Safely within the confines of his own mind, Edward began to choose colors and brushes, to form ideas for the layers, first those which should be laid down behind and then the next, angles of light and varying hues of shadow until he could all but see the perfection of a well-wrought masterpiece before him.
With a snort and the muttering of a few well-chosen obscenities, Edward dropped the curtain back into place, mocking beneath his breath the rather fantastical bend his thoughts had taken. Rothwyn House was just that and nothing more. A shelter, albeit an elaborate one, in which a group of people had taken up residence. It would do little good to imagine its regally curved lines flowing from his brush onto a perfectly stretched canvas.
Now was not the time to think of painting.
There was far too much at stake, for one thing, and for another, his grandfather absolutely abhorred his penchant for desiring to paint whatever scene lay before him. He would not insult the St. Daine's by reducing the greatness that was the manor in front of him to what amounted to little more than hundreds upon hundreds of brushstrokes of muted colors upon cloth.
The carriage came to a rocking halt, surprising him out of his musings. Sitting forward, he stretched out one arm and then the other, straightening the short fall of ruffles at each cuff before pulling the edges of his newly tailored coat close. It was time to meet his future wife, the saving of Vykhurst, for their first outing as a newly betrothed couple.
His grandfather's footman opened the carriage door and Edward stepped smartly down onto the cobblestone path, casting a curious yet wary glance upward to the top floor of the manse as he did so. She was up there somewhere, his newly promised lady? Had she been watching for him? Did she even care that he had arrived?
He had last seen Lady Phoebe in this very house, he recalled. She had been hiding, eavesdropping on a conversation between her brother, the duke, and his friends. Edward had found her there in an alcove down one of the private corridors leading from the grand ballroom, her ear pressed solidly against the wall and, rather than give away her position, he had cupped a hand over her mouth and held it there until she quieted and he could lead her away from certain discovery to question her.
She had been furious, he recalled, because he had caused her to miss some vital piece of information. It had taken a bit of cajoling on his part to entice her to reveal exactly what she had been hoping to learn, but once he had, Edward had felt quite the heel. She wanted to save her brother. In fact, she seemed quite desperate to do so and he had thwarted her attempt at reconnaissance.
His apology in the moment had been genuine.
Peering into her lovely eyes, dark and awash with unshed tears, he had wanted nothing more than to soothe her hurt. He had kissed her. She had allowed it. And it had been a kiss so fraught with aching desperation Edward still could not banish it from his thoughts. Still, to hope that the lady in question might be eagerly waiting to see him was quite foolish, under the circumstances and Edward chided himself. Yet he could not deny a moment's weakness in which he wished it might be so.
Lady Phoebe had all but enchanted him during his last visit, though he knew she held no great love for him. She had acted no more or less seemly than a proper hostess might. It was no fault of hers that he found himself utterly captivated.
Still, even if she had been attracted to him before, it mattered not. All of that would have changed, he realized, now that she was aware she was merely being offered on the block of sacrifice as the St. Daine's only means of saving the prodigal, though somewhat tainted, son.
Breathing out a low sigh tinged with more than a little regret, Edward hurried up the front steps of the manor, eager now to have done with the matter entirely. The sooner his courting was done and the marriage well met, he could go back to his own life and leave the family's earl-ish woes, such as they were, to his grandfather.
* * *
Upstairs in her chamber, Phoebe St. Daine peered through the rose brocade curtains gracing the wide bank of windows that spanned the front of Rothwyn house, her bottom lip pinched firmly between her teeth while she stared down at the man to whom soon she would be married.
To save Tristan, she reminded herself. She would marry Edward Claybourne, gentleman and heir to the earldom of Vykhurst not because she had fallen madly, coiffure over skirts in love with him, but rather because doing so, it seemed, was her family's only recourse if they wished to save her brother from the hangman's noose. But it was not her brother of whom she was thinking when the man upon the cobblestones below tilted his head upward, his gaze searching the upper floors of Rothwyn House as if he knew she was watching.
Most young ladies of her acquaintance would likely have fled, feeling anxious and perhaps even a bit threatened, by her situation if not the man, Phoebe realized, but not her. Rather, she felt...empowered...which was probably why, quite unlike any other young maid in her position would have dared, she took a bold step forward.
Was he thinking about the kiss they had shared? She wondered.
He started forward, shoulders confidently squared, and Phoebe felt heat fill her cheeks. Her heart jumped excitedly against her ribs and her free hand slid downward to cover the giddy little flutter which started in her stomach.
“He carries himself well, Phoebs,” her sister, Alaina, murmured over her shoulder from a place just slightly behind her. “Well enough for a future earl, I suppose. But then, the good Mister Claybourne could be an horridly grotesque cripple with a twisted, humped spine and you still would gainsay neither himself nor Lord Vykhurst, would you?”
Startled, Phoebe jumped and let the fabric drop. She had been so engrossed in watching the arrival of her betrothed, she hadn't heard the younger girl come into the room. The words she had spoken, however, could not be ignored even had Phoebe had so desired, because they were truth. Not that it mattered, Phoebe thought. As long as it meant Tristan would soon be safe and home again, she knew she might well agree to wed the son of Satan himself.
