by Meara Platt
His response was cut short by Dolly’s entrance into the parlor.
“Och!” she cried, finding Anabelle about to melt into her enemy’s arms. The breakfast tray clattered onto the table as she dropped it without care, then turned her admonishing gaze upon Saron. “Ye’ve got yer hands on her again.”
“So I have,” he said and removed his hand from under Anabelle’s chin.
Anabelle tried to hide her disappointment. “Some breakfast, Your Grace?” Her voice squeaked as she spoke, causing her to wince.
He appeared not to notice. “I ate before coming over.”
But Dolly had noticed. She was desperate to hide from the discerning woman’s gaze. “Fine, then we may get an early start on touring the estate.”
He held her back as she turned to walk out of the room. “No, the skies are about to open up.”
“A few raindrops are of no consequence to me.”
“We’re on the verge of a deluge, Anabelle. We won’t leave this house today.”
“But we must. I can’t remain here all day with you.” It wasn’t for fear of passing a quiet day with him, but fear she would enjoy it. More important, she wanted to show him the innovative work she had been doing on the estate in order to prove her competence. She was desperately needed here and had to make him realize it before it was too late.
He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. “Surely, we can do something to pass the time.”
Dolly stepped between them, glowering. “Och, my lamb’s not doin’ anythin’ with ye, to pass the time or otherwise.”
Anabelle eyed her with exasperation. Dolly’s concern for her innocence was misplaced. Clearly, Saron considered her a country dowd. Despite their earlier kiss, he wasn’t likely ever to kiss her again. The danger was that he’d shatter her soul by taking her away from Harleigh, not that he’d take liberties with her body. Indeed, she quite liked the idea of being wrapped in his arms. “I’ll show him my laboratory. If the rain passes quickly, we’ll tour the estate in the afternoon.”
Dolly mulled the plan over in her mind. “Weel, I suppose it’s safe enough. But leave the laboratory door open.” She picked up the tray and carried it out of the room. “I’ll deposit this pot o’ tea in there in case ye develop a thirst later.”
The tray was sitting on a table in Anabelle’s laboratory when she walked in with Saron a few moments later. He paused to glance about. “Interesting.”
The room had glass walls on three sides and a glass sloped roof. The fourth wall contained the one door to the room that connected the laboratory to the house’s pantry hall. Also along the fourth wall was a small fireplace. A fire had just been started in the hearth.
Along the glass walls were rows of seeds, potted plants, loose soil, pails, shovels, books on botany and agriculture, and an odd assortment of farm implements. In the center of the room stood a large table cluttered with pots and plants. Several of those plants had borne fruit. On either side of the table were long benches.
“You spend much time here.” He stated it as fact rather than posing the question.
“Yes. In the wintertime I spend most of my days here.”
He walked over to a vine that held some ripe tomatoes. “Interesting shape.”
She blushed. “Yes…well, it wasn’t supposed to come out looking like that. I was trying to double the output of this particular tomato plant, but instead of getting two tomatoes per stalk, I got one tomato in the shape of a baby’s bottom.”
He grinned and brought another pot closer. “And what’s this?”
“More tomatoes. I bred those for durability. Unfortunately, I succeeded too well.”
He regarded her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
She handed him a knife. “Here. Try to cut one.”
He did. “Good heavens! It’s like sawing through granite.”
“As I said, it worked a little too well.”
She noted a sudden tenderness in his regard. “Perhaps tomatoes are not your forte.”
“Neither are squash, cabbage, and potatoes. But I have had some interesting results with cotton, corn, and beans.”
“Beans?” he asked, as though enjoying their conversation.
Her eyes brightened. “I’ve had quite some success with them.”
“Pray tell me all about it.”
“I shall, though you find the whole business amusing.” He had an infuriating way of looking at her, of making her body tingle and insides warm. She couldn’t tell if he was laughing at her or with her. She decided she didn’t care. She was proud of her accomplishments, meager though he may believe them to be. “I’ve made some keen discoveries.”
