Thorncroft Manor (A Novella)

by Nora Covington

  Bramwell approached and smiled approvingly. “Put your arms around my neck,” he spoke firmly. A second later, he lifted her up.

  “Good Lord, Mr. Croft, must you be so impatient?” she balked.

  “Back to Mr. Croft, is it?” He spun around and carried her down the stairs to the dining room. As he descended the staircase, his eyes lowered to her amble bosom spilling over the low neckline. Her soft, ivory-colored flesh looked sublime.

  As he approached the dining hall and sat Caroline in her seat, he placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “You look very charming this evening.”

  Caroline’s eyes followed him as he sat at the head of the table. “You seem to have taken particular interest in your appearance this evening as well,” she remarked in a tone of sarcasm.

  “Yes. And I have even ordered a special meal for the occasion.” He reached over and squeezed her hand affectionately. Caroline withdrew from his touch.

  “Pearson!” he shouted.

  “Coming, sir” he replied. The butler scurried across the dining room holding a platter with a large roast. He set it in front of Bramwell and handed him a carving knife. “Dinner as requested, sir.”

  The aroma of freshly cook beef filled his nostrils. He smiled at Caroline, whose eyes had grown wide with amazement.

  “Don’t tell me you slaughtered a cow?” she asked with a chuckle.

  “I told you, I have no cows,” he replied glibly. Bramwell poked a large fork into the roast and began carving.

  “Very well then,” she concluded. “It appears that I am being treated by the handiwork of a butcher in Pendeen.” She looked like a dog about to drool. “It does smell much better than venison, don’t you agree?”

  Bramwell shook his head as he continued to carve. “Well, that, I am afraid, is debatable, Caroline.”

  Pearson served potatoes, gravy, a variety of garden vegetables, and placed a loaf of hot bread upon the table. Bramwell served Caroline a hefty portion of beef. “Bon appétit,” he said with a clever grin.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking that we should acquire for you a pair of crutches. As it appears that you will be staying much longer than anticipated, it might be helpful if you could at least move around by yourself when I am away.”

  She laid her fork across her plate and dabbed her lips with a napkin. “My mother informed me today that you had a conversation with her about my recovery. Did you convince her that she should leave me behind at Thorncroft and return to London?”

  Bramwell paused from his meal. He looked into Caroline’s eyes, surprised to see concern. “Well, I merely assured her that you would be well taken care of,” he replied, making light of it.

  “Even the surgeon seems to think I need to stay put. Did you convince him as well?”

  Bramwell winced over her sharp tone. “And your point is?” he asked, shooting her an irritated glance.

  “I am beginning to feel like a caged bird.”

  Bramwell snickered. “Oh, come, come, Caroline.” He turned his head and looked over at his butler. “Pearson, are we keeping Miss Woodard a prisoner at Thorncroft?”

  “No, of course not,” he answered. Caroline scrutinized Pearson’s reaction as he replied.

  “See, even my staff thinks I am simply being hospitable.” Bramwell gave her a reassuring smile. “I will admit that it is nice having you here, even if it is your fault.”

  “You keep reminding me,” she shot back. Caroline resumed her dining, slowly savoring each morsel of beef.

  He had to appease her somewhat. “If it will make you feel better, I will keep venison off the menu during your recuperation and accommodate your tastes. You may speak with Mrs. Williams in the morning and give her your preferences for future meals.”

  “How kind of you to oblige my palate,” she replied with a snotty attitude. “However, I wouldn’t wish to keep you from your latest kill.”

  Once again, Caroline’s razor-sharp sarcasm had succeeded in slicing him like a knife. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in her direction. “Nothing keeps me from the kill, my dear,” he conveyed chillingly. “I enjoy the hunt, as much as you enjoy your beef.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she leaned away from his encroachment. The distraught look in her eyes confirmed his suspicions that she did not trust him. Regardless of her sentiments, he enjoyed glancing at the brilliant red dress that pushed her breasts into plump circles.

