by Candace Camp
“Cunningham,” Anna supplied.
“Oh. Yes, I see. And then she said Arabel or Anabel, but she gave no last name. And then Josie—I’m pretty sure of that one—but I think she was saying that all of them are dead.”
Reed and Anna soon took their leave, thanking the women for their help. He threw her up in the saddle, then mounted his own horse, and they started down the street.
“I’m afraid that didn’t get us much of anywhere,” Reed commented.
Anna cast him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”
He looked at her and smiled. “No one’s fault, really.” He sighed. “I wish we could get the names of the other servants. In his note, Norton said that only the butler and housekeeper had received stipends. He did not know the names of any of the other servants who had been in your uncle’s employ, and, of course, those may not even have been at Winterset almost thirty years before Lord de Winter left.”
Anna sighed. “No, I would imagine that most of them were too young to have been there that long ago.”
After a moment, Reed said, “There must have been record books.”
Anna glanced at him. “Why, yes, I am sure you’re right. I wonder we didn’t think of it earlier. They would have had household accounts books, and it would have listed the wages they paid the servants.”
“Now, if we just had any idea where those are.”
“Father probably took the most recent ones over to the Manor when he took over my uncle’s business dealings. But I would think he would have left all the old books at Winterset.”
“If the old books were still there, of course,” Reed inserted.
“It is a long time to keep them, I suppose, but our estate manager’s office has books dating back a hundred years or more. Of course, my Holcomb ancestors were a good bit more methodical than my de Winter ones, I’m afraid.”
“The de Winters were erratic?”
“The de Winters were colorful,” Anna said with a grin. “They tended to live their lives on a grander scale. Like old Lord Jasper—the one with the staghounds.”
“Mmm. ‘Colorful’ can be rather trying sometimes. And I can tell you that I speak from experience.”
“I cannot believe that your family is as odd as you say,” Anna told him.
“No? That is because you have never met them.”
“I’ve met Kyria. And Con and Alex. And they were all charming.”
“But just look at their names. Who would name twins Constantine and Alexander?”
“Someone who envisioned great things ahead of them?” Anna ventured.
“No. I’ll tell you who—the same person who named the other set of twins, my older brother and sister, Theodosius and Thisbe.”
“Oh, my.”
He flashed a smile at her, and she felt her insides melt. “You see? My father thinks little of importance happened after the fall of Rome.”
“And did not your mother object?”
“My mother, I believe, proposed my name and my sister Olivia’s. Kyria was something of a compromise, being Greek for Father and pleasant-sounding for Mother. But she is inclined to give in to my father on such issues as names, because her mind is concerned with more important things—social reforms, the vote for women, child labor laws.”
“I think your mother sounds like a very good person.”
“Oh, she is. So good, in fact, that one can sometimes find it difficult to live up to her expectations.”
“Surely you have not failed her expectations.”
“Of course I have. We all live in fear of her.”
Anna laughed. “What a piece of flummery! I don’t believe you for an instant. I have never met people who are less afraid of anything than you and your brothers and sister.”
“Ah, but you have never met my mother,” he retorted with a smile.
They continued with such banter as they rode back to Winterset, but once there, they set about looking diligently for the old household records.
First they searched the small locked room where the household silver had always been kept, but there was no sign of records there. They moved on to the study, then the library, but found no household accounts, new or old.
“The estate manager’s office!” Anna exclaimed after a moment. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier. He had a small house on the grounds—it’s beyond the stables, and when my father took over the estate, he transferred everything to our own estate manager. The cottage has been closed up ever since, but I wonder if maybe they left all the old records there in his office.”
“It’s worth a try,” Reed agreed.
It took some time to find the appropriate key, and in the end, they came up with four that might open the office. Taking them all in hand, Reed and Anna strode across the yard and past the stables, walking the path that led past a copse of trees to a small house. There was a door on the side of the house that opened directly into the estate office.
One of the keys worked, although the lock turned with the creak of age and disuse, and Reed pushed the door open, revealing a small room containing a desk and some cabinets, as well as a few open bookcases. There were also two large trunks lying behind and beside the desk, and smaller boxes stacked up in every available space. A layer of dust coated every surface in the room.
Leaving the door open for the light and air, they stepped into the room. Anna looped up the trailing train of her riding habit and tucked it through her belt so that it would not drag across the dusty floor. She made her way through the maze of boxes to the single window and pushed the curtains aside, letting in more of the summer sunlight.
Reed sighed, looking around him. “This could take us hours. I should have brought a lamp.”
“Let’s start, anyway. If it grows dark before we find it, we can go back for light.”
“You’re right. Where do you suggest we begin?”
“Are there labels on any of the boxes?”
“I think so.” Reed brushed off the top of one. “‘Farm Accounts’ and a date. That’s not it.”
They ruled out several other boxes, but the trunks did not have labels attached to them, so they simply opened one and began to dig through it. It was impossible to avoid the dust, and their clothes were soon liberally smeared with it. Once they had reached the bottom of the first trunk, they opened the second. A cloud of dust rose from the surface as they lifted the lid. Anna let out a low cry of dismay.