“Forgive me for smirking, Anabelle. It’s just that you don’t have the look of a mad scientist.”
“I should hope not,” she said with a shake of her head and a playful roll of her eyes. “My discoveries are very sensible, usually. I should never have shown you those tomato plants. But the beans are something else altogether. Two years ago, I planted them in fallow soil and was surprised to find that they actually made the soil more fertile. Last year I planted them beside a row of corn and the row grew wonderfully. The corn planted away from the beans didn’t grow nearly so tall or healthy. This year, I shall plant them among a variety of seedlings, on a small scale first. I wouldn’t risk losing my entire crop.” Suddenly, she gazed up at him sadly. “But it’s your crop now, to do with as you wish.”
“Yes, it is.” Saron balled his hands into fists, fighting the impulse to take her into his arms and assure her everything would be all right. It wouldn’t be. Inexplicably, he wanted to give her the world whenever she gazed at him with her soft, doe-eyes.
He had to resist, for her sake.
But for his sake, salvation lay in those eyes.
He watched her turn away and take a ragged breath. When she turned back, she was moderately composed. “Would you care to hear about the cotton?” Her voice was tinged with pride.
He edged closer, reaching over her shoulder to finger a young, cotton bud. It was soft and pure to the touch. Anabelle’s skin would be softer, he knew, and taste like heaven on his tongue. “I didn’t think cotton grew this far north.”
“It doesn’t, but I keep a few plants here for experimentation. Did you know that cotton grows in many colors?”
“Yes.” He pulled away, annoyed that he found her delicate smile so appealing. And those hopeful doe eyes of hers seemed to pierce his soul…the small part of his soul that was not too damaged to reclaim.
“Oh, I see. Well, I didn’t. I thought all cotton was white, but this plant grows green cotton.”
“You find this all fascinating.” She had the enthusiasm of a child who expressed delight in the simplest of things. She was naive, gullible, vulnerable, and incredibly spirited. She knew how to enjoy life. He had rarely enjoyed life. She was so like Gideon.
“I do find farming fascinating, but I sense that you do not,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
He shrugged his shoulders. “It serves an important purpose.”
“Ever the practical businessman.”
He cupped her chin. “And you are ever the fanciful dreamer.”
She frowned, managing to look pretty even while peeved. “Those dreams give me hope for the future. How can we progress or enjoy life if we have no dreams?”
“Dreams avoid reality.”
“No, Your Grace. Dreams create reality.” She laughed nervously and pulled away. “I do hate philosophizing. Shall I show you my flower cuttings or have you had your fill of scientific tragedy for the day?” She nodded to a row of neatly aligned pots against the south wall.
He followed her gaze. “Tragedy? As bad as your tomatoes?”
She turned back to him and wrinkled her nose. “Worse, if that is possible.”
“Ah, a grand tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.”
“Quite.”
She was giving him that wide-eyed look again, that look that made him w
ant to take her into his arms and kiss her into forever. She had lips made for kissing, soft and pliable. Her lower lip especially appealed to him and he would have liked nothing better than to run his finger along its fleshy softness. She was smiling at him. A sweet, genuinely warm smile that lit up the room. In truth, more than the room. It lit up a small corner of his heart.
He stiffened.
The organ beating within his chest was barely that, for he’d lost his heart years ago. “You may show me the flowers another day, Anabelle.” He glanced up at the roof as rain began to pour down and splatter noisily against the glass. “Let’s return to the study. We can look over the rest of the ledgers.”
“Ah, yes. The bottom line, the profit or loss. That is more to your taste.”
“Don’t be so disdainful of profit, Anabelle. It brings wealth, and wealth brings power.”
“And what shall I do with those commodities?” she asked lightly.
Bitterness shot through him as he spoke. “Survive in this cruel world.”
