Maybe she could remain hidden in the garden for a while longer.
Gazing out over the vast land surrounding the estate, Mallory wondered what it would be like to have her own home, land, and life. Free from her aunt’s watchful eye, and away from the whispered proclamations that she’d been cursed. It was likely that if her betrothal to Silas were called off, she’d never know such independence. A part of her sensed that Silas would not treat her as her father and brother did. He would not tread lightly in her presence, nor eschew physical contact with her.
Yet, another part of her—possibly a larger part—was well aware that she did not know the man well. He could be lying about other things—more important aspects of his life than had been discovered.
Truly, his deception had harmed no one, least of all her. There were many things she was embarrassed to admit about her life, why would Silas be any different? Because he was a man? An earl, no less?
Mallory raised her hand to shield her eyes as a lone man on horseback came into view, a large cloud of dust following him. The Duke of Wycliffe must be returning from town or the castle. As the rider drew closer, Mallory raised her hand and waved. Despite Felicity and Aunt Hettie’s feelings about the duke, Mallory thought him an agreeable man and a kind host.
His appearance brought to mind the vision Mallory had seen upon greeting Felicity. While her friend had yet to speak of it at any length, Mallory knew the two had kissed—in Felicity’s lab, no less.
The rider took note of her and angled his mount away from the front entrance and toward the small garden pressed close to the side of the manor.
Her stomach sank when the man pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted.
It was not the duke, but Silas.
And she could not deny his look of displeasure.
“My lord,” she called, swallowing past the lump that’d settled in her throat. “I did not expect to see you again.”
His brow rose, and she knew he’d misinterpreted her greeting.
“What I meant was that I hadn’t expected to see you again at Tetbery Estate.”
“Because you thought to visit me at Keyvnor again?” He did not pause to see her reaction but quickly tied his reins to a branch that hung low by the garden wall before flipping the latch on the gate and entering the garden. “I am sorry if I disappointed you.”
Disappoint? Mallory stared at him to see if his words were meant to be a jest, but he turned serious eyes on her. “Pardon, my lord?”
“I have come from the castle. My aunt, the countess, spoke of your visit.” He paced around the garden, avoiding her stare as he walked in a seemingly aimless pattern.
“I did not mean to cause any trouble—”
“It is not your fault.” He finally turned toward her and placed his arm to his chest. “It is I who lied, Lady Mallory, and for that, I am eternally remorseful.”
Mallory blinked several times. He was apologizing to her?
“May I ask why you deceived me?” The question was risky. He could refuse to answer and depart. “If it is not too forward of me.”
He watched her as if determining whether she was worth the added effort of an explanation. “My mother raised us in Paris, as you know, but something you may not know, is to do that, she fled England under cover of night and never spoke to my father again.” He ran his fingers through the curls atop his head, a gesture that was not so much born out of frustration as she’d first suspected, but unease.
He was preparing to share something with her he hadn’t told anyone—or at least not recently. The tension in his shoulders lent evidence to that, as well as the hard set of his jaw.
If he could share a bit of himself, then Mallory could share something more, as well.
Certainly not everything about her gift, but maybe enough to keep him vigilant, concerned for his safety.
His lips moved to speak, but a loud rumble shook the ground beneath them. Thrown off balance, Mallory stumbled toward Silas, her arms pin-wheeling when her boot became tangled in her skirts. She was going to fall, face first into the mossy garden ground, or worse, hit her head on the stone wall.
Mallory clamped her eyes shut tightly. She could not bear to see what came next.
One minute, there was nothing but frigid December air surrounding her, and the next…her head was swimming. Though not due to being knocked senseless, as she was still upright. Despite her eyes remaining closed, she knew she was not on the ground. However, she was pressed against something solid
Lifting her hands, Mallory ran her fingers across a smoothly muscled chest and continued upward to graze taut, broad shoulders.
Lord Lichfield’s.
Mallory titled up her chin ever so slightly, suspecting if she opened her eyes—which she certainly was not prepared to do—she’d stare directly up into intense blue pools.
Her lips parted, an apology on the tip of her tongue, but the words never made it to her throat as Silas’s warm exhale cascaded against her cheek, banishing any cold that lingered within her.
He was so close. There was no need to open her eyes to see that his mouth was only an inch from hers. She could all but feel him.
“Thank yo—”
Her appreciation for his quick movements to steady her was cut off when his lips captured hers. Blessedly smooth, strong lips. Warm. Eager. Moist.
This…this physical connection wasn’t anything she’d allowed herself before. There was too much risk.
As if on cue, she opened her eyes, and they immediately began to cloud. The edges of her sight blurred at the same time she raised her hands from Silas’s shoulders to cup his face.
Damnation. If she were going to be cursed with a vision at the exact moment of her first kiss, she would at least enjoy the feeling of him for a brief instant. Even through her gloves, she knew his skin was smooth and firm across his angled jaw.
His mouth danced across hers.
Mallory’s entire body trembled, and his sinewy arms came to wrap around her waist, catching her before her knees collapsed beneath her, bringing their bodies ever closer.