“Phoebe? Mister Claybourne has arrived. Your brother asks that you join them in the study,” Lady Claire Leighton, the new duchess of Rothwyn, announced from the doorway. She swept into the room, took one look at her new sister, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, my. You look stunning.”
A weak smile wavered on Phoebe's lips and she swept both hands down along the rich fabric of her pale violet gown before bringing her right hand up to toy nervously with the ivory overlaid chalcedony cameo brooch her maid had pinned to the fine, lace-edged velvet collar she wore. “Yes, well, we cannot allow the man to change his mind, now can we?”
Behind her, Alaina chuckled wryly. “As if he had so many better options.”
Phoebe flashed the girl a warning look over her shoulder. Sometimes Alaina's outspokenness worried her. Her sister was wise beyond her years, true, but someday soon that spontaneous yet rather saucy mouth of hers was like to land her in a right fine muckle of trouble. “Yes, well, let us ensure he has no wish to take himself off in search of those better options.”
After casting one last glance at her reflection in the tall, cheval mirror beside her bed, Phoebe turned to precede her sister and sister-in-law into the corridor while she tried to pretend her knees had not suddenly turned to warm jam, that her fingers did not lay quivering against her skirts, and that she was not intimidated in the least about the duty life had some-wise recently appointed her to.
Saving her brother was one thing, but spending an entire afternoon with a man about whom she knew absolutely nothing was quite another.
But you do know, her conscious pressed. You know the full shape of his lips and how nicely they can be fitted to yours. You know the rough texture of his fingers as they trace the contours of your jaw. You know the heat of his body surrounding yours and you know the pleasure of being wholly, completely immersed in his kiss.
Aye, she did, indeed, know. And he knew the same about her.
Her cheeks flushed and she lifted a hand to her brow in consternation. If only sh
e had used more of those first weeks of her debut chattering flirtatiously with the gentlemen to which her brother, Lucien, had allowed her to be introduced rather than chasing dead-end possibilities trying to discover Tristan's whereabouts...
Emily, her other sister and Alaina's younger twin, met them at the top of the stairs. Her expression appeared far more serious than the occasion warranted, and Phoebe drew up to allow her the moment she seemed to need.
With a smile rocked sideways by sympathy, Emily leaned in for a quick hug, and then, with a consoling pat to Phoebe's shoulder, she whispered, “He is someone's brother, too, Phoebs. Remember that.”
For reasons she could not fathom at the moment, Phoebe's bottom lip trembled. She clamped it between her teeth, hard. Pain flared, but she knew her eyes had already filled with the glossy sheen of tears because Emily, bless her, always seemed to know just what to say to bring things into perspective, and now she knew exactly how to approach the stranger who awaited her in her brother's study.
* * *
“...I could have loved you.”
A slight, delicate hand reached upward to press faintly against his cheek, her pale, trembling fingers curving weakly against his jaw as she shakily drew in one slow breath and then another.
Don't die. Don't die...
The words marched through his thoughts like the most fierce of soldiers, hammering out a rhythm matched to the accelerated beat of his heart. He pressed his fingers against her chest, putting pressure on the wound to stall the bleeding, but there was just so much of it, he...
Tristan...
Biting off a curse, he scrambled across the rough-hewn floor of the captain's cabin to gather a handful of the first cloth he could reach – the sheets from the captain's bed. Uncaring of the repercussions, he ripped the fabric, shredding it to make a thick padding, which he pressed tightly against her side.
Don't die. Don't die. Don't die...
Her beautiful eyes, soulful and brimming with a watery mix of agony and so much regret, peered into his. Her breath rattled in her chest and panic slammed through him.
Don't you dare. Don't you dare die on me, damn it!
The words screamed past his lips even as the icy truth froze him. Tossing the remaining cloth aside, he lifted her in his arms and slid with her across the floor until his back rested against the low berth at the side of the room. For what seemed like hours, he held her close, rocking her in his arms while he waited for help to arrive.
But he had waited in vain...
Why hadn't she stayed away? Why had she been there? Why hadn't someone warned him and why did her final words refuse to go away?
“I could have loved you,” she had whispered up to him with her dying breath and oh, how he wished he had died alongside her because, God help him, he knew he could have loved her, too.
Lying in the darkness, twisted in a tangle of thread-bare blankets on the makeshift cot in his cell, the knowing ate at him until, finally, Tristan St. Daine, second son of the late Duke of Rothwyn, threw back his head and howled in agony from his own personal prison of torment and pain.
Preview: The Claiming Of Julia Locke
Coming soon from RAVEN ASHTON
Copyright © Raven Ashton
Friend to everyone but no one to love...
That was how twenty-four year old Julia Locke saw herself, and after learning from her mother this morning she need no longer worry over winning a husband for herself but would instead be expected to act as chaperon and companion to her younger sister, Christina, for the Season, Julia was certain it was how her mother now saw her, too.
“I know you are young and beautiful, darling, and someday you will find a nice man who will love you as much as we do, but... Your time simply hasn't arrived. Therefore, we will put our focus and energy into a successful launch for Christina. Now, here is how we shall handle the preparations...”
