The Lodestone (12 page)

“If ’e please, sir,” Mickey said, handing him a towel. “Miss Cleome would like a word. That is, soon’s you’re finished with your bath, sir.”

“
Here
, sir?”

“Here,” Drake repeated firmly. “I’ve had a day behind me, and I do not intend to stir from this room. Now, wipe the indignation off your face and hand me my dressing gown. Go and tell her, or I’ll not be able to make myself decent in fifteen minutes.”

Mickey grabbed the robe from its hook on the wall, and trailing the sash in a puddle of soapy water, he threw it at Drake before he plodded through the door. Drake chuckled. He was a fine stable boy, but a valet he would never make.

**

Cleome doubted the reliability of her hearing when Mickey told her the master would receive her in his bedroom, in his dressing gown, or not a’tall, take it or leave it.

“He said that?” she asked, a touch of crimson flooding her face.

“Well, miss. It was words to them effect or some’at,” Mickey replied with righteous consternation, adding protectively, “Would ’e like me to come along, Miss Cleome, and watch out for ’e?”

“Thank you, Mickey,” she answered kindly. “I appreciate your concern, but Old Sam needs you in the yard. Get on with you, now. I’ll be all right.”

“Yes, miss.”

He touched his forelock and went out the back door, leaving her to smile after him. Little good his boyish muscles would do against a man like Drake Stoneham. For weeks, she had been preparing for the inevitable confrontation with him, and the time had come. Her mother was stronger but had not spoken one word, except in delirium, since the night of the storm, and Mary and Cleome still had to coax her to take enough nourishment to sustain her tenuous hold on life. Cleome knew she had to be strong. If they were turned out onto the road, the invalid would not last one week.

Cleome went to her room to freshen up, still not sure how to approach the stranger who had taken her home and her sense of security. She knew what she needed to say, but she was at a loss how to say it. Her first inclination was to wear her prettiest dress, arrange her hair in a more sophisticated style, tuck a heavily scented handkerchief into her bosom, and count on her youth and whatever charm she could manufacture from her limited experience to carry her through the ordeal. She decided against that approach, however; for the results it could initiate frightened her. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t forget the sensuality he had awakened in her when he’d leaned over and whispered in her ear. Recalling it now prompted a rush of heated longing within her, a longing she didn’t understand, and certainly did not welcome.

For this interview, she chose a simple gray dress with a modest white collar and cuffs. It did nothing to enhance her figure or complexion but it was clean and had never been patched. She tried brushing her hair into the simple, severe lines she had seen worn by governesses accompanying their charges on the journeys that required them to stop at the Eagle’s Head, but it was no use. Her auburn curls sprang away from her fingers in protest; so to save time, she gave up and pulled them back with a black ribbon. She decided to forego the cologne, but she quickly leaned over the washbowl and splashed her face with refreshing rainwater that she collected and saved for that purpose. Giving herself a final, approving glance in the glass, she drew her shawl carefully about her and made her way down the hall to his room.

She tapped lightly on the door, and when no response came, she thought he hadn’t heard. As she raised her small fist to knock again, the door swung open, and the tall, powerful form of Drake Stoneham loomed above her.

“So,” he said, a smile playing about his lips. “You have come to beat down the walls of Jericho, have you?”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Stoneham,” she replied, her voice steadier than her courage. “I have no wish to disturb you—”

“Wish it or not,” he interrupted, opening the door wider and stepping aside to allow her entry, “you have removed my person from a delightfully hot bath with your request for an audience. Well, then. Please, come in.”

She was glad to find him clad in well-tailored, doeskin breeches and a white linen shirt instead of his dressing gown, as Mickey had reported. When she stepped into the room, he closed the door behind her and went to stand before the fireplace. He held out his hands to the flames and as she surveyed his back, a feeling of confusion and misery descended upon her. He turned to face her, inquiry in his eyes.

“There is yet a chill in the air,” he said at last when she did not speak. “I fear summer will be late in coming.”

She had not been alone with him since the night her grandfather lost the tavern house and ended his life, and the little speech she had rehearsed now seemed frozen to the roof of her mouth. If he had any concern regarding how she and her mother were to be provided for, he did not let on; he was merely curious about her request for an audience and making conversation to put her at ease. Perhaps she was mistaken in thinking he would allow her to remain at the Eagle’s Head. A sudden image of her grandfather swinging from the rafters in the old barn flashed through her mind but she dismissed it. She would grieve for him later, after she had secured a position for herself in what was now Drake Stoneham’s busy inn. If she had only herself to worry about, she would leave his house and his aggravating, confident presence.

Instead, she ventured, “I trust your room is comfortable and to your liking.”

“It will do nicely,” he said, turning his back to her again and staring into the fire.

“Further,” she went on when it was obvious he had no praise to offer for her efforts, “I hope that the changes I have made in your absence meet with your approval.”

“Especially,” he said, slowly turning to look her in the eye, “since I left strict orders that the inn was to be shut and nothing done here until my return.”

The heat of indignation swept over her and surfaced briefly in her cheeks. He was insufferable, but she knew she must keep her head for her mother’s sake. She could not allow him to make her so angry that it would jeopardize any chance they had to stay where they were, at least until her mother was well enough to travel.

“Mr. Stoneham, I beg your pardon if I was presumptuous. But I couldn’t see how an empty inn would be of any benefit to you.”

“Part of my concern, Miss Parker, was for you in your hour of grief,” he responded brusquely. “I’ve no intention of suffering your ruined health upon my conscience. There’s quite enough resting there as it is, I assure you.”

Indeed
, she wanted to scream at him. But carefully keeping her voice modulated, she replied, “Running the inn has been my task for a few years. And your conscience aside, sir, hard work seemed the best medicine for my grief. I am not one to remain idle, especially when my heart is heavy.” She believed she had won a point with that, for he considered her thoughtfully for a moment.

