by Erin Rye
“Interesting,” he murmured.
Ella regarded him. “What?”
He stared out the window. “The fence needs repair.”
She waited, but he didn’t elaborate.
Several minutes later, an impressive residence of crafted stone rose before her.
“Kinnettles,” Ashton announced.
Ella snapped her gaze onto him. This time, she recognized the emotion in his voice. Bitterness.
Ashton thinned his lips in a silent apology. With a slight nod of acknowledgement, Ella returned her attention to Kinnettles. The castle was much larger than she’d expected, with turreted walls, crowstepped gables and a gray, slate-tiled roof. Dark clouds hung low, but she smelled no rain in the air. She couldn’t repress a shiver at the shadows that seemed to envelope the building. If the weather was like this often, she well understood why Ashton didn’t relish coming here. The gloom was depressing.
Her pulse quickened. If rumor was correct, Ashton’s father had thrown his wife from a tower. Ella lifted her gaze to the nearest turret. Surely, Kinnettles wasn’t that home? Was The Demon Earl returning to the scene of his father’s crime…of his own crime? A heaviness weighed down on her that made it hard to breathe. Was she in danger?
Breathe, she silently ordered. Sir Stirling would never endanger you so.
Knowingly.
The drive curved and the formal gardens behind the castle came into view. A stone archway and white lattice work flanked a walkway. Perfectly shaped shrubberies were scattered amidst barren rose bushes and even the remains of white cyclamen. Beyond, stood oak, Scots pine, birch, alder and more--an arboretum of at least thirty acres.
They turned up a gravel drive and the castle grew in her vision until they stopped at the main entrance and she could see nothing save the massive stone façade. The carriage listed slightly, then a footman opened the door.
Ashton exited first, turned and offered her a hand. Ella placed her hand in his and his fingers tightened gently on hers. Oddly, his strong, warm hand comforted. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She ducked her head as her feet touched the ground and she quickly stepped away.
At her side, Ashton expelled a terse breath. “We won’t be staying long.”
She was ashamed at the relief that flooded her, but said, “It’s beautiful.”
Ashton’s tight lips announced he didn’t share her sentiment.
Ella looked up. A curtain shifted on a third story window and a figure stared down. She drew a sharp breath.
“What is it?” Ashton demanded.
The curtain fell back into place over the window.
Her heart thundered.
“Ella?”
She looked at Ashton.
He frowned. “You’re white as a ghost.” He glanced up, then looked back at her. “Are you unwell?”
She shook her head. “Just fatigued. Forgive me.”
“I will secure you some tea and rest.”
Her heart slowed at the concern in his eyes.
She nodded gratefully. “That will put me to rights.” But it wouldn’t.
Several footmen clad in gold and blue liveries emerged from the front door. They bowed, then hurried and unstrapped the trunk at the back of the carriage.
“Come.” Ashton offered his arm, and she allowed him to lead her toward the entrance.
The staff had formed a line to greet them. Some with tears and some, to her surprise, with broad smiles, murmured various combinations of ‘At last, my lord’ and ‘Bless me, but I’ve lived to see the day ye returned, m’lord.’
They welcomed her warmly as well, but their eyes lingered on Ashton, clearly delighted to see him. While he reciprocated their feelings, the tense line of his jaw revealed something joyless beneath the surface. Could his mood be because they had, indeed, returned to the place where his mother and father had been died?
Finally, they reached the end of the receiving line. Ashton paused before the castle’s entrance. The muscles of his arm tensed beneath her fingers. She realized his attention was fixed on the family coat of arms engraved in the stone above the door. He abruptly cleared his throat and led her through the door. The marble-floored foyer, lined with suits of armor and lit by a silver chandelier, lead to a grand staircase that curved out of sight.
A man of about forty years of age with a hook nose and peppered gray hair entered the foyer behind them. “My lord, may I say again how wonderful it is to see you here.”
