Once and Always (8 page)

Charles’s words hit home with enough force to make Jason wince. Charles saw it and he pressed his advantage. “She’s as innocent and lost as a child, Jason. She has no one left in the world except me—and you, whether you like it or not. Think of her as you would think of Jamie in these same circumstances. But Victoria has courage, and pride. For instance, even though she laughed about it, I could tell that her reception here yesterday humiliated her terribly. If she thinks she isn’t wanted, she’ll find some way to leave here. And if that happens,” Charles finished tautly, “I’ll never forgive you. I swear I won’t!”

Jason abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up, his expression closed and hard. “By any chance, is she another one of your by-blows?”

Charles’s face whitened. “Good God, no!” When Jason still looked skeptical, Charles added desperately, “Think what you’re saying! Would I have announced your betrothal to her, if she were my daughter?”

Instead of pacifying Jason, that assurance merely called to mind the betrothal that had so enraged him. “If your little angel is so damned innocent and so courageous, why did she agree to barter her body for marriage to me?”

“Oh, that!” Charles waved his hand in dismissal. “I made that announcement without her knowledge; she knows nothing of it. Call it over-enthusiasm on my part,” he said smoothly. “I assure you, she has no wish to marry you.” Jason’s glacial expression began to thaw and Charles hastened to heap on more reassurance. “I doubt Victoria would have you, even if you wanted her. You’re much too cynical and hard and jaded for a gently bred, idealistic girl like her. She admired her father and she told me openly that she wanted to marry a man like him—a sensitive, gentle, idealistic man. Why, you’re nothing like that,” he continued, so carried away with near-victory that he didn’t realize his speech bordered on insult. “I daresay if Victoria knew she was supposedly betrothed to you, she’d swoon dead away! She’d take her own life before—”

“I think I have the picture,” Jason interrupted mildly.

“Good,” Charles said with a swift smile. “Then may I suggest we keep that little betrothal announcement a secret from her? I’ll think of some way to rescind it without causing embarrassment to either of you, but we can’t do it immediately.” When Jason’s eyes narrowed on his smile, Charles quickly sobered. “She is a child, Jason—a brave, proud girl who is trying to make the best of things in a cruel world she isn’t equipped to face. If we revoke the betrothal too soon after her arrival here, she’ll be a laughingstock in London. They’ll say you took one look at her and cried off.”

A vision of dark-lashed, glowing blue eyes and a face too beautiful to be real drifted through Jason’s mind. He remembered the entrancing smile that had touched her soft lips a few minutes ago, before she became aware of his presence in the dining room. In retrospect, she did seem rather like a vulnerable child.

“Go talk to her, please,” Charles implored.

“I’ll talk to her,” Jason agreed shortly.

“But will you make her feel welcome?”

“That depends on how she behaves when I find her.”

In her room, Victoria snatched another armload of clothes from the armoire while Jason Fielding’s words hammered painfully in her brain.
Whining little BEGGAR . . . I don’t want her here. . . . Whining little BEGGAR
... She hadn’t found a new home at all, she thought hysterically. Fate had merely been playing a vicious joke on her. She stuffed the clothes into her trunk. Standing up again she turned toward the armoire and let out a gasp of fright. “You!” she choked, glaring at the tall, forbidding figure lounging just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Angry with herself for letting him see her fright, she put her chin up, absolutely determined not to let him intimidate her again. “Someone should have taught you to knock before you enter a room.”

“Knock?” he repeated with dry mockery. “When the door is already open?” He shifted his attention to her open trunk and raised his eyebrows. “Are you leaving?”

“Obviously,” Victoria replied.

“Why?”

“Why?” she burst out in disbelief. “Because I am
not
a whining little beggar, and for your information, I
hate
being a burden to anyone.”

Instead of looking guilty because she’d overheard his cutting remarks, he looked slightly amused. “Didn’t anyone ever teach
you
not to eavesdrop?”

“I was not eavesdropping,” Victoria retorted. “You were assassinating my character in a voice that could be heard all the way to London.”

“Where are you planning to go?” he asked, ignoring her criticism.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Humor me!” he snapped, his manner suddenly turning cold and commanding.

