They had not yet noticed her. She watched, fascinated, as the sweat poured off the men’s foreheads and ran down their chests, stopping at the waistband of their trousers.
Her eyes were drawn to Blake’s form. She had never seen a man naked from the waist up before, but she suspected Blake’s torso was impressive by any standard.
The muscles in his arms bunched as he surged forward, hitting his opponent squarely in the gut. A sprinkling of dark hair covered his chest, and his stomach rippled with corrugated muscle. His powerful body moved with an easy grace as he balanced himself on the balls of his feet. He reminded her of the statues of the Greek gods on display at the British Museum. Blake could have been the sculptor’s model.
She had no idea how long she stood in the doorway watching the fight. It was the instructor who noticed her first.
“Stop. A lady is present,” he shouted to his pupils in the ring.
The instructor, a massive man with the broadest shoulders she had ever seen, advanced upon her. He had a protruding forehead, bushy eyebrows, and a crooked nose that she suspected had been broken numerous times.
Her first instinct was to turn on her heel and flee, but she refused to look like a coward on her first day at Rosewood.
The imposing man winked when he caught her eye, then bowed before her. “Allow me to introduce myself. Mr. Tom Cribb, at your service, my lady. It isn’t often that a beautiful woman watches my lessons.”
Victoria was taken aback. The man’s proper manners certainly were at odds with his rugged appearance.
“Did you say Cribb?” she asked. “As in Killer Cribb, the famous boxing champion?”
Cribb’s chest puffed with pride. “The one and only. And what is your name, my lady?”
“This is my houseguest, Miss Victoria Ashton,” Blake said, coming up to Tom Cribb.
Blake had donned his shirt, but the material clung to his moist flesh like a second skin. The top button was undone, revealing the corded muscles of his neck and the hair on his chest. A cotton towel, which he had used to wipe the sweat off his forehead, dangled from his fingers.
In this male arena, after such physical activity, he exuded a potent masculinity that drew her like a lodestone. After watching the brutality of two men fighting, she should be repulsed, but instead she secretly found it exciting, exhilarating—they were so unlike the painted popinjays of her acquaintance.
She dared not look at Blake, afraid he would see the attraction in her eyes.
“You’re well known, Mr. Cribb,” she said. “Even I have heard of you and I have never attended a boxing match. After my brother took lessons at Gentleman Jackson’s, all he could speak of was how you dominated your opponent in your last fight.”
Mr. Crib grinned, revealing two missing front teeth. Probably another hazard of his profession, she thought.
“I’m honored you know my name. Many women do not approve of the pugilistic sport.”
“I have nothing against boxing as a means of exercise, Mr. Cribb, but I do believe the laws against prizefighting should be enforced.”
Victoria was aware of the popularity of boxing. Many wealthy men invested in personal trainers to teach them the art. A strong and manly figure was prized and a key to attracting the opposite sex, especially since men’s jackets were cut so scandalously short that they revealed everything from the waist down.
Prizefighting, on the other hand, was technically illegal, even though highly popular, and fascinated men of all classes.
Blake crossed his arms over his chest and leveled his gaze upon Victoria. “It seems the lady has a strict interpretation of the law, but has no qualms about wandering where she is uninvited.”
Alarmed, she parted her lips to speak, but then hesitated, unsure how to respond.
How dare he admonish her in front of a stranger?
Mr. Cribb must have sensed the rising tension within her, for he spoke first. “Lord Ravenspear hired me to train him in the sport. He’s turning out to be an apt pupil.”
She shot Blake a withering glance. “Yes, beating a rival into a bloody pulp does seem his style.”
Blake abruptly caught her by the elbow and firmly escorted her away from the doorway farther into the room. Over his shoulder, he said, “Excuse my guest’s rudeness, Mr. Cribb. If she could enter the ring, her shrewish tongue would surely slay any opponent before the first punch could be swung.”
Mr. Cribb laughed and tipped his hat on his way out. “It was a pleasure, Miss Ashton. I hope to see you again soon.”
“Let go.” Victoria pulled against his viselike hold on her arm.
He released her, then bent down to whisper in her ear. “I told you that it’s in your best interest to be nice to me. Throwing insults in my face in front of my friends is not a good start of our one-year relationship.”
His breath brushed against her ear, and the feelings that rushed through her were unwelcome. She refused to succumb to his magnetism, or be attracted to him in any way. She had to fight her own battle of personal restraint and remember that he was not the Blake of her childhood, that he had changed, and all he wanted now was to ruin her family.
Blake straightened and looked behind her. She realized the reason he had whispered: there was yet another person in the room.
Whirling around, she watched as the man Blake had been sparring with in the ring approached.
“Lord Ravenspear has spoken of your visit, Miss Ashton, and it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Justin Woodward, his lordship’s assistant.”
Justin Woodward was attractive, with warm brown eyes and a quick smile. A swath of blond hair fell casually on his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance. Like Blake, he had donned his shirt before approaching her. He was as tall as Blake, but not as broad shouldered and on the thin side.
Something about the fair-haired man was vaguely familiar. “Have we met before, Mr. Woodward?” she asked.
