by Juliet Moore
"Alex?" She looked at him, probably wondering why he had yet to move.
He nodded, said goodbye to the midwife, and thanked the heavens that he'd finally be able to get away from the screaming woman in the next room. He'd feigned amusement so that Victoria wouldn't think he wanted to leave. In reality, he would have rather been any place else. But she'd needed the information and somehow, that had been important to him.
Although it was a foolish thing to notice, he thought about how Victoria had used the shortened form of his name as they left. Did that mean anything?
Did it matter?
It was very possible that it signified nothing, but that wasn't what he wanted to believe. He wanted to believe that when she was upset, she turned to him. He wanted to think that she warmed to him when hurt by the world. Because no matter what motivation he had for getting to know her, he was pretty damn sure that no one understood Victoria Clavering the way he did.
* * *
"So that's why you wanted to come." Her uncle removed his hat to wipe his brow. He was frowning.
She hurried to keep up with his long-legged pace. "Mrs. Reed told me, and I have to admit that I was shocked."
"What were you doing speaking to the midwife?" He stopped walking then. "Victoria! Did that Trevelyn put--"
"No, John! I went there specifically to speak to her."
"That woman has always been a terrible gossip."
She was already tired from trying to keep up with a man who only desired to get away from her. And it was only the beginning of the confrontation. "Is it gossip if it's something I should already know? You told me Fiona was murdered. I get more honesty from the townspeople than my own flesh and blood."
He sighed. "You always like to be so dramatic about everything."
"I am being dramatic?" The anger in her voice was unmistakable. "You are the one who says his wife was murdered only because you think your son was the cause of her distress. While your feelings aren't without basis, a lot might have been different if you'd dealt your son a little compassion. So what if his goals are different from yours?"
John looked at her then, probably wondering from what deep well the rush of emotion had come. He did have a heart, even if he tried to keep it hidden most of the time. "I don't like talking about him!" he said and looked away once again.
"Not even to your own niece?"
"It doesn't make the pain any less."
She shook her head. "I don't understand how you could disown your own son."
"I didn't disown him. He left of his own free will. You know nothing about my family, so do not pretend to."
"Can't you see that I want to know more? I am a part of this family and I want to be treated as such."
The muscle in his jaw twitched in tempo with the nervous sway of his right arm. "It doesn't matter what you want. I'm not of the mood to tell you the entire sordid story and I can't think of any time when I will be. Nor can I understand why you have any reason to know about that."
She didn't want to look away, but facing his furious visage was become increasingly difficult.
"You seem to have romanticized Fiona's life, but I can assure you that it was hardly that," he continued. "In fact, she hated her life. But I'm sure you've already heard all about that."
"About what?"
"How I couldn't keep her happy. About how she blamed the downfall of our son on me." He became quiet, his words tinged with sadness.
"No, I didn't hear that."
"Good. Because it's not true." He turned away from her and started to walk again. He did it so quickly that because she was caught off-guard, she had to hurry to catch up.
Dry leaves littered the forest path, crunching beneath her feet. If only she were a child again, she mused, and her only problems being her parents anger that she spent too much time playing outside during the summer months. She'd had a little more freedom than the average lady's daughter, perhaps because they were never in the same country for more than a month. Not a life for a child, she'd once heard her grandmother say, and she was surprised that her parents had never listened. Now that she was older, she saw the wisdom of the elderly woman's words. It also made her think of how even in the closest-knit families, there were long-standing disagreements.
Her uncle was content to let them walk in silence, that much was obvious. But if he had assumed she was finished with him, he was mistaken. She wouldn't cease her questioning until he was no longer at her side. "The midwife isn't as much of a gossip as you suspect. She didn't know exactly what Richard went to London for, nor was she willing to guess."
"You're not going to hear it from me either," he replied.
"I hoped you'd want to talk about it."
He walked faster. "Didn't I already tell you that I didn't?"
She didn't suppose it was only because she was pestering him. It also had to do with the shouts of working men they could hear becoming louder. The shipyard was close at hand.
She looked heavenward, wondering what alternate approach to take. It might be her last chance for questioning him for a while. After the way she'd vexed him, he'd likely avoid her as much as possible. At least there was Alex, she thought with a smile alighting on her face.
"Victoria, you know I don't want to be short tempered with you, but there are a few things about life that you don't understand. Some secrets are better left at the bottom of the ocean."
"So it's a secret?"
They reached the shipyard. She wondered if he would run away from her, but he stayed by her side and she realized how foolish her uncle would look if he did that in front of his men. "A secret?" he repeated in a questioning tone. "Maybe that was the wrong word. What it is doesn't need to be relived. It's not the kind of memory one likes to have. Why are you so concerned about my past?"
She noticed the unusual glances she was getting from most of the men in the cove. A shipyard full of sweaty workers wasn't the place for a lady. One of the men caught her eye and she quickly looked away. She'd almost forgotten what they had been discussing, but then she remembered.
