Lecture over, she turned her attention eagerly to the basket Honey had brought and looked through the contents while Honey cast a brooding Nell a questioning glance. But Nell would not meet her eye and the maid, Mary, bustled in with a tray of tea.
Honey laid out the fresh scones she had brought down, still warm from the oven, and a pot of her own rose hip jelly. They had worked their way halfway through the simple but sumptuous feast, when Mary bobbed a curtsey in the doorway.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” she said to Mrs. Landers. “More comp’ny, ma’am.” Her face was flushed and her eyes suspiciously bright as she ushered into the room Sir Gordon and his friend, Mr. Black.
They bowed and Sir Gordon advanced to take the old woman’s hand and bow low over it, murmuring a hello. Nellie had moved forward from her seat in the corner.
“You gentlemen are just in time for tea,” Mrs. Landers said after she had been introduced to Sir Gordon’s friend. Her pale eyes twinkling, she indicated a low settle near the wall. “Pull that over, gentlemen, and let Honey . . . Mrs. Hockley serve you some tea and scones. The jelly is her own, if I am not mistaken, and is delicious.”
Honey had not yet met Mr. Black’s gaze, though she felt it on herself. “Mrs. Landers, I am sure the gentlemen are just stopping on their way somewhere. They are dressed for riding.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Hockley,” Mr. Black said. “I can think of nothing I would rather do than take tea with such a bevy of three beautiful ladies.”
Mrs. Landers chuckled delightedly. “Ah, a flatterer. Watch out for this one, Honey. His tongue is dipped in sugar, surely.”
For the next half hour the gentlemen kept up a steady stream of entertaining chatter. Nellie sat down on the settle between them, to Honey’s shock. Her sister had come alive the moment the men entered the room, and was laughing gaily at something Sir Gordon had said, all the while throwing languishing glances at Mr. Black.
But Mr. Black was looking at her, she could feel it. Honey glanced up cautiously and was riveted by the warmth of his expression.
Under cover of the chatter from the others, he said, leaning over and speaking softly, “How beautiful you are, Mrs. Hockley. I thought so last night in the ballroom, but you are shown to even more advantage by these humble surroundings and the firelight. The light dances off your golden hair.”
“Mr. Black, you should not say such things.” Honey was shaken by the compliment, and by his intimate manner while delivering it. His voice drew her, and she felt herself sway toward him, his words like a siren song.
“It is only the truth.”
She stared at his handsome face, the hard planes carved into hollows and shadows by the dancing firelight in the dim cottage. His hair was coal black and tousled, falling in artless disarray across a high forehead. “Is it?” she whispered.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “A small fraction of the truth, actually.” He glanced to the others, who were occupied. “I wanted to apologize for alarming you last night, after the dance,” he whispered. “I have no defense.”
She tried to stop herself, but she felt the thawing of her fear and wariness. She did not want to be angry with him, and the words sounded sincere. “I accept your apology, Mr. Black.”
Nellie cast a jealous glance over at them. “What are you two whispering about?”
Sir Gordon laid his arm over the back of the settle and said something in her ear that made her laugh, and then he pinched her cheek. Honey frowned. That her sister would allow such liberties was shocking, but she did not seem to just allow them, but encourage them. Mrs. Landers was watching the pair, her pale eyes hooded, her expression neutral.
“We are not whispering,” Mr. Black said, straightening. “I was just asking Mrs. Hockley if we could escort her and her sister back to Lockworth Manor, if that is where they are headed after this visit.”
“I am ready to go now,” Nellie said, leaping to her feet.
“Nell!” Honey said, shocked yet again. Her sister had been raised as strictly as herself as far as courtesy went, and to appear too eager to leave was unseemly.
“You children run along,” Mrs. Landers said. “This has been pleasant, but I am an old woman, and need a nap. Thank you for visiting once again, Sir Gordon. It is always a pleasure to see you, as rare as that pleasure is. And Mr. Black? Is that your name?”
The man stood and bowed.
