The Beautiful One (13 page)

When he didn't reply but just returned to working, she wondered if he regretted speaking as he had. The minutes passed, and she struggled against disappointment that he'd closed himself off to her again, even though she knew it was for the best.

He worked on, and she could feel him moving gradually closer to where she sat on the untiled portion, until finally he told her she'd have to get down so he could finish.

She descended the ladder and opened the door to the cottage, meaning to start on the whitewashing. But at the threshold she stopped and gazed around her at the cozy, light-filled room with its walls partially painted in fresh white, and was amazed anew at the truly fine thing he'd done.

He'd established these homes for his tenants, for men, women, and children accustomed to hard work who would expect nothing more than the functional, dark, and drafty cottages that people like them had inhabited all over England for generations. But he was doing something new here, something profoundly good and not inexpensive. The cottages were modest, but they were designed with care and artistry, and anyone who lived in them would feel just as Anna had when she had walked in: happy.

The cottages did not represent the kind of charity that provided the occasional bowl of hot soup or medicines to a poor family, but a profound caring for the quality of one's neighbor's life. Her heart squeezed almost painfully with yearning for the goodness and strength in this man, and for the kind of life that she'd never even allowed herself to dream might be possible.

Behind her, he came into the house. She turned.

“Your tenants will love these. Having a home like this will change what their lives are like.”

He just gave a brisk nod and frowned a little. “So, are you going to stand there, or are you going to work?”

“Work,” she said with relief, and took up a brush and began applying whitewash to the walls.

They worked quietly for some time. It was companionable, with the soft sounds of their brushes going up and down and the sunlight streaming in the small window between them. They had the one bucket of whitewash to share, and they adopted a rhythm that allowed them to be dipping their brushes in the bucket at alternating times.

And then she became aware that her brush was the only one making painting sounds, that he had not dipped his for several minutes. She turned to find him staring at her, and her heart seemed to stop.

Will knew he never should have brought Anna to the cottages, but their sparring had enticed him. And then she'd surprised him by climbing onto the roof. He'd been charmed by her spirit of adventure, and so distracted by her sitting there, bent knees tucked under her arms and the morning sun shining on the pretty, dark braid tumbling down her back, that he'd nearly hammered his thumb into mash. She'd been relaxed and contented as few women—and likely few men—would have been, sitting on a roof, and her presence had given him pleasure even while she'd probed him.

“Are you going to take up the reins of your life?”

Her question was fair, and he knew it said something about the way things had shifted since her arrival that he could acknowledge it to be so. His thoughts ranged over the last year, which was a blur, lost time in his own private island of sorrow and despair. Had he allowed himself to become a ruined man?

He'd almost wanted that, wanted the hopelessness and the anger and the bleakness to swallow him. It had felt right, an answer to what had happened to Ginger.

But now that a little space had been forced between him and that darkness…now he could see that beneath the anger was a sadness he could bear.

Anna's eyes regarded him frankly. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked lovely and so appealingly real.

“You're thinking of your wife, aren't you?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “And no.”

She lifted a questioning eyebrow.

He put his brush down across the top of the paint bucket, gathering his thoughts. “For a long time, I've been extremely angry about her death and about my own inability to stop it or change it.”

A ghost of a smile hovered around her lips. “You're accustomed to being in charge. And perhaps anger is your natural response to injustice, even if it's unavoidable.”

He frowned. “I've been thinking…well, that I can't go on as I have been, that perhaps you may be a little right.”

His words seemed to surprise her. “Perhaps a very little,” she said gently. “For what it's worth, I think it very fine that you loved your wife so much.”

“I'll always love her. I'll always be so sorry that she's gone. And I never want to feel again like I did when she died. But”—he reached out and cupped her cheek—“I am alive.”

“Yes,” she said. And it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lean down and kiss her. She responded instantly and with a sweet urgency that only added fuel to the fire she'd already kindled in him.

“Anna,” he murmured against her lips. “I can't tell you how much you've been in my thoughts.”

He felt her smile against his mouth. “Who are you when you're not a viscount?”

“Will.”

“Will,” she whispered back.

She lifted a hand and found the gap below the ties of his shirt and slid her small hand inside to touch his chest. He groaned and pulled her against him, delighting in the soft give of her woman's body. It had been so long.

His hands shaped the curve of her neck and moved over her narrow, sturdy shoulders, luxuriating in the graceful shape of feminine muscles that had doubtless been made firm by climbing and lifting and running and
doing
.

