Devotion (10 page)

The door opened behind her,
then
gently closed.

"You may put my dinner tray there, next to the bed," she called, her eyes drifting closed as she slid a lathered soap ball over her shoulders and smiled. "I feel dreadfully sinful. Silly, isn't it? Do you know I've never bathed in anything other than a foot tub? The only time I've managed to submerge this much was when my dear brother and I sneaked down to Jones's beck to swim. It, of course, wasn't warm nor did it smell of violets. In truth, it was frequented by Jones's pigs—a dreadful lot of boars who made haste to chase us away with immeasurable grunts and shrieks." Laughing lightly, she cupped the scented water in her palms and allowed it to trickle over her face. "One bit my brother on his naked behind. He howled all the way home,
then
told my father that he'd been butted by a goat. I told him he'd been
butted
all right . . ."

Laughing again, she stood, allowing the water to slide like fluid silk down her body as she added, "Father never found out Paul was lying. I, however, had my mouth washed out with soap for speaking so fresh. Will you hand me that toweling, please?" She pointed to the linen Gertrude had provided for drying.

"I'd be more than happy to,"
came
the male voice, "just as soon as I deposit this coal near the fire."

Without thinking, she spun around, her eyes flying wide, her jaw dropping open as Thaddeus, Molly's kitchen lover, bestowed
her a
toothy smile.

Thaddeus Hartley Edwards looked quite different with his clothes on. Maria failed to recognize him at first, dressed as he was, in loose cotton breeches and a checked flannel shirt that was dusted with hayseed. His hair was neatly brushed back, and his jaw appeared freshly shaven. As he directed those dark laughing eyes to hers, and his mouth curved in a grin that was reminiscent of the one he had bestowed on her the evening before, the realization that she stood before him unabashedly naked struck her.

"Oh!" she cried.
"Oh my.
Oh . . ." She dropped back into the tub, sending water spraying over the sides.

"
Gorm
."
He shook his head. "Yer even comelier than I thought—"

"Get out!"

"No wonder Molly's got her knickers in a twist. And to think I
toi'
'
er
ya
wasn't nothin' more than some flat-
chested
chit I wouldn't spend a
ha'penny
t' poke."

"I beg your pardon!"

He sauntered across the room, a hob of coal cradled in his arms. "I reckon this makes us even,
don't
it? We've both seen each other naked as the day we
was
born. Now that we've got the 'I'll show
ya
mine if
ye'll
show me yers' over with we can get down to more serious business."

"The only business we shall 'get down to' is your leaving my room without hesitation!"

"Yer
room, is it? Ain't we got cozy all of a
sudden.
" Dropping the hob to the hearth, then propping his hands on his hips, he added with a lift of his eyebrows, "Looks t' me like you ain't got much room t' barter, Miss Maria Ashton of
Huddersfield
, unless
ya
want t" come out of that barrel and make me."

"Perverted fiend.
Gertrude was right about you."

"Gertrude is a
meddlin
'
ol
' bat who's jealous 'cause there ain't an eligible bastard in the entire county who'd have her."

With a furious huff of exasperation, Maria grabbed for the tub cover and folded it down around her. Only her head protruded through the opening as she continued glaring at her intruder. "If you don't leave here immediately, I shall inform
Gertrude,
and the duchess as well, that you and Molly have been . . . fornicating on the kitchen table."

"Ouch!"

"I mean it!"

"
Fornicatin
' is an awful sinful word for the vicar's daughter to be
spittin
'. Then again, I ain't ever seen no reverend's daughter wot looked like you. You can take that as a compliment, by the way."

"I take your entire existence at this moment as the worst grievous insult. Now, for the last time—"

"Right.
I'll get out. Just wanted to drop by and welcome
ya
to Thorn Rose, and t' let
ya
know that I've got a broad shoulder t' lean on when
ya
need it. And
ya
will
need it soon as
'e
rouses. It'll be right curious to see wot '
e'll
do about you. 'E's just liable to eat you alive, lass. Aye,
y'll
be lucky t' come out of this with that lovely little backside intact.
'Ave a real good
evenin
', Miss Ashton.
Enjoy it while
ya
can."

