"Actually, I pressed on for a reason," Dominic remarked. "I thought Denville's hunting lodge, however remote, would provide superior entertainment than a wayside inn if I should happen to be stranded by the snow. I admit I expected to find better accommodations, or at least a few servants about the place. But I could forgive Julian if I thought he truly was thinking of my comfort. Did he arrange for you to be here for a purpose, by any chance?"
Brie didn't answer. She couldn't seem to think straight when Stanton was looking at her with those penetrating gray eyes of his. His assessing gaze was doing strange things to her pulse again, while his voice was sending shivers up her spine. In an unconsciously defensive gesture, Brie pulled the edges of her robe together. When Dominic rose from his chair with a lazy grace, she tensed, watching him warily.
He trapped her gaze as he slowly walked toward her. When he stood before her, Brie stared up at him, hypnotized. She was keenly aware of his proximity, of what his nearness was doing to her, yet it wasn't the raw hunger she could feel in him that shocked her. It was the primitive, entirely feminine response of her own body. A tingling, treacherous heat was snaking along her skin and gathering in places that, until now, she had hardly known existed.
He was regarding her intently, his gray eyes holding a strange glow as one of his dark brows rose slightly in question. He reached down to touch her cheek, then languidly trailed an index finger down her throat.
Brie jumped as if she had been scalded, suddenly realizing what his quizzical look meant. He was asking permission to seduce her! Obviously he considered her merely an object of pleasure, a diversion for his boredom.
His boldness infuriated her as much as the traitorous sensations he was arousing in her. Drawing back abruptly, she glared up at him. "I am not part of the accommodations, my lord!" she ground out through her teeth.
He stared down at her for such a long moment that Brie's heart began to thud. Not daring to move, she held her breath, waiting. Just as she began to worry if she would have to defend herself from a physical assault, Dominic stepped back, his mouth curving in a sardonic smile. "Pity," he remarked. "By the looks of it we'll be here together for some time."
Casually, he turned and picked up the decanter, then crossed to the door. He opened it before glancing back over his shoulder at her. "You really should lock this, chérie," he said, his voice once more holding a note of mockery. "You never know who might intrude." He left then, closing the door before Brie could manage to find her tongue.
She stared after him speechlessly, wanting to throw something. Why Stanton affected her so strongly, though, she couldn't imagine. There had been no reason to feel such fury at his suggestion. She had had propositions before, both honorable and not so honorable, and normally she was amused, sometimes even flattered. So why had she felt that intense anger toward Stanton? He had only acted as most red- blooded men would in such circumstances. He was the kind of man who used women only for pleasure.
Of course she didn't want to be used in such a manner. But why had she been unable to crush that odd tremor of excitement that had originated in the pit of her stomach? She had felt her body responding to him, to the blatant desire in his eyes, and for an instant, she had been conscious of an odd yearning deep inside her. She had wanted him to take her in his arms . . . and yet she had also been aware of a niggling sense of panic. She had been afraid of what would befall her if he did. Quite afraid.
Suddenly coming to her senses, Brie got up and locked the door, then let out her breath as she leaned back against the panel. It was becoming obvious that strange things happened to her equilibrium when that arrogant, cynical man was near her. She didn't know if she could handle any more such confrontations with him. One thing was certain, though. She wouldn't get much sleep tonight. Most certainly she wouldn't.
Chapter Two
Brie woke at dawn the next morning, feeling listless and bleary eyed. She stumbled out of bed and shivered as her bare feet hit the icy floor. The room was freezing. Her breath turned to little clouds of steam in the frigid air, while the goose bumps on her arms resembled small mountains. In the water pitcher there was even a layer of ice that had to be chipped away before she could wash.
Hurriedly, she poured water into the basin and splashed her face. Gritting her teeth against the shock, she decided that she actually envied the Dawson boys. They wouldn't have to wash with ice water, for the male servants' dormitory had an enormous stove that kept the place cozy and warm.
