Passion Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  He frowned. “No. I had planned to ride over to Apple Hill later in the week. I thought perhaps Friday. Why?”

  She looked uncomfortable. “You know I try not to meddle, but I am worried about the situation at Apple Hill.”

  When she said nothing more, Asher prompted, “And?”

  His grandmother sighed. “Not to tell tales out of school,” she began reluctantly, “but John came to see me a few days before you returned home.” She glanced at Asher. “I’ve always tried never to betray anyone’s trust, but I think in this case you should be aware of what is going on.” Looking down at her hands, she said, “Though John pretended that all was well, a blind man could see that he was beside himself with worry. He didn’t want to tell me, but I finally got it out of him: Denning is insisting that John break the entail you had set up and that they sell that lower two hundred acres to Ormsby.” Bleakly, she added, “I fear that Denning has gotten himself into deep water again.”

  His expression grim, Asher said, “I’ll ride over tomorrow morning and find out for myself what is going on.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “Your feelings for him aside, please remember that John and his other children do love him.”

  “I’m not going to throttle him if that’s what you suspect, but I am not going to allow him to ruin John’s future either.” Exasperation evident in his voice, he said, “That’s why I set up the entail the way I did the last time I pulled Denning from the River Tick. It was to ensure that he couldn’t gamble away any more of John’s inheritance.”

  She patted him lightly on the arm. “I know. And though you don’t speak of it, I’m aware that it was you who provided the handsome dowry for the girls and paid for their London Season and for Robert’s commission in the Cavalry.” She looked away and sighed heavily. “I was so pleased when Denning first came courting your mother. I thought they would make a good match. His family was well known locally, I knew that one day he would inherit a fine estate and he was so very handsome and dashing in his uniform in those days.” She smiled ruefully. “I think I was almost as smitten as your mother but of course, we didn’t know about the gambling then.” She looked up at his rigid profile. “But he was kind to you, you can’t deny that.”

  Keeping his gaze on his horses, Asher muttered, “I never denied that, in his fashion, he was good to me. I realize he could have treated me very differently and I respected him for the way he never once made me feel like a stepchild.” His voice hardened. “What I cannot forgive is the way he cared nothing for the future of his wife and children.” He glanced down at her. “You better than anyone know that there were times that Mother struggled to keep us decently clothed and fed because of his gambling debts. You risked Burnham to keep us afloat and if it hadn’t been for you, it would have gone very hard for us. Certainly, I and my brothers could not have attended Eton if it had not been for you.” His expression bleak, he added, “You damn near beggared yourself because Denning could not and would not stay away from the gaming tables.” Coldly he went on, “It is the way he risked his family that I cannot forgive. And you’ll never convince me that it wasn’t worry and strain as much as anything that caused Mother’s death.”

  “She died in childbirth…. It happens,” Mrs. Manley said softly, her eyes sad.

  He threw her a hard look. “Following the drum behind him all over Europe and bearing five children in less than seven years certainly didn’t help either. You don’t know what it was like. I do. I may have been a child but I remember some of those Army camps and the rough conditions—rougher than they needed to be because Denning was always short of money for the things that would have made Mother’s lot easier.” His voice grim, he said, “Even when Mother was pregnant with Elizabeth and he finally sent us all home to Apple Hill it wasn’t because he was thinking of her or any of us. It was convenient for him for us not to be underfoot. Having a wife and a pack of children interfered with the picture of a handsome, dashing Cavalry officer he presented to the world. Besides, with us out of sight, he didn’t have to face the fact that every time he lost money, he was taking food from our mouths.”

  “I know. I know it was bad.”

  “Bad?” he burst out. “You knew how she struggled at Apple Hill just to keep us clothed and with a roof that didn’t leak over our heads. I know you were slipping her money even then and she was humiliated for having to take it from you. And Lieutenant Colonel Denning? He came home just long enough to pat us children on the head, remark how big we were growing and get her pregnant again before riding gaily off to rejoin his squadron. That last pregnancy killed her—and the baby she tried to birth.” Thickly he said, “But did the colonel come home to see to his motherless children? No. He left it up to you to see to our welfare. It was because you swooped down and removed us to Burnham that we didn’t grow up like a pack of savages. I sometimes think fate extracted a suitable revenge when he lost a leg at Villers-en-Cauchies and had to retire.”

