Lord Deverill's Heir (11 page)

He sat back in his chair and dropped his pen on the open page. He had passed his adult years soldiering—a leader of men, not these damned numbers that seemed to dance from one column to another. Ah, Ciudad Rodrigo—there was a battle, and a decisive one. Yet, he thought, picking up the pen and tapping it on the open page, Napoleon still held Europe fast in his Corsican hands. England was suffering from the French blockade, and if rumor had it correctly, Napoleon was now casting greedy eyes to the east, to Russia.

And here he was, far from the thick of things, saddled with a damned title and a huge estate. With a frustrated grunt the earl shook his head and returned his concentration to the page of entries. What he needed was Arabella. The one afternoon she had spent with him explaining such things as rents, market prices, crops, and the like, she had spoken concisely and knowledgeably, and he had achieved at least some rudimentary insights. Blackwater, his agent, had been far less helpful. The studious little man seemed to have difficulty in focusing his fading wits on the new century.

Arabella. During the past week, she had been practically as nonexistent as his ghostly visitors. He guessed that she was breakfasting very early in her room, to avoid him. She rode out alone on Lucifer, and on many days did not return until the sun was fading behind Charles II’s cedar in the front lawn.

Wisely, he left her alone. At least he thought he was acting wisely. On many occasions it was Arabella who maneuvered circumstances so as not to be alone with him. He would have felt totally at sea had he not several times felt her gray eyes upon him while he was speaking with someone else.

He started at a distant clap of thunder. Finally a diversion from his wretched task. He rose and walked to the windows. Dark, mottled rain clouds hung low and threateningly to the east. He hoped Arabella—rather, ma’am—wouldn’t be caught in the rain.

Layers of chill, heavy air swirled about Arabella. The storm was closing fast. Yet she did not move from her perch atop the highest outjutting gray stone in the old abbey ruins. How strange it was that her father had always hated the ruins. Even as a child, he had forbidden her to go near them. This was the only instance she could ever remember defying him.

She’d loved the ruins all her life. She smoothed her fingers over the stone, remembering childhood adventures in the ruins.

She was no longer a child, and the ruins were just ruins. She sighed as a raindrop landed on her cheek and dripped off her chin. What was she to do? Of course she knew there was really no choice, but she wanted a choice, a real choice that wouldn’t leave her feeling resentful and bitter.

She thought of Justin, picturing him in her mind. Her twin, she thought, except for that dimple in his chin. He had backed away, leaving her to herself, and she liked him for that. Actually, she liked him for a lot of things—his strength, his humor, his honor. She even liked him when he acted like an ass. She even liked him when he was mocking her or laughing at her or treating her like she was a twit. As husbands went, surely he wouldn’t be so bad. He would be a handful, but having lived with herself for eighteen years, she knew all about handfuls. She smiled this time and a fat raindrop fell right into her mouth. She laughed then, rising reluctantly. She looked toward Evesham Abbey, blurred now through the gathering darkness. It seemed unlikely that Lady Ann and Elsbeth would venture from Talgarth Hall with the storm brewing up so quickly. She had watched them climb into the Strafford carriage several hours before with only John Coachman in attendance. She wondered why the earl had not accompanied them. She was glad that he hadn’t. She was glad she would have him to herself. She shook out her skirts and began to run toward the abbey. She had made her choice. She would marry him.

The earl stood, hands on his hips, under the protection of the columned entrance. “Lady Arabella did not take Lucifer?” he asked James, the head groom. Heavy rain fell in sheets in front of them, and a chill wind billowed the sleeves of the earl’s white shirt.

“No, my lord.”

“Very well, thank you, James, for coming to the house. Fetch a cloak before you return to the stables. It’s going to get even colder.” Damnation. Did she find his company so damned distasteful that she preferred catching a chill? In a very short time his worry for her safety had worked its way to anger. God, he would throttle her for being such an idiot to remain out in such weather.

He was planning exactly how he would wring her neck when through the thick blanket of darkness and rain he made out the vague outline of someone running from the stables full tilt up the front lawn. The figure drew closer, and he saw it was Arabella, skirts held above her knees, racing toward him. She took the front steps two at a time and drew up panting in front of him.

