Suzanne Robinson (14 page)

The solution was to put him out of her thoughts. She ought to feel quite satisfied this morning, because she’d found a way to get into the Gallery Tower without arousing suspicion. She’d befriended Courtland North, and it was to his studies that many of the rooms in the tower
were dedicated. The young man had been flustered by her attention at first, then heartbreakingly grateful to find a lady who wanted to listen to him.

Another reason for her to be satisfied was unexpected. She was wearing a prim gown chosen specially for this visit with Valin’s brother. It was a high-necked day dress of dusky blue. Made of soft chambray with a lace collar, it had graceful flared sleeves and undersleeves of embroidered muslin.

In her real life she’d never wear anything so delicate during the day, certainly not in the streets of St. Giles. Wearing this soft and impractical gown in daytime, here, in a clean, paneled room filled with books, made her feel more like a lady than wearing the finest ball gown. Betsy had rolled her eyes when she helped Emmie dress, and Emmie knew her friend thought she’d worn the gown for the marquess. The idea was absurd.

Emmie sternly remembered her purpose. After this lay was over, the gowns would be sold and the money added to her savings for the children.

To befriend Valin’s brother, she’d persuaded him that she shared his interest in things medieval. This ruse would afford her a glimpse of the rooms he used in the Gallery and an excuse to wander into the tower later.

The young man had been chattering for a quarter hour about his latest purchase. Emmie had but to nod once in a while and exclaim a few times.
Then he was off again on another explanation. All the while Emmie darted glances about Courtland’s document room in search of spirals. The chamber had been made over by Beaufort shortly before his arrest, and she had great hopes for it.

“I know you’ll appreciate this.” Courtland rose and opened a glass case with hushed reverence.

Emmie joined him. Within the case rested a large illuminated parchment. Knowing nothing about it, Emmie feigned amazement.

“Do tell me about this marvel, Lord Courtland.”

“It’s the full achievement of William, fourth Marquess of Winchester. Look at the first quarter of the shield. It shows Paulet Sable, three swords in pile, points downward, Argent pommels, and hilts Or. Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Argent pommels,” Emmie breathed. “Amazing.”

“I knew you’d appreciate the artistry.”

“Oh, indeed.” Emmie examined the paneling behind the document case, but she found no decoration. The wood in this room seemed free of almost any carving beyond the Beaufort arms.

“Miss de Winter, are you listening?”

“Of course,” Emmie replied as she turned back to Courtland with a smile. “You were talking about the animals used to make up heraldic devices.”

Courtland beamed at her. “Yes. It’s quite simple, you know. In the thirteenth century, for example, rolls of arms include barbels, lucies—which are pike—and hake, for the families of Bar, Lucy, and Hacket.”

“That makes wonderful sense.” Emmie ran her hand over a Tudor period chest in which Courtland stored some of his reference books. “Why don’t you show me that chimneypiece with the Beaufort achievement carved on it.”

“Do you really want to see it?” Courtland looked past her and smiled. “There you are. We’ve been having the most fascinating conversation.”

Emmie whirled around, suspecting the worst. She was right. Valin North stood in the doorway. What was he doing here? Had he discovered her true object in coming to Agincourt Hall? She watched him warily as he came into the room with that slow, graceful walk that reminded her of a king going to his coronation in Westminster Abbey. He drew near, took her hand, and kissed it. Emmie withdrew it as soon as she could, and ignored the way her body tingled even after his touch was gone.

“Hello, Courtland old fellow. I went looking for my dear Miss de Winter and couldn’t find her, until the ladies told me you’d abducted her.”

Courtland was already reading one of his books. “What? Oh, well, Miss de Winter is the only
young lady here who has sense enough to appreciate history. Did you know she’s interested in the Elizabethan period? She knows all about old Beaufort and his troubles with Queen Bess.”

“Does she?”

Emmie looked away when Valin regarded her with a skeptical expression.

“I was going to show her the Beaufort chimneypiece upstairs, but now you’re here, you can do it. I want to find that record of the visitation by Windsor Herald. It was in that lot you let me buy a few weeks ago, and it’s from this county in 1588, the year of the Armada. Miss de Winter especially wanted to see it.”