  His nostrils white and pinched, Asher fought to control his anger and bitterness. Most of the time, he managed to keep his feelings about his stepfather at bay, but sometimes…He took a deep breath and growled, “At least I was eighteen when he returned and did not have to share a roof with him or I’m afraid I’d have done him a violence.”

  There was little Mrs. Manley could say. Asher spoke the truth. Denning had been a wretched provider and she knew full well how Jane had struggled to maintain her little family with a scant degree of comfort. Shaking her head, she thought back to that horrible time when Jane had died. She had planned to be at Apple Hill for the birth of Jane’s sixth child, but she had been away visiting friends, when several weeks before she should have, Jane had suddenly gone into labor. By the time a servant had arrived with an urgent message and she had hastened to her daughter’s side, it had been too late. After an agonizing labor, the baby, a boy, had been stillborn and within a few hours, Jane just slipped away.

  She didn’t hold it against Asher for feeling the way he did. She despised the retired lieutenant colonel as much as her eldest and best beloved grandson did. Like Asher, she blamed Denning for Jane’s death—and for nearly causing her grandchildren to be cast penniless and homeless onto the street. Though she had taken them to live at Burnham, while Denning continued his military career—and profligate ways—if Asher hadn’t found the means to add to the support of the family, heaven knew what would have happened to all of them. Denning would have lost Apple Hill and if not for Asher, I might have lost Burnham, she admitted with a shiver.

  She knew that some of the money her grandson had provided over the years had come from gambling. He had saved the family from ruin, she thought ironically, by participating in the very vice he railed against his stepfather for and she suspected he resented Denning for that, too. But unlike his stepfather, Asher never gambled while in his cups and he had a keen eye and a clever brain and, undeniably, the devil’s own luck.

  “You have a right to feel as you do about him,” she said. “And I don’t blame you. Just don’t let your feelings for him ruin your relationship with your brothers and sisters.”

  “I haven’t yet,” he replied grimly.

  There was nothing else to be said and, forcing a smile, Mrs. Manley inquired, “Are you planning on keeping an old woman company and dining with me this evening?”

  His expression softened and he teased, “Of course. I must see how Apollo is fitting in.”

  “And it would have nothing to do with Cook’s light hand with pastry, now would it?”

  He laughed. “Well, that is an inducement, but actually it is your charming presence that draws me to your table.”

  Having pushed aside the bad memories, Asher was smiling when his horses turned down the driveway that led to Burnham. After tossing his reins to the stable boy who ran up when they pulled to a stop in front of the house, he leaped down and went around to the other side to help his grandmother out of the vehicle.

  Together they strolled into the house. Th
ey were walking across the foyer when Dudley popped out from the nether reaches of the house.

  Smiling at them, he said, “I thought I heard a vehicle drive up.” Taking Mrs. Manley’s parasol and gloves, he said, “While you were gone, Madame, a missive arrived. I placed it on the table just inside the door of the front parlor for you.”

  “Thank you.” Lifting a brow, she asked, “And Apollo?”

  Dudley grinned. “He has been quite content since Cook relented and gave him the ham bone. He has spent the afternoon under the kitchen table gnawing happily.”

  Asher and Mrs. Manley smiled and walked into the front parlor where Mrs. Manley picked up her note. Recognizing the handwriting, she gave an exclamation of pleasure.

  Asher, who was wandering around the restful blue and cream room, looked over his shoulder and asked, “Good news?”

  “Well, I hope so,” Mrs. Manley replied as she opened the envelope and began to read.

