Rhonda Woodward (11 page)

He picked up the other sheets and examined those just as carefully. Finally, when she had almost reached the point of snatching the papers back, he spoke.

“There are a few techniques I can show you to help with your use of depth and proportion.” His eyes stayed on the sheet he held in his long fingers.

Finally, he placed the paper on top of her leather case and looked at her, his expression serious and direct.

“Miss Thorncroft, you are an extremely gifted artist. I cannot express to you how impressed I am with what I have seen so far.”

Ever uncomfortable with any kind of false flattery, Mariah could not hold his gaze. Looking down at her hands, she said quietly, “You are being too kind, my lord.” She heard the flatness in her own voice.

“My dear,” he said after a sharp laugh, “you should know me well enough by now to know that I am quite frank in my opinions.”

She raised her gaze to meet his, a smile coming unbidden to her lips. “I will own that you do not hesitate to speak your mind.”

“Then believe me. You are much more naturally talented than I am. I have just had better instructors.”

Mariah laughed at this. “Considering that I have never been taught anything about drawing, I must concur with you.”

His black brows rose in an expression of surprise. “I am even more impressed. To produce this quality of work with no instruction on the basics of drawing is amazing. I do have a number of books on the subject you will find interesting.”

He pushed himself up from the chair and went to one of the enormous bookcases on the other side of the room.

Staring after him, Mariah gripped the armrests of her chair.
You have much more natural talent than I have. S
o much for her judgment of him as insufferably arrogant. The men in her world would never admit that a woman had more talent than they did on any subject.

With her eyes riveted on his broad back, she wondered why her heart felt so strange.

This disturbingly handsome, completely unpredictable man elicited the most powerful feelings she had ever experienced. Unthinking, she rose from the chair and went to stand next to him as he pulled books from the shelves.

“Here are several books that I am sure you will find informative.”

Her heart swelled at his praise of her talent. She kept her gaze riveted on his chiseled profile as he selected another book. Suddenly, a strange and overwhelming awareness of him caused her breathing to become tremulous and shallow. The quiet room felt warm. Inhaling deeply, she took in the faintly smoky, woodsy scent of him and savored it for a moment.

From the remainder of her good sense, a distant warning bell sounded. It cautioned her to think carefully, but she ignored the alarm, too enthralled and curious about these new sensations. With her eyes traveling over every inch of his finely wrought profile, she wanted him to look at her.

Her heart clenched again when a moment later he did. His contemplative frown cleared as their eyes met and held. Without taking his eyes from hers, he put the thick book down on the table next to them. Then he took a step closer.

“You have done something that few people have been able to do, Miss Thorncroft.”

“I have?” Her husky whisper sounded strange to her ears. “How, my lord?”

“You have surprised me. Repeatedly.”

“How very strange. I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

She watched, fascinated, as a hint of a smile creased the corner of his mouth. With a subtle movement he drew closer.

Almost unthinking, she took a small step forward, her senses besieged by the sheer masculine beauty of his strong body and arresting eyes. Feeling herself tremble, she realized that she had never felt anything like the intense, yet languorous heat spreading through her limbs.

The room seemed to recede, leaving only her deep awareness of disturbing, yet welcome, new feelings that were wholly connected to him. Instantly, she knew that if he kissed her, she could not, would not, be able to resist.

Taking his time, he reached out and put his right hand on the curve of her waist. The warm strength of his fingers sent an exquisite shiver racing through her body. She swayed toward him.

The smile faded from his lips as his hand moved to the small of her back and gently tugged her closer.

With their bodies barely brushing together, Mariah opened her mouth to speak. As his other arm circled her body and drew her inexorably against him, she completely forgot what she had wanted to say.

Feeling herself pressed against his ironlike hardness, Mariah raised her arms and twined them around his neck. Taking an unsteady breath, she allowed herself a moment to absorb the heat of his body enveloping hers.

As she gazed into the depths of the earl’s blue eyes, the feeling drugging her senses seemed mirrored in his gaze.
This must be desire,
came the distant thought.

Pulling her tighter against him, he lowered his head toward hers. An instant before she was sure his lips would meet hers, she closed her eyes, savoring the anticipation of his touch.

Feeling his warm breath on her lips, she heard him whisper her name. “Mariah.”

At the passion-filled ache in his tone, she made a small movement, and the space between them, no wider than a sigh, disappeared.

