“I have very good intuition about these things, just mark my words. And Serena’s not snobby, she’s just difficult to get to know. She’s sweet once you do.” Tilly jumped to her defence, shaking her head at Ashford’s lack of loyalty to one of his oldest friends.
“Oh, take my word for it,” he said. “Why do you think she’s an old maid?”
Because she was waiting for you, dummy, Tilly thought, but exclaimed out loud, “Old maid? How rude. She’s your age, right? God, men in this time.” She shoved him away from her, but he didn’t miss a step.
“You know men need longer to mature.”
“At least you’re aware of it,” she said, softening and moving closer to him again.
They’d slowed to a snail’s pace. They could have been in the house already, but she wanted to stay out with him as long as possible. Once he was inside, he’d disappear both physically and mentally, and who knew how long it would be before she got this sunny Ashford again. Even he seemed loath to go any faster.
“All beside the point, which is that I do not believe you to be either shy or reserved. All evidence points to the opposite.”
She swept her hand in front of her, and looked at the sky. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s this place? Or the time? I feel different here.”
“Different? How?” He stopped and placed his palm on her brow. “Have you had a fever? Do you have any pain?”
She ducked away from his concerned touch. “No, not at all. I feel better. Like I’m a better person. Like I belong.”
Ashford linked arms with her again, the look in his eyes unreadable and far away, almost as if he’d got a shock. He nodded and looked down at her with a crooked half smile.
“Aye, Matilda, perhaps you’re right.”
He leaned closer and for a heartstopping moment she thought he would kiss her, but he merely nodded again and slowly started walking once more.
He didn’t say anything else, only kept her close. She leaned against him as much as she dared, wondering what she was right about.
Chapter 21
Kostya caught up with Serena and placed his hand on her arm. She stopped just before entering the house, her eyes hard and bright. He’d seen the same brittle mask of concealed emotion settle onto her face countless times before, all brought on by Julian’s carelessness. He sighed to himself. What did Julian have to be careful about? He wasn’t aware of Serena’s lifelong devotion to him, as she was so conscientious about hiding it. He wondered what might have happened if she had exposed her feelings years ago, but knew her pride would never have allowed it, even to get closure. She’d rather hopelessly hope than move on.
He was angry at himself for thinking he might have helped her move on, angry that it clearly wasn’t the case. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, hoping to release some of the disappointment he felt along with it. It didn’t help.
He led her into the house and upstairs to her room. She’d been keeping Tilly entertained and out of his hair for the last two weeks— Julian had been adamant that the girl not be left to wander off alone— barely going home the entire time. She only seemed to realize where she was when he closed the door behind them.
“I’ll pack up and leave now that Julian’s returned,” she said in a clipped voice, looking around the room with disdain.
“Nonsense,” Kostya said mildly. “Why should you leave?”
He led her to the sitting area by the cold fireplace and nudged her into a chair, taking the seat opposite her and waiting. After a long moment, her ramrod posture eased back into the cushions.
“He’s chosen her. That child. He’s chosen her,” she said. “Oh, doesn’t my voice sound bitter? I can’t hide it anymore, it seems. That’s why I have to go.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” he said. “He feels responsible for her, nothing more.”
“You’re blind, Kostya, or pitying me again.” She laughed sharply, suddenly dropping in front of the fire to light it, scraping her knuckles on a log. She bit back a hiss of pain, and slumped into her billowing skirts. “I can’t even hate her,” she said in a voice he’d never heard from her.
The vulnerability that he saw made him hurry to her side. Instead of offering a comforting pat, which he knew she would shrink from, he set about building up the fire for her. She continued to sit in front of the hearth, staring down at her hands.
They hadn’t spoken of the time they were together, right before Ashford left, and at first he was grateful. It seemed like it would be a burdensome entanglement if she had real feelings for him, beyond that of their friendship, but now he wasn’t sure what he felt. It irked him that she couldn’t let go of her childhood love, and it was taking all his willpower not to pull her into his arms and make her forget.
“Do you really not see it?” she asked, the pathetic hope shining once again from her eyes.
He knew she wanted to be wrong, wanted to be seeing things out of jealousy. He closed his eyes against the sight of her, because the urge to do something to comfort her was becoming too strong to resist.
“Tell me the truth,” she urged. “Be that one person I’ve always been able to count on for the truth of things.” She leaned forward and took his hand and he opened his eyes to see that hers were glistening with unshed tears.
“I see it,” he admitted. “But I don’t believe it’s what you’re thinking.”
Of course he couldn’t tell her the truth, and it burned in his stomach, even as he was glad she might finally let her hopes for Julian go. Glad for her, glad for himself.
“Ah, I don’t allow myself to think about it too much,” she said. She seemed to realize she sat amongst the cinders and shook her head. “I turned down other offers for him. Good men.”
“Do you think you could have been happy with one of them?” he asked.
She stood and brushed off her skirts, frowning at her reflection in the mirror above the mantle. “Happy?” she asked. “As I am now, you mean?” She shook her head and shrugged. “Who can say. At least I could have had children.”