The old woman examined the tall man. She shook her head and glanced over at Honey. “May I speak to you, dear, before you go?”
Honey looked down into the pale gray eyes and nodded. “I will meet the rest of you outside in one moment,” she said, “after I have gathered my things together.”
After proper good-byes were exchanged, Honey was alone with her old friend. “What was it you wanted to say?” she asked, kneeling at Mrs. Landers’ side.
One gnarled hand stretched out and caressed a golden curl. “Be careful, my dear, with that Mr. Black, if that is his real name.”
“I will,” Honey said, laying a kiss on a pale cheek that felt like wrinkled old silk under her lips. “I do not think he is to be trusted either,” she added.
“I did not say he was not to be trusted,” the old woman said. “I think he is concealing something, but it does not mean it may not all turn out for the best.” She turned back to the fire and closed her eyes. “You are too good to be so alone,” she whispered, and nodded off to sleep.
Chapter Five
Over the next few days Sir Gordon and his houseguest were frequent visitors to Lockworth Manor. The weather held, and an unseasonable warm spell descended on the valley, melting the snow on the moor with bright, thin sunshine. Honey longed to deny the men occasionally; she felt a deep need for respite from a desperate yearning she felt whenever Mr. Black was near, a desire to feel his arms around her once more, but Nellie would not hear of it and Honey could not explain without revealing the scandalous kiss the night of the ball.
“Deny such attractive and entertaining gentlemen? Fie, sister! You have lived alone too long.” Nellie hummed a little tune and danced across the floor. “What harm is there in such society? You have buried yourself away in Yorkshire. You should come to London this season and find a husband. But in the meantime, I think Sir Gordon and his devastatingly attractive friend are quite smitten with us and I, for one, intend to enjoy every minute of their admiration.”
And that was part of what worried Honey so very much. Nellie would not speak of her husband, and cast dark looks Honey’s way when she brought him up in conversation with their two callers around. Nellie had her share of Mr. Black’s attention, but Honey felt the intensity shift from lighthearted flirtation when it was aimed at Nellie to a more serious and intent pursuit when the man neared Honey. And though she admitted her immoral longings to herself, she would show no sign of them to the man himself. She was bewildered by the flush of heat she felt whenever he was near. It could not be wholesome, this hold he had over her senses. And so she compensated with a frostiness that seemed to entertain him.
“What lovely hands you have, Mrs. Hockley,” he said one afternoon as the two men sat in the morning parlor with the ladies. “I think there is no sight prettier—well, almost no sight prettier—than a lady’s naked hands engaged in some activity.”
Honey was sewing, and she bent her head over her work so he would not see the flush he brought to her cheeks with such outrageous words. When she had command over herself, she gave him a quelling glance.
“Mr. Black, you are impertinent.”
“And you, Mrs. Hockley, are adorable when you snipe at me like that,” he said, giving her a wicked grin. He glanced over at Nellie and Sir Gordon, who had strolled to the end of the room and whispered together like conspirators. Seeing them occupied, he grasped her hand and laid a kiss on the palm, lingering with it cupped against his mouth for far too long.
Honey pulled her hand away with a gasp, her heart hammering with a sick kind of dread at her own wanton rea
ction. For she hadn’t wanted to pull her hand away; she had wanted to stroke his hair and let him hold her hand for as long as he desired, laying heated kisses in the palm and the wrist, or even on the soft skin of her arm.
He was dangerous. Her mind told her to stay away from him and the strange feelings he induced in her, to push him away if she would keep her safe, rational world intact. Some instinct taught her that he could be the death of her peace if she let him be.
And so she did deny him the door one day. She had her chambermaid answer that the ladies were “not at home” to visitors that day. It would have been a lovely day of peace, except for what she saw a few minutes later. Nellie, who was supposed to be in her room resting from a slight cold, slipped out when she thought her sister did not notice, and Honey watched her hasten down the road in front of Lockworth Manor to meet a tall man in a caped greatcoat who Honey knew in an instant was Mr. Black.
