by Julia Donner
For some reason, today she allowed him another glimpse into the window of her inner self. The brief weakness had nearly broken his restraint. He’d checked himself in time from reaching out to comfort her.
Tatiana Worth was a woman he’d wanted at first sight. It was one thing to ache for her bodily and a very different thing to yearn for her soul. As time passed, his craving for her company and body increased. That slight dropping of her guard rocked him with the urgent need to cross the room and connect with her, even if nothing more than a touch of her hand. He feared he wouldn’t be able to stop if he embraced her.
He spent the rest of the day in a haze of thinking about her. Tonight, like every night since he’d seen her at the Goring party, he’d lain awake attempting to sort out what it was about this particular woman that made her so impossible to resist. He understood his draw to her courage and integrity, virtues that shrieked their existence the moment she walked into a room. She was a woman who would never cower, never back down, fight to the end until there was nothing left and still not give up nor give in. He admired that, thrilled to that sort of resolution. His sisters didn’t have it, but he didn’t love them less, nor did he expect them to have the attributes and character that attracted him and that he expected in a wife. But she was married.
Restless heat made him fling aside the bedclothes. He rolled from his side to his back and stared up at the darkness under the canopy overhead. Where was the husband? There was never any sign or mention of the man. Perhaps he had died and the subject was too delicate for discussion. He hoped Worth was dead. Run-off, more likely. It didn’t matter. The man would have to be deceased for Mrs. Worth to allow herself involvement with another man. The violence of his yen for the lady was beginning to form ugly ideas of how to get the impediment removed.
If one were to contemplate the breaking of a commandment, which one was worse, adultery or murder? Well, not murder, if he could engage the husband in a duel. But he doubted a man so careless of his wife would show his face for a duel. More likely Tatiana would show up in the husband’s place.
The image of her standing with a pistol, chin up, ready to take on all comers, flamed an unrelenting physical condition that took all of his will to control. There was the problem of gentlemen’s well-tailored clothing leaving little to one’s modesty. His focus on his sisters had saved him. He had no idea what he was going to do when they weren’t with him to use as a distraction. Mrs. Worth set every cell to attention by merely being present. His unmanageable reaction to her had become ludicrous, as exasperating as it was infuriating.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her most recent lapse, the crack in her regal veneer that exposed a hint of the roiling emotions she kept buried inside. Her eyes had widened and lips parted. Excitement and yearning had gleamed in the depths. She had leaned slightly forward, her lithe figure straining its internal bindings, then she looked inward. He knew in that brief moment she fought going to him. But what if she had given in to the siren within?
Sizzling heated scorched his veins as he imagined what would happen when she let slip the leash she gripped on contained passion. Once she had a taste, she might not want to continue to do without. He yearned to know her in every way, physically, spiritually and emotionally. He hungered to appreciate every facet of her being, savor all that she embodied. He flipped the covers aside and hiked up his nightshirt, settling for the lesser pleasure.
How would she react if he grasped a handful of that black hair, securing her for all time as he lost himself inside her? A guttural moan came with the release, easing the ache in his loins but not the one lodged in his chest. In a way, he didn’t mind the constant heartache. It was a way to keep her with him until he found an excuse, other than his real devotion to his sisters, to visit and lust over the headmistress, and start a liaison with a married woman—something he’d vowed he would never do. At least being married she would understand the rules. He had no patience for wilting virgins.
Chapter 6
When Ana returned from a visit to Hensley’s covey with a half dozen grouse, she heard that Carnall had stopped by the school with packages for his sisters. Brothers didn’t usually drop off parcels from London merchants in person, nor did they visit as often as the marquis, but Carnall had a greater depth of attachment than most brothers. Ana began to understand this better after hearing a tidbit of information from Aunt Thisbe.
