by Jane Goodger
As he took the last bite of his very finely cooked trout, he realized he’d been silent for several minutes, and looked up to see his guest sitting politely, her plate clean, her hands folded neatly on her lap, watching him. Her cheeks instantly reddened, and she looked down as if embarrassed to be caught staring.
“You’ll have to forgive my lack of dinner conversation,” Marcus said. “I am unused to company.”
“You did seem very deep in thought, and I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she said, meeting his gaze and smiling. Nearly everything she said was tinged with teasing, almost flirtation, and he wondered if she even realized it. In the candlelight, her beautiful eyes seemed to glow from within, as if some tiny lamplighter were holding up a flame. Marcus tore his gaze away from her, horrified by his ridiculous thoughts. Tiny lamplighter indeed. He blinked and turned toward the entrance, where he hoped to see Sadie bringing in the next course. The entrance remained depressingly empty.
“You don’t have to converse if you don’t want to,” she said. “I know you did not plan to have a guest, and I am very grateful for your hospitality.” She bit her lip briefly, and he couldn’t help but watch, fascinated by her soft mouth. “I have imposed on your hospitality too long as it is. I think it would be best, after all, for me to leave in the morning. Palmer can bring me to Whitby when he fetches the day staff.”
What the hell was she going on about? Leave? Tomorrow? “No. Mabel will be disappointed if we do not explore the tunnels.”
She looked down at her lap, obviously trying to suppress a smile.
“Why are you smiling?” he demanded.
“Because even though you sound angry, you are being kind. To both me and Mabel. And that is the first time you called her Mabel instead of ‘the child.’”
“I fail to see why that is amusing.”
She looked at him, her eyes sparkling, her pink lips curved up slightly, and something about that look caused a sudden rush of heat to his groin. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He should have found a woman to tup while he was in London; he’d never gotten achingly hard because a woman looked at him before. “It’s not amusing, my lord. It’s heartwarming.”
He shook his head and scowled just as Sadie walked into the room carrying a large silver platter filled with roasted potatoes and what looked like duck. His mouth watered, and he realized he’d become rather sick of simple country fare.
“Excellent, Sadie. I do hope we can continue showing off your culinary skills when our guest is gone.”
“Gone, sir?”
He very nearly barked out a laugh. “Lady Lilian’s visit is drawing to a close, I fear. She is leaving the day after tomorrow.”
“The day after tomorrow,” Sadie repeated, putting a curious emphasis at the word after. “I shall do my best to serve you adequate meals.” Somehow, Marcus suspected that meant he’d be eating stews, soups, and cold ham sandwiches again.
* * *
Yorkshire’s coastline, with its plethora of caves, had been a favorite among smugglers sailing from the Continent to sell their wares, tax free, to those British subjects with enough money to buy them. And Marcus’s grandfather not only had the money, he’d rather enjoyed the idea of making money—at least until his untimely death at the age of sixty-two, when Marcus’s father was just twenty-two. Indeed, Thomas Dunford had been so busy accumulating wealth and playing the smuggler, he’d quite forgotten the rest of his duties, leaving his son to carry on with little training and even less experience. When he was a lad, his grandfather—or rather the idea of him, as he’d died long before Marcus was born—had been a bit of a hero. A brave rascal who defied his aristocratic birth to thumb his nose at society and its strict rules of conduct. Now, though, he recognized him for what he’d been—a selfish, reckless man.
His grandfather’s smuggling was the not-so-secret family secret that Marcus’s father was deeply ashamed of. Marcus and his brothers, on the other hand, had found the idea quite exciting and, unbeknownst to their father, used to play Smuggler.
Before his father decided Marcus was too old for such nonsense as playing in the caves and tunnels that led to Merdunoir’s lower levels, he’d spent untold hours exploring with his brothers. The caves were a series of connected rooms, some accessed only on one’s hands and knees, and some that, at low tide, were dry and at high tide were completely under water. As a boy, Marcus had enjoyed the rather gruesome story of a smuggler who had been caught stealing and had been chained to one of the caves that was submerged at high tide. His grandfather reportedly found the poor soul, still chained and drowned, two days after his scallywag of a partner departed back to the Continent, never to be seen again. It was the sort of tale that drove a young boy’s imagination, and Marcus had spent many an hour thinking about that man, how he must have struggled knowing the tide was coming in, how his black soul might very well be haunting the labyrinth of caves along the shore.
He figured Mabel was too young to hear such a gruesome tale, so as Marcus led the girl and Lady Lilian down the hidden, rough-stone staircase to the secret tunnel that accessed the first of the caves, he kept his comments to the less sensational history.
Marcus, holding a lantern above his head, moved down the stairs, cautioning the two to watch their steps.
“Go slowly, now,” Lilian said to Mabel, her voice echoing softly in the passageway. The walls, carved a century ago, were rough and shining with moisture. Marcus knew this passage like the back of his hand, but he moved slowly, intensely aware of the lady walking behind him. Her skirt rustled softly and he could smell her light floral scent even as the air grew musty and thick. He heard a gasp and a hand landed heavily and almost painfully on his shoulder as she lost her footing momentarily.
