The Mistress of Trevelyan (27 page)

Benedict blinked. He drew a breath so deep that when he exhaled, the warmth of his breath washed over me, carrying with it a scent that reminded me of the taste of his kiss. My mouth watered.

He shook his head as if he'd been asleep. "Did you say a birthday party and a trip to town, Miss Lovell?"

I forced a smile to my lips. "Yes. If possible."

"They are more than possible," he said, staring oddly. "I consider myself blessed, Miss Lovell."

Blessed? I wondered what he meant, but I couldn't seem to formulate any thoughts. I could only return his stare. My lord, I had no idea that when I looked at Benedict this morning, I'd only be able to see him as he was last night— half naked and burning with passion. Did he see the same?

The same heat that scorched my cheeks flamed in his eyes.

Thank goodness Gunnlod intervened by nudging Benedict's back. Apparently she wanted more of his caresses. I understood her completely.

"Tell me, Miss Lovell. Is it my imagination, or are you no longer terrified of this hoofed beast?" Benedict turned back to brushing his horse.

I watched his strong hands. Gunnlod seemed to quiver beneath his attention. I knew how she felt. "I must confess that I have developed a kinship with her."

Benedict's head snapped around. "Indeed? What brought about this miracle?"

Good Lord! Had I just admitted kinship to a horse? I straightened my spine; hopefully he wouldn't guess at the true meaning behind my words. This would never do. "It was a practical decision," I said, searching for an answer. "Based on her superior intelligence in her dealings with Odin, I have decided that Gunnlod isn't a horse."

My gaze settled on the broadness of Benedict's back, and I had to fist my hands in the skirts of my dark green muslin dress, for my fingers itched to touch him.

Benedict stopped brushing and faced me. "Are you well this morning, Miss Lovell?"

I dabbed at my nose again. "Fairly well, Mr. Trevelyan, just a case of the sniffles."

"I meant mentally. If Gunnlod is not a horse, then what is she?"

"Why, a-a-a kindred spirit, Mr. Trevelyan," I said, parroting the first thing that managed to penetrate the fog in my mind.

His lips twitched. "Excellent. Then you have no aversion to taking her for a ride this morning?"

"Me?" My voice barely peeped past my clogging throat.

"Yes, a quick turn about the training ring. We have just enough time before Justin and Robert are due for their lesson."

The moment he said that Justin and Robert would soon be arriving, I knew my fate was sealed. Still, I tried to avert disaster.

"Why, you have just brushed her down. I am sure she'd rather relax in her stall than cart me about a circle."

Benedict raised one eyebrow. "On the contrary. I think she would enjoy the company of your kindred spirit." He handed me the brush, his fingers lightly touching my palm. The wood of the brush was warm with his heat, which flowed right to my unmentionables. "Finish brushing her while I ready up a sidesaddle." He left, moving to the saddles.

I had two choices: throw down the brush and run as if my life depended on escaping, or stay just a little longer with Benedict. Perhaps if I were to gather my courage enough to sit a moment in the saddle, I'd find the strength to say what I'd come to say. Not that I didn't need to speak with him about Justin's birthday and the trip to the bank, but those issues weren't as imperative as addressing last night's events.

Gunnlod stood perfectly still. Slowly, I moved the brush to her side and gently stroked her. She smelled of hay, sunshine, and something more primal, something as alive and powerful as the heated muscles quivering beneath my touch. She reminded me of Benedict's restrained strength, and my desire to soothe him doubled.

Before I realized it, Benedict had returned, and I'd brushed Gunnlod with more than just a stroke or two. It shocked me to find that my fear had abated like mists beneath the rays of the sun.

Setting down the brush, I stood aside as Benedict slid a blanket and padding on Gunnlod's back, then hefted the sidesaddle in place with ease. Soon he had all the buckles adjusted and declared her ready to ride.

"Today, I will lift you into the saddle. We can work on having you mount another time. I just want you to get the feel of a horse beneath you. I think, Miss Lovell, that given your nature, once you have galloped with the wind, you will be addicted to the freedom."

Before I had a chance to ask him what in my practical nature had misled him to think such a thing, he encircled my waist with his hands and lifted me from the ground.