The sisters had confided in her aunt about how they had missed Carnall, then Mr. St. Claire, when he was away at university, and later, when he accepted a position as secretary to a Dublin magistrate. A nonspecific incident that nearly cost him his life had occurred during the time he was separated from them, before he unexpectedly came into title. Aunt Thisbe hoped to hear more about this mystery but also stated that it might not be in her power to share the particulars. Ana had no burning need to pry into a personal subject, while unable to curb a hunger to hear whatever could be learned about Carnall.
One aspect regarding the girls brought her relief. The students readily accepted Charlotte and Mary Kathleen, if not for the fact of their handsome brother’s title and availability, then for their endearing personalities. The St. Claire sisters were somewhat quiet and shy but never anything but kind and good-hearted. Some of the other students had been exposed to a London season. They had a poise and polish to their manner that could not be seen in Charlotte and Mary Kathleen. Ana hoped the St, Claire girls didn’t emulate the more sophisticated mode from exposure to the more “sophisticated” students, especially Lady Caroline Wrexall.
Four students at the academy shared the name of Caroline, but none had the disinterested reserve and detachment of Lady Caroline Wrexall, an attitude that had hardened after failing to capture a marriage proposal last season. Her parents had written a letter of complaint, as if Worth Academy were to blame for their daughter’s off-putting arrogance. After reading it, Ana could see where the girl got her entitlement attitude and lack of genteel manner. Mary Kathleen and Charlotte inhabited the other end of the personality spectrum. Their uncomplicated and pleasing natures would find welcome in the strictures of London Society’s stilted atmosphere. They would provide a refreshing dose of change. Add to that their substantial dowries and they were sure to take, if not become the rage.
When knuckles rapped on wood, Ana flinched, muttered at the splatter of ink spotting the ledger page, and called, “Enter.”
Elsie peered around the edge of the door, glanced behind her, then came inside. Approaching the desk, she whispered, “He’s here, ma’am.”
With a lift of her eyebrows, Ana asked a silent question. Elsie leaned down to softly say, “His lordship.”
“Which one?”
“The marquis, ma’am.”
Ana scratched off the smudged blot on the parchment. “Then show him to the ground floor drawing room and fetch his sisters.”
She didn’t go back to making entries in the ledger because her mind went foggy and her ridiculous heart started racing the moment she heard that Carnall was in the house. Trembling fingers would betray her to Elsie. She hid them under the desk and fisted them on her lap.
“Ma’am?” Elsie persisted.
“Yes?”
“He’s not asking for his sisters. He wishes to speak to you.”
Ana inhaled a slow breath and flexed her fingers. She picked up the quill from where she’d placed it in the ledger to mark the place and placed it on its stand. She closed the ink Standish, saying, “I see. There is no need to whisper. Please show his lordship in.”
“Will you be wanting—”
“No. No tray. If he should want anything, it would be claret and we have none left.”
Elsie nodded and went to fetch Carnall, undoubtedly cooling his heels in the passageway. Ana could think of no reason for Elsie to whisper, although whenever she spoke of the marquis, it was in a hushed tone of awed reverence.
Ana hadn’t expected to receive any visitors and had dressed in an unadorned day frock of faded blue muslin. S
he belatedly recalled that she plaited her hair in a single braid. Ink smudges darkened her fingers and she wore her oldest pair of flats. Vanity warred and won too late when she realized that she’d have to pass by Carnall to go up to change. When Torquil woofed a gentle warning, she stopped berating herself and cast off her silly pride.
Torquil got to his feet when Carnall came through. That he still wore his caped driving coat distracted her for a moment. She hoped he hadn’t come to remove his sisters from the academy. She doubted that could be the case but so much had gone wrong lately that she couldn’t help but worry. Another woof from Torquil brought her back to the issue of her visitor. Carnall studied her with expectation until he broke off with a glance at her dog.
She rarely allowed Torquil to be present during social calls, considering it insensitive to foist her love of dogs on others, and he constantly shed his silky hairs. On alert, Torquil pressed his flank into her leg and waited. Seeing the dog, Carnall remained by the door, hat in hand. His piercing gaze swept over her, but she didn’t think that he took inventory of her shabby clothes. She had the feeling he saw underneath and her cheeks warmed.