The vision was upon her. Her head began to spin, and nothing before her remained in focus. His lips caressed hers, the warmth of his arms held her tightly to his chest, and his woodsy scent filled her other senses.
Space…she needed distance to collect her thoughts, banish whatever horrid vision was struggling to capture her, and—
The late-morning air filled with the acidic smell of fire.
Mallory released her hold on his face and stepped back at the same moment his arms fell to his sides.
She pivoted quickly, her heart racing from their embrace as she blinked several times to clear her sight. Smoke billowed through the cracks of the partially hidden door to Felicity’s laboratory.
“Felicity!” Her dear friend had been working in her lab when Mallory left her to seek a few private moments in the garden. Felicity had been combining one liquid element with another in her quest to bring back the countess. “We must help her.”
Her knees, trembling when she’d been in Silas’s hold, strengthened as she raced toward the door.
Chapter 11
Silas followed closely on Lady Mallory’s heels when she took off toward the smoke—and a red slatted door, the paint chipped off at the bottom to reveal the aged wood behind thick strands of ivy. It hadn’t dawned on him that anything was amiss—besides his forwardness in stealing a kiss from his betrothed—until she pulled back, and he was able to take the lead and draw his first deep breath since capturing her in his arms.
Smoke, thick and dark, clouded his vision and clogged his lungs as he ripped the door open and proceeded up the steep, narrow steps as hard packed dirt turned to stone. The smoke thinned when he traveled farther up the stairwell as great billows of it escaped downward. There was no need to glance over his shoulder and risk tripping up a step; he could sense Lady Mallory’s presence at his back, though she moved a bit slower as she climbed. When she’d disentangled
herself from his embrace, he’d noted the familiar darkening of her eyes, much as they had on their first meeting.
Yet, there was no time to think about the peculiar way the light grey orbs had turned a tumultuous charcoal, nor could he allow his attraction to slow him down.
Someone was in trouble, and he must needs make certain they were away from the fire causing all the smoke around them.
When he reached the top step and pushed into the room, halting, Lady Mallory bumped into his back but quickly steadied herself on the railing.
“Where was she?” Silas squinted as he inspected the hazy room, attempting to locate the source of the fire—or, more importantly, Miss Felicity, especially if she were injured and needed help getting out. “Are you certain she was up here?”
The room was lined with workbenches stacked high with large tomes, several lying open as if Miss Felicity had been reading them recently. Another long, low table with an empty stool was arranged with several glass bottles of varying sizes and shapes. On yet another, jars lined the surface holding god knows what sort of foreign things. The smoke came from a stout glass container filled with a bluish-green liquid. The fog rolled over the top in dense but waning clouds and then floated upward.
“She was there,” Mallory said, pointing over his shoulder at the far workbench, but Miss Felicity was nowhere in sight.
Mallory pushed past him and swiftly moved about the room, searching for her friend.
The urge to pull her from the lab to safety was nearly overwhelming.
“The room is empty, Lady Mallory,” he called, taking her arm to halt her search. “I have no idea what caused the smoke, but we should not dawdle here. The haze could harm our lungs.”
She pulled from his grasp and turned large, rounded eyes on him. “But—but—she was here not long ago.”
“But she is not now.” The smoke was clearing quickly, giving Silas a clear view of the entire room. It was not overly large, and there was nowhere Miss Felicity could lurk. “What is all this?”
With one last glance about the work area, the tension appeared to flee Lady Mallory, and her shoulders sagged. Silas was going through a similar change, the immediate danger and terror subsiding and allowing their present circumstances to invade the moment.
He’d kissed her.
He’d come to Tetbery Estate to make amends with Lady Mallory, to throw himself at her mercy. Instead, he’d kissed her. Anyone could have seen them. It hardly signified anything if someone had. They were properly betrothed, and their wedding date set for as soon as the ground thawed. Their embrace wasn’t scandalously compromising.
Why then did he sense he’d complicated things between them instead of making them better?
Their kiss—more accurately, his response and the way she’d melted against him—proved they suited in the physical sense.
Mallory ran her fingers along one of the workbenches and paused to read one of the open books. “Felicity conducts vital experiments here.”
“She is a scientist?” His short time in England had not offered any information on Miss Felicity Fields. No one he’d met with spoke of the woman.
“Of sorts.”
“How can one be a scientist of sorts?”
“She’s set her mind to exploring the Philosopher’s Stone and the mythological chemical compound for immortality.”
If Mallory had any opinions regarding her friend’s activities, she made no mention of it. There was no judgment or disapproval in her tone. Silas wasn’t certain he’d take the same stance if one of his friends—not that he had any besides his siblings—spoke of such a harebrained idea as immortality.
He folded his arms across his chest as the final remnants of smoke cleared, and Mallory continued her slow walk about the room. With her attention focused elsewhere, Silas was free to truly take in the woman. With her dark brown tresses and petite height, she did not appear a woman who gained notice when she entered a room; however, Silas was unable to take his eyes off her. The natural sway of her rounded hips, the curve of her backside she could not hide even beneath a cloak, and the graceful poise she always seemed in command of.
