“I did not know that Lady Alyse was interested in drawing – that is what she is doing, in my hallway, is it not?”
“Yes, indeed. But you will not find the walls of Meltonbrook Chase cluttered with insipid landscapes, or lopsided studies of flowers. What Alyse draws is far more interesting.”
“Oh?”
“She draws detail. Fiddly complicated things. She is currently drawing the carvings on your stairs. If she will show the result to you, you will be startled at how well she can capture light and shade, texture and complex intertwined shapes. It does not seem to matter to her whether what she is drawing is the detail of beaded decoration on a dress, or the detail of centuries old carving on stone – so long as it is detailed and complex, she will draw it.”
“Then I believe that she will not lack for amusement whilst you are here. This castle is full of odd pieces of decoration for hundreds of years’ worth of occupancy.”
“We’ll be lucky to get her to the dinner table – just like the others.”
They settled into companionable silence, sipping their drinks, the need for conversation obviated by many years of friendship. Gerry, watching Hunter’s face as he had spoken of his sister, had felt a wave of envy roll through him.
He did not have such a good relationship with his own family, and had never managed to live up to their expectations. Even now, with a title, his relationships there were strained. His older brothers resented the fact that he had been granted an honour they had not, and his parents cared more about making themselves vicariously important by association with him, than about what he wanted, as a person.
Even as a young man, he had never quite met his family expectations. But now, he could never meet anyone’s expectations. The bitter sadness engulfed him for a moment.
He drifted in it, staring blankly at the shelves of books lining the walls. The image of Lady Alyse rose in his mind, as she sat in his hallway, utterly focused on what she was doing. That singularity of purpose, that ability to care about something so much that the world fell away when you were doing it, was remarkable. It was something he had never really had. And she had looked so beautiful – graceful, unstudied, simply herself, wisps of her pale gold hair escaping the pins, curling about her face, lit by the long rays of the afternoon sun where they shone through the fanlights above the great front doors, and cast beams of light into the hallway.
The picture of something he wanted, and another thing he would never have, could never have.
He sipped the brandy, but the warmth of it sliding down his throat did nothing to warm the chill of his soul, where the darkness of his deeds had settled.
~~~~~
Despite Hunter’s fears, Nerissa and Charles did manage to return in time for dinner, flushed from an afternoon spent pursuing each of their favourite activities in the world. Alyse had to be reminded of dinner, but once the spell of drawing had been broken, she stretched, and was grateful for a chance to move. As soon as she did her stomach reminded her just how long it was since she had eaten. Dinner seemed a very good idea.
She hurried to her room, to change and ready herself. As she dropped her sketch journal onto the bed, it fell open at the half finished portrait of Lord Tillingford.
She paused and considered it. It was not quite right. There was something about him – something she had seen in his eyes today, as he greeted them, which she had not captured. She would need to study him closely, until she had it. Just thinking about him made her feel warm, and took her mind back to that waltz. She was still standing, reliving it in her mind, when the maid tapped on the door, come to help her change for dinner. Quickly, she closed the journal, and opened the door.
Half an hour later, Alyse stepped into the small dining room, and was shown to a seat. This was an informal room, the table round, and quite small – a room for dining with friends, not the huge formal dining room which was sure to exist in a castle of this age. She was glad of the intimate setting, the sense of warmth and friendliness, after the months of intense formality in London.
But… she was seated between her brother, Charles, and Lord Tillingford. So close to him. She glanced sideways, under her lashes, and watched him. His strong profile was undeniably handsome, the determined fall of that lock of hair to his brow softening it somehow. She wanted to touch it, to brush it aside, and feel its softness, to feel his skin beneath her bare fingertips. The unbidden thought made her flush, suddenly too hot, and she turned her eyes away, concentrating on her plate as the first course was served.
But her awareness of him remained, the heat of his body so close beside hers palpable, the clean fresh scent of him surrounding her, distinct, even in a room filled with the scents of food. It was almost intoxicating, dizzying, carrying with it the memory of that waltz. She wanted to capture it... but one could not draw a scent.
She was so caught in those thoughts that she barely noticed what went on around her, until she realised that Nerissa was speaking to her.
“…and Alyse, there is the most wonderful carved bench in the rose gardens, all intricately twined roses –many different varieties, carved all over it. I am sure that you will wish to draw it.”
~~~~~
Gerry had been watching her, from the moment that she was seated beside him, caught, despite himself, by her beauty, and had barely turned his eyes aside in time, when she had glanced his way from under her long lashes. He wondered what she saw, when she looked at him. He breathed, and the delicate floral scent reached him, muddling his thoughts. The curve of the table meant that their knees were close to each other, beneath the table – he could almost feel her warmth, and felt a most unseemly desire to shift his leg, to allow it to drift casually sideways until they touched.
He forced concentration, forced his attention away from the woman by his side, and focused on the conversation. Nerissa was talking about the gardens, with great enthusiasm - and telling Lady Alyse about the carved bench in the rose garden. For a moment, he was not sure that Lady Alyse had heard – curious – what was she thinking about? Then she seemed to shake herself a little, and responded.