As his firm lips met hers, there was a moment of shock at the strangeness of his touch, but the moment quickly crystallized into one of searing beauty. His arms tightened around her body as his lips moved over hers in a sensual tug. A feeling of wonder at this ever-increasing awareness caused her to press even closer to him.

Then, without warning, a loud, crashing clatter penetrated her sensual haze.

Instantly, they both turned their heads to see the maid, on her knees, picking up pieces of a broken teacup. Beet-red, she looked up at them with a mortified expression that matched how Mariah suddenly felt.

“I beg your pardon! I am so sorry, your lordship! I am ever so sorry.” Frantically, the flustered maid began to mop up the spilt tea with her apron.

Briefly, Mariah closed her eyes. Passion’s haze vanished in an instant, leaving her shocked and unable to look at the earl.

For a moment she could not move. Then his arms fell away from her. Stepping back, she walked across the room, circumnavigating the puddle of tea and the distraught maid. Trying her best to hold on to what remained of her dignity, Mariah kept her shoulders back and her gate measured. After what had just occurred, it would be too horrible to run from the room like a frightened rabbit.

Her raw senses screamed for her to look back at the earl. But she could not bear to chance what she might see in his eyes, now that the momentary spell that had held them was broken.

Without a backward glance she walked out of the library.

Chapter Ten

“That’s all right, Sally. You may clean up the tea later,” Stone instructed calmly. The little maid looked devastated for a moment, then quickly rose, gave a hasty curtsy, and scurried out of the room.

His expression grim, Stone stayed motionless. For a moment he could not dismiss from his mind the image of a pair of beautiful hazel eyes filled with dawning passion.

Finally he crossed the room and sat in the chair he had vacated only moments earlier. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked down at the leather case with the sketches resting on top. Miss Thorncroft had left it behind when she had stalked out of the room.

What just happened?
he asked himself, loosening his neckcloth.

Admittedly, when he had walked by the library the sight of her practically curled up in the chair and concentrating so intently on her sketches had charmed him. Her alluring figure and lovely face framed by the bow window had caused his blood to stir. However, his curiosity about her drawings had intrigued him, and learning of her prodigious talent had impressed him greatly.

Just as it had in the gallery and last night, an air of palpable intimacy seemed to effortlessly envelop them. Determined to play the gentleman, he used the excuse of looking for books on art instruction to put some distance between them before he forgot that she was an innocent young woman.

When she joined him by the bookshelves, he had been taken aback by the banked sensuality in the depths of her beautiful eyes.

He really could not recall the last time a woman had so thoroughly jarred his senses. He shook his head in wonderment. This young woman—one step away from being a mere country girl, albeit keenly intelligent—had flummoxed him.

In spite of her transparent innocence, or perhaps because of it, Miss Thorncroft was proving to be a disturbing mystery.

Today was not the first time he had noticed a subtle, unconscious sensuality in Miss Thorncroft’s manner. When he had watched her dance, he had found it difficult to keep his gaze from the sinuous movements of her body. He recalled the way her delicate fingers lingered caressingly on her wineglass during dinner. The need to feel her touching him in the same way hit him with unexpected intensity.

This last thought caught him up short.

He had played passion’s game much too long not to know that Miss Thorncroft was the last woman to pursue for pure physical pleasure. No. A gentleman never took advantage of a woman who was not aware of the rules of desire. Despite the untapped sensuality he sensed in Miss Thorncroft, he could not attempt to seduce her.

Gad.
The fact that this thought could have even crossed his mind showed what an astounding effect she had upon him.
I must take hold,
he told himself roughly. Miss Thorncroft was not only an innocent young woman; she was a guest in his home.

Besides, Mama Thorncroft would catch on in an instant if he started showing her daughter any amorous attention.

Coming to a decision, he rose from the chair. The simplest way to avoid trouble would be to steer well clear of all personal conversation with Miss Thorncroft for the rest of her stay. It should be easy now that he made up his mind. After all, he had held her lithe, firm body against his own for only a moment or two. And it had been only the briefest of kisses—nothing of import to a man of his tastes and experience. For some reason his frown deepened as he stalked from the room.

Halting several steps down the hall, he turned back, picked up Miss Thorncroft’s sketches and leather case, and tucked them under his arm before leaving the library again.

***

As soon as she had walked—in a perfectly sedate manner—far enough from the library, Mariah picked up her skirts and ran down the hall until she reached the staircase. Cheeks burning, she flew up the stairs and down the corridor to her bedchamber. Closing the door, she crossed the room and threw herself onto the bed, hiding her face in the soft down pillow.

