Anne stepped back and issued a low whistle of approval.
“What brought this on?” She questioned, her brows lifting as she performed a slow inspection.
“I was told I needed to relax and refrain from being such a stiff shirt.” He supplied easily, his attention returning to Kate. Anne was quick to notice and bit back a smile.
“Well, I think it's an improvement.” She provided. “Don't you, Kate?”
Kate hadn't heard a word. Anne stifled a laugh, looking between the pair, not expecting an answer. There was a wealth of unspoken emotion evident and, she gleefully noted, an intense physical attraction.
“We should gather these things up, Anne.” Kate suggested with an obvious breathlessness.
She lowered her head and removed her damp jacket, stopping when she felt Dante's hands on her shoulders. Kate closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, barely hearing Anne's chattering voice as she collected her many purchases.
“Hello, sweet Kate.” Dante murmured, slipping the jacket from her shoulders, his lips close to her ear. A delicious heat radiated from him, warming her as she turned to take the jacket from his grasp. She tugged on the wet material, realizing he didn’t intend to release it until she looked at him.
It was the wrong thing to do.
“Hello, Dante.” She responded breathlessly, recalling the last time he had been so close.
“Are you infuriated with me, sweet Kate?” He questioned with huskily pronounced seriousness, his grip on her jacket lightening. Kate didn't answer and his lips quirked, displaying the familiar dimple.
“You're stubborn.” He issued the statement beneath his breath.
“Stubborn?” She snorted derisively at the word, pulling a wry face.
“Aye, a stubborn wench, madam,” he re-emphasized the comment, dropping the jacket to the floor. He folded his arms across his chest, pulling the tautness of his shirt over firm muscles.
“I've the ability to be just as stubborn as you, Leslie.” Kate placed specific emphasis on his legal name. She hated being addressed as madam and wanted to strike out, angry at the wild coil of emotions tightening within her aching body.
Dante lowered his head and inhaled a steadying breath, his hands falling to his sides. Silently, Anne left the foyer, her retreat unnoticed. He gave Kate a resigned nod, indicating his study with the upturned lift of one hand.
“I wish to speak with you.”
Kate turned on her heel. She drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin into the air as she made her way into the familiar room. She didn't take her usual seat on the worn sofa. Instead, she perched on the edge of his desk, waiting for him to close the door.
Dante folded his arms across his chest and planted his legs firmly apart, a stance that clearly brooked a no nonsense attitude. Kate felt a slight shudder envelop her that she quickly stifled.
“I'm not as mad as I was, Leslie.” She began, biting her lip as he moved close.
“Desist with the bloody damn Leslie!” He ordered in a near shout. Dante stared into her brightly flushed features and shook his head in a weary gesture, his next words scarcely audible as he moved across the room. “God, I hate that name.”
“As much as I despise the madam?”
He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring and his brows drawing deeply together. “Point taken.”
Kate's smile was visible as she tilted her head upwards to stare into his face, her eyes softening.
“I'm not angry.” She provided gently.
“No?” He questioned, his brows arching. “I don't believe you.”
Kate, staring deeply into his eyes, incapable of speak. She was incapable of interpreting the emotions flitting in his eyes. Nervously, she whetted her lips; unaware of the unconscious evocativeness of the action nearly brought him to his knees.
Dante issued a strangled groan at the felt pain shooting through him. He couldn't tell her of the frustration plaguing him since Budapest, how he hungered for her touch with an intensity that drove him mad. He closed his eyes and released a rough sigh, raking an unsteady hand through his hair. She was a temptress and the events of many a long night without the feel of her in his arms, hadn't aided his disposition.
He stared into her upturned face, meaning to memorize every detail of her. Dante was drowning in a rapidly spiraling eddy, the sexual tension he felt, the memory of her touch and kiss, a constant reminder to him. He longed to pull her into his arms and continue where everything left off, before his trip.
“I apologize, Dante.” Kate whispered, unable to look him directly in the eye. “I mean, about what happened. It shouldn't have….”
“Apologies aren't necessary.” He grumbled uncomfortably, relieved she was unable to witness the pale red hue of his cheeks. He was disconcerted by his reactions to her, at times. One moment he felt the over protective giant who wanted to envelop her in the safe harbor of his arms, and the next moment, he was a bumbling youth, all legs and arms. He swallowed hard, staring at her bright head.
“Dante,” his name was issued hesitantly and Kate's head remaining lowered. “I should apologize.”
“Kate, I was wrong. The other night shouldn't have happened.” He conceded patiently, using an unsteady finger to chuck her chin upwards. “I must, most humbly, beg your forgiveness.”
Kate managed a weak smile and a long-suffering look that begged him to kiss her. Dante gulped audibly, his throat convulsing and shook his head in disbelief. He turned away, striving to place as much distance between them as possible.
He walked to the windows, his broad shoulders stiff, his hands moving to entwine and clench behind his back. With unseeing eyes, he stared out at the bare branches of the roses his ancestor planted two centuries ago. His gaze traveled to the hedges in the distance, then to the gnarled limbs of the ancient trees before he spoke to her.
“I discovered information that may be of some interest to you.” His voice was musically soft and Kate strained to hear each syllable.