Emmie glanced at Valin’s severe expression. “I’m not in a hurry, Courtland. We’ll wait for you.”

“Nonsense,” Valin said as he gripped her arm and steered her out of the room. “Old Courtland will get distracted by some rotting battle standard or a bestiary, and we’ll never see the damned chimneypiece.”

Once the door shut on his brother Valin released Emmie. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever do you mean, my lord?” He’d found her out. Nothing to do but face him.

“You’re hiding from me.”

Emmie stared at him blankly. “Me, hide from you?” She laughed with nervous relief.

Valin snatched her wrist and bent down to her eye level.

“Then why are you pretending to be interested in Courtland’s studies? All the young ladies avoid him as if he were a leper.”

Yanking her hand free, Emmie straightened her flared sleeves. “If they do, they’re stupid and insensitive. Anyone can see your brother is intelligent and sweet-tempered and perceptive.” Emmie glanced up from her sleeve. “And it would take more than a bullying nobleman to make me hide.”

“You’re serious.”

Emmie merely lifted her brows. Valin glanced at the closed door, then offered his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, Emmie placed her hand on it, and they walked upstairs. She wasn’t going to let him think she was afraid to be alone with him. He opened a door set in a pointed arch, and with a sweep of his arm ushered Emmie inside another tower room.

This chamber had a series of tall windows with pointed arches of the same design as the one over the door. Through them Emmie saw a wide swath of sky, the park, and wooded hills that rolled to the horizon. The windows had been opened, and a breeze played with her skirts. Emmie forgot her nervousness.

Captivated by the airiness of the room and the contrast between the azure sky and forest green of
the hills, Emmie hurried to one of the windows. Outside the world was clean. In St. Giles everything from the roofs to the cobbles was covered with damp soot and grime from coal fires and the myriad industrial processes that went on in the city.

For days at a time London was shrouded in a choking yellow fog. When the fog retreated, bright sunshine only served to reveal the dinginess of Emmie’s surroundings. She leaned out the window and breathed in air free of coal and gas fumes and the stench of filth. She was going to hate returning to London.

“I’m sorry.”

Emmie started and hit her head on the window. “Bloody damnation!” She pressed her hand to her head and allowed Valin to guide her away from the window.

“My apologies again, Miss de Winter.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Emmie mumbled as she rubbed her head. “I was thinking of something else.”

“What?”

“How much nicer it is here than in London.”

“I agree,” Valin said as he sat down next to her on the bench in front of the window. “That’s why I stay here rather than in town most of the time. But I wanted to apologize for mistaking your intentions
toward my brother. You see, you’re one of the few women who has ever appreciated him.”

He smiled at her, and Emmie felt her heart start to do that disturbing polka again. She felt the corners of her mouth wander upward, and before she knew it she was smiling back at him. For a tyrant, Valin North took a deal of trouble over a reclusive younger brother.

His smile faded a bit, and became rueful. “I just wish I could lure old Courtland away from his studies for a while.”

Emmie shrugged. “Why should he leave them when he isn’t wanted?”

“What do you mean? I want him. I’ve tried many times to get him to do something else.”

“Why?”

Valin gave an exasperated sigh. “To give him other interests. So I can spend some time with him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s my brother,” Valin snapped.

“And?”

Valin scowled at her, but Emmie folded her arms and waited.

“And?” Valin repeated.

“He’s your brother, and …”

Valin gave her a confused look, and Emmie threw up her hands.

“And you love him! Did you ever say that to him?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Valin said. “A chap doesn’t go around saying things like that.”

“Why not?”

Thrusting himself off the bench, Valin stalked away from her while running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Because he’s a chap, that’s why.”

“Oh, I see.
Chaps
don’t love their brothers.”

Valin rounded on her. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Miss de Winter, I find this subject most inappropriate. Look at the chimneypiece.”

She’d forgotten again! Gracious mercy, she lost all sense when this man was around. She looked down at her hands. They were trembling! When had they started trembling? It was when he’d thrust his fingers through his hair. That soft mahogany hair. God deliver her from beautiful tyrants.