“Goodness, it’s quite slippery, isn’t it? It’s these shoes, I think.”
“Put one hand on my shoulder if you think that would help. I don’t want to have to carry you back if you break an ankle.”
She let out a small sound, of protest or amusement, he couldn’t tell, but then he felt a warm and tentative touch on his shoulder. He found himself smiling, liking her hand there, and immediately wished she would remove it. To be touched by a woman, particularly this woman, did things to him he didn’t like. Or rather, liked too much.
“Are there ghosts down here?” Mabel asked, sounding completely unconcerned.
“Perhaps,” Marcus said.
“Oh, I think it’s much too damp for a ghost,” Lilian said. “Ghosts don’t like cold, damp places.”
When they reached the bottom of the long, stone stairway, they encountered a thick metal door. Marcus turned and held the lantern up high. “Are you certain you’re brave enough?” he asked Mabel. Her eyes were wide, but he saw little fear in them and he suppressed a smile. She really was a darling girl, and something in his chest hurt to think she might have been his if Eleanor hadn’t been so free with her favors.
“I’m quite brave,” Mabel said solemnly, and Marcus found himself hoping she’d never had cause for fear. How would a little girl know if she was brave or not?
“When I open this door, you will feel a blast of air. My brother Adam always said it was the devil’s breath.”
The little girl smiled, a completely unexpected reaction to his rather ominous words.
Marcus bent down to the girl and said, “I think we shall get on quite well.”
When he straightened, he saw that Lady Lilian was smiling, her eyes almost misting, and he scowled. Couldn’t a man be nice to a little girl without Lady Lilian noting it with that smile of hers? He turned and grasped the cold metal of the handle, looking forward to the cold blast of air, as if it would purge that knowing smile from his mind. Did she think he would be cruel to the child just because of her birth? Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted Mabel, but he wasn’t such an ogre that he would be cruel to her.
He pulled at the door and the wind whistled past the opening, bringing with it the smell of dampness and the sea.
“Oh
,” Lilian said as the wind buffeted her face and pulled a few strands of her thick hair from their moorings. Then she laughed and closed her eyes as if relishing the feel of the wind on her skin, and Marcus realized with no small amount of disgust, that if they’d been alone, if Mabel hadn’t been standing there blinking against the wind, he might have kissed Lilian, might have pulled her into his arms and pressed his mouth against hers.
Marcus turned toward the blackness that marked the entry to the first cave, his jaw clenched tightly. What the hell was wrong with him? She was an innocent, and all he could think about was bedding her. And if he bedded her, he’d be stuck with her, stuck with another woman who would find herself married and wishing she was not. Marcus had quickly learned the misery of being married to a woman who’d been forced into a union against her will.
He walked quickly ahead, not realizing he was leaving the other two in the dark until Lilian cried out, still laughing, and he stopped and took a breath. “Sorry,” he mumbled, waiting for them to catch up to him. He continued down the passage, which was now covered with fine sand, wishing she was gone. If she was gone, he wouldn’t have to torment himself with thoughts of how she would taste. God, it had been far too long since he’d had a woman; he was going mad.
“I think you should leave this evening when Palmer brings the day servants to the village. Now that you’ve recovered, I see no need for you to remain. I . . . I miss my solitude.” He knew his voice was tinged with an odd desperation, but he found he did not care.
She was silent behind him, and he wished he could see her expression. Relief? Anger? Dismay?
“Of course. I didn’t realize.”
“I’ve no wish to entertain guests. I thought I’d made myself quite clear.”
Silence.
“Am I to go too?” The sound of Mabel’s soft question made Marcus pause.
“No. You are to stay here. With me. At least for the time being.”
“Oh.” The word sounded small and sad, and Marcus briefly closed his eyes.
“I shall hire you a nanny and she will care for you. And play your button game if you like.” He couldn’t bring himself to turn and look at them, for he couldn’t face Lady Lilian’s censure, her disappointment that perhaps he was not as kind as she had imagined.
“Yes, sir.”
The small group walked on in silence, the day ruined by his foul mood. As they walked from one cave to the next, he offered some commentary about the smugglers. His two charges remained silent, Lady Lilian nodding once in a while, her face set. It wasn’t until they entered the largest room that she showed any interest at all. The main room was a stunning example of Yorkshire caves, complete with stalagmites and stalactites.
“This is astounding,” she breathed, touching one of the stalagmites that hung from the limestone ceiling. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. What fun it must have been exploring when you were a boy.”
She stood and turned in a circle, looking about her with complete wonder.
“My brothers and I spent countless hours here. We always hoped we’d find something the smugglers left behind, but we never did. I have a feeling my father or my grandfather cleaned out the caves long before we came along.”
“It’s dripping,” Mabel said, looking up at the rock formation.
“That’s how it grows,” Marcus explained. “It’s a bit like a rock icicle, but it grows far more slowly. Here.” He lifted Mabel up with one arm and held the lantern with the other so she could get a closer look at the glistening water and he was struck by how very small she was. “Go ahead and touch it.” He was watching Mabel touch the rock when his eyes drifted to where Lady Lilian stood, her incredible eyes seeming to glow almost ethereally in the soft light. She was a lovely girl, tall and lithe, and in the lantern’s light she looked particularly beautiful. Marcus let out a long breath and set Mabel back on the ground, feeling unaccountably irritated, mostly with himself. He should have insisted Lady Lilian leave as soon as she had clothes on her back and shoes on her feet. For some reason, his legendary control was slipping.
