Accustomed all her life to foreigners and older men of her father’s acquaintance, men who gave thought of nothing other than their work and gave no thought to their appearance, she had never seen anything like Lord Lansbury. Unable to tear her eyes away from him, she was bowled over anew by that same dark, delicious magnetism she remembered vividly from her first glimpse of him on the ship.
His hair was thick and dark brown, as shiny as silk brushed back from his brow, his glorious grey eyes the colour of smoke. He had a long aquiline nose and his eyelids were heavy, drooping low, giving him a lazy, sleepy look. At over six foot tall, he was built like one of those Greek athletes she had read so much about, lean and muscular, all supple grace, and when he spoke his voice was deep and throaty, reminding her of thick honey and making her think of bodies, of bedrooms and the erotic engravings she had seen on her travels through the far east and Europe with her father.
Lord Lansbury had travelled to Chalfont ahead of Lady Lansbury. When Lady Lansbury introduced her, he looked at her, inclining his head courteously. But he did not see her, not really, and she hadn’t expected him to. He did not look at her in the way a man would look at an attractive woman. His eyes were startling and distracting, not so much for their silver-grey colour or the size, which was substantial. What gave them their unique power seemed to be the fact that the centre of his eyes filled the clear white from top to bottom and the thick lashes both obscured and revealed his gaze, depending on his whim.
‘Miss Mortimer is here to take care of Octavia, Christopher. You will remember that she was the young lady who saved Octavia’s life on the ship. I informed you she would be coming today.’
‘Yes, so you did.’ He fixed Jane with a cool gaze. ‘We are in your debt, Miss Mortimer, for what you did that day. But your work will not be easy. Getting Octavia to do anything she doesn’t like is like piloting a ship into the harbour. It needs a steady hand on the tiller.’
Jane laughed, suddenly nervous. She felt Lord Lansbury was only being polite and sensed he was uncomfortable and wishful to escape. A sense of disappointment rippled through her. How she wished he would look at her differently, that he would find her attractive.
‘Please don’t be concerned. My navigational skills are quite exceptional.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Your father was a well-known writer and antiquarian, I believe.’
‘He was Matthew Mortimer, a knowledgeable writer on many things—Roman and Greek history and antiquities were his passion.’
‘He must have been an interesting man. My mother tells me you have spent a great deal of your time abroad.’
‘Yes. Together we travelled to many countries—Europe and beyond. We lived in India for five years.’
‘Really?’ Jane felt and saw his interest quicken. ‘You must find life here very different indeed from that hot clime.’
‘Very different,’ she said, trying not to let herself sound too regretful.
‘And dull.’
She laughed. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had time to find out.’
‘You appear to be a sensible young woman, Miss Mortimer. I am sure you will adjust. I hope you won’t find the English winters too cold and miserable.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I’m also sure that I’ll survive.’
‘You must miss your father.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, struggling to conceal the sadness she always felt when speaking of her father. She still felt his loss deeply. ‘Not only was I his daughter, but his assistant. When he died I’m afraid much of his work was unfinished so I have a lot of loose ends to tie up for his publisher. Lady Lansbury has kindly offered me the use of your library—when I’m not looking after Lady Octavia, that is.’
‘Of course. Feel free to use it any time. I am sure you will do an excellent job taking care of Octavia. I hope you will enjoy your time here.’
Jane’s heart skipped a beat as his beautiful grey eyes met hers. Pleasure washed over her. ‘I’m sure I will, Lord Lansbury.’ She swallowed hard, unable to think of anything else to say until he had turned his back on her and walked away. ‘Thank you,’ she finally managed to call out, but he must not have heard her words, for he did not turn to look at her again.
‘Oh, dear! My son is hasty sometimes,’ Lady Lansbury said, noting Jane’s dismay. ‘He has grave matters to worry him and he is always so busy. But come, my dear. I’ll take you to Octavia’s rooms.’ She looked at Jane who was somewhat flushed. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’
‘Yes—perfectly.’
A cloud shifted across Jane’s face and her eyelids lowered. The expression in them was unreadable, which was just as well, for she loved Christopher Chalfont from that moment. How else could these feelings that consumed her be explained—she, who had no experience of men in the romantic sense? She told herself that she should doubt her reactions to Lord Lansbury, the first man she had ever been attracted to. She was unable to understand why this should be.
The day she had left France and climbed aboard the boat bound for Dover would live with her for ever, because that was the day she had met him, the day he had entered her mind so that she was unable to think of anything else. Because the differences between them were too vast, she did not fool herself into believing it could ever be any different and that he would ever return her love.
Nothing was normal any more, least of all her feelings about herself.
Copyright © 2015 by Helen Dickson
ISBN-13: 9781460387788
Warrior of Fire
Copyright © 2015 by Michelle Willingham
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