I must be mad!

An instant later, unable to tolerate her thoughts for another moment, she jumped from the bed and retrieved her moss green redingote and matching bonnet from the dressing room. Within minutes she found herself walking briskly along the graveled path through the formal gardens.

It took a few yards to realize that she could not walk fast enough to keep ahead of her chaotic thoughts.

The earl had kissed her! Even worse, she had kissed the earl! Had she turned into a wanton in an instant? She was utterly dismayed. She could not even comfort herself with the lie that the earl had taken her by surprise. No, she had not only anticipated the kiss, she had practically thrown herself at his head!

She quickened her steps and soon came to a bank of yew hedges. Had he somehow mesmerized her? There was no point now in denying that everything about him had fascinated her since her arrival at Heaton. Her cheeks flamed at how often her thoughts and attention focused on him.

It was pointless to deny that she found him exceedingly attractive—especially the way he looked at her. Recalling the expression in his eyes as they had stood together by the bookshelves renewed the shiver that had traveled over her body while in his arms.

How had this happened? How had she
let
this happen?

Did Lady Walgrave feel this way about the earl? At this devastating thought Mariah stopped dead on the path. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought against the sickening sensation that washed over her. How could she have forgotten Lady Walgrave even for a moment?

Unable to stay still, she opened her eyes and continued to walk aimlessly through the parkland.

With every step she derided herself until, finally, anger came to rescue her from the mortification of her own shocking behavior.

How dared he! She clenched her fists. His practiced skills as a seducer may have fleetingly beguiled her, but he should have known better. After all, he was involved with Lady Walgrave. Did he think to have two dalliances going on at once? He probably thought it too good an opportunity to pass up, she thought bitterly.

“You unmitigated, unabashed, debauched, iniquitous blackguard,” she whispered aloud, wishing that he stood before her so she could curse him to his face.

Then, just as soon as it had appeared, her anger vanished. Desolation swelled in her throat as she folded her arms across her chest against the cold. Desperately, she tried to think of what to do next. Everything had turned into such a tangle she could hardly think straight.

She knew only that she could not bear to face the earl again.

“Miss Thorncroft! I see that you, too, do not mind a walk in this bracing weather. May I join you, or do you prefer a bit of solitude?”

Mariah’s heart jumped. Turning swiftly, she saw Lady Davinia walking up the path behind her.

Smiling at the young woman, Mariah felt relieved that a friendly face had come to interrupt her from such distressing thoughts. “Not at all. Please join me, Lady Davinia.” She hoped the petite blonde would assume that the chafing wind had caused the fierce blush still warming her cheeks.

Lady Davinia reached her side, and Mariah could not help admiring the way her high-crowned bonnet framed her lovely face. Her coat of sapphire blue serge, with its matching chinchilla collar and muff, evidenced the practiced artistry of one of London’s most skilled modistes.

Their feet crunched along the graveled path as a bird sang heartily in the barren branches overhead. In silent accord, the two young ladies took a path that wended around the lake. Mariah’s heart swelled at the beautiful surroundings. This outdoor world shimmered in shades of silver, blue, and gray, creating an almost ethereal beauty to the countryside.

After some minutes of companionable silence, Lady Davinia, in a tone that conveyed more than mere politeness, asked, “Have you been enjoying your visit to Heaton, Miss Thorncroft?”

Mariah almost laughed aloud at the question. “Yes, very much,” she said instead. “It is a magnificent yet exceedingly comfortable home. Have you had the pleasure of staying at Heaton before, Lady Davinia?”

“Oh, lud, yes,” Lady Davinia replied in a chatty tone. “My family has been friends with the Morleys for eons. Stone and my cousin, Mr. Spence-Jones, were at school together. Our families have visited back and forth over the years.”

“What a lovely way to grow up,” Mariah said softly.

“I suppose it was,” Lady Davinia said, shrugging. “As a child, I used to love our visits to Heaton. But after my come-out it became rather awkward, so I declined to join my family when they came for our yearly visits.”

Mariah could not hide her curiosity. “Goodness! Why? I should never tire coming to Heaton.”

“Well, my parents had always hoped that Stone and I would make a match of it. Suddenly I no longer felt at ease with the young man I had always thought of as a dashing, if rather intimidating, older brother. My parents made their disappointment at his lack of interest quite clear.”

Starting in surprise, Mariah stooped to pick up a bright orange leaf that had fluttered down to the ground from a nearby maple.