  A moment later, beaming at Asher, she said, “It is indeed good news. My dear friend, Barbara Sherbrook, will be arriving a week from Friday, or Saturday depending on how swiftly she is willing to let her nephew, Lord Thorne, push the horses.” She chuckled. “She will never travel a step without a male escort. Lord Thorne will escort her for a visit and then her son, Marcus, will arrive to escort her home to Sherbrook Hall.” She clapped her hands together in delight. “We write often, but seldom get to see each other. I am so looking forward to the visit. It will be wonderful to catch up with each other and hear all the news about her son, Marcus, and his bride.” She looked thoughtful. “Although,” she murmured, “I don’t know that ‘bride’ is correct any longer—they married last spring. Barbara had practically given up that he would ever marry and provide her with grandchildren.” She looked sly. “We old ladies do so love to see the next generation and right now, my dear friend is over the moon—Marcus and Isabel are expecting their first child soon.”

  Feeling as if he’d just had a poleax shoved where it had no business being, Asher froze. “Er, Sherbrook?” he croaked. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Well, perhaps not but I’ve known Barbara for a very long time—our fathers were good friends. Barbara and I have been dear, dear friends for decades.” She smiled affectionately at him. “I don’t believe you’ve met any of the family yet but I’m certain that when you do you’ll find the Sherbrook family most enjoyable.” Tapping her lip with the note, she added, “I thought it was quite romantic that after all these years Marcus and Isabel married. He had been Isabel’s guardian before she married her first husband—poor fellow, he died in India, but Barbara had always thought that Marcus and Isabel were made for each other. It seems she was right.”

  Chapter 7

  Asher decided that he was a much better actor than he realized. After that first paralyzing moment, he was able to say with commendable calm, “I look forward to meeting your friend and eventually her son and his wife. Mrs. Sherbrook, and I believe you said Lord Thorne, will arrive on…Friday a week, wasn’t that the date?”

  At his grandmother’s nod, he continued, “Then I shall make certain that I am available for that date.” Staring at his grandmother’s pleased expression, he wondered sourly if there was some way he could come down with the measles in the meantime. Or smallpox. The plague would be even better. Anything that would prevent him from coming face to face with Marcus Sherbrook when he arrived to escort his mother home.

  All through the evening, he managed to maintain an outward appearance of normalcy, but inwardly his brain was racing and he was cursing this turn of bad luck. He would swear on his mother’s grave that until this afternoon, he’d never heard his grandmother mention the Sherbrook name. It was possible that she had upon occasion spoken of her friend “Barbara.” In fact now that he thought of it, he vaguely remembered her talking about someone named Barbara from time to time, but he’d never paid any heed. Why would he? His grandmother knew many people and had many friends that he had never met and had only heard of in passing. It was unfortunate, he thought wryly, that she had never disclosed Barbara’s surname to him. But would it have made any difference to the events of last spring? He grimaced. Probably not. Once he had determined to gain possession of the memorandum that Whitley had stolen from the Horse Guards, knowing that his grandmother was a friend of Marcus Sherbrook’s mother would not have deterred him from his ultimate goal.

  Taking leave of his grandmother a few hours later, driving through the deepening twilight toward Fox Hollow, the knowledge that in little over a week, he would come face to face with the man whose wife he had abducted ate at him like acid. Never mind that he had also broken into Marcus’s safe and extracted a very important memorandum. A memorandum he had later sold to the Duke of Roxbury.

  Approaching the stables at Fox Hollow, he wondered if he could have done things any differently. But he already knew that answer. Yes, once he had learned that Marcus possessed the memorandum, all he’d have had to do was drop a note telling Sherbrook where the memo was hidden, then ridden away, knowing the memorandum would be returned to its proper place. He could have called off the whole affair then and there. He could have aborted the kidnapping of Isabel Sherbrook and all the rest of it. But did I? he asked himself bitterly. No. I was fixated on winning and once I set the plan into motion I was too bloody determined to get the document myself…and get paid damn near a king’s ransom for its return, don’t forget that.