Her thoughts filled with the many details of Christina's introduction into Society, Jocelyn Locke had failed to notice the sudden pallor of her eldest daughter's complexion, but Julia had felt as if her spirit had faded along with the color in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes; she felt as if the very life had drained right out of her at her mother's announcement.
Her mother had not intended to hurt her. The soul of sweetness and generosity, Jocelyn never meant to hurt anyone. With the difficult adjustments the entire family had been forced to make during the past year and a half after Father passed away, Julia was inclined to forgive her anything...even a declaration which labeled her eldest daughter a spinster, thus removing Julia from the marriage market by placing her firmly on the shelf. But being willing to forgive her mother did nothing to lessen the pain she felt, the crushing hurt of being unwanted, unacceptable and, other than in a friendship kind of way, unloved.
After her mother's life-altering statement, Julia had paid little attention to the excited chatter of conversation which followed when her sisters Christina, Teresa, and Eloisa had swept into their mother's sitting room. How could they expect her to focus upon the plans being made for Christina when her own life had just been turned on it's head – for the second time in less than two years?
After excusing herself from the arrangements being discussed in favor of a long, quiet walk in the garden where she hoped to clear her head and gain a bit of control over her errant emotions, Julia had rushed down the back stairs before the tears burning her eyelids could give away her sudden desolation by sliding down her cheeks.
The garden had provided little solace, however. Spring was only beginning to present its lovely bounty in the form of vibrant greens and fresh blooms but all Julia could manage to see were the twigs left from winter; broken and so out of place among the new foliage, just as she now felt disconnected and malapropos in her own skin.
Quitting the garden, she had made her way to her room where she spent the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon desperately trying to come to terms with her new status as an unwanted woman but the harder she tried the worse she seemed to feel.
If only Father were here, she had thought. He would know precisely what to say to ease her pain and calm her fears and she would be able to go on with her life as if nothing catastrophic had happened this morning. But Father had left them and Sebastian had taken his rightful place as duke, which meant his death had taken not only her beloved father from her, but her eldest brother, as well, and now, with her mother's calmly stated announcement this morning, Julia seemed to also have lost her identity and her way.
The evening meal, one normally taken with the entire Locke family joining together in the formal dining room, came and went without her. Had they even noticed the lack of her presence? Her mood morose and growing more so by the hour, Julia crept down the stairs and sat on the second one from the bottom, listening to the happy chatter of her family while she looked on from without.
Soon, her younger brothers, Nicholas and Christian, went into town for what remained of the evening while her sisters repaired to their own amusements. Her mother retired, as well, and through it all, no one seemed to notice or care that she hadn't been there...not even Sebastian, who had gone straight from the dining room to his study, where he was joined shortly thereafter by Lord Wyndham.
Known to the ton as Marquess Wyndham, or Lord Wyndham, Adrien Shelley, a long-time friend of the family, had come by to discuss the new Wyndham-Locke shipping effort in which he and Sebastian planned to heavily invest and the two had closeted themselves in Sebastian's study.
Julia had quietly crept away, unseen, from her position on the stairs to the library. Perhaps an adventurous volume would call to her and she could forget her sorrows for a time by losing herself in a story, she had thought, but nothing among the well-stocked Kelsing shelves had held any special appeal.
Now, hours later, she sat in the near dark in the library where the waning glow from the last embers of the fire caused shadows to flicker and bounce off the elegantly papered walls and shelves. Still feeling alo
ne and invisible and altogether dejected, Julia hid the slow but unending flow of her tears by resting her forehead against her tightly up-drawn knees.
“Julia? Is that you? I thought everyone must be abed by now. Sebastian mentioned your father might have a book here on water routes to the Colonies and...you're crying.” Adrien explained his late night presence in the Locke library, finishing on a note of surprise.
Julia raised her head a bit, tempted to snap out a cutting remark regarding his marvelous ability to blatantly state the obvious, but bit her lip instead. Adrien was not to blame for either her current problems or her tears and to take out her new-found feelings of inadequacy on him would not only be rude but also terribly unfair of her.
He was a good friend – of both the family and her, personally. The same age as Sebastian, Adrien often seemed as much a part of the Locke family as her own siblings and she could not count on both hands the many times it had been his soothing tones and gentle words of encouragement which had brought the sparks of sanity back amid the frequent bouts of chaos in her life.
Every bit as handsome as her brothers Sebastian, Nicholas, and Christian, Adrien provided a perfect, opposite compliment to their fair complexion and light hair with his sultry dark looks. His green eyes were his most fascinating aspect, as far as Julia was concerned. Like a spring kaleidoscope, they changed with each turn of his emotions. From vibrant and brilliantly sparkling when he was in one of his more mischievous moods to a stormy and murky gray-green when he was upset, Julia never grew tired of watching them change, but just now, she was more concerned with what he might see in her own.
Dropping her head down against her knees once more, she opted to ignore him. But when she peeked up from behind the strand of hair that hid her eyes from his direct gaze a moment later, she blinked rapidly in surprise.
An Unexpected Proposal (St Daine Family 1) Page 20