Victoria shot him a mutinous, measuring look. Leaning in the doorway, he looked dangerous and invincible. His shoulders were wide, his chest deep, and his white shirt-sleeves were rolled up, displaying darkly tanned, very muscular forearms whose strength she had already experienced when he carried her upstairs yesterday. She also knew he had a vile temper, and judging from the ominous look in his hard jade eyes, he was even now considering shaking the answer out of her. Rather than give him that satisfaction, Victoria said frigidly, “I have a little money. I’ll find a place to live in the village.”

“Really?” he drawled sarcastically. “Just out of curiosity, when your ‘little money’ runs out, how will you live?”

“I’ll work!” Victoria informed him, trying to shatter his infuriating composure.

His dark brows shot up in sardonic amusement. “What a novel idea—a woman who actually wants to work. Tell me, what sort of work can you do?” His question snapped out like a whip. “Can you push a plow?”

“No—”

“Can you drive a nail?”

“No.”

“Can you milk a cow?”

“No!”

“Then you’re useless to yourself and to anyone else, aren’t you?” he pointed out mercilessly.

“I most certainly am not!” she denied with angry pride. “I can do all sorts of things, I can sew and cook and—”

“And set all the villagers gossiping about what monsters the Fieldings are for turning you out? Forget it,” he said arrogantly. “I won’t permit it.”

“I do not remember
asking
for your permission,” Victoria retorted defiantly.

Caught off guard, Jason stared hard at her. Grown men rarely dared to challenge him, yet here was this slip of a girl doing exactly that. If his annoyance hadn’t matched his surprise, he would have chucked her under the chin and grinned at her courage. Suppressing the unprecedented urge to gentle his words, he said curtly, “If you’re so eager to earn your keep, which I doubt, you can do it here.”

“I’m very sorry,” the defiant young beauty announced coolly, “but that won’t do.”

“Why not?”

“Because I simply cannot imagine myself bowing and scraping and quaking with fear each time you pass, like the rest of your servants are expected to do. Why, that poor man with the sore tooth nearly collapsed this morning when you—”

“Who?” Jason demanded, his ire momentarily replaced by stupefaction.

“Mr. O’Malley.”

“Who the hell is Mr. O’Malley?” he bit out, controlling his temper with a supreme effort.

Victoria rolled her eyes in disgust. “You don’t even know his name, do you? Mr. O’Malley is the footman who went for your breakfast, and his jaw is so swollen—”

Jason turned on his heel. “Charles wants you to stay here, and that’s the end of it.” In the doorway, he stopped and turned, his threatening gaze pinning her to the spot. “If you’re thinking of leaving despite my orders, I’d advise you not to do it. You’ll put me to the trouble of coming after you, and you won’t like what happens when I find you, believe me.”

“I am not frightened of you or your threats,” Victoria lied proudly, rapidly trying to sort through her alternatives. She didn’t want to hurt Charles by leaving, but neither would her pride permit her to be a “beggar” in Jason’s home. Ignoring the ominous glitter in his green eyes, she said, “I’ll stay, but I intend to work for my food and lodging here.”

“Fine,” Jason snapped, feeling as if she was somehow emerging the victor in this conflict. He turned to leave, but her businesslike voice stopped him.

“May I ask what my wages will be?”

Jason sucked in a furious breath. “Are you
trying
to irritate me?”

“Not at all. I merely wish to know what my wages will be, so I can plan for the day when I...” Her voice trailed off as Jason rudely stalked out.

Uncle Charles sent up word asking her to join him for lunch, which turned out to be a very enjoyable meal, since Jason wasn’t present. However, the rest of the afternoon dragged and, in a fit of restlessness, Victoria decided to stroll outside. The butler saw her coming downstairs and swept open the front door for her. Trying to show him she harbored no ill will about yesterday, Victoria smiled at him. “Thank you very much, ah—?”

“Northrup,” he provided, his manner polite, his expression carefully blank.

“Northrup?” Victoria repeated, hoping to draw him into conversation. “Is that your given name or your surname?”

His gaze slid to hers, then away. “Er—my surname, miss.”

“I see,” she continued politely. “And how long have you worked here?”

Northrup clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward on the balls of his feet, looking solemn. “For nine generations, my family has been born and has died in service to the Fieldings, miss. I expect to carry on that proud tradition.”