She clutched his arm. At first it appeared she would envelope him in her embrace, much as a mother would take an injured child she sought to comfort, but good sense obviously overcame her and she simply held on to his arm. “Saron, you’re safe at Harleigh. There’s no cruelty here.”
She was a dreamer. An eternally optimistic dreamer. He put his hand over hers. “You know nothing about life and hate and–” He stopped himself before he gave away too much, worried that she might do something as foolish as kiss away his pain. But that pain had kept him alive, had kept him going all these years when he’d simply wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “Come along,” he said gently. “We’ll be more comfortable by the fire in the study.”
She held him back, her expression one of worry. “You must promise me one thing.”
He softened at her concern, realizing that he must have frightened her. “What is it?”
“When we reach the study…”
“Yes?”
“You mustn’t fall asleep by the fire and burn your toes.” She turned on her heels and raced out of the room, her laughter resounding down the hall.
“Impertinent female.” Somehow, she had put him back in good humor.
But it wouldn’t last long.
He could feel the dragon within him yearning to break out.
He didn’t want to be near Anabelle when it did.
Chapter Five
Anabelle spent the next day in turmoil, one moment pleased with herself for making progress in regaining her estate, and the next, despondent that she was getting nowhere. She had taken Saron on a tour of the farms, the wool mill, and was presently showing him the little dairy in Keswick. “Well, what do you think?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You’ve asked me that question several times today.”
“And you’ve avoided answering each time.”
“So I have.” He marched on.
She stifled her frustration, nodded a hasty goodbye to Herbert Frasier, the capable steward she had placed in charge of the dairy two years ago, and hurried after Saron. “By next year, we’ll have the means to double our production,” she said, her gaze on the barn-like structure from which they were emerging and not on where she was walking. “Do you wish to know how?”
“No, I wish you to be careful.”
“I– ack!” Only then did she remember the jutting floorboard at the entrance. Her hands flailed as she lost her balance and started to fall back, but Saron caught her firmly by the waist and drew her hard against his chest. Oh, he felt so good. Solid and strong. He smelled good too, she realized as he bent his head to look at her and make certain she was unhurt. She breathed in the exposed skin at his neck, detecting the scent of sandalwood and cool outdoors. But she also detected heat. A dragon’s heat and a dragon’s darkness bubbling beneath the dormant volcano that was his handsome facade.
Now why had she thought of that?
Perhaps because the Draloch crest was a dragon. Everyone knew such demonic creatures were powerful and mysterious. Quite dangerous. She felt that danger whenever she stood close to Saron. Indeed, there was a simmering darkness within him that he could not hide from her.
And yet, she couldn’t help but be drawn to him.
Is that why she was dreaming of dragons every night now? A large, black dragon with majestic black wings and silver-blue eyes, in particular. And what of the stranger who resembled Saron that she’d seen among her bluebells yesterday?
Saron was having this odd effect on her.
His hands remained firmly on her waist, their warm strength like kindling added to the simmering fire that burned low in her belly whenever he was near. Heat began to spread through her body and into her cheeks. She couldn’t move, couldn’t draw away even if she wanted to.
He frowned at her. “Watch where you’re going.”
She managed a nod, at a loss to understand what forces overwhelmed her reason whenever she was in his presence. He released her, emitting a soft growl that sent a hot shiver through her, the sensation alarmingly intense. Her blood was fiery as it coursed through her veins. She almost expected it to steam the frigid air surrounding them.
“There’s more to be done,” she said in a rush, unwilling to allow these curious feelings to distract her from her purpose, “new equipment to be put in place. But the renovations will require us to cease operations for at least a month. I have it all worked out so that the impact will be minimal to the local farmers. Herbert thinks my plan is excellent.”
“I expect it is.”
“But you don’t wish to hear it.” She was suddenly angry again, more with herself than with him. She knew he was a cold, unfeeling brute, yet she’d repeatedly tried to make him see reason. It was a hopeless task. Men such as he would never see the beauty in Harleigh and its pastoral countryside. “You’ve been aching to leave ever since we arrived here. Doesn’t any of this matter to you?” She moved her hand in a broad sweep of their surroundings.