  It was true that she possessed a sharp and critical tongue. However, to offset that negative trait, Caroline Woodard also possessed a few redeeming qualities that he immensely admired.

  * * * *

  Caroline tried to hold her tongue and enjoy the wonderful taste of roast beef. As usual, she found it hard to do so. The more time that transpired between them, the more she believed he had planned all along to keep her at Thorncroft for some bizarre purpose. He was correct on one point. She had no one to blame but herself for storming off on a horse. The man so grated upon her nerves at times. Who wouldn’t want to run in the opposite direction?

  After dinner, he carried her into the sitting room. By the smug look on his face, he felt quite pleased over the outcome of dinner. Caroline could not help but be perplexed by his actions. One second he would be impatient and authoritative and then another genteel and intriguing.

  “Give Miss Woodard another glass of red wine,” he ordered Pearson. “And bring my usual brandy.”

  Merlin wandered over to Caroline and sniffed at her dress, no doubt smelling the former owner’s scent. Afterward, he laid his head down upon her thigh again and looked up at her as if to ask for a pet. Caroline obliged.

  “He does seem to like you,” Bramwell spoke. He lit a cigar and leaned back into the chair. Pearson returned with the drinks.

  “Merlin, go lay down and let the lady sit in peace,” he ordered. As usual, the dog obeyed and plopped down in front of the fireplace and heaved a disappointed sigh.

  Caroline took the glass and sipped the wine while keeping her gaze upon the burning logs. As often as he offered her alcohol since her arrival, she was convinced he used it to tame her moods. After a few minutes of silence, she glanced at Bramwell who sat quietly staring at her like a panther considering his next meal. The hungry look in his eyes startled her, and she inhaled a quick breath and held it.

  “You are afraid of me, aren’t you?”

  “Afraid?” Her voice cracked. “Not really,” she lied. “However, I do find you morbidly fascinating.”

  Bramwell laughed. “Morbidly fascinating? Well, even Rebecca never termed my personality as such—nor Darby, for that matter.”

  “What descriptive term did she use to define your characteristics?”

  His smile faded, and his eyes shifted over to Merlin sulking on the floor. “There are times, Caroline, that I do not appreciate you prying into my personal affairs.” He spoke sharply.

  Caroline stiffened over his unpleasant tone. His head turned, and he flashed an intimidating look of contempt.

  “I have come to the conclusion that you have been snooping about Rebecca’s things again. To my surprise, I discovered an envelope underneath your body last evening.”

  His breathing turned agitated as he leaned toward her, sitting only a few feet away. Bramwell’s overbearing presence caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. Once again her nosiness had gotten her in trouble.

  “I came about it by accident while looking in the vanity drawer for a brush to comb my hair.”

  He loudly scoffed at her answer. “Come, come, Caroline. You can do better than that excuse. I know every inch of Rebecca’s room and the whereabouts of her belongings. Her brush rested upon the vanity top, not inside the drawer.”

  His loud voice caused the dog to stir and lift his head. She heard Pearson’s footsteps approach, and he cleared his voice as if to calm Bramwell. “Would either of you care for another drink?”

  Bramwell shoved his glass in his direction, and Pearson grabbed it. “Miss Woodard, might I refill yours?”<
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  Caroline lifted her head and looked into Pearson’s eyes, which looked sympathetic. Her nerves were on edge, and alcohol would help. “Yes, please,” she replied meekly.

  Pearson retreated, and Bramwell leaned back into his chair. “I’m assuming you read its contents and have questions.”

  “Your personal affairs are none of my business, Mr. Croft. I apologize for having gone through Rebecca’s belongings without your permission.” Caroline sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for Bramwell to snap back. Instead, he rose to his feet, picked up the iron poker, and began stabbing the logs as he had done the night before. By the thrust of his arm, he appeared highly agitated. She swallowed the lump in her throat as Pearson returned with libations.

  “Your wine,” he announced, stretching forth a glass. “And for you sir, another spot of brandy.”