“I can see why you would feel uncomfortable,” Mariah said cautiously, thinking her words quite the understatement considering her own circumstances.

Evidently the daughter of a tradesman could have something in common with the daughter of an earl, Mariah thought with some surprise. Even so, she never would have thought someone as polished and confident as Lady Davinia could feel awkward about anything. This realization gave Mariah a new perspective on the differences between the classes.

“It was more uncomfortable for me than it was for Stone,” Lady Davinia confided in a conversational tone. “I am sure that he never noticed a thing. He has always treated me—whenever he deigned to notice me at all—with a sort of amiable kindness. Thank goodness my parents no longer expect Stone to suddenly see me as his future bride.”

“That must be a relief,” Mariah replied.

“Yes. Now things are much as they used to be. This time, when I learned that my cousins had also received an invitation to Heaton, I did not hesitate to accept. Stone’s parties are always exceedingly diverting.”

“So I have discovered,” Mariah said softly, watching the breeze whip up waves on the surface of the lake.

“I am even more pleased to be visiting at this time, for it has been a pleasure to meet you and your family.”

Mariah turned her curious gaze to Lady Davinia. The sincerity in the other woman’s voice could not be denied. But considering that they had hardly had a chance to converse, Mariah wondered if Lady Davinia might be referring to Steven when she expressed her pleasure at meeting the Thorncrofts.

“You are exceedingly kind, Lady Davinia. I can speak for my entire family when I say that we are most pleased to have made your acquaintance.”

Lady Davinia blushed prettily beneath her fashionable blue bonnet. They continued to walk the path encircling the lake, and after some time Mariah felt her equilibrium begin to return. Despite her confusion about kissing the earl, she determined to take herself in hand. Now that she understood the full power of the earl’s mesmerism, she could arm herself against her own attraction to him.

A niggling inner voice scoffed at her resolve. If only she could somehow persuade Mama that they should go home, all would be well. But Mariah could not think of how to persuade her mother to leave without explaining the reason why. No, she would just have to avoid the earl as much as possible until they could return home in a few weeks.

“Have you been acquainted with the earl’s other guests for long?” she asked Lady Davinia a little while later.

“Oh yes, I have known Mattonly and Stothart most of my life, as well as Mr. Woburn and Mr. Elbridge. I have known Lady Charlotte and Mrs. Ingram from being in London for the last few Seasons. As for Lord and Lady Walgrave, they are quite a bit older than I am, but we have mutual friends.”

Mariah wished she had a closer relationship with Lady Davinia so that she could ask her about the earl and Lady Walgrave. But what could Lady Davinia tell her that she did not already know? Scolding herself for forgetting her resolution to put thoughts of the earl out of her mind, Mariah tried to concentrate on Lady Davinia’s description of her plans for the upcoming holiday season.

“And Lady Haverstone visits with us shortly after Christmas, usually arriving on Epiphany. She and my mother have been friends since their girlhood.”

Mariah was curious about the earl’s parents. “I just viewed a portrait the late earl painted of the countess. Do you remember him at all?”

They took a turn in the path, and a breeze picked up to chill their cheeks before Lady Davinia spoke.

“I was a very little girl when he passed away, but he made quite an impression on me. Stone is very much like his father. Not only physically, but in character as well.”

“How so?” Mariah could not resist asking.

“Well, like his father, Stone is both wild and devil-take-it brave yet very attentive to duty and protective of his property and tenants. Stone angered half the House of Lords with his progressive views on farming and animal husbandry. Then he shocks half of Society with his behavior in London. Everyone knows he inherited his contrariness from his father. I do remember being fascinated by how in love the earl and the countess were. Lady Haverstone was much younger than the earl, but it did not seem to matter. He was so handsome and vital, with thick, silver white hair that looked wonderful because he was rather tan from being outdoors so much. He was very tall, did not stoop, and did not have even a hint of a paunch. He had that same air of excitement around him that Stone does. Everyone was quite devastated when the old earl died after falling from his horse.”

Mariah recalled the earl’s expression of mingled sadness and black humor when he had described his father’s death. Her sympathy deepened. “It was indeed a tragedy.”

“Yes. I believe that Stone will emulate his father by enjoying bachelorhood for a good many years to come. However, my mother thinks that underneath his rakish exterior, Stone is rather romantic and would give up his wild ways the moment the right woman comes along, just as his father did. You know— reformed rakes make the best husbands and all that.”