Kate's eyes flew wide and utter astonishment filled her pale features.
“What?” She asked, unable to believe her ears.
“I found your Howard Bennett.” The words seemed torn from deep within him. “Or, as he was known before his arrival in your country, Howard Burnett.”
“Burnett?” Kate was puzzled.
“I gained access some of the databases you mentioned and compared them to my family's ledgers.” He admitted. “Howard changed his name before he boarded ship and sailed to the colonies. With that in mind, I traced the man to the district of his birth through our own English census forms and christening records.”
“You did?” Kate attempted to stifle her burst of excitement. He nodded in slow response. “Howard Burnett, or Bennett, appears to have been closer than previously assumed.”
Kate was unable to control her compulsive nature as he turned to face her. Dante had a moment to steel himself before she flung her arms exuberantly about him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“I knew the information would have to be here! I felt it in my heart!” Her words escaped her in a breathless rush, falling from her in a barely understandable and jumbled heap. She had known the information she sought was here, at Colinwood. Kate felt the sureness deep within, echoed by Adam's reassurance that their family originated in this area, his gut feeling as intense as her beliefs.
Kate sighed pleasurably before Dante's arm slipped about her. He held her close, nearly crushing the breath from her. She savored the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear and his arms felt comforting, a haven for her wounded soul when she realized Adam's quest had ended.
Dante shuddered, burying his face in the soft cloud of her bright hair. He wanted to hold her forever, to encompass her in the shelter of his love. Immediately, realizing the trail of his thoughts, he released her.
“What did you find?” Kate inquired inquisitively and pulled away from him. She had to learn to control herself, knowing he was a dangerous temptation. To her relief, D
ante jerked away and moved to the cluttered mass of paperwork on his desk. He reached for an unlabeled folder, pausing before he handed it to her.
“These are the documents I printed from the web site.” He provided as she threw the folder open. Dante reached for a ledger concealed under the mound of folders he brought from work, the buttery binding of the leather ancient. Kate eagerly waited, bouncing on her feet as he opened the volume to the marked page. She expelled a baited breath as he leaned closer, pointing to her ancestor's name.
“Here.” Dante indicated the line to her as his immaculately groomed finger slid down a long column and paused mid-page. Kate held her breath, her heart pounding rapidly as the warmth of his body press closer to her side. With near reverence, she stared down at the indicated page in awe.
“Howard Burnett.” She whispered, the scrawling script announcing her ancestor's date of birth and parents.
“Satisfied?”
“Adam was right!” Her tone was reverent. “He was a bookkeeper, after all.”
“Not merely any bookkeeper.” He provided. “Burnett was Colin's bookkeeper, at a neighboring property. As you can see, he left for the colonies before Lord Nathan's wedding.”
“Oh.” She managed in amazement, unable to believe the information. “The information coincides with ours, when he left for the colonies, the name of the ship and the cost of passage!”
“Yes.” He responded, inhaling her scent. “Although for him to depart Colinwood so swiftly does raise a few unanswered questions.”
Chapter Fourteen
The snifter of brandy remained untouched, the glass hanging loosely from his fingers and nearly spilling. Silent, he stood before the arched hall windows, staring into the darkness. The breeze, emanating from the distant shorelines, whistled a lonesome and plaintive lament. From beyond the beveled windows of the unlit hall, the naked limbs of trees swayed and arched with each current of air.
The hour was late and what remained of the night was as dark as soot. The shimmering promise of the full moon and the twinkle of numerous stars were absent. The pallid orb forsook him, remaining concealed behind the threatening weight of heavy clouds.
His thoughts were weighty and brooding. He knew the day would deteriorate, the sensation having been prevalent earlier. Matters progressively worsened and Anne's words still echoed in his head. Her request was her absolute right, but it didn't make the subject any easier. Dante had ignored her inquiries over the years, having long ago determined the subject unnecessary.
The clouds overhead divided abruptly, enabling the faintest flicker of pearl-gray light to filter into the darkened hall. The beams danced, wavering off the portraits lining the high wall, the faces of his ancestors mercilessly regarding him.
Dante reveled in the tranquility. The house was as quiet as a tomb, the silence interrupted only by the resonant chiming of a distance clock. He savored the serenity the late hour offered, his sanity after the troubles of the hectic day. In any case, he didn't yearn to behold his daughter's unspoken anguish. He was evading the unavoidable conflict simmering beneath his child's obstinately mute façade. He didn't need to be reminded of his sordid history, nor did he want his daughter to be privy to his long concealed, craven behavior.
Dante rubbed the nape of his neck, seeking to ease tense muscles. Exhausted, he pressed his throbbing forehead against the coolness of the century old window, tensing when he detected the sound of an opening door. His body betrayed his displeasure as he withdrew from the soothing solace offered by the chilled glass. His mutinous gaze rose to the faint glow of the moon and his grimace was black. Dante focused on the shadowed landscape, attempting to vanquish the thoughts ruthlessly pummeling him.
Her bare feet were noiseless as she trod across the plush carpeting. As she approached him, she paused, turning her back to tighten the sash on her robe. She had grown accustomed to the faint sounds of movement weeks ago. Restlessly, Dante stalked the passageways in the late hours. Tonight, he hadn't left his position before the windows for more than an hour.