“The carving is so detailed that you can recognise different rose varieties? How fascinating! You will have to tell me which is which, so that I can label them on the drawing.”
“Of course!”
“I suspect that this entire castle contains a myriad carvings, which I will want to draw. I will have no chance to capture more than a tiny part of it in the few weeks that we will be here.” She turned to face him, and the impact of her eyes directly meeting his stole his breath. “I must rely upon you to show me the most interesting pieces, my Lord.”
He experienced a sudden sense of unreality, as if he were a different man, a man who was not a monster, a man who could have a family, light conversation, happiness, a man who could look a woman in the eyes, and allow himself to think of having far more than simply conversation with her. He wanted the moment to last, but he knew, instantly, that it could not, that he could not permit even the thought, even the slightest trace of that pleasant life – for, if he tasted it, the loss would be all the harder to bear, when it came. Her eyes were still on his, her expression expectant. His voice sounded harsh to his ears as he finally spoke.
“I fear that you overestimate the charms of the Castle, Lady Alyse. Whilst I have not explored every crevice of it yet, much of it is rather dank and musty, untouched for generations in some cases, and not inspiring at all. There are some small pieces worthy of attention – the rest are likely to disappoint.”
Her brightness dimmed a little, and an expression which might almost be hurt passed over her face. The sight of it brought an ache to his chest. He hardened himself against the reaction. He could not allow himself to be close to her, to care so about her feelings. Then she smiled, forcing her expression back to cheerfulness, as if that moment of hurt had never existed.
Had he imagined it? He did not think so.
“Perhaps you underestimate my ability to be fascinated by the oddes
t things, my Lord. I will appreciate whatever you may be able to show me.”
Her voice was light, almost teasing, and the gentleness of her answer to his rather churlish words struck him deeply. He had no choice but to be minimally gracious.
“As you wish, my Lady. I only hope that you are not entirely disappointed in your expectations.”
“Thank you.”
She turned her attention back to her dinner, releasing him from the hold of her rich brown eyes, and he found himself able to breath properly again. This few weeks was going to be harder than he had thought.
He would simply have to be careful. He would be more than a fool to allow himself to forget, even for a moment, what he was. There would never be that warm loving family for him. Not his own birth family, nor one that he might build around him – not with what he had become.
Bitter loneliness would be far easier to live with than the horror on a woman’s face, should she come to understand what he truly was.
Chapter Five
Tillingford Castle was just as fascinating as Alyse had expected. Every corridor, every room, seemed to contain some small detail to catch her eye, some detail worthy of being captured in a drawing. This was far more fun than the Season in London had been – and the company far more congenial. For part of each day, true to his rather ungraciously given word at that first dinner, Lord Tillingford escorted her about the building, to explore its detail and history. A footman accompanied them, for propriety’s sake.
Soon, Alyse realised that Lord Tillingford was exploring, just as much as she was. Some parts of the Castle he had already explored, but much of it he had never looked at closely. Each day, she enjoyed his company more, even though he seemed moody, and was often terse with her. It was as if he had some reason to hold aloof, but kept forgetting to do so, only to realise again, and pull away from her, back into that sad, almost frosty demeanour.
It only made him more intriguing.
She wanted to know what went on in his thoughts, what possible reason he might have for that coldness. It did not seem natural to him, that hard surface, and the moments when she saw the warm and amusing man beneath the surface made her determined to discover more of him. His smiles were rare, but, when they came, they transformed his face. Alyse made it her intention to make him smile, at least once every day. So far, she had succeeded.
The warmth of the spring day was almost oppressive, a hint of the summer to come, so Alyse had curled herself into the windowseat of the large parlour window, allowing the gentle breeze to drift through the open window, cooling her, and bringing her the scent of roses and more from the gardens below. At first, she had watched Nerissa walking about the gardens, followed by a cluster of gardeners, as she set them to specific tasks. Already, the changes could be seen – the shape of paths becoming clear, and the weeds disappearing from the garden beds closest to the house. But, after a while, bored with watching, Alyse had opened her sketch journal, and begun to draw.
On the page, another portrait was emerging from the careful strokes of her pencil. Lord Tillingford again, as he had been the day before, when they had explored a long gallery, high in one wing, where tall windows collected the afternoon sun, and mirrors alternated with paintings on the opposite wall. The room had been filled with light, reflecting and re-reflecting, turning his dark blond hair to burnished bronze, and highlighting the strong planes of his face with lines of gold. His eyes had sparkled, and she had made him not only smile, but actually laugh.
Now, she sketched quickly, wanting to capture what she had seen, to capture the carefree man he obviously could be, not the dour and terse man he often was. So intent was she on her work, that she did not hear the door, did not realise that he had entered the room, until he was almost upon her. His footfall on the polished timber of the floor alerted her at the last minute, and she snapped the journal shut, her face flushing instantly. What if he had seen?
~~~~~
“Where might I find Lady Alyse?”
