He rolled his eyes and walked toward another stack of boxes.
Valeria stared after him. Why hadn’t he given her the courtesy of an answer? She was no closer to understanding how Lorenzo Wolfe thought than she had been upon his arrival.
When he picked up the pry bar that she had stepped over, he slipped it under the top of the nearest case and tried to lift the top. She almost clapped her hands with joy. If he was willing to take out the furniture that had been packed away, surely he would be willing to agree to host a small party. Mayhap she had persuaded him to see sense.
“What the—?” He tore off the top of the box and tossed it aside. When he ignored its crash on stone floor as he peered into the box, his grin was as boyish as David’s. “Utterly fascinating.”
“What is utterly fascinating?”
He took her arm and drew her closer. “Look in here.”
Standing on tiptoe, she tried to see over the top of the box. Whatever was in it must not reach high inside the box because she could see nothing but the slats on the other side. “I can’t see what’s in it.”
“Allow me.” He put his hands on her waist and lifted her with an ease that suggested he did not spend all his time at his quiet pursuits.
She stared at what looked like cracked pottery, but her mind could not focus on what was before her when she could think only of the man standing behind her, his hands on her waist.
“What do you think of that?” he asked.
“Of what?”
“The pots in the box.” He set her back on the floor and reached past her to poke his fingers at the shards in the box.
She knew she should step away, but she could not without ducking under one of his arms. “I think—” Her voice trembled on the two words, and she frowned. Was this his way of changing the subject? “Dusty and broken, if you want my opinion.”
“I prefer my own, thank you.”
“Is that a kind way of telling me to mind my bread-and-butter?”
He wiped his dusty hands on his breeches, turning them a sorry shade of brown. “Of course not, Valeria. I wouldn’t do that.”
“You’re interested in my opinions?” My, she was endlessly amazed at how tall he was. When they stood this close, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
Mayhap she should look away, because a gentle smile slipped along his lips as his icy blue eyes warmed to the clear color of a cloudless sky. A shock of something sharp and heated raced through her when she thought of how he had held her and protected her from the bats. Then his large hands, which often were spotted with ink from his writing, cupped her, keeping her safe, making her sure that, as long as she was with him, nothing could harm her.
“Of course, Valeria,” he said, chuckling. “I find that the opinions that are most in contrast with my own are often the most interesting.”
“I don’t.” Drat this man! He thought of nothing save his studies.
“Another way we differ.” He reached past her to the box.
She was as amazed as he when she grabbed his arm and drew it back. When he stared at her, she knew she could not be subtle now. “Lorenzo, are you going to ignore my comments about a gathering here?”
“I had hoped to, but it appears that you wish to continue this fruitless discussion.”
“Fruitless? Why do you say that?”
He lifted the box off the stack, his muscles straining as he gritted his teeth. When threads snapped in the seam on his shoulder, he cursed as he set the box carefully on the floor. “Now I shall have to have this coat repaired.” As he knelt by the box, he slipped the coat off and held it out to her. “Will you ask Mrs. Ditwiller to tend to this while I see what we have here?”
“I am not your servant, Lorenzo!”
Looking up at her, he said, “I should think not. I simply asked you as a favor. I had no thought that you would wish to stay to help me sort what was in these boxes.”
“Sort?” She stared at the scores of boxes in the room. “All of this?”
“I thought you wanted to host a party here.”
“I do, but—”
“We cannot have a gathering here until this is sorted and cataloged. It appears that my uncle had more interest in collecting antiquities than taking care of them. Some of these appear to belong in a museum, but I shan’t know which until the pieces are properly catalogued.”
“It could take weeks to go through all of this.”
“Months, I would suspect.” A smile played across his lips. “If this box is reflective of what is stored here, this room alone must contain more than a thousand different items.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am always serious.”
She rolled her eyes. “As I can see. Too serious. You cannot think that I will sit quietly in this big house and do nothing while you check each item in this room.”
“Of course not.” He drew out a chair she had not seen before and lifted a box from it. Dusting the seat off with a handkerchief, he said, “If you wish to do something, you are welcome to sit here and join me in investigating what my uncle stored in this room.”
“That was not what I meant.”
“Mayhap not, but I was offering you the invitation if you wish to accept it.”
“Do not be absurd! I have no interest in these dusty things.”
He picked his coat up from the floor where he had dropped it. “Then will you take this to Mrs. Ditwiller?”
“Take it to her yourself.” She turned toward the door, then paused as good sense reminded her that his lack of manners was no excuse for her to be the same way. Coming back to where he was pawing through what was in the box, she said, “I’ll take your coat, if you wish.”
“It’s over there.” He pointed to the chair without looking in her direction. “Ask her to check all the seams so the threads don’t break again.”
With a curse, she grasped the coat and dropped it over his head. Its sleeves struck the broken pottery, spraying dust everywhere. When he came to his feet, sneezing, she did not expect him to seize her by the shoulders.
She stared up at him. In the dusty sunshine, his hair glowed with the same fire as in his narrowed eyes as he spat, “Be careful! These pieces must be older than this house.”