"Oh," I gasped, my hands settling on his shoulders for balance. I nearly sighed with the pleasure of touching him again. The sensations of being close to him, even under the pretense of a riding lesson, were too sweet to sour with a discussion of my unseemly behavior last night. I decided to enjoy Benedict's touch for now and speak with him later. Perhaps the discussion would be more suited for the oppressiveness of his study.

He set me in the saddle and showed me where to hold on, which was a good thing. For had I not had something to anchor me, I would have fallen when he adjusted the stirrups. Having his hands under my skirt, guiding my boot into the leather straps, was nearly as intimate as a kiss.

"All set," he said, stepping back. Upon the huge horse, I towered over Benedict, but the strangest thing happened. As he led me from the stable, I felt as if I were daintily small— a diminutive lady with a conquering knight. It wasn't nearly as terrible as I thought it would be. The experience lifted my heart a little, as if I'd won a major battle that I hadn't even known I was losing.

We made one trip around the training ring, and I'd just grown accustomed to the precariousness of my perch when Justin and Robert scrambled up, laughing and excited to see their governess upon a horse and asking to ride Cesca. The rest of the morning passed quickly as Benedict led Robert around on Cesca and then taught Justin how to use the reins. It was an easy time of laughter and fun, exactly what the children needed to share with their father.

We were just finishing up when Robert came and pulled on my skirt. "Miss Wovell, can we check for babies, yet?"

I took his hand. "Sprouts. I think it is too early yet, but we can go to the garden and see."

"Jus, you want to come?"

"No," Justin said, kicking the dirt in the training ring. "Somebody will just destroy it again."

"They will not," Robert cried, eyes and fists scrunching tight. I could see the thundercloud about to burst, and I rushed to stop it. I took hold of the back of Robert's loose shirt.

"Wait!" I said, but they were too angry to hear.

Justin yelled back. "Will too. You just wait. They will destroy it again."

"Will not," Robert screamed. Pulling from my grip, he went flying at Justin with fists ready.

"What is this about?" Benedict boomed, snatching Robert up by the back of the lad's pants.

Robert punched the air. "They killeded our babies, and Jus says they will do it again."

"That is enough, young man." Benedict set the boy firmly on the ground but held him captive by the steel of his authority. "Calm yourself," Benedict said, squatting to Robert's level. "The only place violent anger is acceptable is if someone is attempting to kill you. Otherwise you will learn to conduct yourself in a gentlemanly manner even in the face of difficulties. Do you understand me, son?"

Robert's face fell, and tears flooded his eyes. "What if they killeded your babies? What would you do?" he asked his father.

Benedict, in the act of standing, froze. He set his hand on Robert's shaking shoulders. "If anyone ever tried to hurt you or Justin, they would not live to see the next day."

Benedict spoke with fierce sincerity. And even though I saw how his words reassured Robert, I still shivered at the deadly menace in Benedict's voice. He was indeed capable of murder. And more frightening than that, I was, too, should I need to protect Robert or Justin. The crime of murder, it seemed, wasn't based on any deep moral conviction, whereupon one could assure oneself of never committing that crime. Instead, it hinged on a primal part of oneself that could never be driven into extinction. Stephen was right; circumstances did mitigate the crime.

"Can you tell me the meaning of this outburst, Miss Lovell?" Benedict stood and pinned his direct gaze on me.

"Last Wednesday we found our herb garden destroyed."

"Did a storm ruin it?"

"No. It had been deliberately vandalized."

"Surely you must be mistaken. Perhaps a deer or a rabbit ate the plants."

I shook my head. "And churned up all of the bordering rocks? The plants were not eaten, they had been dug up and left"

"But who would do something so senseless, and why?"

I glanced at the boys. I didn't want to say anything else in front of them. "Might we continue this discussion later, please?"

"Certainly. Be in my study an hour before dinner."

Providence smiled on my plan to speak with Benedict about last night, and for the first time in my life I frowned back at it. I thought perhaps I'd take a brisk walk to town and see Mr. McGuire. Not only would I learn what he'd wanted to tell me yesterday, but I'd most probably clear my head and rediscover my determination. For once, the thought of going to see Mr. McGuire didn't bring a smile to my lips. I'd much rather climb into my cloudy blue bed and pull the covers over my head and... feel Benedict's touch all over again.