She made use of the few toilet articles she had, then ran a brush through her tangled russet curls. When she had tied the heavy mass back with a ribbon, she donned the same plain dress she had worn the day before. The empire-waisted gown was one of her oldest and wasn't at all stylish, but it was made of serviceable brown kerseymere and kept her warm. And the gown did mold nicely to her slender figure and complement the apricot color of her complexion, Brie thought, surveying her appearance in the cheval glass.
After pulling on her stockings and worn leather half-boots, she went to the window and drew back the curtains. Unable to see anything for the frost, she rubbed a circle on the pane, then stared out with dismay at the wintry landscape. The entire world was blanketed in a thick layer of white. It was no longer snowing, but the sky looked bleak and she could see great mounds of snow piled haphazardly against the house. Directly below the window, resembling moldy lumps of flour, were some odd clumps that she knew were rhododendron bushes. The line of oaks in the distance looked like a troop of decrepit old men with long gray beards, while the drive to the Lodge was unrecognizable.
Brie groaned as she viewed the frozen scene. The roads would be impassable and none of the staff would report to work. It also meant that the plans she had made the previous day would have to be altered drastically. She would have to find Patrick at once and decide what to do—but first she had to check on his grandparents.
Brie made her way upstairs, expecting Mattie and Homer's room to be as cold as hers had been. She was quite surprised, therefore, to find a fire burning cheerily in the grate. Mattie was still asleep but Homer was awake, buried beneath the blankets of the truckle bed. It seemed Mattie hadn't passed an easy night.
"She had a hard time of it, Miss Brie," Homer said in response to Brie's questions. "Been wheezin' something fierce. I be right worried about her. The medicine don't seem to be helpin'."
Although Brie was no expert, she could tell Mattie was getting worse. Her worn cheeks were flushed with fever, while her breathing was shallow and labored. Brie pressed her lips together, angry that Homer hadn't called her. But she realized it wouldn't do any good to scold him now. "I'll get some water to sponge her forehead," she said, disapproval creeping in her tone.
Homer sniffed and held his handkerchief up to his red nose. "I don't know, Miss Brie. We've already done t'once. His lordship said t'would be better for Mattie to sleep now."
"His lordship?" For the first time Brie noticed the basin and cloth beside the bed, and they puzzled her. She hadn't forgotten the man who had burst into her bedchamber the previous night, uninvited; she had even dreamed about Stanton. But she found it hard to believe that he would put himself out for an old, sick woman he had never seen before. "Do you mean Lord Stanton?" Brie asked. "He was here?"
Homer's answer was interrupted by a fit of coughing, but he managed to nod, which caused Brie's blue-green eyes to widen in amazement.
"And did he stoke the fire?" she asked skeptically.
"No, t'was Sheldon."
Brie was incredulous. To say that Sheldon Dawson was lazy would be like calling last night's blizzard a sprinkling of snowflakes. He never did any real work unless he was absolutely forced to. Even Patrick, who had the patience of an ox, had been known to give his brother a cuff on the chin when he grew tired of shouldering Sheldon's load. Surely Homer was mistaken. "Well, perhaps I could bring you some breakfast," she offered.
Homer shook his head. "Lord Stanton promised to see to it," he said, blowing loudly into
his handkerchief.
Brie was conscious of a surge of resentment. Homer made the man sound like an angel of mercy. "Isn't there anything I can do for you?"
"Don't think so, Miss Brie. Thank ye, though."
Trying to hide her pique, she cast a glance at the sleeping Mattie. "Very well, then. Try to get some rest, Homer. I'll be up to check again in a little while—subject to his lordship's approval, of course."
The house was deserted, Brie discovered after a search of the ground floor rooms. A good fire was going on the kitchen hearth, though, indicating that someone had been busy, and a large caldron of water was slowly heating over the coals. The oven, too, was already warm.