She was a sodden mess. He looked her up and down and said in a voice of great disinterest, “Do you believe it wise to be out in such weather?”

“No, not at all. But these things happen, you know. It’s not important.” Then she had the gall to shrug.

“Just where the devil have you been?”

Arabella swept her soaked hair from her forehead, lifted a black arched eyebrow, and said, “I have been running in the rain. See, my hair and gown are wet. My slippers are soaked. Now, I believe I will go change my clothes.”

He looked at that neck of hers and pictured his fingers tightening about it.

“Really, sir, you shouldn’t be standing out here. It’s cold and you just might take a chill. Just feel the wind.” Give him a crisis and he was the calmest of men. Give him a new situation and he would quickly adapt and show his experience. Give him troops and he would never lost his self-control. She swept past him into the front entrance hall. He stared after her, then yelled at the top of his lungs,

“Ma’am, damn you, get back here! I have something to say to you. Damn you, don’t you shrug at me or raise your damned eyebrows!” She paused beneath the chandelier. He wished she had kept going because her gown clung to her like a second hide. He could clearly see her breasts and hips. He didn’t like what it made him feel. He didn’t want to be as hard as a stone when he was angry at her. At the moment, she didn’t deserve him to desire her.

“Well, what do you have to say?”

She had the gall to tap the sodden toe of her left slipper against the marble floor. “Sir, are you suddenly dumb? I thought you had something to say.”

“We shall dine in thirty minutes in the Velvet Room, ma’am,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice. “I refuse to have my dinner delayed any longer.” She began up the stairs, pools of water forming at her feet, then turned to look down at him. “Now I understand. You’re angry at me because you are too much the gentleman to eat your dinner without me. I’m sorry the time got away from me. I promise I will be down as quickly as I can change my clothes.”

The earl wished there was something to kick in the huge entrance hall, but there were only two ornately carved massive chairs from the seventeenth century. They probably weighed more than he did.

He had downed only one snifter of brandy when Arabella came into the Velvet Room, wearing black silk, as usual, and looking as if she had napped the entire afternoon. She looked fresh and full of life. She also looked innocent and guileless. Ha, he knew better. He wished he hadn’t seen her breasts and hips so clearly outlined through her wet gown. He wished he could keep this damned female in perspective. He would marry her, he had to marry her, but still, he didn’t have to feel anything else about any of it.

He was immune to her, at least most of his body was. She didn’t look particularly fashionable in that dreary black mourning gown. Ah, but that hair of hers. It hung down her back in damp waves, thick and glossy. A narrow black ribbon secured it back from her forehead. His palms itched to touch her hair, to wrap it around his hand over and over, to pull her slowly to him until her breasts were pressing against his chest.

This would never do. “Well, I can only hope that we won’t have to call Dr. Branyon to prescribe for you.”

He sounded annoyed, which was surely odd. Annoyed because he would be eating his dinner a bit late? She said, grinning at him because she was a girl who enjoyed fueling annoyance, particularly his annoyance, “I am blessed with my father’s good health,” she said, all good humor. She walked to where he stood by the fireplace. She didn’t stop until she was less than a foot from him. What was she doing? Was she trying to goad the bear? The earl found himself a trifle daunted. No, he would never be daunted.

It was just that she wasn’t behaving like she had all week. Rather than avoiding him, she was tracking him down to the very spot where he was standing. He turned away from her and walked toward the door. He would go to the dining room. That made sense since he had complained that she had delayed his dinner.

“Justin.”

He whirled around and stared at her incredulously. Surely he had not heard her aright. Why was she behaving in this strange way? He said, “I am sir to you.”

“Well, yes, you have been sir. I was wondering if you would mind if I used your given name now?”

“I have only known you for a bit more than a week. We haven’t been sufficiently friendly or intimate to justify it. No, I will remain sir to you.” Then, to his astonishment, he watched her run her tongue over her bottom lip. A very nice full bottom lip, he saw, now wet and shining from her tongue.

“I’m trying to become more friendly. Perhaps you would change your mind?