I was still frowning when I returned to my room a short while later, whereupon I discovered my things out of order, as if they'd been hastily searched. My gaze immediately located the book of poetry inscribed to Francesca. It thankfully was on the settee where I'd left it last night. After some thought, I decided that Benedict didn't know of the book's existence. It had most probably been placed on the shelf after Francesca's death by a maid, and had gone undetected since. I knew I couldn't chance leaving it in my room again.

I was almost completely certain Stephen had given it to Francesca in a declaration of his love, but I wanted to know for sure. I wanted to look into Stephen's eyes when I gave him the book. I wanted to know if a murderer lurked behind his laughing blue eyes. I'd have a note delivered to him, asking him to see me in the family's sitting room on his floor.

Taking the book, I wrote a quick note and set about my mission. I passed Dobbs in the foyer, then turned around, deciding to settle a matter with him, too. He was studiously examining the furniture for dust.

"Mr. Dobbs, it is imperative that I speak to you about a certain matter."

He turned, lifting his nose a tad. "Indeed, Miss Low-well. And what would that be?"

I ignored his deliberate name goading and went directly to the problem. "It has come to my attention that you are carrying tales like a pack of coyotes."

His mouth gaped as far as his eyes popped. "Whatever are you babbling about?"

"I am speaking of telegraphed tales specifically. In the future, should you take umbrage with my conduct, I appreciate it if you would wait and discuss it with Mr. Trevelyan upon his return. To endanger his life by sending him an urgent telegraph, simply to strike out at me, is underhanded and unnecessary."

Dobbs turned purple. "Miss Lovell. I determine what is necessary and what is not. How dare you infer that I am incompetent!"

"Not incompetent, Mr. Dobbs. Just crying wolf over a mere dog. Now, where will I find Mr. Stephen Trevelyan at this hour?" I decided to deliver the note myself, by slipping it under Stephen's door and then waiting for him in the family sitting room. Stephen's rooms were located across the corridor from Katherine's. I knew the way, yet the impropriety of what I was about to do had my nerves jumping. I shouldn't be meddling in the Trevelyans' affairs, and I knew the sooner I began conducting myself within the stiff strictures of my practicality, the better off I would be. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Benedict as he was last night. Torn by honor. In pain. And I couldn't seem to keep myself removed from the fabric of the Trevelyans' lives.

When I slipped the note under the door, I sneezed. My heart nearly exploded when Stephen opened the door immediately. He appeared rumpled and surprised as well. "Miss Ann?"

"F-forgive my intrusion, but it is important that I speak with you, privately." It took me a moment to find my balance. He looked more like a big sleepy boy than a murderer, and I took a deep breath, calming myself.

"Uh, certainly." He looked about as if he were lost a moment

"I will await you in the sitting room at the end of the hall," I said.

Relief smoothed his brow. "I will be only a moment"

Unfortunately, I was too tense to enjoy the full effect of the sunny area. Taking up the entire width of the wing, with a multitude of windows on three sides, the sitting area was wonderfully cozy and warm. The scent of oil paint and linseed oil emanated from my left, and when my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I saw an easel set up to catch the full rays of the sun. Curious, I wandered over to the painting, only to find the canvas covered with a cloth. I considered peeking beneath it, but Stephen walked into the area, and I turned to face him.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Ann?" He was holding my note, frowning.

"Yes, Mr. Trevelyan." I held out Elizabeth Barrett Browning's book of poems. Stephen paled. Instead of taking the book, he sat quickly in the nearest chair as if his legs would no longer support him. My note requesting to see him fell to the floor, but neither of us picked it up. Nor did he look at me. He kept his gaze upon the book in my hand, staring as if I held a snake.

"Where did you find it?"

"Among other books in the library."

He sighed. "I have looked for it everywhere."

"Please, take it." I held the book closer to him.

His hand shook as he grasped the slim volume. "I did not mean for it to happen, you know. Cesca did not either." Fingers trembling, he opened the cover. Tears filled his eyes as he stared at the inscription. "I do not think she ever read past what I had written. I do not think she understood what I meant. Her pain was too great."