by Shayla Black
Cropthorne stood and stepped toward her, purposely close so he might tower above her. He speared her with a stare that suddenly melted the ice from his eyes. In those dark orbs where only chilliness and disapproval had inhabited, a new, heated expression took over. Anger and frustration… and something else. A tingle danced along her nerves. She registered his closeness, the musk of his scent, the bold slash of his mouth. Then she looked away.
“I dare,” he said, “because I know who and what you are.”
Contempt colored every syllable. Each word felt like a slap. Kira all but vibrated with anger. “You know nothing about me.”
The duke raised a challenging brow. “You, Miss Melbourne, are the kind of woman who will seek a greener pasture one day and break James’s heart.”
“Never.”
“Within a year, for certain. You are not made for a man like James, a man both meek and gentle in his service to God. Every one of his parishioners will know that, especially the men. He will be unable to serve his community because—”
“Whatever you think, I am not a whore!”
Her temper erupted. Kira knew she should hold her words, but she resented Cropthorne’s attitudes and those of people like him who assumed any half-Persian woman must be a slut.
“Do not judge me by petty gossip! I’ve done none of the things Lord Vance spews with his foul mouth, though I am not surprised that a narrow, judgmental man like you would believe the word of such a man over a mere woman. I will be good to James and his parishioners, and that is all you need ever know.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm. “Good day.”
Kira brushed past him and headed for the door.
Cropthorne grabbed her arm and stayed her. She drew in a deep breath to rebuke him. As she did, his knuckles brushed the side of her breast. The jolt of his touch reached all the way to her belly. Kira smothered a gasp. Her gaze shot up to the duke’s face. His eyes held fury, even as they glowed with awareness.
Timeless heartbeats passed. Her belly tightened with something reckless. Kira stared at her adversary, drawn to the roiling heat and icy scorn in his fathomless dark eyes. He looked to be at war with himself, and she felt triumph. He should know how it felt to dislike someone, even as something drew him nearer. She certainly understood.
Mouth dry, Kira wet her lips. Cropthorne followed the gesture with his methodical stare. His fingers tightened about her arm. He was going to pull her closer, perhaps even kiss her. Her heart pounded in a wild thump against her chest. She inched closer…
To her surprise and disappointment, Cropthorne released her.
“Think about James, rather than yourself. You’re not good for him.”
His words were a slap in the face, and Kira intended to slap him back. “Neither are you. He’s a man full grown, capable of making his own decisions. If you truly cared for him, you would see that.”
Before he could reply, Kira gathered her skirts and ran for the door. At the portal, she paused. She knew she shouldn’t, but could not stop herself from turning to gaze at Cropthorne. He watched her still, fists clenched at his sides, hot eyes upon her.
Disturbed as much by his conversation as his gaze, Kira fled the room.
Chapter Four
The hour was barely polite for morning calls when Mrs. Baycliffe and her pale daughter visited Norfield Park two days later. Gavin suspected the busybody had merely come to gawk at their scandalous houseguest. As much as he disliked Mrs. Baycliffe, Gavin loathed even more the enjoyment she gained in making his aunt feel inferior. So he stood by Aunt Caroline’s side, greeting their neighbor and her offspring in the parlor.
Wearing a tense smile, Aunt Caroline stood to the right of the parlor door and welcomed her unexpected company. “Harriet, how good to see you.”
“It’s been an age, Caroline. Since we’ve both returned to the country for a spell, I decided to visit, along with Honoria, of course.” Mrs. Baycliffe glanced at her young daughter.
“Stand up straight.” Her low-voiced snap brought the girl to attention like a soldier. Pleased, Mrs. Baycliffe smiled and directed her attention to Gavin.
“And your grace.”
He answered her shallow curtsey with a proper bow of his own. “Mrs. Baycliffe.”
“You remember my daughter, Honoria?”
Gavin turned his attention to the girl at Mrs. Baycliffe’s side who, though fifteen, had yet to develop much in the way of womanly curves. The gangly girl took her resemblance from her father, who was all arms and legs, unlike Mrs. Baycliffe, who was all stomach and bosom.