“Oh,” Victoria said, carefully suppressing a chuckle at his profound pride in holding a job that seemed to entail nothing more important than opening and closing doors for people.

As if he read her thoughts, he added stiffly, “If you have any problems with the staff, miss, bring them to me. As head of the household, I will endeavor to see that they are rectified immediately.”

“I’m certain I won’t need to do that. Everyone here is very efficient,” Victoria said kindly. Too efficient, she thought as she wandered into the sunshine.

She walked across the front lawns, then shifted direction and went around the side of the house, intending to visit the stables to see the horses. With a half-formed idea of using apples to befriend them, Victoria went round to the back and asked directions to the kitchen.

The gigantic kitchen was filled with frantically busy people who were rolling out dough on wooden tables, stirring kettles, and chopping vegetables. In the center of the bedlam, an enormously fat man in a spotless white apron the size of a tablecloth stood like a frenzied monarch, waving a long-handled spoon and shouting instructions in French and English. “Excuse me,” Victoria said to the woman at the nearest table. “May I have two apples and two carrots if you can spare them?”

The woman glanced uncertainly at the man in the white apron, who was glowering at Victoria; then she disappeared into another room adjoining the kitchen, returning a minute later with the apples and carrots. “Thank you, ah—?” Victoria said.

“Mrs. Northrup, miss,” the woman said uneasily.

“How nice,” Victoria replied with a sweet smile. “I’ve already met your husband, the butler, but he didn’t tell me you worked here, also.”

“Mr. Northrup is my brother-in-law,” she corrected.

“Oh, I see,” Victoria said, sensing the woman’s reluctance to talk in front of the moody fat man, who seemed to be in charge. “Well, good day, Mrs. Northrup.”

A flagstone path bordered by woods on the right led to the stables. Victoria walked along, admiring the splendid vista of rolling, clipped lawns and lavish gardens on her left, when a sudden movement a few yards away on her right made her stop short and stare. At the perimeter of the woods, a huge gray animal was foraging about in what appeared to be a small compost pile. The animal caught her scent and raised its head, its feral gaze locking with hers, and Victoria’s blood froze.
Wolf!
her mind screamed.

Paralyzed with terror, she stood rooted to the spot, afraid to move or make a sound, while her benumbed brain registered haphazard facts about the terrifying beast. The wolf’s heavy gray coat was mangy-looking and thick, but not thick enough to hide its protruding ribs; it had terribly large jaws; its eyes were fierce.... Judging from the animal’s grotesque gauntness, it appeared to be nearly starved to death. Which meant it would attack and eat anything it could catch— including herself. Victoria took a tiny, cautious step backward toward the safety of the house.

The animal snarled, its upper lip curling back, baring a set of huge white fangs to her view. Victoria reacted automatically, hurling her apples and carrots to him in a desperate effort to distract him from his obvious intention of eating
her.
Instead of pouncing on the missiles she’d thrown at him, as she expected him to, the animal jerked away from its garden feast and bolted into the woods with its tail between its legs. Victoria spun on her heel and raced into the house via the nearest back door, then ran to a window and peeked out at the woods. The wolf was standing just inside the perimeter of the trees, hungrily staring at the compost pile.

“Is something wrong, miss?” a footman asked, coming up behind her on his way toward the kitchen.

“I saw an animal,” Victoria said breathlessly. “I think it was a—” She watched as the gray beast trotted stealthily back to the garden and gobbled the apples and carrots; then it ran back into the woods, its bushy tail still between its legs. The animal was frightened! she realized. And starved. “Do you have any dogs around here?” she asked, suddenly wondering if she’d been about to make a mistake that would make her appear exceedingly foolish.

“Yes, miss—several of ‘em.”

“Are any of them big, thin, and black and gray in color?”

“That’d be his lordship’s old dog, Willie,” he said. “He’s always around here, beggin‘ fer somethin’ to eat. He ain’t mean, if that’s worryin‘ you. Did you see him?”

“Yes,” Victoria said, growing angry as she remembered how the starved creature had been gobbling spoiled vegetables from the compost pile as if they were beefsteaks. “And he’s nearly starved. Someone ought to feed the poor thing.”