, obviously still distressed, only nodded mutely and pointed back the way he had come.
“My lady, would you care to accompany me?” Raleigh said, approaching her chair, and bowing his head.
For a moment, Jane did not realize he was speaking to her, but, of course, in front of the servants she was his viscountess, if not in anything but name. She rose, shaking her head. “I wish to get a good start on the house.”
Raleigh looked at her askance. “Start?”
Ignoring the question, Jane took his arm. “But I will certainly see you off,” she said. After a moment’s hesitation, Raleigh began walking, and Jane found herself quite content to be by his side. His sleeve was soft and warm beneath her ungloved fingers, and she fought a strange urge to stroke it. Only the suspicion that he would accuse her of wrinkling the fabric stayed her from temptation. Still, she did not remove her hand and stepped with him, even as he shuddered at the dust and mess that surrounded them.
“Gad, perhaps the solicitor can direct me to a better inn, and we could just remove there this evening,” he muttered.
“Oh, no! But why?” Jane asked, seeing her feeble hopes already slipping away.
“Why? Well, proper food and shelter for two reasons,” Raleigh said dryly.
“But I can hardly look through the house, if we are staying so far away,” Jane protested.
“What’s to look at? One room is as filthy and cluttered as the next. The place is a wreck, fit only to be burned to the ground!”
Unaccountably annoyed by his assessment, Jane pulled away from him, sweeping out an arm to encompass the stacks of books and papers and crates. “But there might be something important in all this. Surely you’re not going to toss it all away!”
Turning toward a heavy table piled high with junk, Raleigh blew the dust off the top of a box and gingerly picked up something with the very tips of his fingers. Jane realized that it was an old glove, and she met his sardonic gaze over the top of its worn edge.
“Lud, Jane, the only thing you’re likely to find here is more of this, plus bills and more bills and maybe a family of squirrels that have taken up residence under the furniture.” He bent over and eyed the shadows beneath the table warily.
Although it was cool in the house, Jane felt a bead of sweat on her brow. How could she make him understand, especially when she could not explain to herself why the issue had become so important to her? She knew she ought to shrug and let it go, but instead she clung to Craven Hall with a tenacity born of desperation.
“You cannot know what is here. Perhaps there are valuables hidden among the rubbish,” Jane said, appealing to his greed. When she saw him hesitate, she stepped closer. “You cannot always tell by looking at the surface. There might be treasure buried beneath.”
Some of her odd urgency must have seeped into her voice, for Raleigh stilled and studied her with unusual attentiveness. His lashes drifted downward so that he eyed her with deceptively casual interest, but Jane could feel his blue gaze probing her own. It made her blush, and she turned her head away, only to be halted by the soft touch of his fingers, tilting up her chin.
Why had she never noticed how tall he was? Jane wondered wildly as she looked up at him. He was at least a head above her, yet his handsome face seemed suddenly too close, and her heart raced as he brushed his thumb against her skin.
“Very well, Jane,” he said softly. “Look through the rubble, for you are right about one matter. Sometimes things are not as we perceive them to be, and even the simplest stone has many facets. Remember that, as shall I.”
With that cryptic remark, Raleigh let his hand fall and turned to go, leaving Jane to wonder exactly what he meant. And why did he seem to grow on her? Her dandy husband was becoming more handsome, more endearing and less exasperating with each day of their marriage, while she was finding it harder and harder to ignore his charm, spurious though it might be.
Chapter Eight
Raleigh made sure the coachman skirted the edge of the village to well avoid the Rose and Thorn, for he was convinced the inn was populated by Bedlamites. And he was rather uneasy with the notion of those less than savory characters following his movements. He was well aware of Jane’s relative isolation at Craven Hall, and he did not care for it. Although he suspected that the villagers were more apt to avoid the place than burglarize it, still, he felt a certain concern for his wife.
Protectiveness. There it was again, the urge to keep Jane from harm or unhappiness that Raleigh found so unusual. No doubt it would be the ruin of him, he thought with a sigh. Already, he had committed himself to staying another night at the hellish Hall. If that was not the act of a madman, he did not know what else to call it.
But Jane had sounded so odd when he had talked about finding another berth that she gave him pause. For a moment he had wondered if that evil-eyed housekeeper had gotten her clutches into his wife, but Jane was not easily bullied, Raleigh thought with a grin. So how to explain her apparent desire to muck around in the rubbish of an uninhabitable old wreck?
Raleigh shook his head in bafflement. He had promised himself to try to look beneath the surface, and it was Jane’s comment eerily echoing those sentiments that had made him agree to stay at Craven Hall. But for the life of him he could not understand why anyone would be interested in the place.
Who could predict a female’s fancies? No wonder he had always preferred his women to be cheery and simple. Delving into the mystery of Jane was going to take some effort. However, Raleigh was surprised that the prospect was not as distasteful as it once might have been. Indeed, he was rather eager to penetrate Jane’s prim exterior.
The thought caught and held him in thrall for a mo
ment, as a vision danced before him of Jane in bed, virginal in a white nightrail. Although he was accustomed to more erotic nightwear, he had found the garment oddly enticing. There was something positively sinful about imagining her body beneath it, all modestly covered except for her throat. Raleigh had found himself staring at the spot, so creamy and delectable in the candlelight that he had been hard-pressed not to put his mouth to it.
Gad! Then Jane really would have shrieked in horror, he thought with a grin. She would have squawked even louder, if she had known that he had covered himself with the blanket not to soothe her sensibilities but to cover the evidence of his increasing…attraction to her. Raleigh groaned at the memory of that unexpected discomfort and the constraints that prevented him from easing it.
Still and all, he thought he had seen a flicker of interest in her gaze more than once during the awkward encounter, although it was hard to tell when she was wearing those infernal spectacles. Raleigh paused a moment to wonder what she would look like without them, her exotic green eyes with their thick lashes exposed to his gaze. The notion sent a pleasurable heat rushing through him.
Would that he could simply do his husbandly duty! But for all her seeming attention to his body, Raleigh doubted if Jane was ready for anything more. And he certainly was not prepared for another rejection from his disdainful spouse. She had pricked his vanity earlier, and despite her later apology, her sharp tongue had cut him.
No, it was bound to be a demned awkward business with a chit who professed to dislike him! Raleigh sighed. He could always close his eyes and think of England. No doubt that was what Prinny had done with that great horse wife of his, but Jane could hardly be compared to the regent’s obnoxious spouse. Nor did Raleigh think it would be such a chore to take her…
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