He found the curve of her waist under her loose gown. Desire licked at him, leaving a burning trail along inner paths that had been a wasteland.

He threaded his hands through her hair, loosening heavy lengths of curls that seemed to want to be liberated, and the wisp of ribbon holding the ends together fell off.

“You are so lovely,” he murmured, “that if you ever traded in these rags for something pretty, people would think a goddess had come to live among us.”

He read a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes and remembered with a bolt of recrimination how she'd been mistreated by that man from her past, and he let his hands drop. He leaned his forehead against hers.

“Anna, forgive me. I got carried away. And you, who have been so imposed upon by a man. Already I allowed myself to kiss you yesterday—”

But he hadn't finished before she twisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him closer, her wild black hair adding to the crackling energy in her sherry eyes.

“Do you think I want what happened with that odious man to shape my view of what men and women can be to each other?” she said fiercely. “Do you think I want to give him such power over me? My answer to what he did is to claim my own choice now and always. And right now, my choice is you, Will.”

And she lifted up on her tiptoes and crushed her lips against his. He closed his eyes and hugged her hard to him, something loosening and flowing free in his chest.

But there was more than one reason he shouldn't have been standing there with her in his arms, and he forced himself to move his lips from hers. “You are in my employ. Touching you like this—it's taking advantage of you.”

“You
can't
take advantage of me if I give freely,” she said in a voice that was almost angry. “Kiss me, damn you.”

He could resist his desire for her no longer. With a groan, he buried his face where her neck met her shoulder and kissed the bare skin lavishly. A soft whimper escaped her, making heat flare through him.

He traced the curves of her hips and waist with urgent desire as she explored his chest and moved lower, pulling his shirt loose from his trousers. Her smooth fingers skipped over his hips, her touch there a ticklish, erotic torture that made him shudder. He cupped her breasts greedily. She was heaven, and he had to have more.

With a grunt, he dragged her skirts upward to pile over his arms and gorged himself on the feel of her gently rounded hips. He nearly exploded with lust as he found the curve of her small bottom and squeezed.

Dropping to his knees, he ran his hands up her slim, athletic legs, taking his time, exploring each hollow and curve. When he encountered the bits of frayed ribbon tying her saggy, plain white stockings underneath her knees, he growled.

“I'm buying you new ribbons and stockings.”

“I like these,” she said in a husky voice. “They're comfortable.”

He kissed each of her knees until she wobbled, then steadied her with a firm hold on her thighs and kissed a little higher. She slumped back against the wall and her hand scrabbled in his hair.

“Come back up here so I can kiss you again,” she said, sending a shaft of lust to his already-painful cock.

He stood up slowly, dragging his hand up her inner thighs as he did so, until he stood before her and his hand touched the secret heart of her. Her breath caught. She was wet, and she gave a little moan as he massaged her.

“Will,” she whispered, passion glowing in her pink cheeks and her cloud of black hair a beautiful riot. “I didn't know…”

“That you could feel so good here?” Her sensual response was making him burn hotter every second, making him desperate to bury himself in her, but he couldn't do that. Besides, he wanted this to be for her.

A wordless murmur was her only reply. Her legs were shaking, and he slid a steadying arm around her as he stroked her. Her dark head fell against his chest in a motion of surrender that tugged at his heart. With a soft gasp, she shuddered and hugged him as she found her release.

* * *

Anna was barely capable of thought as she stood there in his arms. Her dress had fallen back into place, but her hands were still clutching his bare back. She was in
Will's
arms. She knew him differently now. Very differently. And the peace, the pleasure, the feeling of safety she'd found in his arms… How could she have known it would be like that?

Even as she knew that she didn't want to ever leave his arms, she felt a stirring of unease that she'd allowed herself to be so vulnerable.

“Anna,” he said, his voice soft and husky as it drifted over her head. She wasn't ready to look at him yet. She didn't even want to speak and break the spell that had come over them, but she knew that was foolishness. “We can't go on like this.”

“I suppose not.”

“You
suppose
?” He sighed, a tortured sound. “Anna, this attraction between us…it's hot, unruly, powerful. But you
work
for me. I should never have allowed myself to touch you, no matter how much I wanted to do so.”

Even though he was still holding her, his words told of regret, and they pushed away the lingering magic. She withdrew her hands, stepped away from him, and conjured all her inner resources to look him steadily in the eye.

“I'm not some blushing lady's maid you cornered in the stairway, Will. You didn't force your attentions on me. We both know that. It's nobody's business but ours.”