A momentary look of discomfort crossed Justin Woodward’s face. “It’s possible you knew someone from my family, but we left England years ago. I’ve only recently returned with Ravenspear.”
“So you’ve spent time in the Indies together?” she asked, keenly aware of Blake’s scrutiny.
He nodded. “I’ve worked for him for some time now.”
“Justin and I are good friends, and you will see him frequently at Rosewood, my dear,” Blake said.
If Justin Woodward was going to offer more about the time the pair spent in the Indies, Blake’s smooth interruption stopped him. Still, she was fairly certain she had met, or at least seen, Mr. Woodward before.
Blake took her elbow, gently this time, and escorted her from the room. Justin Woodward trailed behind.
“Justin and his lady friend will be joining us for dinner tonight,” Blake said.
Victoria’s step faltered. “I had planned to eat alone in my room. I’m fatigued after my trip here.”
She wanted to spend as little time as possible with Blake. She knew he intended to force her to frequently accompany him so that he may charm her into his arms. But she was certain that if she could stay to herself, he would soon tire of the chase.
Entertaining his friends was definitely not in her plans.
“Nonsense, my dear,” Blake said, dismissing her concerns. “You must eat, and I insist. You will like Lady Devon, I assure you.”
Without waiting for a response, Blake began to walk, his firm fingers cupping her elbow.
Victoria rushed to keep up with his long strides. The portraits in the corridor she had previously stopped to admire were a colorful blur as they raced by.
Leaving the west wing, Blake guided her back to the main part of the house.
Once in front of her bedroom, Blake stopped and swung open the door. “Don’t try to evade me by making excuses in the future, Victoria. I won’t be dissuaded.” He put his finger under her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “If you’ll allow yourself, you’ll acknowledge the attraction between us.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Liar. I saw the way you were watching me in the ring. Studying my body, comparing it to others in your mind. You looked excited, eager, hungry.”
She swallowed hard, her senses leaping to life as he traced her jawline with his finger, then down her neck and along her exposed collarbone.
“No,” she croaked, but her voice sounded weak, unconvincing even to her own ears.
“Oh, yes. It took all my self-restraint not to swing you up into my arms, carry you away and have my way with you in the closest private corner I could find.”
She felt her face redden. “Don’t speak to me that way.”
No man had ever spoken to her so brazenly. Not Jacob. Not any of her prior suitors. A lady should never hear such shocking words, not even if there was a hint of truth to them.
His eyes traveled to the wildly beating pulse at her neck. “There’s no reason to deny our feelings over the course of the year. We can share great pleasure, Victoria, if only you will allow it.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth and lingered, and she sensed he intended to kiss her. She should have slammed her bedroom door in his face. But when his eyes darkened with desire, when his head lowered, and when she felt his breath against her lips, she didn’t turn away. Didn’t protest. Didn’t move.
The touch of his lips was a delicious sensation, whisper-soft at first, then firmer, more persuasive. When she sighed and parted her lips, he took control of the kiss, exploring the recesses of her mouth with his tongue.
She stood on her toes to move closer, and he gathered her into his embrace and ran his hand down the hollows of her back to press her more tightly against him. Her heart hammered at the unfamiliar hardness of his solid chest and manly scent.
He was everything she had ever dreamed about as an infatuated girl. All muscle and sinew, so different from her own soft curves. Dark, dangerous and exciting. Her mind told her to resist, but her body refused to comply.
Raising his mouth from hers, he kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. “There can be so much more between us. Let me show you.”
A delightful shiver of wanting ran through her. Her knees felt weak, and she feared falling. In the dark recesses of her mind, she knew she must resist, must stop him, or he would steal all her resolve on her first day here.
His hand lowered to trace along the edge of her bodice with his fingers. When his thumb brushed against her sensitive nipple, she jerked backward. As if she was plunged in a bucket of cold water, she came to her senses.
What was she doing?
“Blake, stop.”
He stepped closer to keep her near, his head lowering to once again kiss her.
Victoria jerked her head to the side, and his lips brushed her cheek.
“Don’t be afraid, sweet. I won’t hurt you,” he said, his breath warm against her face.
“Blake, stop!” she cried. Desperate to put distance between them, she shoved against his chest with both hands.
He took a step back.
She kept her features deceptively composed. “Remember your promise, my lord, for I shall never forget mine. I’d die before I will ask you to bed me.”
Blake stiffened. The familiar mask of coldness descended once again. “My apologies for misreading your response,” he said, his voice harsh. “Dinner is at seven. Don’t make me fetch you.”
Chapter 8
Victoria’s eyes widened in wonder at the ostentatious display on the laden table.
She had entered Rosewood’s dining room expecting an intimate dinner with friends, only to find a feast that should have been served at the grandest of parties.
At the end of the dining table were the meats: saddle of mutton, lamb, fowls, tongue and ham. There were a dozen vegetable dishes, each served from gold-rimmed chafing dishes bearing the Ravenspear crest. The crowning centerpiece, a large salmon with its head intact to show its freshness, was surrounded by scallops in a butter sauce.
A liveried footman carved ham for her and placed it onto her plate. With a nod of her head, she indicated which vegetables she desired, and the servant placed them neatly next to the meat.