The words struck him like a blow. “Children are indeed a comfort,” he said, standing and watching her eyes in the mirror. He saw her flinch, realizing her insensitivity but too far gone in her own misery to do anything about it.
“Oh, Kostya,” she sighed.
He knew her sadness was as deep as his own, and for a moment, he felt hers more. It was a relief, really, sick as he was of his own.
She finally looked up, her face red and tear streaked. Her large blue eyes glistened in the light of the fire, her lashes dark and wet. A tremulous smile crossed her pretty face, and he knew she was embarrassed.
It had been a long time since he’d loved his wife, longer than she’d been dead, longer even since they’d lost Lucy. He’d tried to forgive her, understand her, but her obsession drove him away. He thought love was something he wasn’t meant for and had given up any hope of feeling it again. He knew what he felt for Serena in that moment was as close as he’d ever be allowed to get.
“I’ll go,” she said, turning away.
He hurriedly took her by the shoulders. She looked at him, confused that he would prevent her leaving. He knew he should say something but all he could do was look at her. If she leaned into him, he would kiss her. Part of him wanted her to shrug free and go, continue holding onto her broken dreams. A bigger part of him made him grip her tighter.
“Kostya?” Her voice shook.
“Could you ever see anyone other than Julian?” he asked, causing her to blink rapidly. He pulled her closer, expecting her to pull away. “Could you picture things any other way?”
She drew in a breath and he waited.
“I thought perhaps what happened before was all you wanted,” she said slowly, unable to meet his eyes.
He tipped up her chin so she would have to look at him. “I want whatever you’ll give me,” he said. “Perhaps we both still have some small corner of our hearts with room for the other?”
She nod
ded. “I think so,” she stammered. “Yes, I do think so.”
He kissed her before her words were completely spoken, too filled with surprise at the sparks he felt. Life and hope seemed to flow from her as he pulled her close, and he lost himself in her soft skin and earthy fragrance.
Their first time had been desperate, bordering on angry, and they’d been awkward toward each other since, but now he felt her giving way to him, not just her body, but her soul, and he tried with all he had left to reciprocate. All he wanted was to be normal, not cursed, not hunted by evil. He wanted what Serena was wordlessly offering. Love, and mutual respect, and just plain liking each other.
He knew he was a bear to be around most of the time, gloomy and regretful, but with her tentative kisses and curiously questing touches, he felt more and more like he could be the sort of man she deserved. The sort of man he wanted to be. He was afraid to offer too much, make promises he couldn’t keep, but she made him reckless.
He wasn’t sure, as it had been so long, but he thought he felt happy. He wanted to say something, but uncertainty clutched at him, the way his frightful grandmother used to dig her sharp yellow nails into his shoulders, and he kept quiet. He could show her his feelings, though. He would make certain she knew how he felt as he leaned in and abandoned himself to her rosy lips.
Chapter 22
“Matilda.” Ashford stroked her hair aside as he whispered close to her ear.
His tall frame crowded against her but she had no urge to move away. It was as if she was floating just out of his reach, wanting so very badly to touch him, but unable to.
“Matilda,” he said more urgently, gripping her shoulders and leaning in.
She struggled to take a normal breath, desperate for him to move those last inches and press his lips to hers. Her arms stayed uselessly at her sides, but her fingertips tingled to work their way under his jacket and his shirt and who knew what else men wore in this time. Her breath caught in her throat and she wanted to scream from the frustration of his nearness.
With her eyes closed, she inhaled his crisp scent, like clean laundry and a fresh morning breeze. He slid his hands down her bare arms and she sighed as she finally felt the warmth of his lips against her throat. Yes, this was what she wanted, complications and probable heartbreak be damned. She wanted him so much, she forced her weak arms to reach out to him.
No sooner had she wrapped her fingers in his velvet, lace trimmed jacket he began to shake her so that her teeth rattled.
“Matilda, wake up.”
With a jolt she dragged open her heavy eyelids to find herself clutching Ashford’s sleeve as he bent over her bed, one hand on her shoulder. Disappointment flooded her so thoroughly there was no room to be embarrassed. Quickly sitting up and pulling the blanket up to her throat, she blinked and noticed he’d opened the window, letting in the cool morning air. She scowled at him.
“I was right in the middle of a dream,” she grumbled, stealing a quick glance at him.
Ashford straightened up and shook his head at her. He was dressed rather conservatively in a dark, fitted jacket with no flounces, his shirt only adorned with one thin black ribbon, and grey breeches. She wiped away what felt like drool from her chin.
“It was just getting to the good part, too.” It took all her willpower not to drag him onto the bed with her and she looked away.
“Would you rather go back to sleep, or go into the village with me?” he asked, a revoltingly smug look on his face.
There was no use in pretending, so she threw aside the covers and jumped out of bed. Ashford quickly grabbed her dressing gown and wrapped it around her, but not before goggling at her pajamas.
“Whatever are you wearing?”
She flashed open her robe, causing his eyes to widen and his cheeks to flame red. She felt a little bad, but his modesty was beyond adorable to her. Even though the shorts came halfway down her thighs and the top covered as much as a baggy modern t-shirt, she knew he considered her as good as naked.