His mouth twisted. “But it's
my
business, Anna. I don't behave this way.” He frowned, the blue of his eyes darkening to midnight. “Anna, I like you very much. I want you. And I want to take care of you. Let me set up a house for you.”

Something inside her dropped like a stone falling in a dark, deep well.

“What, a little house somewhere on the estate?” she said, just managing to keep her voice even as she began to gather her hair roughly into a plait. “Governess for your ward by day, mistress to you by night?”

He pressed his lips together. “I can hire another governess for Lizzie. You would have your own life. In fact, there is a rather nice hunting cottage on the property. I could have it fixed up for you. Perhaps you would even like to draw there, or paint, if that's something you enjoy.”

She wished he hadn't said anything, that he wasn't offering her the chance to be his mistress. Even the manner in which he was doing it was considerate, the way he was thinking about what it might be like for her.

She was so drawn to him, so very attracted to him, and she cared for him far more than she should. Being with him brought her such pleasure, as did the idea of a future with him. Measured against the future that awaited her with her aunt, even with her dream of the drawing school she wanted to establish… Well, his offer was horribly tempting.

But to be dependent on a man, even if it was this man, and to live her life as the pleasant diversion he reserved for himself was a role she'd never have dreamed of considering before her life had changed, and she didn't want it now. And never with this man, who was such a danger to her heart.

She bent down and picked up her ribbon that had fallen to the floor and, tying it back on, said, “No, thank you.”

His mouth tensed in a stubborn line. “Anna, think. You would have a home of your own here. With me.”

Oh, fool that she was, she was badly tempted by the idea of a home with Will, but that wasn't truly what he was offering, and it didn't take much imagining to conjure the pain she would feel when he did, one day, marry again to a woman of his own class. Because he would, now that he'd begun to truly put his wife's death behind him. It would be expected. He'd need a helpmate and an heir or two.

“No,” she said again.

He crossed his arms, his viscount's air of command settling over him.

“I knew I was wrong to touch you, but from the first, you've been so lacking in subservience, so ready to do exactly as you wished, that I silenced my conscience by telling myself you made your own choices. But we both know that isn't how things work. And you've promised to stay and help Lizzie, but the desire between you and me is only going to get more powerful. What do you propose to do about the situation?”

“I
propose
,” she began, though she had little notion what she was going to say, when the sound of a dog barking outside the cottage door startled them. They just had time to move farther apart as Judith's spaniel, Tristan, trotted past the partially open cottage door with a triumphant woof. Women's voices sounded over his din, and Judith appeared in the doorway.

“Here you are, Grandville.” Judith's eyebrows went up as she took in the scene. “And, Anna,” she added, with a note of surprise, but she smiled. “I've brought a visitor.”

She stepped inside, followed by one of the loveliest women Anna had ever seen. She was elegant and sleek, with golden blond hair fixed in a neat, braided knot high on her regal head. Her gown of palest yellow was an airy, gossamer confection that made her look like the princess of spring.

“Grandville,” the woman said sweetly, smiling as she floated closer and held out her hands to him. “Here you are finally. I'd heard a rumor that the reason you have no time for your neighbors is that you've taken up roofing as a hobby, but I hadn't quite believed it. And yet here you are in surely the shabbiest clothes ever worn by any gentleman in the entire county.”

He took her hands and bowed graciously over them. “Miss Miranda Chittister, you are looking well. I must beg you to excuse my attire, but I've been whitewashing.”

There was a pause as the woman's eyes drifted toward Anna.

“May I present Anna Black, my ward's governess?” he said.

Anna dipped her head politely, though their visitor hardly noticed.

“You have a ward, Grandville?” she said, her face lighting up. “How charming! How old is the dear thing?”

“Sixteen.”

“A new young lady in the neighborhood! Already I long to meet her. Where is she?”

He laughed. “She had not yet arisen by the time I left, though perhaps by now she has at least breakfasted.”

“I'm certain we shall be friends.” Miss Chittister shook a playfully admonishing finger at him. “Really, you've been the most awful recluse, Grandville, not visiting with a single person in the neighborhood, and never at home to anyone. But all is forgiven now that you're holding a ball! We are all in raptures. Your stepmother has just been telling me how very festive it will be.”

Anna saw his eyes flick in Judith's direction, and she could easily translate the spike of fury in them at the realization that he'd been outmaneuvered by her. But the face he turned on his neighbor was all that was gracious.