Her breath held, Karta was just about to pick up George’s coat so the situation wouldn’t come to blows when George coughed and looked away.
Grumbling under his breath, George turned around to pick up his overcoat and gloves. “I have a mind to tell you exactly—”
Karta jumped between them, her voice loud and drowning out George’s words. “Dom, it looks like Theodora is famished, but she isn’t about to go anywhere without you.”
He looked down at his deerhound, his lips pursing. “She hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”
“And it was a long trek for her back and forth from the dower house.”
“Wait.” George jerked upright with his coat in his hands. “You two spent the night together at the dower house?”
A high-pitched laugh burst out of her mouth. “Don’t be silly, George. Theodora accompanied me to the dower house last evening.”
“So you spent the night there but he did not?” George’s finger flung out at Domnall.
She nodded, her eyebrows lifting in her best attempt to look at him like he was mad as the lie slid easily off her tongue. “Of course.”
“But you have been nowhere but at your maid’s side, I thought,” George said.
“Except for last night—the dark closed in so quickly on me that I didn’t dare set back to Kirkmere in the ink of the night. Domnall came to make certain I was well and collect me this morning.”
Domnall cleared his throat, his mouth pulling to the side. “Please excuse me, then. The hound is hungry.” His look rested on her for a long moment. He knew exactly what she was doing and he didn’t approve.
Without the slightest glance at George, he reached down and scratched Theodora’s ears. With a long look back to Karta, the hound followed Domnall down the center hallway for a few steps and then they turned to the left, disappearing down the stairwell to the kitchens.
She waited until the echo of Domnall’s steps was swallowed by the ancient stones and then she whipped around to George. “What do you think you’re doing, George? This is Domnall’s home and you come in and manifest this rudeness?” Her hand motioned to his coat draped over his left arm. “He has a good mind to kick you out into the snow and then where will you be?”
A sneer lifted the right side of his mouth. “I’ll be back at the dower house with you.”
Her arms clasped across her chest. “It’s not going to happen, George.”
“Maybe not today, but you did say your maid was on the mend.” His head tilted to the side. “She should be ready to come to the dower house and tend to us in a day or two.”
“She almost just died, George. She is not going to be up to waiting on you hand and foot for quite some time.”
“Then you will just have to do my bidding for her.” He stepped toward her—too close. “You must know that I’ve thought of little else since the last time I saw you—the situation we found you in.” A snake smile curled his lips. “Truly, how could I not obsess?”
Her gut tightened into a tiny, hard ball. “How could you not obsess?” She leaned toward him, her eyes level with his. “You’re a grown man, George. You have a wife and children. Too many mistresses to count. That is how you don’t obsess.”
She reached out and plucked his coat and gloves from him. “Your coat and gloves will be in the front hall. I’ll find Domnall’s butler and he can show you to an appropriate room.”
“Ordering about his butler? You’ve made yourself at home here.”
Karta turned away, moving toward the hallway.
“You’re here for him, aren’t you?” His words came out in a hiss.
She stopped, looking over her shoulder at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I couldn’t even fathom it when I first saw him—he’s so…” His gave an exaggerated shudder. “So large. So uncouth.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, George, you’re wrong.”
George shook his head to himself, his tiny eyes going to pinpricks as he stared at her. “He doesn’t know.” A revelation, he said the words in a whisper.
She pretended not to have heard him. “If you’ll excuse me, I do need to go and tend to Maggie.” She started to stalk away from him.
He grabbed her wrist, stopping her escape. “He doesn’t know, does he? Doesn’t know about you.”
“George—
Abrupt laughter barked from his mouth, cutting her off. “Play the innocent all you want Karta—I know what you are.”
She couldn’t look at him for the bile that chased up her throat. “George, I must tend to Maggie, excuse me.”
She shoved off of him and turned, her steps quick down the hall as she ignored his snicker trailing in the air behind her.
She needed George out of Kirkmere Abbey.
The sooner the better.
{ Chapter 11 }
The rest of Christmas Eve day had passed and she’d managed to avoid both Domnall, and more importantly, George, by stashing herself away in Maggie’s room.
Karta stood from her seat by her maid’s bedside and stretched her arms high above her head, looking out the window into the darkness of the evening. The moon still big and bright and reflecting off the snow made it look like twilight, even though it’d been dark for hours. Her spine cracked in three places with the stretch, indicative of the many hours she’d sat in there today.
Maggie had been in and out of fever the entire day. The stretches of lucid moments stretched longer and longer, though the doctor said she could slip back into full fever at any moment. Karta had tended Maggie’s head with cool wet cloths and set spoonful after spoonful of broth to her lips. There were moments were Maggie had managed to slurp the broth into her mouth, and that had buoyed Karta’s spirits more than anything. At least she wouldn’t lose her only friend. Fate couldn’t be that cruel, could it?
Her gaze remained on the long expanse of snow rolling along the sheep field as she twisted her torso, loosening the muscles along her sides. She needed bed and she needed to eat before she fell into exhaustion herself.