“Thank you, James,” Ashton replied with a cool nod. “My grandmother?”
“She’s been delayed, my lord, but is expected to arrive in the morning.”
Ashton’s mouth thinned. “Very well.”
“We’ve prepared your rooms in the east wing,” James said. “Shall I show you the way?” He swept his hand toward the stairs.
“Aye, perhaps he’s forgotten,” Duncan’s voice rang overhead. “It’s been so long.”
They looked up as Duncan descended the stairs, his thin lips frozen in a smile.
Was he the one who’d watched them from the window?
Ashton turned to James. “Thank you, but I will show Ella the way.” He splayed his fingers low on her back and guided her away from the stairs and through a side door to the right. Ella walked in silence, keenly aware of Ashton’s presence. They passed through arched halls, elegant rooms, and up thick, carpeted stairs, but she scarcely noticed the opulence around her. Her attention remained on the man striding silently by her side.
He led her up a second staircase with a polished walnut banister, and down another hall to a door that opened into a formal sitting room, tastefully decorated in brown and burgundy, well-suited for a man. A leather tufted, claw-foot couch flanked by matching wing-back chairs stood before a cheerfully burning fire. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined one wall. Near the window stood a globe of the earth cradled in a brass stand, and a door on the left opened into another room.
Through the open doorway, she glimpsed a massive, four-poster bed. Ella crossed the room and peered into the bedchamber, a lovely room all on its own, but occupied by a single bed. She stiffened.
“Have no fear,” Ashton said behind her. “You will sleep in the bed. I will take the couch in the sitting room.”
Was she that obvious? Ella twisted her lip a little sheepishly, then lifted her chin and faced him. “Very well,” she said in an effort to sound casual.
Her pulse skipped a beat. What was it about the man that unsettled her so? To her relief, someone knocked on the door.
“Enter,” Ashton called.
A maid entered, and Ella stepped into the bedroom.
Bits and pieces of the conversation followed her… “we have your clothing,” “a grave error,” “the lady’s trunk is missing” were a few of the phrases that caught her attention. She gave a wry smile. What would the staff think when they discovered she had only the dress she wore—and that she was Lord Amsted’s daughter? No doubt, she’d provide Kinnettles’ staff with many hours of gossipy entertainment. She suppressed a sigh. How she wished she had truly started a new life in a loving husband’s arms. Perhaps then, the past would fade rather than haunt her. Alas, it wasn’t so.
“He said what?” Ashton’s voice rose.
“Dinner is at eight, my lord,” the maid replied. “Lord Duncan, asked that it be served late to accommodate your late arrival.”
“I have no intention of eating with that viper.” Even without seeing him, Ella could tell he spoke between gritted teeth. “My cousin can keep his own company. We will dine here.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
The door clicked shut and Ella released her breath. Viper? She quite agreed, but why did Ashton feel the same about his own blood? Hopefully, they wouldn’t be here long enough for her to find out why.
She perused the elegant bedchamber. An ornate wardrobe sat against the left wall, and a table and chair were positioned under the window. A small door to the left of the wardrobe caught her eye. Another room? Ella crossed
to the door, twisted the knob and discovered a flight of narrow stairs angling up.
She stepped onto the tiny landing and faced the stairs. They ended at a closed door. She lifted her skirts and started up. The third stair creaked. She halted, heart pounding. Why, she didn’t know. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. With one hand on the banister, and the other gripping her skirts, Ella ascended the steps to the door. She grasped the knob and, to her surprised, it twisted. The door creaked open to a small attic. In the muted light that filtered through a dirty window, she made out half a dozen chests and a dozen hatboxes stacked in a corner, along with a rolled carpet and books.
Cobwebs hung from the rafters. She squinted into the murky light and slowly crept forward, on the lookout for spiders. Something brushed her arm. She whirled, breathing hard, but saw nothing save the dust motes she’d disturbed. She was being ridiculous. Ella turned, walked resolutely to the books, and picked one up. She brushed the dust and the cobwebs away, but there wasn’t enough light to read the cover.
