Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance (6 page)

"What's wrong?"

"You... you..." She stepped to the side, getting an even better view of the flower. It was an assault to her conscience. An exacerbating poison to her ever-present guilt. If she thought she'd left her troubles at Blackmoore, she'd been sorely mistaken.

Mr. Trevelyn was at her side then. His hand came toward her then fell back against his thigh. He sighed. "Has something happened?"

She had to get away. She lifted up her skirts and before he'd even known her intent, she was on a mad dash for the house.

But she wasn't to reach the building. She ran full speed into her uncle, whose strong hands secured her so that she felt her feet were glued to the hard dirt ground.

"Victoria, whatever is the matter?" he demanded. He gave Mr. Trevelyn a look so violent that she almost forgot what had frightened her so.

She took a deep breath. "I have a migraine. I need to get out of the sun."

Her uncle nodded. "You shouldn't be out in the yard without a hat."

Mr. Trevelyn laughed with disbelief. "That wasn't what it seemed like back there, John.
Victoria
was scared, if you ask my opinion."

"Well no one did," she snapped, realizing that her falsehoods would be uncovered.

"I like Victoria much better than Betsy."

Her uncle looked confused. "Who's Betsy?"

"Betsy is who
she
claimed to be."

He laughed and she moved away from him, looking longingly at the house. "This is Victoria Fyn, my niece."

"Why the assumed name?" he asked her.

For a moment, she thought he was referring to the new surname her uncle had given her, but of course, he didn't know that her real name was Clavering.

Her uncle saved her from answering. "I told her not to trust anyone when traveling alone. I guess she took me mighty seriously."

She looked at Mr. Trevelyn and judged him to be amused. "Well," she said, "I think we should be going inside now."

"I hope this doesn't mean our plans are off."

"No..."

"Then you'll have to let me know when it's most convenient for you." They both knew that the outing had been planned for the very same day.

She nodded and made her backward escape.

She'd avoided him for an entire week. He had only called once at the house, but it had been enough. Mr. Trevelyn was too much of a man not to take the hint. If she were honest with herself, she was a little disappointed that he didn't try harder. But her neurotic reaction to a simple flower had convinced her that it was best to stay away.

She hadn't been away from her uncle's house since she'd arrived. Although she had wanted time to think and sort out her life, she hadn't necessarily thought it would be so lonely. Being cooped up inside also wasn't her idea of a restful holiday. So she decided that she had to get out, get some fresh air, and take a look around. Except that the moment she did, she saw him.

If she'd thought he didn't care, she was wrong. She saw him at a distance, so she started to walk in the direction of town anyway, even though she knew he would stop her. She shook her head with disgust at her weak resolve. Too smart to convince herself that there was no other way, she realized that she wasn't running back inside the house because she desperately wanted to banter with him. She
wanted
to feel the rush of anxiety and excitement rush through her body, wondering if she was getting in over her head.

It was too irresistible to deny.

He walked beside her, but at a distance. "She walks in beauty, like the
day
...of cloudless climes and
cloudy
skies?"

She quickened her pace, still trying to pretend that she didn't want the meeting to take place. Then she realized that she was walking a bit too far from the house.

"In secret we met: in silence I grieve...that thy heart couldn't forget, thy spirit deceive!"

She stopped. "I wouldn't think you were one to bandy such terms."

"I'm not. But it got your attention, did it not?"

"Do you read Byron?"

"I know only what I've heard my brother say.
He's
the charmer."

"Perhaps you should listen more carefully. She walks in beauty like the
night
. And I don't think the rest of it's quite right either."

"I don't really care how she walks. I must adapt things for my own purposes."

She shook the dust from the bottom of her skirt then frowned at the worn tips of her boots. "Would you like to come inside the house?"

His smirk turned into a smile.

"We could take tea," she suggested.

"But would your uncle approve?" The question seemed laughingly false coming out of his mouth. Perhaps it wasn't, but his aura of mystique and raw power made it seem so.

"I don't see why he should not." Realistically, her true response would have been concerning the notion that her uncle wasn't at home and therefore would have nothing to judge.

They walked back to the house. Once they arrived, she had a sudden pang of conscience. Inviting a man into her drawing room without a chaperone might give him the wrong impression. But even as she thought this, she also thought of how much she wanted the flirtation to continue. Now, she didn't want to go back.

She thought all of this while leading him into the house. When they walked through the entrance hall, the room was dark to her sun-filled eyes. Intimately dark. She prayed that one of the servants was close at hand so Mr. Trevelyn's visit would lose some of its impropriety. Then, when she saw his eyes sparkle in the minimal light, she hoped there was not.

"Shall we go to the drawing room then?"

"But of course," he said and followed her inside.

Once they were there, she had her first real doubts. She looked about the room, noticing how dim it was at that time of the day and how it was actually quite small.

Intimate.

While before she was tentatively excited, now she was scared. She didn't invite him inside in order to be reckless. Nor had she decided to be wild. But now those desires besieged her when she realized she had the opportunity.
That was exactly it!

The opportunity
and
a wonderfully handsome man with which to do it.

"So where did you live before you came here?"

He didn't feel the least bit guilty when a scared look--it was becoming quite familiar to him--spread across her face. In fact, he was pleased. He was on the right track.

"I lived with my parents," she finally said.

"Had you forgotten?"

"No, I...just didn't know how to answer the question." She sat on the edge of the divan, flouncing her skirts as she did. "You see, we traveled a lot. So when you asked where I lived, I really didn't know what to say."

Quite a good answer, he thought, except that he already knew she was lying. He thought of sitting down, but considered it might cause him to feel too relaxed, and he remained where he stood.

"Have you lived in this area all your life, Mr. Trevelyn?"