"It's my past too, in a sense."
He sighed. "No, I don't think it is. Your father once lived in this very area, although closer to St. Keverne. He never fit in and when he left, he made the decision that such a life wasn't for him. You're his daughter--"
"I loved my parents and they raised me to have my own mind. I'm interested in the rest of the family because my father never gave me to opportunity to discover them when he was still alive. You're all I have left, uncle. Is it wrong of me to want to learn all I can about you and your family?"
"I have no problem with you learning about the current John Fyn. I just don't feel comfortable with you delving into my past."
The men had started going about their business as usual, most of them over the surprise that she had intruded into their private clique. Men were so foolish sometimes. Her uncle included. "Do you forbid me to look into it?"
He pulled his hat farther down on his forehead. "I'm not going to tell you what to do."
No, he wasn't going to tell her what to do, but he was going to make sure that she knew how displeased he was. Even then, he was frowning. His face was shaded, but his lips were tight, and his expression, adamant. He was looking at something in the distance, or someone. She turned and saw Rafe Randel walking by.
Her uncle shook his head. "Stay away from him, Victoria. That is an order."
She peered under his hat. "I don't--"
"I've heard that he's shown some interest in you. I know you're a smart girl, but he's even smarter. Stay away."
"Do you know him that well?"
"I know his family and Coverack would be a hell of a lot pleasanter if they all left."
"That's a little harsh."
"You wouldn't think so if you knew what he has done."
"Tell me."
He stomped his foot on the ground. "No!"
She thought she had pushed him too far, asked too many questions, even before
her last request. Now he shook his head and left her standing alone on the beach. Her eyes burned.
She looked down the path from which they came and looked toward the sky in frustration. She only hoped she could find her way back.
It was an apt thought, in more ways than one.
Rafe walked by again, but this time he stopped and smiled.
"Hello, Mr. Randel." She spoke in a hushed tone as she walked away from the cove. She didn't want her uncle to see her talking to the person he'd told her to avoid. And, in fact, she really didn't want to be speaking to him. She would have to think of an excuse.
"I saw you with your uncle a few moments ago. I would have stopped, but--"
"I understand."
He smiled again. Or maybe it was just that he'd never stopped smiling.
"I saw you with your beau the other day."
"Alexan--" She took a deep breath. "Mr. Trevelyn is not my beau."
"That's not how it looked."
"I'm not particularly concerned with how it looked to you." Maybe she should trust her uncle more. At least one of his demands was well-founded. Mr. Randel was a twit.
He crossed his arms in front of his body. "Why the sudden mood swing? You seemed happy to see me until I mentioned him."
She realized she was being a little transparent, but his line of questioning was rude. "I don't appreciate you delving into my private affairs."
"Then why do you do it so much to other people?"
Touché, she thought. But how would he know about that? "What have you heard?"
"Nothing. But I'm glad there isn't anything going on between you and Trevelyn."
She hadn't quite said that, and it was just none of his business! But maybe she should have said something to imply she was involved. He was starting to sound like he was going to reveal an attraction for her. Why else would he be glad?
"Don't you want to know why I'm glad?"
He doesn't give up easily, she thought. "I didn't think it was any of my business. I wouldn't want to pry. I should be on my way."
"Oh, but the answer has nothing to do with me. I'm just looking out for you."
"Why don't you tell me whatever it is you're trying to say?"
"Ah, now you're interested. You should be careful around him."
She smiled. "I've been told the same about you." She shook her head with disgust. How had she allowed herself to get into such a conversation? "I have to leave."
"And I'm not surprised." He looked toward the bay. "Goodbye then, Miss Fyn. I hope to see you around."
Since she couldn't claim the same, she didn't reply.
"Remember though, watch out for Mr. Trevelyn."
"Why do you think Alexander is dangerous to me?" she asked in a tone that was frighteningly close to a yell.
"I didn't think you were interested."
She gritted her teeth. "I'd like to have all the information and be able to judge for myself."
"Women don't understand men the way other men do."
"Meaning?"
"That it's instinctual for us. I'm sure you feel the same way about a gold-digging physician's daughter. You can see right through her guise and can't understand how her doting fiancé can't."
"Mr. Randel, I would appreciate it if you just related the facts, rather than skipping around the subject as if it were a burning maypole."
"Maybe some other time." He tipped his hat and stalked off with a frown that distorted his usually plain face.
She was left lots of questions and an uneasy stomach. He'd implied everything without actually saying anything. And now she was left to face an unwelcome truth.
Maybe she was in danger. Maybe she had no business being so friendly with a prominent landowner when she was wanted for murder. For that matter, she had no business letting her emotions become affected by him. Rafe's words had sent a barrage of butterflies aflutter in her stomach. Her heart hadn't even waited for more information before jumping to conclusions. No matter the logic and stupidity of trusting that man as a source of information, her quick reaction showed something about how far she'd let her attraction to Alexander go. She remembered the feel of his hand on the small of her back and shivered with delight.