If she could just make it down to the kitchens without encountering anyone, she would count the day a success.
What her stepson hoped to accomplish here in Badenoch—if she’d taken his insinuation this morning exactly as she was sure he intended—was beyond the pale.
Just because George knew her secret didn’t give him carte blanche to her body—something he’d clearly decided in the last six months he had every right to. He’d always made it known that he was entitled to anything and everything—from every scrub brush of the estate to the smallest crumb in the kitchens—and apparently, he had deemed himself entitled to her. Even though he had a wife and several mistresses, now he thought to own her as well.
Her tongue curled at the thought. Of his boney fingers reaching for her. Touching her. His always sour breath in her face.
She shuddered, her look going to the glowing embers in the fireplace.
Thank goodness Domnall had the good sense to extract her from the situation at the dower house. He always had been adept at stepping in at the right moment. Now she just had to figure out how to extract herself even further from George’s slimy clutches.
She could find a cottage on the far coast of the Isle of Skye—too far of a journey for even George. But she would need her thirds to afford that, and by using it, George would be able to follow her if he became determined. Plus, she couldn’t disappear until Maggie was well enough to travel with her.
She could travel back to her father’s home, but George was such a frequent guest there that she would be serving herself up on a fine silver platter to him.
Or she could stay at the dower house and attempt to shut down his advances from there. It would be much easier if the full staff were present.
She wasn’t sure how far George would dare press her—but what she did know was that he’d never heard the word no in his life.
That made him dangerous.
So for now, her bes
t—only—course was to stay at the abbey.
She moved away from Maggie’s bed, stopping at the closed door and listening. Not a sound in the hallway. Hopefully it was late enough that everyone had retired.
Slipping into the corridor, she pulled Maggie’s door closed and passed into the shadow of the sconce at the end of the hall toward the stairs. She made it down the steps and past the drawing room, library, study, dining hall and moved down the rear staircase to the kitchens. The door to the study had been ajar, a fire lit inside, but she didn’t stop to see who was in there. She most certainly didn’t want to encounter George, and she wasn’t yet ready to tackle Domnall.
Not yet.
He’d been a gracious enough host to George, but in every interaction she’d witnessed between the two men, she could see under Domnall’s strained smile that he wanted to crush George’s skull.
Domnall had restraint like no one she’d ever known.
Stepping into the kitchen, she moved to stand next to the large worn center table and reached for a chunk of bread. Tearing off a piece, she popped it into her mouth. Still warm. Cook must have just taken it from the oven before retiring.
Karta turned, leaning against the table as she tore chunks and popped them into her mouth. Chewing silently, she stared at the glowing coals on the hearth.
“I thought I heard a little mouse scurrying about.”
Karta jumped, spinning around.
George advanced directly at her, stepping in front of her and blocking her path to the doorway. He wore only a night robe on his thin frame, the skin of his chest peeking above the top fold of cloth and his feet were bare on the stone floor of the kitchen.
“G—” She choked on the piece of bread stuck in her throat, coughing, slapping her chest until it wedged free and she managed to swallow it. “George. I thought the household was asleep.”
“It would bode well for us.”
“For us?” Her eyebrow cocked at him. “What do you mean, us?”
“Us. Don’t try to deny it, Karta. I knew it from the moment father brought you into Leviton Hall. You want me. You’ve always wanted me. I saw it in how you looked at me. How you would watch me. I am so much younger, so much more vital than father. There’s no shame in admitting it.” He took another step closer, closing the distance between them. “And now that he’s dead, you can have me.”
He moved in so swiftly, so aggressively, that she didn’t have time to react. His lips on her mouth, crushing hers. The sour of his tongue mixing with the stench of cognac about him, invading her nostrils. His hand griped her right wrist, twisting it behind her until the bread fell from her hand.
He pulled his mouth slightly back, inhaling, his nostril flaring. “And I know how you like it. I know exactly what to—”
She wedged her left hand up, slapping him. Hard. The force of it tearing his face away from hers.
He sucked in a wicked breath, releasing her hand as he took a step backward.
“You’re delusional, George. I don’t want you. I never wanted you. I never once looked at you like that.”
“Not want me?” His hand went to his cheek, rubbing as his mouth twisted in fury. “You’ve always wanted me, so why not now?”
Karta edged along the table, her fingertips moving across the edge of the roughhewn wood, trying to gain a clear angle to the doorway. Run, scream, whatever it took to get away from her stepson’s madness.
George’s look went down to her fingers moving along the table and his eyes went wide, rage flashing in his green irises with his lips snarling. “So, it is that brute, isn’t it? Just like I thought.”
She froze in place. As much as she wanted to escape George’s clutches, she wasn’t about to let him disparage Domnall. Not in his home. Not ever.
A growl like she’d never heard from her own lips set thunder into her words. “He’s not a brute.”
“He’s a giant oaf.”