“Oh! Look at this!” She gazed down at the dust that coated the front of her skirt. “Penny will never get this clean. She will think I have been out rolling in the dirt.” She wiped ineffectually at the dust, succeeding only in furthering the damage. “Oh, dear.” She sighed and raised a hand to brush back a strand of hair from her forehead.
Reed chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Wait. You are only making things worse. Now you have a streak of dirt across your forehead. No, don’t touch it. Here.”
He dug in his pocket and pulled out a large white handkerchief. Taking her hand in his, he turned it palm up and wiped the handkerchief over it.
Anna watched his hands at work on hers. His fingers were long and nimble, dusted with a sprinkling of black hair. She had always loved the look of his hands, she thought, strong and masculine, but not blunt or square. They were very capable hands, yet they could move with great gentleness and tenderness. A quiver of sensation ran through her, startling her, and she drew in a sharp breath.
Reed’s hands froze on hers, and he looked up at her. They stood that way for a moment, their gazes locked, his hands still around hers. Then he looked back down and continued to wipe away the dirt, his fingers moving slowly, gently on hers. Anna felt each stroke of his hand, his skin separated from hers by the silken cloth of his handkerchief.
“You should not,” she said a little breathlessly. “You are ruining your handkerchief.”
“It’s all right,” he replied, his voice faintly roughened.
He let go of her hand and took the
other one, applying the same treatment to it. The silk cloth caressed her skin, stirring up a slow, curling heat in her abdomen. She felt suddenly, tinglingly alive, her nerves aware of every sensation—the slide of the cloth over her skin, the touch of air against her throat with each breath she took, the heavy thrum of her pulse.
Reed straightened, letting go of her hand. He took her chin between his fingers, holding her head steady as he wiped at the smudge of dust on her forehead. He was very close to her now, only inches away, his gaze locked on hers. Anna felt as if his eyes could see right down into her soul, as if they could discover the secrets of her heart. She gazed back at him, unable to look away.
His hand stilled on her face. The handkerchief fell from his grasp, fluttering to the floor between them, unnoticed. His hands slid around to cup her face between them. His skin was searing, and Anna could feel an answering heat flaring in her. A trembling began deep inside her, and she thought that her legs might give way beneath her.
Unconsciously, she leaned closer. She saw a light flare in Reed’s eyes. Then his lips were on hers, his hands sliding into her hair, sinking into the soft mass of her curls. All Anna’s firm resolutions went flying out of her head, driven away by the fierce heat of her desire. A tremor shook her, and she curled her fingers into the front of his jacket, holding on to him.
The passion she had kept hidden since the night he had kissed her flamed up again, fiery and demanding. He kissed her again and again, his hands tangling in her hair, popping loose the hairpins that Penny had carefully placed there. Her hair fell in a silken tumble over his hands and down to her shoulders.
Whatever small amount of control Reed retained fell away in that moment. His arms went around her tightly, grinding her into his body, and he kissed her as if he could never get enough of the taste of her mouth. They twisted and turned in a slow, heated dance of passion, locked together.
Anna clutched his shoulders, her fingers digging in, as he rained kisses over her face and down her neck. When the high collar of her riding habit impeded him, he cursed and fumbled at the large buttons that marched down the front of the military-style jacket. The two sides of the bodice came apart at last, and Reed shoved the sides of it back onto her shoulders.
His eyes went down to the front of her chest, exposed by her opened habit. She was clad in a white cotton chemise, her breasts swelling above the simple oval neckline. A pink ribbon was laced through the material below her breasts and tied in the front, and another ribbon ran along the neckline, tightening it halfway up her breasts.
Slowly his hand came up, and he took the top ribbon between his thumb and finger, then tugged. The bow came undone, and the chemise sagged open, revealing even more of her breasts. Reed ran his forefinger down between the soft orbs, then up across the top of one breast as it swelled above the chemise.
Anna’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that she should be embarrassed to have a man see her like this, but all she could feel was heat snaking through her body. It aroused her to see him look at her…aroused her even more to see the glitter that came into his eyes as he watched her, the way his face slackened with desire. She was aware of a shameless urge to be naked before him.
Reed slipped his hand beneath her chemise, cupping her breast, and Anna let out a little gasp of pleasure. He looked up at the noise and smiled at what he saw stamped on her face—not outrage or dismay, but pleasure and a sensual hunger that matched his own. Watching the play of emotions across her face, Reed squeezed her breast gently, his thumb playing across the nipple and making it harden.
Anna closed her eyes at the sensations that flooded her. Desire flowered between her legs, hot and wet, turning her restless and yearning. With every flicker of his thumb against her nipple, the pulsing ache increased.
Reed lifted her breast free of the fabric and bent to kiss the hard button of her nipple. His tongue circled it provocatively, and then he pulled it into his mouth, his tongue and lips working on her sensitive flesh. Anna jerked a little at the jolt of desire that shot down through her, and a soft moan escaped her lips. She sagged against him, and his arm went tightly around her waist, holding her up.