“May I go over there?” Mabel asked, pointing to a rock shelf where his brothers had stored a collection of rocks safe above the high water mark.
* * *
Lilian forced a smile as she watched Mabel run over to the shelf and successfully navigate some makeshift stone steps that led up to the ledge. Sunlight streamed into the cavern from high above through a wide crevice, giving the cave an almost magical glow. Beneath her feet, the floor was covered with a wet layer of sand, and she could feel the dampness seeping in through the soles of her shoes. When she was in London, the first thing she would purchase was a pair of sturdy boots.
Despite her wet feet, she was glad she had stayed to tour the caves, no matter that Granton seemed unduly annoyed by her presence. Though she hardly knew the man and realized she was being foolish, his words had hurt her—far more than she would ever admit aloud. Lilian had never thought of herself as an overly sensitive woman, so she didn’t understand why his words had cut her. It wasn’t as if they were friends; they were simply two people forced together by a rather bizarre situation. After she was gone, she wouldn’t spare him a thought. Perhaps one thought, she admitted, looking up at him through her lashes. It would be rather difficult to put a man such as Lord Granton completely from her mind.
She walked away from where he stood and moved into the soft beam of light created by the sun, imaging what it must have been like to be a young child discovering it for the first time. She couldn’t picture Granton as a boy. He was too large, too stern, too everything, now that she thought about it. She wondered if he’d ever felt the joy of discovery or if he’d always kept his emotions at bay. Perhaps he didn’t feel emotions beyond irritation. I’ve no wish to entertain guests. I thought I’d made myself quite clear.
She’d wanted to say, No, you have not made yourself clear. Not when you invited me to dinner, not when you spied me in my bath. The truth was, she didn’t want to leave. She felt safe and comfortable. She liked Granton’s company, even though apparently he’d had enough of hers.
Other than her father and Weston, Lilian hadn’t much experience with men. Her season had been cut short by her sister’s wedding and then her mother’s death. She knew little of the opposite sex, and what she had known, she hadn’t much liked. Granton wasn’t like the other men she’d known, who were full of false flattery, who treated her as if she had a pea for a brain.
Something about Granton was pleasing, and it was more than just his handsome face, though he certainly was handsome. Breathtakingly so, if she was completely honest. In her limited experience, it was easy to tell if a man was interested in her or not. With Granton, she couldn’t tell if he liked her, was bored by her, or wished her to perdition. Then again, he had asked her to leave as soon as it was physically possible for her to do so. More than once. Still, she had a feeling it wasn’t she he disliked as much as having a stranger in his home.
And then there was Mabel.
It had only been a few days since they’d been introduced, but she adored the little girl and had grown rather attached to her. They spent nearly every minute of the day together, and Lilian had surprised herself by her patience. She’d never thought of herself as a woman who enjoyed children, perhaps because she’d never actually spent any time with them since becoming an adult. But she liked spending time with Mabel. She liked playing games she hadn’t played since she was a little girl, seeing everything fresh and new through her eyes. She’d forgotten how much fun it was to pretend. Saying good-bye in a few short hours would be terribly difficult.
“You are quiet.” It was so strange, how his deep voice stirred something inside her. When she didn’t respond, he walked toward her. “I fear I have hurt your feelings by asking you to leave.”
Lilian immediately protested, even though he had hurt her. But to admit such a thing would never do, for it made no sense, not even to her. “Oh, no. It’s just that I am not par
ticularly eager to resume my life or see my sister again. We’re no longer close, you see, and now that she is a widow, I fear she will be even more insufferably smug about her position. I think I shall begin searching for a home in London.” And live there alone for the rest of her days. Alone. Goodness, it was a depressing thought. But she had a feeling few people in society would welcome her back into their homes, not with such a scandal attached to her name. Here, she could pretend none of it mattered, not the murder, not her sister’s accusations, not the fact she was truly, completely alone. The only thing that gave her comfort was knowing that one day soon she would have enough funds to live quite well for the rest of her life.
Lilian looked away, not wanting Granton to see how very terrified she was at the thought of leaving and facing society.
“Where is the opening to the sea?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. “Is it far?”
“I’m afraid it’s been blocked off by a rock fall. You will live alone?”
Lilian turned back to him and allowed herself a small smile. “For someone who enjoys his solitude as much as you do, I would think you’d understand.”
“I am alone because that is what I choose. I could go home and be with my family, my brothers. You are alone because you have no one, and that is a far different thing.”
Lilian laughed. “You make my situation seem so tragic. I assure you, I will quite look forward to my own company. It is far better than spending time with someone who wishes me gone with such ferocity.” His eyes sharpened, and she felt her face heat, immediately regretting her words. In fact, she could hardly believe she’d uttered them. “Oh, goodness, please do accept my apologies. I can offer no excuse other than I think I’d rather be anywhere but with my sister.”