Resolutely Emmie banished all hot and unmanageable thoughts from her head. She rose and went to stand beside Valin before the fireplace. The massive facing over the fireplace went from floor to ceiling, and the armorial bearings of old Henry Beaufort were carved over the mantel. Emmie glanced at the shield surmounted by the coronet of rank, but while Valin described the coat of arms,
her gaze fell to the frieze decorating the front of the mantel and stuck there.

Spirals. Dozens of spirals carved into the Italian marble. In the chimneypiece put here by Henry Beaufort shortly before he was arrested for treason. Shortly after he’d received all that lovely Spanish treasure.

“What’s wrong, Emily?” Valin asked.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong. What could be wrong? There’s nothing wrong.”

“Then why are you babbling?”

Emmie tore her gaze from the spirals only to meet his gentle regard. Gone was the irascible frown. Instead she found a gaze that seemed bemused and entranced, and Emmie was caught off guard.

She couldn’t look away. She wanted to. She wanted to escape this feeling of standing exposed on a hill while great thunderclouds filled with lightning rolled toward her. One of her feet lifted seemingly of its own accord, and she’d almost forced it to step back when he said her name again.

If only he hadn’t said her name in that rough-gentle way he had. If only he would move away so that she didn’t feel his warmth or hear the way his breathing speeded up. If only he hadn’t spoken again. But he did, in that intimate whisper that seemed to wind a steel spring inside her tighter and tighter.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Emmie.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Can’t we have peace between us?”

“I don’t know.” Her mouth was dry, and if he didn’t stop kissing the back of her hand she’d scream. “If you don’t stop kissing the back of my hand, I’ll scream.”

Emmie clapped her free hand over her mouth, but the words were out, and Valin was smiling at her. Only this smile was one she’d seen before. It was a smile at home in ladies’ bedrooms, in haystacks with farm girls, and in closets with parlor maids. Emmie felt her cheeks burn. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and scurried for the door. She nearly ran into him when he blocked her way.

Careening backward, she said, “Stay where you are.”

“Nonsense. I want to make you scream.”

He stalked toward her like a duelist. She retreated, desperate to regain her composure.

“I shan’t scream unless you fail to remain where you are.”

“Oh, Emmie. We both know you’re not going to scream. Not yet.”

Emmie’s foot hit a baseboard, and she sidled along the wall. “We know nothing of the kind. I—I’ll do more than scream.”

He stopped then. Emmie stared at him, and wished she didn’t feel so cheated now that he was immobile.
Drawing herself up, she nodded to him and walked toward the door. As she passed him, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“Bloody h—” The word was smothered by his mouth.

Emmie began to struggle, but he lifted his mouth just enough to whisper, “Don’t, my love.”

Valin moved his head back, and they stared at each other. To Emmie it seemed as if that one word froze him, but he lowered his mouth to hers so quickly she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined that fleeting, startled look in his eyes. Love. That one word stunned her. It was a word she seldom heard, and never had a man used it in reference to her. Such thoughts clamored in her head, but the insistence of his mouth drew her into a whirlpool of heat and pressure and intensity. His hands pressed against her back; his fingers traced designs of fire on her ribs, and her breasts were crushed against his chest.

In moments Emmie’s own hands began a fevered exploration of their own until they found bare flesh. She touched a mound of muscle over his shoulder as her gown loosened and fell around her waist. His mouth traveled from her neck to her breast as he bent her back over one arm. Emmie gasped at the feel of his lips, but her world of fire
and frenzy exploded when she heard Courtland’s voice.

“Miss de Winter?”

Almost dizzy, she made no protest when Valin immediately left her, slipped through the door, and closed it. She heard the men’s voices outside. Evidently Courtland had found a volume of Elizabethan history for her. She listened to Valin as he redirected his brother’s attention. Then she noticed that her hair was falling around her bare shoulders. She looked down at herself.

“Bloody damnation!”

With shaking hands she pulled her gown over her shoulders and tried to fasten the buttons in back. It was impossible after the first three, so she dropped to her knees and began gathering hairpins.