From the void there came voices, muted as always, at least while he dwelt here, in the foggy recesses of unconsciousness, floating lightly as if on air, sunlight and shadow shifting in and out of his obscured vision— eternal days of lying in this crypt-bed—his entire world now a distant cacophony of sounds—birdsong, the infrequent comings and goings of servants who stopped talking or humming whenever they entered his "lair" — unending nights of waiting for daylight to return so he could, at least, look forward to the idiots ' company— brief as it was. Oh, yes, a man of any intellect could go insane removed from an intelligent society. His own thoughts could drive him insane. The monotony of breathing could drive him insane. The monotony of routine, or the lack thereof, could drive him insane— had driven him insane.

Ah, yes, he must surely be crazed—out of his mind—else the visions of blue-eyed angels with porcelain skin and hair as soft and silvery as spun clouds would not have stirred him from his bleary senseless sleep. Certainly, he was losing his final, tenuous grip on reality to imagine that he could smell violets, that the lyrical tune of a woman humming, and the alluring tinkle of splashing water were anything but
conjurings
of a frighteningly disturbed mind—a mind which, too often, grappled with the memories of beautiful women: long-limbed, sweet-smelling women who would have sold their souls to perdition to sleep with him—
once . . .
no longer.

He was a beast.
A monster.
A lunatic, after all.
A woman would have to be desperate to spend time in his company.

He was a monster.
A beast.
A lunatic!

Maria dreamt of awakening to discover the Duke of Salterdon standing over her, features barely discernible behind his lion-like mane of hair and wild beard, his staring eyes lit by fire, his hands on her breasts. Only it was her father's voice growling from his throat, proclaiming her to be possessed of witchery, an instrument of lust. What
God-fearing
man would care to associate with such a slattern?

At just after three in the morning she sat up in bed, her swollen eyes fixed on the deep shadows near the door to his room. Was it open? She was certain she'd closed it!

Scrambling from the bed, she ran to the door and flung herself against it, heart racing,
hands
fumbling with the knob only to discover that the door was closed solid and locked. She tried to breathe evenly; attempted to slow down her frantically racing heart and to rationalize. There was nothing to be frightened of. Her monsters of the dark were behind
her . . .
at least those with the Vicar Ashton's face.

Yet, now there was this other—a man who terrified and abused his staff; a beast-man with the temperament of a dragon; a man so large and fearsome that to come within a room's length of him, even as he lay there as if dead, made her tremble with fear.

Dear God, which abomination frightened her more?

Gertrude clucked her tongue and, taking Maria's face in her hands, shook her head. "
Ye've
not slept a wink, I vow. Yer lovely blue eyes are sunken and shadowed. Tell
Gerti
the truth; are
ya
homesick, lass?"

Offering her friend a weak smile, Maria pulled away and swept up a paper. "I've spent the last few hours contriving a plan with which to deal with His Grace's circumstances. What is most important is to coerce him out of his ennui."

"We've attempted that for the last year, to no luck. I reckon when a soul decides to give up there's naught you can do about it . . . and
ya
didn't answer me question. Yer family, lass: are
ya
missin
' '
em
?"

"There comes a time in a woman's life when she'll do better for herself on her own,
Gerti
."

"That's a lot of
muddlycock
. A lass like you ought to be married by now and
bouncin
' a pair of
bairns
on her knees." Glancing about the chamber, noting that Maria had already made her bed—not to mention seeing that the tub had been emptied the night before and her ewers filled with fresh water this morning, Gertrude sighed. "By the looks of this place
ye'd
make an adequate wife.

Not many gels I know could tuck corners as neatly as them." She pointed to the well-made bed.

"My father was a perfectionist. Only those individuals who are entirely without flaw and who meet supreme standards of excellence in all that they do will reach heaven."

Her merry eyes narrowing as she regarded Maria, Gertrude shook her head. "I reckon that don't leave much hope for the majority of us, does it?"

Maria said nothing, just slid on her kid slippers and adjusted her skirt over them, doing her best to hide the fact that the shoes were worn thin.

"Does yer father's idea of perfection have aught to do with the
bindin's
ya
wear?"

Maria turned away.

"
Ye've
got no reason to wear them here," Gertrude pointed out.

"I simply feel more comfortable with them."

"Comfortable or secure?"
Again, Maria didn't respond, just made busy with collecting the notes she had jotted through the sleepless predawn hours.

"From wot I can see," Gertrude said, "
ye've
got a right nice figure beneath all them wraps. It's a real shame to waste it 'cause of a lot of archaic ideas. Well, never mind. I reckon there'll come a time when
ye'll
be
feelin
' the need to shuck '
em
. . . like when
ya
meet that special lad
ye'll
be
wantin
'
to
impress . . . or
maybe
ye've
already met
him . . . ?"