Rafe Randel was a fathead with slipshod recommendations. He was the one to fear, not Alex. Alex had only shown her compassion and friendliness. Moreover, he'd shown her a kind of passion she hadn't even known existed. And now, he was helping her discover more about her aunt. Where in that description was culpability for mischief?
As Georgia would say, she shouldn't let him give her lip on the subject...or any other subject for that matter. The only person Victoria wanted lip from was Alex, although that was an entirely different sort of lip.
She smiled at the thought of it knowing it was the only thing she was sure of in her confusing, ever-changing life.
Chapter 7
The maid showed Alexander into the drawing room, giving Victoria a look telling her exactly what she thought of a single woman receiving a male visitor. She was easily ignored. Since when did the woman care about propriety in her uncle's house? She was quite sure that her uncle never had.
Regardless, after dealing with both her uncle and Rafe, she was grateful to be visited by a man who actually made her feel good about herself.
Alex smiled at her, but didn't sit down. "What say you to a walk around town?"
She smoothed down the lap of her dress. She didn't want to admit to herself that she was a little disappointed he didn't want to stay. Oh dear, what was she becoming! "I say that I was already on my way out." She stood up quickly before she changed her mind.
He looked around the room and frowned. "It's too nice a day to be cooped up inside."
"Is that why you're never at your own home?"
He grinned. "It's only one of the reasons."
She moved away when he started to approach her. "I was going to the cemetery again."
He reacted to her movement. "I know it's dark in here, dear, but I wasn't going to attack you."
She felt her cheeks warm. "Of course not. That would be most...unacceptable."
He nodded. "And if I were to jump on you, I'd much rather be able to see what I'm doing. But perhaps we should go."
Her stomach turned over in pleasant little somersaults. Her hand went her hair while she watched him walk to the door.
He shot her a curious look. "After you?"
He might have thought he knew a lot about women, but it gave her much pleasure to consider what he didn't realize at that moment. He had no idea what just walking past him would do to her. He had no clue what it was that she was contemplating. But she'd waited long enough.
She took a deep breath and approached the door. Every step brought another delicious and terribly frightening thought. What if he grabbed her when he got the chance? What if her close proximity was too much for him in such a dimly lit, private area and he couldn't help himself from pulling her into his arms? She imagined the release, if only she could contemplate such an occurrence so soon after his arrival. She had to remind herself that they weren't two dogs in the stable yard. They had self-control...didn't they?
She gave him a tentative smile before moving between the other side of the doorframe and his warm body. When she went through the short passage, her skirts brushed his legs and her shoulder pushed against his chest. In truth, his refusal to move back wasn't very gentlemanly. For some reason, that thought fired her even more.
And then she was in the hall. She took several quick short breaths while congratulating herself. She moved slowly and nonchalantly. He never would have guessed what was going through her mind.
But when she glanced back, she was filled with the certainty that the exact same things were on his mind. They needed to get out of that house.
The rest of her movements were quick. She retrieved her gloves from where she'd dropped them and finally remembered to grab her parasol. Or, more specifically, the maid's parasol. Victoria hadn't brought anything
like that from Blackmoore and the girl had insisted that she needed one.
Once outside, she tried to behave less seriously. They began to walk and she realized that it truly was a beautiful day.
But even though the sun was shining and the man that walked at her side filled her with desire--even as they spoke of trivialities--she started to become frightened. It was an unhealthy emotion, especially when she had no reason to suddenly become so edgy. But she couldn't get rid of the feeling, regardless of how foolish it might be.
"How's life been treating you?" she asked, using the phrase she'd heard the servants use so often.
He smiled. "A couple of servants have been complaining of rats."
She shivered. "You need a cat."
"There's a boy in town that does a little rat catching. I'm sure he can take care of it. And I can always get some arsenic."
She tripped over her own two feet and the hands that came out to steady her were cold. "Is it that easy to obtain?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
She wondered when they would get to the cemetery. Although it was an odd feeling to have, she couldn't wait to have something else to talk about.
"You seem a little bothered, Victoria."
"I was just thinking of the danger of arsenic. It's not safe, is it?" At the last moment she had feigned ignorance. But of course anyone would know that it wasn't safe and she was letting her anxiety color her speech.
"There's no danger if used correctly. If used sinisterly, however, it can be deadly." He steeped over a fallen log and helped her cross to the other side. "I don't know why I'm taking a lady along such a treacherous path."
If there was anything treacherous about that day, it certainly wasn't the path. "Well," she said, "it was my decision to come this way. You hadn't much of a choice."
He raised his eyebrows and she wondered to where the warmth of the scene in the drawing room had disappeared.
Of course, she'd had that premonition of disaster once they'd begun the walk. Maybe she perceived his words as something other than the way they were since she was feeling so uneasy. She might have convinced herself of that, but then he said it.