Both of her arms swung out, her palms smacking him hard in the chest. He faltered two steps backward. “He’s gentle and respects me and he’s a thousand times the man you are.”
George’s hands whipped up and he snatched her wrists in the air, going to his toes to lean over her, snarling. “Then I’ll tell him—I’ll tell him what you are. Hide it all you want. But he doesn’t know, for if he did he wouldn’t give you the slightest glance.”
She bit her lip. “You cannot.”
“You think I’m not respectful? I think I am.” He threw her wrists down. “To prove it, I’ll give you one day. Think over what you truly want in life. What is actually attainable for you now in your situation. Give me what is mine and I keep my mouth shut. Or don’t, and I tell him the truth and ruin you in his eyes. It’s your choice.” He took another step backward, his head nodding. “But I do imagine, either way, you’ll end up in my bed at the dower house, Karta.”
“You don’t have a bed at the dower house, George.”
A smirk snaked onto his lips. “I do now. One way or another.”
He left the room, the sickening stench of his pomade wafting out in the air behind him.
{ Chapter 12 }
Foregoing knocking, Domnall opened the door of the Leviton dower house and peeked his head inside.
Silence.
For the quiet stillness, he wouldn’t have believed Karta had come back here again if not for one of his horses from Kirkmere resting in the stable. She had left the saddle on her mare, which told him she didn’t plan to stay at the dower house for an extended period of time.
Or so he hoped.
He liked her under his roof. Safe. In a place where the leering looks of that idiot stepson of hers would be stomped into oblivion before they became action.
Domnall stepped into the foyer from the quiet air of the morning and quickly walked down the center hall of the house. All the rooms were empty. A floorboard creaked above him and he reversed course and went up the stairs.
He pushed the door to Karta’s room wide open, only to find the top of her body buried deep in the wardrobe in the far corner of the room.
She’d already changed into a delightful plum concoction that draped over her curves far too enticingly. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched her backside shift about for a long moment. Selfish ogling, but he wasn’t about to apologize for it. “It’s Christmas day. What are ye doing here, Karta?”
She jumped with a squeak and spun to him, her hand flat on her chest. “Dom. Blast your damn stealth.” The words came with a screech.
“Apologies.” He couldn’t hide the smile on his face. “What are ye doing here, Karta?”
She pointed over her shoulder. “I actually did need some clothing to change into, since my valise that you brought back with us only contained a pillow.”
He shrugged with a grin. “It was the closest thing to snatch when I was up here. It took me too long to find the bag, so I grabbed the first thing I could find to plump it up. I wasn’t about to leave ye alone with Lord Leviton for a moment longer than necessary.”
A grin lifted her cheeks. “I presumed as much.”
“Ye scared me when I couldn’t find you in the abbey, what with Leviton lurking about. Ye could have sent me for your items—or Rory could have come.”
She shrugged. “There wasn’t a need. I saw Colin take George out for hunting and I thought it was a good time to escape.”
“Escape from me or escape from him?”
“Him.” A crooked smile crossed her lips and her look shifted to the side wall. “And maybe you.”
He straightened, his fingers curling into fists. “That bastard wants exactly what I think he wants from you, doesn’t he?”
She inhaled, her chest lifting high as her eyes met his. She nodded. “Yes.”
He turned and his fist smashed into the frame of the door. Instant and ferocious. His arm flying before the slightest consideration of control could spark in his brain.
Pain shocked up his arm.
Worth it.
Worth
every sharp twinge quaking along his bones.
“Dom.” Her breathless word floated through the air thick with rage surrounding him.
The fear in the word—fear for him, not for herself—filtered in through the red that had just flooded his mind and he shook his head. Shook sanity back into his brain.
He didn’t lose control. Not like this. Not over anything.
Anything, except Karta.
With her, his control was always on the edge, always a thin glass pane, splintering and cracking bit by bit, waiting to break at the slightest vibration.
He seethed in a breath and then turned to her, shaking the shock from his arm.
“Why do ye not just send the cad out on his arse?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“No? You owe him something?”
Her head shook, her mouth clamping shut.
Dammit.
He’d had enough.
Whatever the reason that caused her to push him away, to run from him again and again, he needed to know. Now. Before her need to remove herself from him set her into a situation with George that would irrevocably hurt her.
He attempted to set the tone of his voice even with only marginal success. “And why did ye need to escape from me?”
Her eyes went wide. “I don’t really want to escape from you, Dom. Don’t think that.”
“Yet you did. Why?”
Her lips pursed. “It is more that I didn’t want to face you, not today. Not alone.”
“Why not?”
Her head went down, her fingers twisting together in front of her belly. “I’ve been avoiding it since you brought me into the abbey and I was hoping for just another day—one more day, especially because it’s Christmas. I was going to grab a new dress and be bright and cheery and take everything I could from this day with you. I just needed this one day.”
“A day for what?”
Her head lifted and her golden brown eyes pinned him. “A day before I told you the truth.”
The Christmas Countess: A Valor of Vinehill Novella Page 7