“In the parlour, my Lord.”
Gerry nodded, and turned in that direction. Shackleton watched him go, his face impassive, but a speculative look in his eyes.
Gerry opened the door quietly, and stopped, his motion arrested by the sight before him. Lady Alyse was curled on the windowseat, drawing, as always. The midday light gave her pale hair a glow that made her seem somehow ethereal. She had pulled her lower lip into her mouth, and was working it between her teeth as she concentrated. The rich redness of her lips stood out against her pale skin. His thoughts scattered, his body heating, his reaction to her beyond his conscious control. He wanted to kiss those lips, to take them gently between his own teeth, to trace their shape with his mouth.
He forced himself to breathe again, to move. She looked so right, curled there. As if this was her natural setting. A rush of longing took him, so hard that it stole his breath again.
He was not aware of moving, until he was almost upon her. His feet moved across the rich deep carpets silently. When he reached the polished timber at the end of the rugs, the soft sound of his steps must have alerted her to his presence, and she looked up, startled. Just as he reached the point where he might have been able to see what she was drawing, she slammed the journal shut, her face flushing, the rose colour spreading across her cheeks and down her neck to disappear under the neckline of her modest gown.
His eyes followed it a moment, before he raised them to meet her brown gaze. They stayed that way, eyes locked on each other, for some interminable time. He did not understand what passed between them – he simply knew that something did.
“Lady Alyse – are you ready for the day’s explorations?”
She paused a moment, as if struggling to find words, as if the conversation of their eyes was so far removed from this one of words, that she could not reconcile the two. But when she spoke, her voice was light – perhaps he had imagined her hesitation?
“Why yes, my Lord, I most definitely am. What part of the castle do you intend to show me today?”
“As they day is so warm, I had thought to show you a remarkable piece of carving which I discovered recently, in the cellars of the North wing. The cool of the cellars should be welcome, on a day like this.”
“That sounds interesting. This Castle is so full of surprises – although a cellar seems an odd place for remarkable carving.”
“It does – but it’s there – who are we to guess at the motivations of generations past?”
“Indeed. I find myself more interested in the motivations of the people around me now.”
A moment of unease took him – could she be referring to his own motivations? If so, she would never know of them. He stiffened a little at just the thought of anyone discerning his intent in the world, or what had brought him to be the person he now was.
She watched him, brown eyes wide, and sighed – as if she had seen, and understood, the tension which had taken hold in his body. But he was being foolish – how could she have done such a thing?
“Oh?”
He could think of nothing more intelligent to say.
“Yes – people are endlessly interesting to observe, although perhaps less interesting to converse with, unless they are congenial. Whilst I found much entertainment in watching those around me during the Season, I rarely enjoyed conversing with them. I far more enjoy our conversations here, even if they are focussed on things that most might find rather dry.”
He could, he thought, discuss anything with this woman, and not find it dry or boring. Her perspectives tended to surprise him, and, despite his intention to remain aloof from her, she had a knack for drawing him out, for lightening his heart for long moments, enough that he smiled, genuinely, in her presence.
“I do not find our conversational topics dry, Lady Alyse.”
“I am glad of that! But let us proceed – you have raised a great curiosity in me – I wish to see this carving that you describe as ‘remarkable’.”
She uncurled herself f
rom the padded seat, untangling her skirts from under her. For a moment, her ankle was in his view, as she moved. His mouth went dry, and his thoughts became disarrayed again. She could do that to him so easily! Standing, she bent again to gather up the small bag in which she stored her pencils, and the knife with which she sharpened them. He watched, unable to think of anything but the shape of her, silhouetted against the light from the window.
“How do we reach the cellar that contains this carving, my Lord?”
He shook his thoughts back to the practical, and waved her forward.
“In the section below the North wing – it will be fastest if we cross the rear courtyard to reach it.”
They left the room, and Mills, the footman who quietly followed them everywhere, for propriety’s sake, fell into step behind them, carrying a lantern. They were silent as they crossed the courtyard – a comfortable silence, which did not demand filling. A startling thought came to him as they walked – apart from his fellow Hounds, Lady Alyse was the only person with whom he felt comfortable in such a silence - not even with his own family was he so at ease. He pushed the thought away, unwilling to pursue the reasons behind the fact, lest they reveal things he did not wish to admit to himself.
He spoke instead.
“I begin to think that it will take me years to find everything there is to find in Tillingford Castle. It is as if it holds its secrets close, intentionally.”
She looked at him, her eyes alight with enthusiasm at the thought.
“But that is wonderful! I cannot imagine anything better, than to live somewhere that remains interesting, and provides such scope for entertainment.”
His mind filled with the image of her living in Tillingford Castle, and the longing ached through him again. He pushed the idea, and his desires, aside firmly. There would be no woman for him, no company here through the years. He needed to remember just what sort of man he was. He could not allow himself to imagine things he would never have. That way lay only pain. ‘But…’ a small internal voice reminded him, ‘if that is the case, how will you get an heir?’
Loving the Bitter Baron: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 11) Page 4