Perhaps after dinner?”

He shook his head. “You cannot be Arabella Deverill,” he said firmly.

“Perhaps you are her twin sister, long kept in hiding in the attic, beneath one of those forty gables.”

“No, she is still there, in her chains. Have you heard her howling? No, that’s not possible. There hasn’t been a full moon. She only howls at the full moon.” She grinned at him shamelessly. “Now, sir, please come here and sit down. You and I have some serious matters to discuss.”

“What serious matters?” he asked, not moving. “No, don’t say anything. If there are serious matters between us it can only mean one thing. A woman does not woo a man. Besides, I will not speak to you about anything of importance until after I’ve had my dinner.” He gave a ferocious pull on the bell cord.

“My father always said that a man’s stomach was important to him. Not the most important—he would never tell me what that was—but nonetheless, I suppose I must agree that to be at your best, you must have a full belly.” He could but stare at her. He would marry her and bed her and then, at least, she wouldn’t be so damnably innocent. “Ah, here you are, Crupper.

Have the footmen bring out dinner in here this evening. Lady Arabella doesn’t wish to travel all the way to the dining room.” A few minutes later, the earl looked down at the roast pork and fresh garden peas. “Just as Lady Arabella ordered, my lord,” Crupper said. The smells were delicious.

“You ordered this?”

She nodded.

“I do not particularly care for roast pork, Crupper. Have you other dishes as well?”

“Of course there are other dishes,” Arabella said. “Cook always prepares roast pork for me on Thursdays.”

“Hell, leave the damned pork, Crupper, and forget the other dishes. This will do admirably.”

His lordship’s language was deteriorating alarmingly. Lady Arabella didn’t seem to mind, so Crupper decided he wouldn’t mind either. There were a lot of changes at Evesham Abbey. It was a trying time for everyone. If the earl wanted to curse, it was probably the best for everyone. It was better than him hurling something. As Crupper got older, it was more difficult to duck, and duck he had many times under the former earl’s reign.

Crupper waited until he had very nearly bowed himself out of the Velvet Room before giving his message. “A footman arrived from Talgarth Hall, my lord. Lady Ann and Lady Elsbeth have decided to remain for dinner, not wishing to venture out in this weather.” So, Justin thought, he would be alone with her. For the first time. He wondered if she would try to bolt. No, not likely, particularly given the strange way she was acting since she’d come downstairs. He remembered to say, “Thank you, Crupper.”

There was no conversation for ten minutes.

Finally, Arabella said, “Is the roast pork to your liking, sir?” He was eating like a pig. He couldn’t very well say that the damned pork irritated his stomach. “It’s passable,” he said, and took another big bite. Then he dropped his fork to his plate and sat back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest. He had given her the upper hand—rather she’d taken it and not given it up—and now she was in control, not he. He was obliged to laugh. He remembered thinking that she was admirable upon one occasion. He could not but admit to it again.

“Have you been rehearsing all week for this evening?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She did know, and he knew that she knew, but he said easily, “Well, you have avoided me, probably hidden under the stairs whenever I came too close. It’s only reasonable that you’ve used your time this week to prepare your performance for this evening. Have you decided just how you would deal with me?”

He’d gotten her fair and square, but she wasn’t ready to throw in her hand just yet. She slowly laid down her fork and leaned back in her chair, mimicking him, cocking her head to one side. “You know, sir, the cleft in your chin is really quite attractive. I wondered at first if I would ever find it anything beyond the ordinary, but I find that I have.

You are quite handsome with it, sir.”

“You will keep pushing? All right then, ma’am. Would you care to examine my attractive cleft more closely?” He paused just the barest moment, then added, “If you hadn’t noticed, there is also a great deal more of me that I trust you will find equally attractive.”

“I trust you will find the same true of me, sir.”

“After seeing you in your drenched, very clinging gown, ma’am, I honestly can’t imagine being disappointed. However, I am a man who prefers actual proof, not just speculation.”

He wanted plain speaking, she’d give him plain speaking. She’d hit him on the head with plain speaking. “Oh, I see. You mean you want me to take my clothes off?”