“I didn’t mean to do them any damage.”
“Only me?”
Her lips were suddenly as dry as the dust settling around them. “You were acting disagreeably high in the instep.”
“You are right.” His hands softened on her, becoming a caress. His voice became hushed as she was caught by his potent gaze. “I get that way when I find something new I want to investigate and learn everything about.”
She fought not to quiver as his fingers glided down her arms to cup her elbows. When they drew her even closer, she whispered, “Really?”
“Yes,” he murmured as his hand brushed her hair back from her cheek. “I become so intent on satisfying my curiosity that nothing else matters. I want to study every inch and impress what I learn into my memory so I may savor those textures and beauty whenever I wish to bring the sensations from the recesses of my memory to enjoy anew. With such intimacy come the phrases that will give my poetry life and create even more curiosity that must be satisfied once more.”
“I understand.”
“You do, don’t you?” His husky voice freed the quivers she had struggled so unsuccessfully to hide. “It is an endless cycle, seeking to learn more and to find gratification in the learning. It is an exquisite pleasure. I am so glad you understand.”
“Yes, yes.” She stepped back and was torn between regret and relief when he released her.
She watched as he bent over the box again, pulling out a potsherd and examining it. She backed one step, then another toward the door and hoped that he would not guess she had been lying.
She had not understood what he meant. She had thought he was speaking of the broken pottery, but was he? Was she? She had no idea any longer, and that alarmed her a
s nothing else had.
“I think that makes excellent sense, Mrs. Ditwiller.” Valeria handed the list back to the housekeeper.
“This household has been lax about their duties for far too long.” Mrs. Ditwiller smiled and slipped the page into a pocket.
“I suspected much the same.” She shuddered. “The bats were bad enough, but, at least, they are confined to unused rooms. However, I found a spider in my room today that, I vow, had legs as long as my finger.”
The housekeeper nodded. “I shall send a lad to sweep out the corners again, my lady.”
Coming to her feet, she smiled. “Thank you.” She rubbed her hands together as she went to look at the stack of books on the shelves. In spite of Mrs. Ditwiller’s efforts, the library still was the only room on this floor that was comfortable. The rest either needed cleaning or were so filled with the late earl’s collections that they were still a jumble.
Lorenzo had been insistent that each item must be checked before it was moved. He had invited both her and David to join him in the task, but both of them had declined. David, she guessed, considered it a way for him and Lorenzo to get to know each other better, something he had resisted vehemently. Her own reasons were not so different, because she had been careful to avoid being alone again with Lorenzo. The man irritated her beyond reason, but there was something about him that drew her toward him with the madness of a moth flirting with a flame.
“My lady?”
“Yes?” She faced Mrs. Ditwiller.
The housekeeper wore a strained expression. “It may not be my place to speak so, my lady, but …”
“Say what you feel you must.”
“I’m …” She hesitated, dampened her lips nervously, then said in a burst, “I’m sorry you are so unhappy here.”
Valeria blinked at the housekeeper’s forthright words. In the past few days, she had come to respect Mrs. Ditwiller’s huge task of trying to bring the house back to a level of respectable cleanliness and to oversee a staff that resented having a new housekeeper. Not that Mrs. Ditwiller had whispered a single word of complaint, but Valeria had sensed the tension in every word the housekeeper spoke, as well as the ones Mrs. Ditwiller carefully did not say. Yet, not once had Valeria considered that Mrs. Ditwiller might be as aware of Valeria’s growing distress as each day unfolded too much like the one before.
When she did not answer, Mrs. Ditwiller continued, “I’ve never been to London, my lady, but I’ve heard that it is right wondrous during the Season and endlessly busy. You must miss it dearly.”
“I do.”
“Words you’ll be repeating again soon,” Miss Urquhart announced as she came into the library. Setting a book back on one of the shelves, she frowned. “You might want to keep that in mind, young lady.”
Valeria shared a puzzled glance with Mrs. Ditwiller, who quickly and quietly took her leave. One thing that she had not grown accustomed to in the past week was Miss Urquhart’s baffling comments that were interjected into the middle of too many otherwise sane conversations.
“Pardon me?” she asked as she had twice before already today when the old woman spoke her mind.
Miss Urquhart shook her head. “How can you have had the benefit of that fine education that Francis arranged for you and a London Season and a marriage to a good and decent man and still be so unbelievably naïve?”
“About what?”
“For what else do you need the words I do? Marriage, young lady!”
Valeria bit her lower lip to keep from smiling before saying, “You are mistaken, Miss Urquhart. I have no intention of remarrying any time soon.”
“I realize that.” She hit her cane against the floor and frowned. “But the boy has plans for you.”
“David?” This was amazing. She had not thought he had his mind on anything but mischief aimed at irritating Lorenzo. Every effort she had made to persuade him to try to treat Lorenzo with respect had come to naught and to naughtiness. David found a way to circumvent every promise he made.
Miss Urquhart’s frown deepened, adding even more lines to her face. “Do not be want-witted, young lady. I don’t mean young David. I mean the boy.”