His mouth continued to roam her breasts, and with each new delight, the past slipped away from Anna, all reason and duty lost amid the onslaught of physical pleasure. She could feel nothing but want, understand only the pounding urgency of her own desire.
She murmured his name, her voice low and throaty with passion. He groaned deep in his throat at the sound of his name on her lips, and his mouth returned to hers, taking her lips in a long, deep kiss. Anna melted into him, her arms going tightly around his neck, and she stretched upward, pressing her body into his. The buttons of his jacket bit into her tender bare flesh, but she didn’t notice the discomfort. She wanted only to be closer, still closer, to him.
Reed’s hand smoothed down her back and curved over her buttocks. His fingers dug into the firm flesh, lifting her into him. Desire pounded in him, filling him and driving out everything else. He ached to sink deep inside her, to feel her around him, hot and tight. All the emotions he had ever felt for her tangled inside him, melding into a hunger so fierce he could feel nothing else. Driving into her, feeling her convulse around him, seemed, at that moment, more necessary than breath itself.
He bunched up her skirts in his fists, pulling them up until his hand touched her leg, separated from him only by the thin cloth of her pantalets. His hand trembled as he caressed her thigh and buttocks, sliding around to the front, seeking the hot center of her desire. His hand slid between her legs, and Anna shuddered, heat slamming through her.
And it was, oddly enough, this sudden, unexpected surge of pleasure that shocked her into awareness of what she was doing. She froze, then jerked back from him. For an instant she stared at him, her eyes wide, her heart pounding insanely in her chest, as the full realization of her actions swept over her.
“No!” she gasped, her hands flying up to the sides of her bodice and yanking them together. “No! I cannot!”
With a choked cry, she turned and ran out of the room.
Reed stood, stunned, then ripped out an oath and ran after her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Anna ran from the cottage, fumbling at the buttons of her bodice.
What an idiot she had been! Tears sprang into her eyes, whether from anger or regret, she was not sure. She wanted to cry, to throw herself on the ground and dissolve into tears.
“Anna! Stop!”
She whirled around. Reed was running after her. His face was frightening, dark with anger, his brows steep slashes above his eyes. She held out both hands as if to stop him.
“No! Please, don’t!”
“Don’t what?” he barked, coming to a stop before her. “Are you going to pretend that I attacked you? That anything that happened back there was not entered into by you willingly, even eagerly?”
“No. No, of course not. I was as fully at fault. I don’t deny it.” Anna blinked back tears. Her breath was coming in gasps, and she knew that she was close to breaking down. She clenched her fists, struggling to regain control of herself.
Reed looked at her. Anna’s face was pale, with bright splashes of color in her cheeks, and her hair was tumbling wildly down over her shoulders. He did not think he had ever seen her look so desirable, and even now, while anger and frustration filled him, he could not keep from wanting her.
“There is no fault,” he told her roughly. “I am not trying to excuse myself or blame you.”
“Then let me go,” Anna told him.
“Not until you tell me why you ran from me!” he exploded. “I don’t understand it. Any of it.”
“I was wrong to come here,” she said, her voice catching as if on the edge of tears. “There can be nothing between us.”
“Why?” he shot back. “Because you feel nothing for me? Isn’t that what you told me three years ago? You would not marry me because we wouldn’t ‘suit’?”
“I don’t
know!” Anna cried. “I don’t know what I said!”
“You cannot remember why you did not want to marry me?” he asked incredulously. “Was it such a small matter that it somehow slipped your mind?”
“No, of course not. Reed, I beg of you…”
“What? What do you beg of me? I have no idea what you want from me. You told me you did not love me. That there was no possibility of love growing in you for me. But back there—” He pointed toward the cottage that they had just left. “Those kisses, the way you melted in my hands—those were not the actions of someone who does not care. You are not indifferent to me. I felt you tremble. I felt the heat of your skin, the eagerness of your mouth. Do not tell me that you did not desire me!”
“That isn’t love!” Anna shot back. “I don’t love you.”
“When you refused me,” he said, his eyes boring into hers, “I was so shocked, so stunned, that I could not think straight. I told myself that I had somehow mistaken the hours we had spent together, that when you had laughed with me, talked to me, you had not felt what I felt. That I had just been too blind to see how bored you were, that I mistook a polite smile for the warm glow of true liking. I told myself that you were false, that you had been playing a game with me, leading me on only to crush my heart beneath your heel. I lived on my anger and my hurt, cutting myself off from you, from this place, removing myself so that I would not have to see your face and feel the pain….”
Anna raised her hand to her mouth, struggling not to give way to tears. Her heart ached. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I am so sorry. I did not want to hurt you. I was too bold, too unthinking.”
“Nay. I think you were too honest. Because of my pain, I did not examine what had happened. But now, since I’ve been back, seeing you again…I don’t believe you.”
“What?” Anna raised her brows. “You are saying that I lied?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “I am.”
“Are you so puffed up with pride?” Anna made her voice scornful. “So sure of your charms? Do you think that no woman can resist you? That any woman should be glad to fall into your arms?”