He looked away and pointedly at Torquil. “Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your day, ma’am. That is a beautiful collie.”
“It is no imposition, I assure you, my lord. Would you like to meet Torquil?”
When Carnall nodded and removed his right glove, she looked down at her dog. “Torquil?” Soulful brown eyes gazed up. “He’s a friend. Go meet him.”
Torquil trotted across the carpet and sniffed the hand Carnall offered. When the plumy tail swished, Carnall fondled the black and white ears. Ana fussed at herself for envying the caress, while Carnall whispered something in an odd, yet familiar, language that caused her dog’s tail to swish faster.
“You’ve made a conquest, Lord Carnall.”
He glanced her way with a tender smile that startled and stopped her breath for a moment. “He’s a very fine fellow.”
“Was that Gaelic you were speaking to him?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter what we say. Animals go by the tone, although this one seems to be fluent in English.”
“Yes, he is, in a rudimentary fashion. Will you please open the door a bit wider?”
Torquil got the gist and looked over his shoulder at her. “Go to your basket, boy.”
He woofed and went out. Carnall shut the door and turned to her. Door closed. Not done without a companion. The room shrank in size. A shiver ran up her spine to her scalp.
It didn’t matter that he still wore his coat and held his hat. She swallowed when he took a step forward. What happened to her will and backbone when this man came near? His magnetism shredded all rational thought. She sank her nails into her palms and focused on the discomfort.
Carnall gave her a slight reprieve when he shifted his attention to the hat he held. “I came to bring my sisters their mail and was taken by an idea. Ma’am, you once said that you were amenable to showing me the surrounding area. Is today an inconvenient time?”
When he directed his gaze back to her, she noticed a flicker of unease. This invitation was no spur of the moment notion. He’d planned this, using the excuse of delivering mail to his sisters as an excuse. She knew as well as he knew what he was about. Undeniable attraction reached across the room, drawing her into its web. She suppressed a smile. Every day, any time and every time must be inconvenient with this particular man, but she heard herself say, “Today will do. I was just finishing up here. If you would care to wait out front while I fetch outerwear?”
He tipped his head and opened the door. She was careful not to touch his garments as she exited. His lean physique was made much larger with the fashionable layers of capes on his coat.
Elsie stood in the hallway in a statue-state of awe as Carnall went by. When the maid didn’t move, Ana said, “My cape, Elsie, and the green bonnet with gold ribbons. The tan gloves will do.”
She was still debating with herself about driving out with the marquis when she met him on the drive. She accepted his hand up into his curricle where she adjusted her skirts and cape. A groom held the team’s heads and a gorgeous pair they were, glossy bay coat that gleamed in autumn’s sunlight.
Carnall climbed in beside her, his nearness creating havoc. Alarm and surprise sped through her veins, when he said to the groom, “Wait here. See to my sisters’ mounts while I’m gone.”
The team moved into a trot before she could protest. She found her wits when he asked for directions to some of the best spots to take his sisters for an afternoon outing. Somehow she managed to convey directions to a local elevation with excellent views of the countryside.
Conversation became stilted then nonexistent, but there could be no denying the tension and yearning arcing between them. It was impossible to ignore the nerve-wrenching draw, the struggle to not give rein to improper inclinations. She did her best to affix herself against her side of the seat and avoid touching him. There wasn’t much room. Most curricles were meant for speed first and comfort last.
He reined in the team at the crest of a hill that overlooked the countryside for many miles. She sat in stressful silence her attention fixed on rolling hills that no longer blushed the fertile green of summer. He finally spoke, commenting that the briny tang of the channel could be scented and that a storm was rapidly heading inland.
Frowning at the burgeoning clouds, she said, “That won’t take long to reach us. I know a shorter route back to the school.”
Storm or not, he wouldn’t urge the team to go faster than what was safe down the hillside. When he apologized for the slowness, she agreed.
“Sir, I assure you that I would rather get soaked through than have one of your horses spavined or leg-broke from a misstep. This is a decidedly awkward descent.”