  Walking toward the house, he made no excuses for himself and, faced with the same set of circumstances, he knew that he would do the same thing again. Still it didn’t sit well that he had inadvertently involved a friend of his grandmother’s. In the past he had done things that he was not proud of, but he always kept the dark side of his life from ever impinging upon the very family he risked everything to keep safe.

  Tossing his gloves onto the table in the oak-paneled foyer, he walked to his study. After pouring some brandy, snifter in hand, he wandered around the room, restless and uneasy.

  Finally throwing himself down in his favorite black leather chair, he sipped his brandy and considered if meeting Marcus Sherbrook would prove his downfall and bring shame and dishonor on the family—his greatest fear. He didn’t think so. Sherbrook had never actually seen him and as for his wife…He had abducted Isabel Sherbrook but he had spent scant time in her company and beyond his voice the few times he’d spoken to her during her captivity, she would have no way of identifying him. Besides, why would either one of the Sherbrooks connect the grandson of Barbara Sherbrook’s dear friend to the events of last spring? Still he didn’t like it. He had an ear for voices himself and having once heard a voice, never forgot it.

  He frowned. But how likely was it that Isabel Sherbrook would recognize anything about him? He had not spoken more than half a dozen sentences to her last year. She might think his voice sounded familiar, but he suspected it was highly improbable that she’d connect him with the man who had abducted her and briefly held her prisoner over a year ago.

  Feeling a trifle more confident, he finished off his brandy. Rising to his feet, he walked over to the sideboard and set down the empty snifter.

  He wasted several more minutes wandering around the study, before deciding that sleep was out of the question. Discarding several ways to pass the time, he finally hit upon the notion of a night ride and a brief reconnoiter of the grounds surrounding Ormsby Place. It would certainly not come amiss—it had been a number of years since he had visited at Ormsby Place and there would be nothing wrong with double checking that there was not some new impediment to what he hoped would be an easy theft. In fact, it would be wise to survey the house and area with fresh eyes before he made any definite plans.

  His mind made up, Asher returned to the stables and, waving aside the groom’s offer to help, he saddled a long-legged blood bay gelding. Moments later he was cantering away into the darkness.

  The ride to Ormsby Place was without incident and shortly he was guid
ing his horse through the same forest he had traveled just the previous night. From the concealment of the forest, he studied the stables and, finding the area dark and quiet, moved on toward the grand house.

  Leaving his horse tied to a small sapling, well away from any inhabitants or accidental discovery, Asher made his way toward the house where his lordship lived in a palatial manner. Approaching the towering three-storied plaster and stone house from the west, he slipped around to the opposite side of one of the two wings that jutted out from the main portion of the house.

  It was fortunate, he thought, as he flowed silently around the house, that the gardens that surrounded the building were extensive, with several paths leading off in all directions to secluded corners. He rather thought that a small army could hide amongst the shrubbery, trees and vine-covered nooks and crannies that abounded throughout the area. Having worked his way around to the east wing of the house, he stepped inside a white lattice-worked gazebo that overlooked a small ornamental pond and considered the tall, sprawling building that lay just beyond the pond. A wide expanse of lawn dotted with a few handsome oaks and artistically planted trees and shrubs lay between him and the house, but from here he had a clear view. Crossing the small courtyard that adjoined the study would be the only time that he’d be fully exposed and since he didn’t intend to linger, he didn’t think it would give him any trouble.

  There was little light from the moon and the house was a huge dark shape in the distance. From the black windows that faced him, it was apparent that this wing of the house was not being used tonight. As he recalled, the marquis’s suite of rooms was on the second floor in the west wing. The central part of the house held most of the living areas and at this time of night, Ormsby was most likely somewhere in that central section. The first floor of the east wing comprised the ballroom, the music room, a small salon and the library and study, with more bedrooms on the second floor. He assumed either the nursery, or attics or servant quarters filled the third floor—he’d never explored that far. His gaze moved carefully over the dark expanse before him, considering the dangers. There was no gleam of light anywhere, so it was fairly safe to assume that Ormsby was not in his study tonight…at least not at the moment.