Since Patrick was nowhere in sight, Brie went to fetch her cloak from the hall closet, determined to brave the cold in order to find him. She was tying the strings of her cloak when she heard a door slam. Glancing down the hall, she saw Stanton beside the door. He had obviously just entered the house for the collar of his greatcoat was turned up and he was stamping snow from his boots. She noticed at once that the growth on his chin was more pronounced than the previous evening, a sign that he hadn't found time to shave yet this morning. There was also a grim expression on his handsome face that wasn't at all pleasant. In fact, he appeared to be in a foul humor.
Brie decided she would be wise to avoid him if she could. "Good morning," she murmured, trying to slip past his tall form. She didn't get far; Dominic's hand shot out to catch her by the arm. Brie looked up at him, startled.
His gray eyes held hers for a moment before his gaze swept down her body, taking note of her cloak. "Where do you think you are going?"
Brie stiffened at his curt tone. "The stables, if you must know."
"I don't advise it. The snow is too deep."
Brie stared pointedly down at the gloved hand holding her arm. "Thank you for your concern, but I believe I can manage."
He didn't release her arm, nor did he beg her pardon for his boldness. If anything, his tone became more abrupt. "I expect you to wait until someone shovels a path."
Brie felt a spark of anger ignite in her breast. Stanton was speaking to her as if he were disciplining a disobedient puppy. "I should like to see Patrick," she told him through tight lips.
"Perhaps, but I doubt he wants to see you just now. He's feeling quite a lot of pain."
Brie gasped, her eyes flying to Stanton's. "Why? What have you done to him?"
Dominic's mouth curled at the corner. "I served him to a pack of wolves this morning for breakfast, didn't I tell you? I'm surprised you didn't hear the howling."
His dulcet tones dripped sarcasm, making Brie wince, but her concern was for Patrick, not herself. "Is Patrick truly hurt?" she asked, her eyes anxiously searching Dominic's face.
Giving a sigh, he released her arm. "The boy slipped on some ice and split his knee open. Jacques is sewing the wound now. I came back to the house to get some laudanum. Do you know where any can be found?"
For a moment Brie could only stare at him in dismay. "Mattie should have some," she responded finally. "She keeps a medicine chest in the upstairs pantry."
She turned and reached for the door handle, but Dominic gripped her arm again. "Just a moment. Perhaps you didn't understand me, but you aren't going outside."
"I beg your pardon," Brie said icily. "Release me at once, if you please."
"I don't please. I told you to remain here and I mean to be obeyed. I've had about all I can stand of this slipshod household so early in the morning. First my right leader turns up lame because that half-wit in the stables leaves a pitchfork in his stall, and now Patrick—"
He never completed his sentence. Brie jerked her arm away and gave Dominic a look of such fury that he momentarily forgot his own anger.
Brie did have some rationale for losing her temper. She was worried about Mattie and the news of Patrick's injury had greatly alarmed her. Besides that, she had had very little sleep the night before, all because of Lord Stanton. His presence in the house made her own situation untenable. She couldn't stay, yet she couldn't leave now that Patrick was hurt. She also resented Stanton's arrogant assumption of authority. The way he stood there, issuing orders and demanding to be obeyed, galled her. But to cap his sins, he had spoken derisively about a boy who was unable to defend himself. At eleven, Seth Dawson was the youngest of Homer's grandsons, but he had the mental capacity of only a five-year-old. He had a sweet nature, though, and Brie had always been protective of him. She flew to his defense like a mother tigress.
"Seth is not a half-wit!" she spat furiously. "He can't help it if he's slow. He was born like that. Oh, how I detest it when people look down their noses at those who are less fortunate! Well, let me tell you, your lordship, Seth is as worthy in God's eyes as any of you well-born, titled, fashionable fribbles from London. And furthermore—" Brie's hands went to her hips as she drew herself up to her full, unpretentious height— "Furthermore, I don't need you to tell me what I can and can't do. If I want to go outside, if I want to dance stark naked in the snow, you have no right to order me otherwise. I intend to see Patrick and you had better not try to stop me. In fact," Brie added, her eyes flashing fire, "why don't you just take yourself back to the city? We don't want you here!"