“My thanks for understanding. There are quite a few places where it’s badly rutted. I can spring them when we get down to the road.”
The rising wind fluttered her bonnet ribbons. She tucked them inside the top of her cape. Carnall reseated his hat and released the team. They galloped down the main road until droplets began to sting.
Carnall leaned over to shout over the wind and rattle of carriage wheels, “Is there shelter anywhere until this blows over?”
“Only one that I can think of. If you wish to raise the carriage bonnet, I can hold the horses.”
“We’ll be drenched by that time. I’d rather find shelter. No telling how rough this will get.”
She pointed at a turn coming up on the left. He slowed to direct the team down a narrow, grass-covered lane bordered by rock stiles. Holding her bonnet in place and her other hand grasping the edge of the seat, she shouted, “There’s a hay barn at the end of this lane. Doors removed. You won’t have to stop to open them.”
He nodded and whistled to the horses. The team lunged forward into a full-out run, ears flat against the rain. The barn’s yawning mouth came rushing at them frighteningly fast. Ana gripped the seat rail tighter as Carnall dashed the team into the barn and pulled them to a sliding stop. As if waiting for them to reach cover, the light downpour changed to a torrent, pouring slanted sheets of driving rain. Lightning flashed and lit naked tree limbs.
Carnall handed her the reins and jumped down from the curricle. He led the blowing team deeper into the shadows at the back of the barn. With the wall directly in front of them, and nowhere else to go, the horses snorted and shook the wet from their slick coats.
She tied down the reins as Carnall came to her side of the curricle. Expecting him to take her hands and assist her to descend, she was startled when his fingers came around her waist and lifted her down. Her heart fluttered at his easy strength. She was not a small woman, no pocket Venus. His firm grip lingered for an uncomfortable moment before he released her and stepped back.
Heat bloomed on her cheeks, and she turned away to look out the open doors. A deluge, as if the heavens had opened floodgates, cascaded beyond the opening.
Rain hammered on the roof, but inside it was warm and smelled of the recently stored hay. She looked up at the lofts full to bursting overhead. Mounds had been stacked everywhere. After dumping an armload in front of the horses, Carnall swiped the twigs from his sleeves.
The torrent lessened to a steady thumping on the roof. The shadowy interior felt like a world of its own, a cozy haven from the violence outside. The horses, now contented and relaxed, crunched on the hay. Ana envied their easy acceptance. The hush and dark inside lent an atmosphere of intimacy that escalated the pounding of her heart against her ribs.
Behind her, she heard Carnall remove his hat and shake the wet from his caped driving coat. From the corner of her eye, she saw him place the curled-brim beaver hat on the tufted seat and toss his gloves beside it.
Rainwater had seeped through her bonnet and into her hair. She’d been working at the saturated ribbons and only succeeded in knotting them. Then she felt Carnall directly behind her. His warmth and nearness burned into her back.
She began to tremble and chastised herself for acting so foolish, like a pathetic schoolgirl infatuated with the parish priest. She reminded herself that Carnall was forever beyond her reach, not for her—not unless she gave herself to him, let him have her. An infusion of heat lit her from within, chasing away the chill, infusing her with an anticipation she no longer wanted to deny.
A cracking boom made her flinch. The horses threw up their heads momentarily then went back to eating. Carnall murmured something to them and she turned to the comforting sound. Concern gleamed in his dark eyes, concern that in a glittering flash changed to something very different. She shivered again, but this time not from the chill of her soaked cape. Watching her, he draped his driving coat over the side of the curricle.
Suffused with nervous urgency, she despaired at the feeble sound of her voice when she blurted, “Are the horses overheated? Should we get them out of the traces and walk them?”
“They’re fine. I doubt they ran a furlong. Not enough to get that pair lathered. I’m more concerned about you. If you remove your cape, my coat will keep you warm enough.” When she made another attempt to undo the knots, he said, “Here, let me take care of those ribbons.”