“I see,” he answered. “Well, you look exhausted, Miss Parker. I fear you have greatly overdone it.”

“Not at all, sir. It was for myself I chose to keep busy. Since the object of my handiwork is your property, it is natural to hope it would meet with your approval.”

“And this is the purpose of our meeting today?”

“No, sir.” She paused, and an almost imperceptible change came over his hard features. He pulled the oak rocking chair closer to the fire.

“Be seated, then, if you please. Tell me what you came to say.”

He sprawled nearby in the regal-looking easy chair, which bore the eagle’s head insignia on each of its massive arms. Pleading her case would be more difficult than Cleome first thought, with him sitting so close to her, the firelight reflecting off his hair. He had shaved again and once more his dark appeal assaulted her senses. Heavy brows accented his wide forehead and arched above large hazel eyes. A little smile, as if he were humoring a small child, played at his lips as he gazed at her.

“Pray,” he continued more gently. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Miss Parker. I promise I’ll not bite you or harm you in any way.”

She took a deep breath and before cowardice could overwhelm her, she plunged ahead. “It has occurred to me, Mr. Stoneham, that—as you have no plans to reside here throughout the year—you will need someone to see after the place in your absence. I have, for some time, performed many tasks in helping my grandfather run the inn. I have kept the ledgers, supervised the staff, ordered menus, purchased supplies, and the like.”

“You are suggesting that you, a mere slip of a girl, become the innkeeper?”

“It’s true I’m young, sir, but the staff all respect me. And I believe they will vouch for my efficiency.”

“My eyes can do that,” he said curtly, shifting his weight in the chair. “So you want to remain here and serve me?” He paused, but she remained silent. “Is that it?” he prompted.

“Yes, sir.” She could feel her self-control wilting under his penetrating stare. Her hands clasped tightly in her lap to prevent them shaking, she pressed her lips together, determined not to cry. She had not shed a tear as yet, and she would die before giving him the satisfaction of reducing her to feminine histrionics.

“But you cannot even heed the simplest order,” he protested calmly. “I was not out of this house an hour but you instantly disobeyed my wishes.”

“I explained why I prefer to work.” She wanted to jump to her feet and pound his unfeeling chest, but she forced herself to remain seated.

“Did you stop to consider what my reasons might be?” he asked. “Perhaps it was in my mind to sell the place. What then?”

Her gaze did not falter beneath his as she responded, “Then perhaps, if the work I’ve done in your absence is satisfactory, you’d be kind enough to recommend my services to the new owner.” A flicker of hope came to life within her. If he were to sell the inn, perhaps a more understanding employer would take her on.

“Put your mind at ease, mademoiselle,” he grumbled. “I have no plans to sell. And so you are offering your services to me, when it’s obvious you cannot bear the sight of me. With good reason, I might add.” The quick, surprised look she darted at him gave her away completely and she wished, for her mother’s sake, she could recall it. She didn’t like him, it was true; but she did not wish to make him angry. There was too much at stake. “Well?” he demanded.

She had to look away from him as she struggled to hold her emotions in check. “I must see that my mother has lodging and a little food every day,” she said at last. “We have no relatives to whom I can appeal and she will not survive if we are set upon the road. I would suffer anything rather than allow it.”

He leaned close to her and placing his hand beneath her chin, he drew her face up so that she was looking directly into his eyes. And then he spoke one distinct word.

“Anything?” he asked softly.

The only way she could avoid his gaze was by standing up, which she did slowly and with as much dignity as she could muster. Her voice an agonized whisper, she said, “Yes, Mr. Stoneham. However, I believe you are too much of a gentleman to demand . . .
anything
.”

The reassurance she had hoped for was not forthcoming. He merely scowled up at her and retorted, “So you think me a gentleman?” Before she could answer he got quickly to his feet and although she wanted to flee, she refused to allow him further intimidation until the matter was settled. He seemed determined to unnerve her, but she held her fear, and her temper, in check. Standing near, he stared down at her for a moment, and she returned his stare.

“What do you consider a fair wage for your services?” he asked.

“I would be content with the same wage Mary receives, or any wage you consider reasonable. I only want to keep a roof over my mother’s head.”

“I’ll not bond you.” His eyes probed more deeply into hers. “That way, I’ll not have a mess on my hands when some dandified country gentleman wants to marry you and take you away from my employ. You’ll be free to go whenever you wish.”

“Oh, I shall not marry,” she said, without stopping to speculate that she’d be asked to explain.

“And why not? Surely you do not think yourself hard to look upon?”

“I have not thought about it much, one way or the other, sir. I’ve always known I would never marry,” she replied. “My late grandmother made it clear to me that a respectable man does not take to wife a woman of questionable birth.” She paused a moment to let him take in the scandal that had plagued her all her life. “I was fortunate that she never permitted me any delusions along those lines. You need not worry that I’ll neglect my duties here, and certainly not in favor of romance.”

“I see,” he said, and she was grateful when he simply shrugged. “I don’t imagine your ‘questionable birth’ will affect your work. Do you wish to be bonded, then?”

“In all truth, I do not.” As soon as she had enough money saved and time to look for another position, she intended to put as much distance as she could between this frightening stranger and herself. “But I will trust that to your discretion, sir.”

He crossed the room to stand close beside her once more. “Very well,” he agreed. “We’ll leave it at that for now.” When she’d stood in her efforts to avoid his gaze, her shawl had slipped unnoticed to the floor. She started when he bent before her to retrieve it. “Again, mademoiselle, you have dropped something dear at my feet,” he said. Gently, he placed it around her shoulders, a slight smile banishing his customary scowl.