Brie was too angry to notice the grim set of Dominic's jaw, but when she saw how his eyes had narrowed, she took an involuntary step backwards. The glittering chill in the gray depths frightened her. So did the silent pause which followed.
"Are you quite finished?" Dominic said finally, piercing her with his icy gaze.
The quiet menace in his tone was enough to make her shiver. "Yes," she replied, her own voice suddenly hoarse.
"Good. Now it's my turn. Sit down." Dominic took her arm in a firm grip and steered her toward the chair at the foot of the stairs. When Brie made a move as if to break away, Dominic put a forceful hand on her shoulder. "I said, sit."
Stealing a worried glance at him, Brie decided to obey. Those penetrating gray eyes were as cold as a winter's day and twice as savage.
When Dominic spoke, his tone was harsh and clipped. "In the first place, I wasn't speaking of Seth. As you said, the lad can't help being what he is. I was referring to the older boy, Sheldon. He was inexcusably careless. Since you're in charge of the place, you might like to know that I threatened to thrash him if he ever comes near one of my horses again. In the meantime, I've put him to work chopping firewood. That should keep him occupied until I can attend to him."
"Oh," Brie said lamely, staring up at Dominic and realizing that she had misunderstood. Sheldon was the last person she would want around her own horses. And she could hardly fault Lord Stanton for being angry if one of his team had been injured. She felt like a royal fool now for shouting.
Dominic wasn't finished with her yet, however. "Second," he continued caustically, "you aren't dressed to go outside. You would never make it all the way to the stables in those skirts. The snow is four feet deep in places. We had to string a rope from the house to the barns merely to get some leverage against the drifts. Besides that, you'll get wet. With the Dawsons upstairs in bed and Patrick injured, we don't need another invalid."
"I don't get sick," Brie protested, although not very strongly.
"I'm not willing to take the chance," he said crushingly. "And last, you aren't needed at the moment." Brie's chin came up at that, and Dominic viewed her with mocking eyes. He had wondered how long that show of meekness would last. "Do you sicken at the sight of blood?" he asked abruptly.
"What?"
"Can you sew up a wound? Are you any good at nursing? Could you be of any real help to Patrick at the moment? His knee isn't a pretty sight. He's trying to be brave, but his injury is painful. I doubt that having a woman view his tears is the kind of comfort he wants."
Flushing, Brie lowered her gaze. She suddenly felt ashamed that she had been more concerned about her own pride than Patrick's condition. "Yes, you're right," she said humbly.
Dominic's ha
rsh features softened a little. "Jacques is more than capable of handling the situation. He may not have studied medicine, but there is no one better at tending wounds. Patrick will be all right."
When Brie made no reply, Dominic put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. His eyes moved over her speculatively, lingering on her mouth. He was conscious of a fierce desire to taste her lips, to see if they were as sweet and luscious as they appeared. But this wasn't the time or the place.
"You and I have a number of things to discuss," he said instead, "but that can come later. At the moment I think it best that I get that laudanum for Patrick."
Brie nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from his. Her heart was beating too rapidly again, and there were hot little flashes running up her spine. She was conscious of an odd sense of disappointment when Stanton released her.
He had turned to mount the stairs by the time Brie came to her senses. "Lord Stanton," she called after him. He paused, one booted foot on the stair as he glanced down at her. As his gray eyes locked with hers, Brie felt a strange current pass through her body. It left her a little breathless.
"I . . . I beg your pardon for shouting at you," she managed to say.
A smile's shadow touched the corner of his mouth. "I must admit, no one has ever called me a 'fashionable fribble' before now, at least not to my face."
"I am sorry.
"Very well, apology accepted."
"Is there anything I can do?"
One of his black brows rose. "Can you cook?"
"Not much, I'm afraid."
"You might see what food you can find in the pantry, then. We're cut off from the village and likely to remain that way for several days. Do what you can to start breakfast. It would be best for the Dawsons to have something bland like gruel, but the rest of us will need something more substantial. I'll be back shortly to help."
Velvet Embrace Page 4