She retired to her bedchamber hours ago, flinching from the sound of Anne's defiantly raised voice, emanating from the study. The girl begged and pleaded, her words audible from beyond the closed doors, for Dante to provide her with a name. Judging from the tone the girl used, the identity of her mother remained a secret. Kate sympathized, understanding Anne's plight. She had a desire to know, but the confrontation left the man she loved broken and battered.
It was a monumental attempt for her to gather every vestige of her courage to approach him.
Kate slipped to his side, registering that he firmly refused to welcome her appearance. She pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her robe, her mind working rapidly, the chill temperature outside radiating from the large windows. In the luminescence of the leaded glass, she stared at her barely discernible and distorted reflection before slipping to his morose image.
She was unaware of the beguiling portrait she presented to the brooding earl. Her hair, damp from the heat of her bath, curled into a soft cloud about her face. Now, Kate didn't appear much older than his daughter did.
“Do you plan to drink that or let it age a bit more?” She posed in an attempt at feigned lightness she didn't feel. He frowned and looked down at the glass, swirling the liquid about in contemplation.
“I haven't quite decided.” He countered, his concentration immersed in the movement of the brandy. With a noncommittal shrug, he brought the snifter to his mouth and downed the liquor, pursing his lips as it burnt a hardy path. He didn't look at her, his gaze returning to the darkness of the night, the moonlight casting diabolical shadows across his face.
Kate remained silent. Her rapt attention absorbed the full-length of him reflected in the windowpanes. Dante had removed the dark jacket to his suit and abandoned the conventional vest hours ago. His knotted tie hung from the collar of his shirt, where the long row of unfastened buttons revealed his bare torso. His cuff links were cast aside and his shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows. Despite his relaxed appearance, he was agitated.
She had grown accustomed to Dante's cutting wit and quick smile, but the figure before her was a different man. Kate hadn't anticipated the reaction she overheard, his voice raised to a deafening decibel as he shouted his denial to his daughter's demand. She was uncertain about how to make him comprehend Anne's dilemma.
“Adam became interested in our family in his teens.” Kate began tentatively, her voice nearly a hushed rustling. There was a faint tightening of his shoulders, but he refrained from answering or looking at her. Hesitantly, she continued. “Our mother raised us, without support and a father. We didn't know who he was, where he lived, or what he looked like.”
She paused as she remembered her mother, a shadowy smile adorning her lips, the salty sting of tears burning her eyes. “Single family homes are common in today's world, I suppose, but the lack of a father weighed on Adam. He was the inquisitive one, always wanting to know why.”
The silence was deafening, further accentuated as the glowing moon disappeared behind the heavy clouds, shrouding the landscape in a weighty darkness. Kate searched the stark outline of his profile, but was unable to discern Dante's true emotions.
“Was it a hindrance, the not knowing?” His query was enunciated in a low and gravelly tone. Kate was grateful she remained at his side, knowing the words would have been lost if she had moved. She shrugged uncertainly.
“I suppose it was, when I was younger. Everyone had a father, except for me. As I became older, I saw the breakup of too many homes, the lack of either the father or mother, and I realized I didn't care.” She conceded bluntly. “I watched my mother struggle my entire life. She had two jobs, working herself to the bone to pay the mounting bills and give us a good life. I didn't need a father, I needed her. I watched her age before my eyes, the years passing faster than imagined. I wonder, now, if she was hoped he would return for her.”
“I assume his reunion with your mothe
r never occurred?”
“We were the only people at her funeral, as well as a handful of her coworkers.” Her words lacked the expected bitterness, echoing with pain she assumed vanished.
Dante emitted a grave sigh.
“He, your father, wasn’t needed?”
“I had my mother and Adam. We had one another, afterwards. Anne has…?”
“Myself.”
“Sometimes,” Kate paused, inhaling deeply. “That's not enough.”
“Kate, leave the matter well enough alone.” The command was evident in the rough words. Dante shifted on his feet, placing the empty glass on a nearby table. His features were shadowed, but Kate could sense the unspoken agitation.
“For Anne's sake, I can't.”
Dante's jaw tightened. “Has Anne requested your aid?”
“No, Anne would never ask me.” Kate furnished. “She's curious, Dante. She wants to know the truth.”
“The truth, as you succinctly put it, is exceedingly repulsive.” The response was dispiriting.
“Anne says she can't ask you anything about her birth mother without you shutting her off.”
She sensed, rather than saw, Dante wearily rub at his face.
“I don't intend to shut her off, as you succinctly phrase it.”
“Really?” Kate couldn't keep the bitter skepticism from her tone. “Need I remind you the entire countryside heard you tonight?”
He dropped his head in mute affirmation to her cutting words.
“Kate, you can't conceivably comprehend….”
“Why all the secrecy?”
“Damn it, Kate!” He twisted with unforeseen fierceness to confront her, his stance rigid, the words growled from deep within his throat. It took every ounce of available willpower Kate had not to flinch. “You're overstepping your boundaries!”
My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga) Page 16