“Immortality is something of make believe, is it not?” he asked, glancing away before his attraction became more apparent. When she only shrugged, he continued. “Science is a notable, worthy cause; however, a man in their right mind would be hard-pressed to agree that seeking immortality is a worthy use of one’s time.”
“It is not for you—or me—to decide that for Felicity.” The sad lilt in her voice had Silas wondering if Mallory knew more of what went on in this room. “Not all things can be proved or disproved by scientific method.”
Finally, she turned to him, but her eyes strayed to the stairwell behind him and the open door below before returning to meet his gaze. There was something there, just out of reach in her eyes, but Silas could not understand it.
Sorrow. Hurt. Defeat.
“I think it best I return downstairs before my aunt becomes concerned about my whereabouts.”
“And find Miss Felicity?”
She shook her head, confusion clouding her hooded stare. “Yes, of course.”
Silas did not dare take his stare from her. “You are returning home soon?”
“Aunt Hettie seeks to be at Blenheim Park before Christmastide.”
“You do not want to go?” He sensed the hesitancy in her answer.
“It is not that.” She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “I rarely leave my family’s estate, and I do so enjoy seeing Felicity. My visit has been far too short.”
“But there will be other occasions to visit Tetbery.”
“I fear not, my lord,” Mallory said, clutching her gloved hands before her. “The duke is forcing Felicity to journey to London for a proper Season—to secure her a husband. This may very well be my last visit to the estate.”
“I’m certain you’ve spoken to your friend to reassure her that London is not the awful fate she thinks it is,” he prodded.
Her mouth drew downward, and her stare followed. “Unfortunately, I would not know what London and a proper Season entails beyond what I have heard from my mother or read about in the London Daily Gazette.”
Why had he assumed she’d been introduced to polite society? As the only daughter of a wealthy and influential marquess, it would be foolish to assume Mallory hadn’t been afforded a Season.
Then again, he’d never questioned the Marquess of Blandford’s willingness to wed his daughter to a stranger either.
“You can show yourself out, my lord?” she asked.
“Certainly, but I shall walk you to the manor.”
A hint of a smile settled on her lips. “We are in the manor.” She tipped her head toward the wall behind her, and Silas noticed a nearly invisible seam in the stone. “I’ll enter the house through the study.”
The Tetbery Estate apparently held many secrets; however, Silas could not help but wonder if Lady Mallory hid far more.
“I best return to the village as my brother will be arriving shortly.” He grasped the handrail but made no move to turn. “Have a joyous Christmastide holiday. I look forward to our nuptials in the spring.”
His heart stopped as he awaited her reply. He’d deceived her horribly, and she had every right to be angry with him. Continuing their betrothal was more than Silas deserved. But he was certain he wanted it.
“Of course, Silas,” she mumbled before turning and hurrying toward the hidden door.
He watched in utter shock as she pulled a cord, and the door sprang open.
When she glanced back at him as she fled the room, he noticed her smile.
His reckoning was coming, and Silas greatly anticipated the day.
Chapter 12
Mallory strolled down the walk in Bocka Morrow, entering shops at random as she attempted to keep her thoughts focused on things other than the sensual dreams that had plagued her during the night. She’d run into Felicity as she was leaving the laboratory,
and while her friend was upset, the Duke of Wycliffe seemed to have the situation handled. She supposed her vision had been correct, after all, about the two of them growing closer.
The late-morning breeze off the ocean held a biting chill; however, Mallory barely noticed it, and Aunt Hettie had layered on two thick cloaks in preparation for their trip into. Thus far, she’d purchased a new scarf for her mother, an emerald necklace for Felicity, and a new stationery set for their housekeeper in Launceston, along with many other baubles for various servants at both Tetbery and Blenheim.
Frankly, she was running out of time and coin.
And Aunt Hettie would not believe she had anyone left to buy a gift for.
The streets were crowded with both local villagers and many smartly dressed men and women, likely in Cornwall for the wedding taking place tomorrow at the castle.
Oh, how Mallory wished to attend. She’d been invited, after all, and by the countess herself. Yet, when she’d shared the news with her aunt, the aging woman had only shaken her head and forbidden Mallory from attending. The only shining light…she hadn’t barred Mallory from the Yule ball. That Mallory had failed to mention the celebration could be the reason.
“Auntie,” Mallory cooed with a grin. “Look, a haberdashery. I am certain Tressa would adore a new set of ribbons for her hair.”
When Aunt Hettie waved her off, Mallory entered the shop and feigned interest in an ivory Scrimshaw sewing kit displayed in the window. She did her best to appear interested in the many essentials being sold by the haberdasher, but her stare kept straying out the window to the town beyond.
One more day. Mallory had convinced Aunt Hettie to remain at Tetbery Estate for one more day.
Mallory was determined to use it wisely. Even from this vantage point, she had a clear view of The Crown & Anchor. Lord Lichfield hadn’t so much as appeared in the several hours she and Aunt Hettie had wandered about town. Could it be the countess had offered him lodging at the castle and he no longer resided at the tavern?
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