Where did they go? What did they do? A turmoil of wretched feelings twisted through Honey in the long afternoon that followed. Nellie was gone for two hours, and though her common sense told her that they were likely just walking, darker suspicion would rear its head and demand notice. Mr. Black’s attention might overwhelm her, but she dreaded him turning his skillful wooing toward Nellie, whom she feared was vulnerable from some kind of rift with her husband.
And so in the days that followed, she did not deny the gentlemen again. Sir Gordon and Mr. Black came nearly every day, and soon Honey relaxed in their presence. Mr. Black maintained a respectful distance from her most of the time and showed no signs of pursuing a dalliance with Nellie, though the young woman pouted and flirted with him whenever she could. And Nell never let a visit end without an invitation to the men to come back the next day.
Bron, for his part, was puzzled by the beautiful Mrs. Hockley. He had met women of many nationalities, all classes, and many degrees of morality. He knew a scared virgin from an experienced courtesan and understood the subtle signs women used to signal availability for an affair. But Honey gave such a mixed array of responses that she had him completely mystified.
Sometimes she was cool, almost as if he had offended her in some way. But when she forgot to act the part, she would laugh with him in the most natural way, until he made some physical move toward her, and then she would freeze up again into the ice maiden. And yet she was not cold; quite the opposite. Warmth radiated from her in waves that bathed him like soft summer rain. February turned to July when he was near her and his blood heated to boiling, her merest movement intoxicating him.
And yet not one of the contradictions in her character had dissipated his intent to take her into his bed. A passionate fire burned within her somewhere, and he longed to plunder her molten depths. If only he could get her alone! If it had been her sister it would have been easy. Nellie Jordan was pathetically eager to offer herself to him, even though she was married. He was tempted just because she was pretty and willing, but ultimately he denied himself that treacle tart for the mead of Honey’s delicious love. The sharpness of his hunger would make the final satisfying of it all the more luscious.
And so, with Gordon’s help, he plotted Honey Hockley’s downfall, though surely what he had planned for her was no sad end. All he wanted was for her to surrender to the inevitable and join him for a while in the delights of love. They would both enjoy the affair, and then when he was able to return to London, after the scandal died down, he would leave Yorkshire sated.
“My friend has a special reason for visiting with me today,” he said to the ladies, one afternoon the first week of February. He glanced over at Gordon. “Why don’t you tell them the treat you have in store for everyone, Gord.”
His handsome friend, his red-brown brows high on his freckled forehead, smiled and glanced from Honey to Nellie. The latter eagerly sat to attention, but Honey stared down at her ever-present mending.
“Oh, do tell us, Sir Gordon,” Nellie said, flirting with the man with a drop of her long lashes. “I vow I am all aflutter, waiting. For Bron . . . er, Mr. Black has hinted at some treat for a while now.”
Honey frowned over her sewing at her sister’s slip, and Bron bit back an angry word for the flighty chit. He had stolen a kiss from her one day when he took her for a walk alone, and ever since then she had been trying to engage his interest more seriously. But not for him the easier game. A whole covey of tame pigeons could not make up for one lovely bird of paradise.
Gordon smiled. “Valentine’s Day is in one week. I am having a ball to celebrate the most loving time of year, and I would like you two ladies to come.”
Nellie clapped her hands together. “What a delight!”
“My concern, though, is that the weather threatens to close in.”
Honey glanced up and looked out the window. Sir Gordon was right. The mild spell was over and a bitter cold had swept down from the moors. Heavy, snow-laden clouds hovered threateningly above the high fells.
Nellie pouted, her eyes downcast. “How mean you are! To dangle such a pretty treat before me . . . er, us, and then snatch it away.”
Sir Gordon laughed and took her hand. “What a saucy child you are,” he said, indulgently, lacing his fingers through hers. “I have the solution to our little problem, though.”
Nell’s bright eyes lit up.