“We’ll speak of it later.” He surprised her by wrapping her cloak more firmly about her shoulders. They stood in silence beneath the chill March sunshine, his fingers lingering on her shoulders for what seemed a glorious eternity before he broke the spell. “You’re shivering, little one. Let’s get you home.”
“Home,” she repeated softly, knowing that he’d soon part her from her beloved Harleigh. She had to find a way to win this battle, but how? Plotting revenge would accomplish nothing. She could easily plant a skunk in his bed, honey in his boots, or glue on his saddle. She could sew up the cuffs of his sleeves, dump water on his head, or shove him into a freezing lake. Those might give her momentary pleasure, but she needed a stunning blow, a jolt that would bring him to his knees in surrender.
But how was she to conquer this dragon?
She glanced at him as he walked beside her and realized that she was in great danger of surrendering first. Her traitorous heart was still leaping and pounding within her chest, all because of his smallest act of kindness. He’d tucked her cloak more securely about her shoulders, and that could hardly be considered kind. He was simply being practical.
“Anabelle, your hands are cold. Where are your gloves?” He took her hands in his and rubbed them lightly, warming them with devastating efficiency.
“I forgot them at home. Please let me go,” she whispered.
“Very well. I see that you’re tired and overset.”
His words felt like a fist grabbing her heart and squeezing it painfully. “Oh, my feelings run much deeper than that. I’ve lost my estate and my freedom to a heartless beast. How am I supposed to feel? Grateful for the meager bones you condescend to toss my way?”
He merely shook his head and sighed.
“Is that all you can manage in response? You’ve ignored all my suggestions, haven’t listened to a word I’ve said about Harleigh. This so-called truce isn’t working.”
“You haven’t given it a chance.”
“Nor have you. You haven’t
listened to any of my plans, nor shown any interest in these villagers. How can I give up and leave them to your neglectful care? No, you leave me no choice but to fight Lord Markby’s decision.”
“You can’t. It’s over. Stop living in your dream world, Anabelle.”
“This is no dream, but a nightmare.” She turned away, hurrying down the street to the edge of town, now feeling quite forlorn and shouldering an oppressive weight. His indifference to her and all those she loved at Harleigh was slowly sinking her to her knees. He would destroy everything and everyone she loved.
How was she to stop him?
She continued past the imposing Draloch carriage and its horrid dragon crest, avoiding the dragon’s compelling blue-gray eyes that seemed to mock her as she walked by. Its taunting stare shot through her like an arrow through the heart. She walked past Keswick’s familiar buildings and warm memories.
She simply kept walking.
Saron followed her in the carriage. She knew he was watching her, the heat of his gaze like flames enveloping her.
She refused to look back.
“Get in,” he finally commanded when she diverted from the roadway along a narrow walking trail that skirted the icy blue waters of Derwentwater. “The path must be slick after yesterday’s freezing rain.”
She ignored him.
“Lord, you’re stubborn. Very well. I’ll walk with you.” He climbed down from the carriage.
She had earlier described the lake to him in loving detail, the fun she’d had boating with her father every summer. She’d told him of her favorite place to fish, swim, her favorite spot to picnic with her family. Those precious memories had meant nothing to him. All she held dear meant nothing to him. He was determined to take her to Draloch. Dear heaven! What would he do to her there?
“Anabelle, stop!” He suddenly reached out to draw her behind him, but she eluded his grasp.
“I don’t need you to…oh, mercy!” A sob escaped her lips. She covered her mouth with her hand, trembling at the sight of the blood-soaked lamb before her. The creature’s lifeless body lay sprawled amid a bed of bluebells, its throat and entrails savagely ripped from its body. The creature’s legs were broken and maggots infested the decaying flesh. “Is it dead?” Of course it was. What a silly thing for her to say, for nothing could have survived such a vicious attack.