“The seamstress gave me the fabric and I made them to sleep in. It’s more comfortable to me than a shift, and it feels weird to sleep naked in someone else’s house.”
“Christ, Miss Jacobs.”
She giggled and moved behind the screen to get dressed.
“Why are we going into the village?” she asked, peeking around the edge to see his back resolutely turned away. She smiled to herself, feeling a strange tugging in her heart. Goodness, she really liked him.
“I have to pay my respects to someone,” he said.
“Have I met them?” she asked. “I visited around a lot with Serena while you were gone. We brought jam and flowers to the elderly and played with everyone’s babies. It was kind of like she was running for office or something.”
Ashford laughed. “Sounds right.” After a moment he answered her original question in a much more sober tone. “But, no, you wouldn’t have met this person. Do you need me to call Nora for you?”
“Nope, I’m just about done. If you can do a couple buttons for me, we can be on our way.”
She came around the screen with a swish of skirts and dropped into a deep curtsy, ridiculously happy that he’d woken her up and wanted to spend the day with her.
He looked like he barely refrained from rolling his eyes, and did up the top buttons she couldn’t reach. Maybe it was leftover remnants from her dream, but as he brushed her hair over her shoulder, his fingers seemed to linger longer than they had to at the nape of her neck. The moment he was finished, she whirled around to face him, her breasts brushing against his chest before he took a flustered step back. She grabbed his lapels, blushing when he looked alarmed.
“I thought you were going to fall backwards,” she said, inching closer.
She honestly didn’t want to be a brazen, twenty-first century hussy, but it was as if he was magnetized and she was a helpless scrap of iron, constantly finding herself drawn to him.
“You do seem to put me off balance, Miss Jacobs,” he said, taking a smooth step backwards.
Her hands dropped to her sides and she huffed. So, it was back to Miss Jacobs, was it? There was no use in calling him on it, the infuriating man would do what he wanted.
“Can I grab a quick bite before we leave?” she asked, pressing her hand to her stomach to keep it from growling.
One of her favorite aspects of early nineteenth century Scotland was the big breakfast they put out every morning. As much as she yearned to get out with Ashford, she regretted the thought of missing it.
He shook his head once again, and pointed to a basket. “I packed a bit of everything. We can eat in one of my favorite spots if you don’t mind sitting outside?”
She couldn’t hide her delighted smile, sure her cheeks were glowing. “Sitting outside is one of my favorite hobbies,” she said.
He bit his lip at her weak joke, and looked at her pityingly for a long time before holding out his arm.
“Mine as well,” he said, completely straight faced.
“I like walking outside, too,” she continued.
“Enough, Matilda,” he said, pulling her toward the door.
She ducked her head and followed him, glowing even more at the renewed use of her first name.
The walk to the village was uneventful, and the breakfast picnic was over too soon. Ashford didn’t actually rush her, but she could see how eager he was to do whatever he had to do, so she hurriedly scarfed the scone and sausages so they could be on their way again. They left the basket and blanket behind, and she wondered if a servant would pick it up later, or if Ashford just didn’t care, he was now so singlemindedly absorbed in his mission. He wasn’t the most relaxed of people to begin with, but the closer they got to the village, the tenser he got.
He passed the shops on the high street without looking left or right. Several people nodded or bowed to him, and he barely acknowledged them. Tilly smiled apologetically as she tagged along a step behind him, unable to keep up with his now franti
c pace. Ashford stopped abruptly when they came to the church, and looked up at its tall spire with a resigned, almost sick look on his face.
“Are you okay?” she asked, taking his arm.
He nodded and led her to a crumbling stone bench under a shady tree.
“Remember when I told you about my sister’s—” he flinched and stared at her with despair. “Her lover?”
Tilly nodded and waited for him to continue, but he merely kicked at the grassy spots on the ground.
“They went to Edinburgh?” she gently prodded after long moments passed.
Whatever he’d been so fired up to do before they reached the church, he seemed to dread it now. She wasn’t sure where his story was leading them, but she listened with concern. His voice had a tightness she’d never heard before.
“A month before Camilla disappeared, that young man died from an illness. She could do so many things …” he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I saw her make a rose bloom from a bud in a matter of seconds. She could change the color of a gemstone, and make things cold or hot. But she couldn’t heal like our mother could. She couldn’t save Lucy, nor could she save the lad.”
Tilly digested the news that the boyfriend had died. She knew Ashford was riddled with shame that his sister had left her husband and lived openly with her lover, but she could only feel compassion for poor Camilla. How devastated she must have been by her daughter’s death, only to lose another loved one shortly after.
“She was desperate to get our family’s book back when he was ill. She was certain the answer was in one of those old spells she couldn’t remember. She begged me to approach them— there was no way she could do it herself.”
“Because of Kostya?”
He nodded without looking at her. “Matilda, you honestly can’t imagine how foul those people are. Kostya would willingly die before returning to them. There was no way I could reopen a line of communication, not after what we went through to free Kostya in the first place. I don’t think Camilla ever forgave me for not trying to get the book back.”
Belmary House Book One Page 19