“Indeed.” He smiled at the shy, fair-haired creature, feeling sorry for her. “Good day, Miss Baycliffe.”
His attention made her flush a furious red. “Your grace.”
“Hasn’t she grown a great deal since you saw her last?” Mrs. Baycliffe asked. “Before much longer, she will be making her debut and be ready for marriage.”
As usual, Harriet possessed all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Gavin did his utmost to nod and smile politely. He liked the girl well enough, but marrying her was out of the question. While other men had married women half their age, Gavin had no interest in following suit. She simply looked too much like a child still. Most alarming, however, was the notion of being related to Harriet Baycliffe by marriage. The very thought made him want to drink to excess.
“Shall we sit?” Aunt Caroline suggested.
Without awaiting a reply, his aunt gestured her company toward the blue damask sofa, illuminated by the sunlight bursting into the airy room through giant rectangular windows. Then she turned to follow the Baycliffes. Gavin found himself thankful that no one else seemed intent on the plush rose chair far across the room.
Harriet paused and looked about the room with a critical eye as she ambled to the sofa. “I know you adore this room, Caroline, but I do not know why. How do you bear such direct sun in the mornings?”
“I find the sun quite cheerful.”
Gavin heard the defensive note in his aunt’s voice and wished she would not allow the supercilious neighbor to upset her. He’d much prefer to give into his ungentlemanly urge to ask the woman to leave.
“Cheerful? It is ill advised! I do believe the sun has faded your furniture.” Mrs. Baycliffe looked at the sofa for confirmation. “You must be ever mindful of such things.”
Aunt Caroline’s eyes dropped to the blue sofa. Gavin followed suit, seeing nothing slipshod.
“We’ll have the drapes drawn if you’d prefer to sit in the dark,” Gavin could not resist saying.
With a casual toss of her hand, Mrs. Baycliffe sniffed. “That would be most pleasing. Such brightness cannot be good for one’s eyes.”
Aunt Caroline’s smile grew more tense. “I shall ring for a servant to see to the matter and bring some tea.”
“Very good, for I’ve come to invite you to an assembly Thursday next.” Harriet hesitated. “Er, will your… company be departed by then?”
Aunt Caroline smiled uneasily. “I am not certain.”
Gavin wondered how to explain Kira Melbourne’s extended stay without revealing James’s intent to make her a part of the family. Nothing came immediately to mind.
Mrs. Baycliffe displayed equal discomfort in her frown. She could not gracefully exclude the Melbournes from the invitation she sent to Norfield Park, but she clearly did not want Kira and her brother in attendance.
Hoping to ease past the awkward moment, Gavin invited the Baycliffes to finally sit on the blue sofa. He placed his hand at the small of his aunt’s back to escort her to her seat.
Then he noticed a small tear in the back seam of Caroline’s lively green silk dress, directly between her shoulders. As she took a step, the tear lengthened a bit more. Another step, another loosening of the seam.
He frowned. How had that happened? It hardly mattered now; the damage was done. Now he must concoct some way to keep Mrs. Baycliffe from seeing the tear and remarking upon it to his aunt, coupled with a suggestion of
lazy maids, dwindling finances, or pitying words that a duke’s aunt should be forced to buy dresses of lesser quality. Any of these suggestions would likely send Aunt Caroline into a fit of pique or tears—one never knew—the minute the door shut behind the Baycliffes.
Before everyone could sit, James strolled in, looking every inch a clergyman in somber black. Miss Melbourne stood beside him, and despite her modest garb, appeared more the kind of woman to warm a sinner’s bed than to grace a parson’s pew.
Gavin closed his eyes, feeling his stomach sink to his toes. Now that James had arrived with Kira, how could he prevent his cousin from introducing Miss Melbourne and revealing the fact she was his fiancée? By Gavin’s side, Aunt Caroline had apparently realized they could not. She tensed.
The seam at her back unstitched a little more.
The gossip would spread rapidly, and like all unfortunate rumors, would reach London soon.
Matters had just gone from bad to worse. Gavin sighed, resigned to a difficult morning.