“Lorenzo?”
“Who else?”
Valeria could have given her a dozen replies, but knew the futility of arguing with the old woman. Quietly as she adjusted two books that, after Miss Urquhart set her book back in place, were ready to fall off a shelf, she said, “I think Lorenzo is wise to consider his obligations here as the earl and the need to marry and produce an heir.”
“Not his marriage. Yours.”
“Mine?” Her voice squeaked on the single word.
Miss Urquhart grinned, obviously pleased at having garnered all of Valeria’s attention now. She went to the closest window and tapped the top of her cane against the time-stained mullions. “There he goes again.”
“Yes, Lorenzo rides out to enjoy the view on the moors every day at this hour,” Valeria said as she looked past the old woman to see Lorenzo on the road leading to the outer wall of the house. He rode with the ease and grace of a man who was comfortable in the saddle and with his own solitary thoughts.
“Is that why you think he goes for a daily ride across the hills?”
“Yes, of course.” I would not have said so otherwise. She could not speak those harsh words. The old woman might be a bit touched, so it would be better to let her enjoy her delusions of … Valeria had no idea what delusions Miss Urquhart might be delighting in today.
“Then you are utterly jobbernowl.” Miss Urquhart whirled in a swish of satin from her unfashionably full skirt. Poking Valeria with the cane, she said, “I thought you had realized by this time that he rides out in pursuit of a husband for you.”
“A husband for me?” A laugh burst from her. “You are—” She bit back the words she should not speak.
Miss Urquhart was not so reticent. “I am what? Mad? Mayhap, but I know what I know, and I hear what I hear. Chap in the stables was telling me that the boy was asking about other country houses of the gentry that are within a day’s ride. Other houses with young men who might be seeking a wife.”
She stared at the old woman, then turned away. She clasped her hands in front of her and swallowed the mixture of anger and disbelief clogging her throat. It all made sense, for, once she had remarried, Lorenzo would not be bothered by her company or by David’s. It seemed like an excellent solution—for him—even though she did not want to accept that Lorenzo would do such a thing without consulting with her first.
She had not thought of remarrying. All she had thought of was sanctuary, far from her brother’s creditors and the shame that had spread from Paul to her. Worrying about a home for David and her nephew’s future had kept her from thinking of her own. Only now did she realize that each of those problems would be resolved if she made a wise second marriage.
“I had no idea,” she whispered.
“You do now.” Miss Urquhart walked toward the door, but paused to add, “I suppose I should check how the lads are doing on clearing out the last of the bats. Weddings at Moorsea Manor always take place in the old hall, I understand.”
“There is no need to hurry.”
“You may think so, but I suspect the boy thinks differently. He has said more than once he wants tranquillity around here so he can concentrate on his studies and his writing.” Miss Urquhart’s smile grew calculating. “He can solve part of his problem with a husband for you, but I wonder how he’ll deal with me?” She glanced at the ceiling. “I do hope he doesn’t intend to lock me away in some attic like in one of those novels Francis had an odd predilection for.” Coming back to the bookshelves, she took down a pair of books and shoved them into Valeria’s hands. “I trust you will call here at Moorsea Manor once in a while after your marriage to check upon me to see that I am not a reluctant prisoner in a tower.”
Valeria nodded, not sure what to say. As Miss Urquhart walked out of the library, still chattering about how she woul
d fight anyone who tried to imprison her on the upper floors, Valeria glanced down at the books the old woman had given her. Their titles were the same, for they were two volumes of the same tale, and the titles made Miss Urquhart’s message clear.
The Idiot Heiress
She pushed the books back onto the shelf. If Lorenzo thought he was going to try to trip her the double by arranging a marriage for her without her knowledge, he would learn his mistake without delay. David was not the only one who could make his life uncomfortable.
Slowly she sat as she shook her head. Doing that would only guarantee that he would not be waylaid from his determination to get her married and out of his house. She must act in just the opposite way, not disturbing him and convincing him that she was necessary at Moorsea Manor until such time as she decided to leave.
She shuddered. That would mean giving up all plans to brighten this house with guests and entertainments. If she did that, she feared she would grow as quoz as Nina Urquhart, lost in the past with little idea of what was going on in the present beyond the walls of this house.
There must be a compromise that would save her sanity even as it kept her from an unwanted marriage, but what? How could she persuade Lorenzo that letting her stay here at Moorsea Manor was a better idea than arranging a marriage for her? He must think he was acting out of kindness for her and David, as well as in his own best interests. She could not imagine that he would not force her to marry … or would he? He had never made it a secret that he had no place in his life for anyone or anything else but his studies, so this might seem, to him, a very convenient arrangement.
For him, it would be.
For her, it could be a disaster. She must find answers to the questions tormenting her before she found herself standing in front of a parson with a man she did not even know now.
Seven
Lorenzo woke to a scream. Sitting up in his bed, he looked around, bewildered. How had the windows in Wolfe Abbey been moved and changed shape while he was sleeping? The big window should be on his left as lief his right, and the hearth should be …
The Convenient Arrangement Page 8