  Bramwell placed the poker back in the stand and took the glass from Pearson’s hand. “That will be all, Pearson. You can retire for the evening.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Caroline watched him retreat but hoped that he would stay near should something happen. What did she expect to happen?

  After taking a sip of brandy, he set the glass down on a table. “It is getting too warm in here for all these clothes,” he said. He slipped his arms out of his coat and hung it on the back of his chair. Then to her utter surprise, he removed his cravat and unfastened the first three buttons of his shirt, revealing his upper chest.

  “Much better,” he sighed in relief. Bramwell repositioned himself comfortably in his chair.

  Caroline impulsively stared at him as he sat quietly brooding, staring at the flames and sipping his brandy. The fire danced a golden glow off his bare skin that she found strikingly alluring. When he was not scowling or yelling for the servants, she had to admit that his countenance appeared most pleasing. He exuded an air of superiority tinged with a mysterious aura. The wine relaxed her nerves, and her cheeks flushed as her body temperature rose.

  “Reginald.” Bramwell uttered the name. “I am sure you are wondering who the man is based on the content of the letter that you read.”

  He turned and looked at her with a distinct sadness in his eyes. “My estranged, younger brother,” he admitted.

  “Oh,” she responded. Surprised and speechless, she dared say nothing more.

  “I’m assuming you read the contents?”

  Caroline shook her head affirmatively.

  “Then that is the whole of it, now isn’t it? She left me for another, or at least tried to leave me,” he blurted with heated anger.

  The fine dinner that lay in Caroline’s stomach turned sour over his comment. His voice, filled with scorn, caused her to shift in her chair uncomfortably. Fear rose in her heart that she sat next to a man who may have murdered his lover. He had revealed a motive that made a crime of passion plausible.

  Bramwell brought his glass to his mouth and emptied the contents. “Well, it is late, and I am assuming you are fatigued and wish to retire.” He rose to his feet. “Besides, I am not in the mood to talk any longer.”

  Bramwell took a step toward her and peered down, hovering above her body. However, his eyes did not meet hers. Instead they surveyed her bosom, now pink and flush from the wine she had drunk. He leaned down and placed his hands on the armrests. If she had wondered about being a captive beforehand, it suddenly became a reality.

  His shirt gaped open before her eyes, revealing his muscular frame underneath. The scent of his body aroused sensations underneath her skin. She dare not lift her gaze to his eyes, so she shut her eyelids tightly and inhaled a deep breath.

  “You appear to be somewhat uncomfortable, Caroline,” he breathed hotly. “I have an insatiable urge to kiss you and touch your silky, smooth skin.”

  “Please, you are making me quite uncomfortable, Mr. Croft.” Caroline’s voice trembled. Warily she opened her eyes to see him only inches away from her face. His mouth hungered for her, and she knew that the man beneath the open shirt hungered for more than her lips.

  She felt cornered, vulnerable, and unable to leap to her feet to run for her life. Nevertheless, to her utter shame, she wanted him. As frightful as he could be, she felt an unexplainable attraction. She was the moth. He was the flame. Unlike other men she had known, Bramwell challenged her in every way possible. The realization that he wanted to conquer her at that moment caused her womanly urges to arouse.

  His right hand released the armrest and came to her chin. With his warm fingers, he raised her face upward until she looked at him in the eyes.

  “I believe the only reason you are uncomfortable, Miss Woodard, is that you want me to kiss you.” He paused for a moment, grinning mischievously. “And I think that I will.”

  Perhaps she should have protested for the sake of propriety, but all had been lost when his lips met her mouth. Every ounce of resistance and strength melted from the heat of desire she felt flow through her body.

  When he had finished marking his claim, he lifted her up. “It is definitely past your bedtime,” he boldly proclaimed.

  Caroline grasped him about the neck. His hot flesh underneath her hand burned. With each step that drew him closer to her room, her heart pounded in her chest, afraid of what would come next. Did he mean to take her without permission? Would she weaken under his spell and beg for it?