"Yes," he answered. But he quickly followed with, "So whereabouts did you visit with your parents?"

She had an obvious change of expression to his quick change of subject. She had obviously underestimated his determination. "Oh, Germany, France, and Italy...the usual places."

This time, he wouldn't give her time to ask him anything. "And I assume they passed on?" he said.

Her gaze darted past him and back again. "Yes," she said and her gaze fell to the floor.

He'd only just started questioning her, but he realized he was forgetting his manners in his quest for information. Of course she'd be saddened by the thought of her parents! It was horrible of him to refer to it in such an off-hand manner.

"I am so sorry, Miss Fyn." He approached the divan she was perched upon. "I didn't mean to resurrect old emotions."

Her lip now quivered. "Then why the interrogation? My life can be divided into two separate areas: boring and miserable. I don't enjoy speaking of it."

He moved closer, wanting to hold her in his arms. Anything to erase the wounded look from her face.

She began to fidget, her uncomfortable body language even more pronounced. "Usually, I'm able to speak of my parents without becoming upset, but--"

"Yes, I understand. It's been a while; you've moved past it, and I've just now opened old...
wounds
."

She nodded. Her long black unpinned hair caught the light whenever she moved her head. If he could just run his fingers through it, to satisfy his aching fingers' curiosity, he would be satisfied. But no, it was
wrong
.

To find her so attractive isn't honorable
, he thought to himself, and he started to step away. He was supposed to be interviewing her, not that she was aware of it. He needed to catch her in a lie. Maybe if he could get her to speak of Blackmoore, he would be able to figure out if, once and for all, she was the one to blame. Then, actions could be taken.

When he was farther away, she calmed down. That was good, wasn't it?

Just then, he realized what she'd said before he had become so distracted. "So, it has been a little while since your parents passed away."

He waited for her to respond and realized he wouldn't get anywhere if he kept bringing up her parents. He didn't want to upset her. Not only would it be cruel, but he would get nowhere in his investigation.

But, surprisingly, all she did was reply, "Yes. Then I spent some time with an aunt before coming here."

So quick with a response! Especially since only a moment ago, she'd been shaking and trembling. What made the difference?

He leaned against the fireplace mantle, sparing a glance for the picture that hung above. John Fyn's beautiful wife. Dead. Victoria certainly had a family that wasn't very good at staying together.

"What was your aunt's name?"

"Why, Mr. Trevelyn! What an odd question." She hesitated a moment. "If you must know, her name is Georgia."

So she had an answer to that one as well. How would he get her to trip herself up?

"I'm starting to believe that you have a reason for all these questions."

"What better reason than curiosity?"

"I'm curious about you as well." She smiled. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes."

She leaned back a little in her seat. "You know, Mr. Trevelyn, usually when one asks such a question they expect a far more detailed response such as, how many and what gender. But perhaps you didn't realize that?"

"I realized it."

"They why did--"

"I'd much rather hear about you," he interrupted. "My life is quite uninteresting."

"If you are so unwilling to answer my questions, don't be confident that you will have yours addressed."

He pushed away from the mantle. "Oh, but, Miss Fyn," he said as he approached her, "I can be far more persuasive."

Through her skirt, he could see that she'd crossed her legs. "I don't know...what else you could possibly ask."

"That's why I'm doing the asking."

She uncrossed her legs.

"There's something I've been thinking a lot about." He moved even closer. "Why did you really give me a false name?"

"As my uncle said, he'd told me to be very careful with strangers." He could hear her uneven, strained breath from where he stood.

"But why a false name? What difference should that make?"

She shrugged and then stood up and darted away. "Before we continue this charming conversation, why don't I call for some tea?"

It was obvious that she had something to hide, even to a person who didn't already have a head start. He wondered why she didn't just throw him out. She seemed uncomfortable, for good reason, and he knew there was no reason she had to continue speaking to him unless, perhaps, she wanted to show him that she had nothing to worry about?

He was amazed. He'd only just met the woman and already he'd decided he knew her well enough to judge her actions.

She left the room, not saying a word. In his mind, it was another sign of her being flustered. No excuse was made; no explanation spoken. It was implied that she went to find the maid, but her lack of the proper etiquette implied much more. He'd gotten under her skin. He smiled to the picture of Fiona Fyn. Yes, women were just too easy to manipulate.

When Victoria returned, she said, "The tea will be served shortly."

"I truly didn't want you to go to any trouble."

"It is no trouble at all," she said with conviction, even though he knew they only had one maid and she probably had to be pulled from some other important duty. So she was prideful as well.

"So you wished to know more about my previous living situation? I can't imagine why you'd be interested, but I do so enjoy speaking of my time there. My aunt is such a lovely woman." She smiled and reclaimed her seat on the divan. "Shall I tell you a bit about her?"

How did one politely say no to a question like that? "I would love to hear about your aunt."

She must have spoken about her wonderful relative for at least ten minutes. That was about as long as it took to receive the tea. She spoke right up until when she served. He heard more than he ever wanted to know about a woman he'd never meet. Alex heard about how fashionable the older woman was, always knowledgeable on the latest styles. How much fun she was and how there was never a dull moment at Henley House. He even listened to a lengthy story of how the woman had met her husband.

Finally, the tea came. She filled the delicate porcelain cups with the nostalgic smelling stuff. It reminded him of when his mother was alive, back when there was someone else in the house that cared about someone other than themselves. Such unwelcome memories were another good reason to get their important conversation back on track. Not that his companion knew it was so important.

What could he ask her that would sound natural and yet suit his purposes? Wasn't he on the right track before? It was right before she ordered the tea and--

That was it! "You were going to tell me why you used a false name?"