“There, that has solved your sulks,” Sir Gordon said. “You and your sister must come and stay at Longmoor Abbey for the week until the ball. That way if the snow comes, you will not miss the fun.”
Honey opened her mouth to say that in no way could they impose themselves on his household for a week, for numerous reasons. Surely it was improper, with Sir Gordon a bachelor. And she would not like to abuse his kindness that way. But before she got a chance to state her objections, Nellie spoke, carefully avoiding her sister’s eyes.
“We would be delighted. It sounds just the thing! I am entranced by the idea, and you must allow us to help with the decorations.”
“Nellie, wait,” Honey said, throwing her a warning glance. “We cannot impose on your goodness that way,” she said to Sir Gordon. “Better to take the chance that the weather will hold, and come for the ball.”
Bron saw her agitation, and since he was beginning to understand her after more than a week of visiting every day, he spoke to calm her worries. “Gordon should have mentioned that there will be others in the house party, including his sister, a widow of two years with a small son.”
“There,” Nellie said. “So you needn’t go all prune-faced, Honey, and deny me this fun as you always do.”
Honey’s cheeks reddened and she looked down at her hands twisted together on her lap. Had no one ever taught the little featherbrain manners? Bron thought. He flashed an angry look at Mrs. Jordan and she subsided, her high spirits dying down just a little.
“I . . . I did not mean that, my dear sister, but I do so want to go,” Nell pleaded. “Say that we might, please?”
“It is partly in your honor,” Bron said, gazing steadily at the soft pink of Honey’s cheek and pretty blue of her eyes, barely visible under long lashes. “It is a birthday party for you as well, Mrs. Hockley,” he said.
She looked startled and glanced at Nellie, who was unconscious of the questioning look. Bron realized that he had given himself away with that, but hoped she would forget it. He had never yet told her about his first sight of her all those years ago, and that he knew that that night was her eighteenth birthday. He wasn’t sure why he kept it a secret, but he tucked that away within himself and had told no one.
“I . . . I guess—”
“Then it is settled,” Nellie gushed, bouncing in her seat like an anxious child. “We would be delighted to be the guests of honor at your ball.” She cast Bron a languishing glance full of meaning.
He sighed. She was going to be trouble before the week was out, he was sure of it, but if he persuaded Honey to succumb to her obvious feelings for him, he cared not about having to fend off the importunate girl. He would ha
ndle Nellie. He would handle a dozen Nellies to get close to his sweet Honey.
Chapter Six
Honey had to admit that Sir Gordon’s home, Longmoor Abbey, was beautiful and comfortable to a degree she was not used to. She and Nellie had brought only Honey’s abigail, Virtue, but the abbey staff was competent and met every need even before it was expressed. Sir Gordon’s widowed sister, Eleanor, ran his home with quiet efficiency, and acted as his hostess with aplomb. There were seven other adult guests, and a few children besides her own son, Nathaniel, so the abbey was cheerful and lively at every hour of the day and night.
After two days, Honey found herself happily settling into the routine of a house party as if she were used to such things, even though she had lived a solitary life until now.
“How is it that we have never met, Mrs. Hockley?” Eleanor asked as both women sat with sewing baskets open, stitching where the light was best in a south-facing parlor.
“Please call me Honey! My late husband was an invalid for many years. And even when he was well, we did not socialize.”
Eleanor glanced at her over the rim of spectacles used to see the fine stitches. “That is too bad,” she murmured. “And you say you were married for nine years and have been widowed for three? How young you must have been when you married. I hear Mr. Hockley was in his mid-seventies when he died.”
“I was not overly young. Eighteen. It is the usual age for a woman to marry, is it not?” Honey did not answer the unspoken question, which was how did she come to marry such an old man.
“Not for someone as beautiful as you, perhaps. I was full thirty years of age before I married, and then I was widowed so few years later.” She sighed. “I miss Charles more than I can say, though I fear it was my dowry more than myself that attracted him at first.”
The Viscount's Valentine (Classic Regency Romances) Page 4