  “Oh, dear God!” she blurted out. She buried her head in his shoulder, hiding from the shameful longing coursing through her body. They entered the room, and he shoved the door closed with the heel of his boot. He placed her on top of the bed, and she gasped in shock as he tore his shirt off, baring his naked flesh.

  “Bramwell, what are you doing?” she asked in a shrill voice.

  “What do you think?”

  She knew what he wanted and quivered with dread. Nonetheless, Bramwell sensed her desire that she could not suppress. Slowly he reclined next to her body. Before she could protest, his lips pulled her into a kiss of passion. Caroline moaned over the assault. He explored her mouth with his tongue, and her body moistened in response. She had never felt such a glorious ache of desire as she did at that moment.

  He released her lips and glided his hand teasingly across the top of her bosom. When his palm cupped her breast, she knew he planned to expose her flesh and expertly use his tongue elsewhere. As he started to pull her bodice downward, she stiffened in protest.

  “Please, I beg you,” she cried. “Don’t do this to me.” Bramwell drew away, but she still felt the heat emanating from his body. She had become the helpless victim of his domination.

  “Tell me you do not want me, Caroline, and I will leave.”

  She had to lie! “You will… ruin me,” she gasped between her words. “I am not your Rebecca.”

  “No, you are not. She is dead, but you are alive. It is you that I want, not a memory.” His fingertips traced the bottom of her lip. “Let me teach you pleasure,” his voice drawled in temptation. “When I am finished bringing you to ecstasy, you will beg to stay with me and never want to leave.”

  Caroline closed her eyes. The weight of his form pressed down upon her body. He had placed her in physical restraint, and his erection pressed hard against her abdomen. She ached for its entry. She wanted him so much that it hurt more than the pain she had experienced in her leg. Nevertheless, her good sense screamed caution. Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat and looked into his eyes.

  “No, please get off of me,” she sternly replied. She placed the palms of her hands upon his chest and attempted to shove him away. To her surprise, he swiftly relented and rose from the bed. A mixture of anger and disillusionment flashed across his face.

  “As you wish, Miss Woodard,” he said in a clipped tone. He angrily snatched his shirt from the floor and slipped his arms through the sleeves. “If you will excuse me, I shall trouble you no longer.” A second later, he disappeared through the door, giving her no time to respond to his hasty departure.

  Stunned, Caroline sat
up in bed. Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum. The room grew strangely quiet, and her arms felt unbearably empty. “My God,” she heaved. “I would have let him ravish me and been helpless to resist!”

  A soft knock came at the door that startled her. “It is me, miss. The master says that you need help to prepare for bed.”

  At the sound of Millie’s voice, she sighed in relief. “You may come in.”

  Millie entered and sniffed the air in the room. “My goodness, it’s hot and stuffy in here,” she said, walking over to the window and pulling it up a crack. A slight breeze blew inside, rustling the sheer curtains. “That should help cool it down a bit.”

  She drew near to Caroline. “Well, now, did you have a good evening with the master?’

  “Yes, it was a fine.” Caroline hesitated to say anything more.

  “Stand up and let me help you out of that pretty dress.”

  Caroline did not protest. Her heart was heavy, the room now chilled, and her body burned for what she had rejected.

  Apologetic Blame

  “I have come to apologize for my behavior last evening.”

  Bramwell stood in her doorway. Millie had just brought her breakfast and left only moments beforehand. Suspiciously she lifted her eyes to see his repentant countenance waiting for her absolution.

  “All right, I’m waiting.” His mere announcement was not enough.

  “What more do you want me to say?” he glowered. “I told you that I came to apologize.” He took a step further into the room.

  “Well, that is not an apology. You just announced that you came to do it, but I have not heard anything.” Caroline wanted him to get on with it because she was hungry and irritated. Instead he remained silent, as if he were pondering the right words. She noted his clenched fist at his side.

  “To be blunt, a portion of what transpired between us was your fault too. You should also rise to the occasion and apologize to me.” He took another step in her direction and halted.

  “I beg your pardon,” she declared. “What did I do? You are the one who took liberties.” Caroline wanted to get out of the bed and slap his scruffy face.