She went to the window and, using the side of her hand, wiped a small circle in the grime. She squinted through. The castle’s gardens opened beneath her. Behind them, a gravel drive wound through a sea of pines. She tilted her head right and, to the left, glimpsed the carriage before it disappeared into the stables. In the distance, the Highlands rose on the horizon beneath dark clouds.
Ella returned her attention to the book. Shakespeare’s Macbeth. She examined the remainder of the books and discovered they were classics, as well, from Herodotus to Homer’s The Odyssey. She preferred poetry, but beggars couldn’t be choosey. She turned a slow circle. A little scrubbing, a settee, and a few plump pillows and the small attic room could transform into the perfect hideaway.
A sneeze caught her unawares. She’d obviously have to take care of the dust—after she’d had any spiders removed. She detested the creatures, but from the state of the cobwebs, they’d long been dead.
She descended the stairs and reentered the room, then stopped short. Ashton stood five feet away near the bed, a fresh, white linen shirt half buttoned. Heat washed over her at sight of dark curly chest hair against the broad expanse of muscled chest. He quirked a brow. She cursed herself for blushing—worse, for staring—but how could she not? With a Herculean effort, Ella tore her eyes from him and dropped her gaze.
A tiny movement on her gown caught her attention. A spider. Time slowed as the creature lifted first one leg, then the next, and the next. Inch by inch, it crept upward. She caught sight of a second spider on the other side of her skirt. Time returned with a rush. Choking back a scream, she shook her gown.
The first spider leapt onto her hand. Ella flailed and danced back, slamming into Ashton. She jerked her hand back and elbowed him in the gut. Two strong hands gripped her arms and spun her around.
“What is it?” Ashton’s green eyes pierced hers as he wheezed.
“Spiders.” Ella twisted in an effort to escape his grasp.
“Where?”
Something tickled her shin. Her head spun, and the room dimmed around her. She jerked from Ashton’s grip and yanked up her skirts. Choking down a hysterical sob, she violently shook her skirts.
“Just take the damn dress off, lass,” Ashton’s baritone pierced her panic. “I’ll wait outside.”
She had her dress half off before he’d left the room, popping a button along the way. The petticoat and under drawers quickly followed. Within seconds, she stood shivering and naked, suddenly realizing she hadn’t a shred of clothing to wear.
With a scowl, she flipped back the counterpane, pulled a sheet from the bed, and wrapped it around herself like a toga. She would wear nothing but sheets and blankets before she’d don that gown without a good washing.
After lifting her gown to her waist and dancing about like a heathen in front of Ashton, appearing before him in a sheet would be dignified.
Head held high, she marched into the sitting room and announced, “I am in need of clothing.”
Ashton glanced up from his chair by the fire. His gaze swept over her. She stood powerless to move as his eyes dipped then lingered on her breasts. Either the chill in the room or the heat of his gaze caused her nipples to pucker. She should leave. Yet, she stood until his eyes lifted to her face with a cool, steady gaze.
“Are the beasties subdued?” he asked.
“I do not care for spiders,” she replied.
“I haven’t met anyone who does,” he said. “I will send for a dressmaker. Until then, I’ll ask the housekeeper for suitable clothing.” He paused, then with a decided gleam in his eye, added, “Unless, of course, you prefer to wear a pair of my breeches?”
The look in his eye set her heart racing, but she said in an even voice, “I feel certain the housekeeper can find something. Until then, I will wait in the bedroom.”
“Very well.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She spun on her heel.
She’d taken three steps when the sheet slipped from her grasp. She grabbed at the fabric and caught it around her waist before it fell to the floor.
Chapter Six
Temptation
Ashton shifted in his chair as a familiar tightness flooded his groin. Ella was proving an unexpected temptation. She walked away, head held high, the sheet draped around her like a Greek goddess.