Expensive sherry flowed freely, and numerous footmen assured that the guests’ glasses were never empty.
The amount of food on Blake’s table could have fed a poor London family for a month. The entire meal, in Victoria’s opinion, was excessive and gluttonous and orchestrated for the sole purpose of showing off Blake’s wealth.
She observed Samantha Heron, properly known as the Baroness of Devon. A wealthy widow in her thirties, Lady Devon was striking with blond hair, blue eyes, and a willowy figure. She was dressed in silver satin with a heart-shaped neckline, exposing a décolletage that would draw any man’s eye. Blond curls were piled on her head in an elegant coiffure with stray wisps brushing her high cheekbones.
She was beautiful, but it was her air of self-confidence that intrigued Victoria.
Justin Woodward was clearly younger than his companion, and Victoria wondered what had brought the unlikely pair together.
Victoria had worried what Blake’s friends would think of an unchaperoned lady residing in a bachelor’s home, but neither Justin Woodward nor Lady Devon hesitated when Victoria was introduced as Blake’s houseguest.
A disturbing thought flashed through Victoria’s brain. Just how many other unchaperoned women had Blake brought into his home and introduced to his friends?
Lady Devon rested a silver fork on her plate. “Are you enjoying Rosewood, Miss Ashton?”
Victoria blinked, then focused her gaze. If there was a hint of sarcasm in the woman’s question, Victoria didn’t hear it.
“I’ve only just arrived today,” Victoria said. “Although, I have uncovered vigorous activity while exploring the house.” Her eyes darted to Blake.
Confusion crossed Lady Devon’s features, and she turned toward their host.
Blake tipped his wineglass, draining it. “Miss Ashton wandered into the west wing.”
“Ah,” Lady Devon said. “So you’ve discovered their pugilistic pastime. I’ve never watched them practice with Mr. Cribb. I know the sport is quite popular, but I find it brutal.”
Victoria should have found the viciousness of the sport revolting, but she had been fascinated instead. The image of Blake bare-chested and sweating, muscles rippling, had left a burning imprint on her mind.
What did that say about her morals?
As the meal drew to an end, Victoria toyed with the crisp napkin in her lap, twisting it this way and that with nervous fingers. She thought of excuses to take her leave. The day’s travel had made her weary, after all, and she longed to rest her head on the feather pillow in her rose-colored room and succumb to sleep. Maybe then she could escape her problems for a few blissful hours.
But manners prevailed, even at this bachelor home, and the women were expected to leave the table to allow the men to drink their port. Justin held Lady Devon’s chair for her as she rose. Blake followed suit by pulling out Victoria’s chair so she could stand.
His fingers brushed the tops of her naked shoulders and lingered.
“Justin and I will join you shortly, my dear.”
She was conscious of Lady Devon keenly observing the exchange. Heat stole into Victoria’s face at Blake’s intimate touch, and she hurried from the dining room into the parlor.
A welcoming fire burned, a large log crumbling in the hearth. Victoria stood before the marble fireplace when she heard Lady Devon enter behind her.
“Now that we’re finally alone,” Lady Devon said, “we can speak openly.”
Victoria spun around. “I suppose you’re curious about the circumstances behind my arrival at Rosewood.”
Lady Devon shook her head, and the movement of her silver gown made it shimmer in the firelight. “Heavens, no. Mr. Woodward tells me everything.”
Victoria chewed on her lower lip. “So Ravenspear
has started my humiliation already, telling others the truth behind our arrangement.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Devon said. “Ravenspear confides in Mr. Woodward, and I would not betray my Justin by gossiping. Ravenspear knows the secret is safe with me, of course. That’s why I was invited here tonight.”
The baroness slid gracefully onto the red cushions of the settee. Her blue eyes pierced the distance between them. “Never mind what brought you to Rosewood, Miss Ashton. My question for you is what are you going to do about it?”
Victoria hesitated, blinking with bafflement. Whatever did the woman mean? What could she do? Box Blake in his own ring? “I fear I don’t understand.”
A thoughtful smile curved Lady Devon’s mouth. “Of course you do. I’m asking how you plan to even the odds.”
Victoria stared at Lady Devon in astonishment. If anything, the woman was direct.
“Ravenspear holds all the power,” Victoria said. “I’d be happy to survive the year.”
Lady Devon threw her head back and let out a great peal of laughter. “Ha! Such poppycock! When it comes to power between a man and a woman, an attractive female always holds the upper hand.”
Lady Samantha Devon was turning out to be a complete surprise. Was it possible that this experienced, sophisticated woman could become her ally?
Victoria sat down beside the baroness and looked at her intently. “I know little of men.”
“Can I be honest with you, Miss Ashton?”
“Please.” Victoria thought the woman had already been speaking plainly.
“When I first learned the truth about you coming to Rosewood from Justin, I was stunned at Blake’s actions. The thought of him using an innocent woman in such a manner seemed out of character for him, and it sickened me. But then I agreed to dine here tonight, and I observed the way he watched you. There’s something there, in his eyes, and a smart girl could use it to her advantage.”
Lady of Scandal Page 6