Predictably, Kira looked out of place, like a fallen angel clinging to her savior. It wasn’t her dress that gave such an impression. In fact, the soft yellow muslin embroidered with flowers at the hem made her look almost demure—well, as demure as a woman with her sensual face and figure could look. A creamy silken shawl draped her slender shoulders in a modest display that might have been convincing if he knew less about her—and if she didn’t set his blood on fire with a glance.
This appearance was his cousin’s means of quiet defiance, of integrating his fiancée into local society, fostering acceptance. If that was his aim, James bloody ought to know better than to begin with the wretched Mrs. Baycliffe.
Gavin held in a curse. Why would James subject himself to pity and ridicule for a woman he did not love? Especially since Kira did not love him either, it appeared. After all, she refused to cry off the engagement, despite the fact Gavin had explained the harm that would befall James in wedding her.
“Good morning, ladies,” James greeted smoothly.
“And to you, Mr. Howland.” Mrs. Baycliffe directed the remark to James, but her shrewd gaze was pinned on Kira.
“How lovely to see you. I trust you are both well?”
“Indeed.” Her mouth pinched with the word.
“Splendid.” James urged Kira closer to the Baycliffes. “Ladies, I present to you Miss Kira Melbourne, my fiancée.”
Visible shock widened Mrs. Baycliffe’s faded blue eyes. As if realizing her faux pas, she cleared her throat and regarded Kira with a superior gaze.
“Honoria,” she said without taking her disapproving eyes off Kira, “Await me outside.”
The young girl blinked up at her mother, lashes fluttering in confusion. “But—”
“Go now.”
Casting a surreptitious glance at Kira, Miss Baycliffe stood and, shoulders slumped, made her way from the room.
Gavin risked a glance at Kira. She looked frozen, ashen with shock. He took a deep breath, suddenly wishing he could insult Mrs. Baycliffe in a similar fashion.
“Miss Melbourne.” The greeting was cool. “You’ll understand my young daughter cannot be acquainted with someone like you.”
Kira swallowed, clearly taken aback, but said nothing.
Aunt Caroline glared at James, looking as if she were angry enough to tremble. Gavin winced, knowing better than to expect family harmony at dinner tonight.
Then he noticed his aunt’s unraveling seam loosened even more. The tear was now noticeable to anyone who might see her back. The debacle would be humorous…if it wouldn’t embarrass Aunt Caroline to the point of tears and start tongues wagging in Bramley Village.
“James, perhaps it might be best if you and Miss Melbourne took a stroll in the gallery,” Aunt Caroline suggested.
Kira had been dismissed. Aunt Caroline had refused to stand by her son’s choice of a wife. The exclusion could not have been clearer. The scene had just gone from ugly to uglier.
Gavin saw Kira raise her head proudly. But for a moment, her pink mouth trembled.
“Your mother is right, Mr. Howland,” she said quietly. “These old friends have plenty to discuss without us.”
Her gracious concession surprised Gavin. He wished she’d never entered the room. Hell, he wished she had never entered his life, particularly as James’s fiancée. He did not want her in the family, always a scandal, always a temptation just within reach…
But he hated to see Mrs. Baycliffe disparage Kira even more efficiently than Aunt Caroline. Indeed, the contemptible woman had maligned Kira casually, as if it were her right. It angered him. No, that wasn’t true, exactly. Gavin scowled. Actually, Mrs. Baycliffe’s treatment of Kira distressed him for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps it was something about Miss Melbourne herself. Maybe he’d momentarily fallen prey to her seeming innocence. While it was likely practiced, the artlessness in her manner made such treatment seem more than unfair.
Panic lit James’ gaze, rooting him in place, imploring Gavin to do something. His mind racing, Gavin contemplated ways in which he might smooth this horrible situation over.
But Miss Melbourne’s gaze upon him seemed to distract him with thoughts of laying his mouth over hers…
Before he could say anything, Aunt Caroline clasped her hands at her chest, grip tense. With her rounded shoulders, the seam at her back nearly gave way. If she turned around, everyone would see her whalebone corset.
Damn! How to keep the bloody embarrassing tear from Mrs. Baycliffe’s view? His gaze scrambled around the room, looking for something—a blanket, a length of fabric, even the latest newspaper with which to cover the length of exposed underthings and spare his aunt’s sensibility. Nothing appeared.