If only the thing would fall off.
His thoughts froze when the sheet snagged on the corner of a table and yanked the fabric to her waist. Her sharp intake of breath sent a message straight to his cock. Soft curves, creamy flesh, and the side of one perfect breast registered before she yanked the sheet up to her neck. He remained perfectly still, too aware of the strain of his cock against his breeches as she marched without a backwards glance from the room.
Ashton stared at the closed door she’d disappeared through. Attraction—lust—would muddle the situation. He stood and headed for the door to the hallway, not only to send out for the dressmaker, but to remove himself from temptation.
He left the room and hurried to the stairs. He forced his thoughts from Ella to the more pressing matter of his inheritance. His grandmother clearly liked her. The damned dog certainly did. Would that be enough to tip the balance in his favor?
He still couldn’t believe that Ella was the debutant his grandmother wanted him to meet last summer. Ashton slowed on the stairs. By then, Ella’s family scandal had become public, yet his grandmother thought the two of them would make a good match. Not in a million years would he have believed the old woman capable of choosing a bride who might actually benefit him. What was it about Ella that made his grandmother think they would get on well? Might she tell him, if he asked?
At the bottom of the stairs, he found a maid, asked her to send for a dressmaker, then forced his steps toward the library. He stopped outside the door, suddenly uncertain he could go inside. His father was dead. Yet, standing in front of this room took him back to that ten-year-old boy about to step into a world that made him feel he was the insane one in a house filled with insanity.
He pushed open the library door and paused on the threshold. The place looked the same. Books filled the shelves that lined the right wall. No doubt, the books hadn’t been touched, save to be dusted. His father had insisted on order right down to the extermination of every last dust mite.
This had been his father’s sanctuary. After the accident, Grandmother had conducted all her business in this room, including sending him straightaway to boarding school.
Even at sixty years of age she was a beautiful woman. Her spun silver hair lay piled atop her head as she sat at his father’s large mahogany desk, her attention on a letter she wrote as she said, “Your father should have sent you to school long ago.”
Ashton stood at attention, eyes on the bookshelf behind her just as he had every time he stood before his father. “Yes, ma’am.”
She looked up from her letter and regarded him through the same green eyes they shared with his mother. “I know we don�
�t really know one another, but you might try calling me Grandmother.”
“Grandmother,” he obliged.
She studied him. “Would you rather stay at Kinnettles instead of going to school? I could get tutors—”
He snapped his gaze onto her face. “No, ma’am—Grandmother.” He composed himself; forced back the rising panic. “I prefer school.”
Even now he vividly remembered the shrewd look in her eyes.
“When you return home for holiday, things will be different, Ashton. I promise.”
Things were different. But not better. He returned home to discover he was known as The Demon Earl—the boy who had murdered his father. His cousin Duncan and his parents lived with his Grandmother at Kinnettles. Duncan, three years his senior, took every opportunity to taunt Ashton with the title, along with a reminder of the bad blood his father had passed onto him.
Ashton crossed to the shelves and ran his fingers over the bindings. His eye caught on a copy of Plato’s Republic, his father’s favorite. His jaw tightened. Strange, how an intelligent, educated man—charming to a fault—could be so ugly beneath the surface.
Why, mother, did you tolerate him?
Had he actuated the wish that his father die?
Ashton spun away from the shelves. Damn it to hell. The questions had risen without willing them. His grandmother knew full well the memories that lived in this place. Why had she insisted they come here?
He crossed to the window, leaned against the sill, and crossed his arms. Despite the ghosts, he couldn’t deny the beauty of the hills and Highland mountains in the distance. His mother had hated Kinnettles with a passion. What seventeen-year-old debutant wanted to marry and live away from Society and all that she’d known? His chest tightened. She’d been but twenty-five when she died. Her portrait hung with his father’s in the gold parlor. He hadn’t been in that room since his father died.