“Mrs. Howland.” Kira stepped toward her suddenly, drawing the silken shawl from her shoulders. “You look positively chilled. Let me warm you with my wrap.”
Aunt Caroline looked at Kira with all the incredulity of a woman who’d heard a drunk pronounce himself the second coming of Christ. “See here, young lady—“
“Thank you for your concern, Miss Melbourne.” Gavin stepped forward and took the shawl from Kira. As he draped it over his aunt’s narrow shoulders, he said, “Indeed, you look quite pale. Are you sure you’re well?”
The meaningful look he sent her convinced her to close her gaping mouth. “Perhaps I’m not feeling just the thing today.”
“It’s the sun through this window, I vow.” Mrs. Baycliffe rose with a superior sniff, as if she had solved the mystery.
“You may be right,” Gavin returned. And a donkey may win the next race at Ascot.
“Indeed. Well, I must be off.” Harriet held her reticule and made her way to Gavin’s side. “Will you be a dear boy and show me out? I’m certain Honoria would be most disappointed not to say her farewells to you.”
Gavin felt certain that Honoria cared far less about the matter than her mother, but if it would aid Aunt Caroline, he would see to her exit with a smile.
“My pleasure.”
As they reached the parlor door, Gavin looked back to find James examining the tear in her dress and Aunt Caroline gaping in narrowly-averted horror.
Kira stood alone, a few feet apart, watching in silence.
Gavin frowned. She had helped his aunt, saved her from social ridicule. Why? Why not allow the woman who had publicly humiliated her only moments earlier to feel the same sting?
She is a kind and honest woman, James’s voice haunted him.
Balderdash, he thought, looking away and escorting Mrs. Baycliffe to her conveyance. So Miss Melbourne had done one nice thing for a woman who hated her. Likely she did it merely to earn the family’s favor. Still, she had known how to salvage the situation when Gavin himself had been uncertain. She had offered assistance without hesitation. And now that the deed was done, she stood away from the family, appearing not to expect any gratitude for her gesture.
Confused, Gavin frowned. So why had she come to Aunt Caroline’s rescue?
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* * * *
Gavin strolled Norfield Park’s grounds, surrounded by lush green landscape. The golden sun beamed down on him, descending toward twilight. In the west, twin peaks he had never before noticed lay just below the sun, beckoning him to explore the shadowed mounds. Had they always been there?
He began a leisurely stroll toward them, noting their symmetrical perfection. Something about the hills dared him to climb and conquer each.
He hiked up, stopping between them. He bent to touch the softest, greenest grass ever. A gentle breeze blew in the scents of vanilla and exotic spices, intoxicating him. Something akin to peace permeated him. A man could stay here forever, he decided as another breath brought more of the pungent scents. They overcame him.
A moment later, Gavin found himself in an unfamiliar tunnel. It was hot, nearly black. Water dripped somewhere with a distant ping. Yet the liquid beneath him flowed over his boots, to his ankles.
Someone waited for him. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did. That someone was important. Urgency rose.
He walked a step through the thick liquid covering the bottom of the tunnel. Then another, until he was trudging his way through an ever darkening, narrowing channel. He stumbled and reached out to the wall for support, only to find it warm and wet.
The temperature was rising with every minute, every step. He tore his shirt off and flung it away. Someone was calling his name. Gavin could hear it faintly. The voice belonged to a woman. He began to run.
Darkness enveloped him until he could see nothing of the tunnel, nothing of his own person. His heart beat quickly, pounding with each step. His skin felt moist, his legs heavy. None of that mattered; he had to reach that voice.
Suddenly, he ran out of ground and began falling…falling. He called out, arms flailing.
Then he was on his feet again, this time in the Rose Room at Norfield Park. He was not alone. Indeed, Kira Melbourne stood inches from him, swirling in scents of vanilla and spice, as bare as a woman could be. He swallowed.
With a crooking of her finger she beckoned him. Transfixed, he followed. With each step he took forward, she took one back. He knew an insane urge to run after her.
