The Mistress of Trevelyan (40 page)

My fears eased as he spoke. Stephen's recitation was beyond compare to any performance I'd seen, which I had to admit was extremely limited. Still, I could see he had a great talent. I stole a glance at Benedict and was glad to see that his attention was riveted on his brother. Though Stephen had dedicated the recitation to me, the words were clearly meant for his brother, and I think Benedict realized that.

When he finished, the room was silent. Mr. Henderson clapped first, and everyone followed suit. Stephen took a bow. "Now, dear brother, would you grace us with your expertise upon the piano?"

"Anything else would prove to be anticlimactic, I am afraid. That was extremely well done," Benedict said.

"I did not waste my time back East, but sought to make myself a better man. I had no place to go but up, you know." Stephen spoke as if he'd made a joke and laughed, but I caught the look he exchanged with Benedict, and I thought that just maybe one small step had been taken.

Constance slipped between the brothers and pouted at Benedict. "But you just have to play a song, Benedict. I would love to hear Alan sing for us before he leaves for home. Play the one he used to sing all the time with my—" She hesitated, swung around, and looked at everyone. "Please, just once can we sing the song she loved?"

A long silence followed Constance's plea, and though I thought her request ill timed, I felt for her. She truly seemed to be grieving for her sister and wanted to have good memories to cling to. It wasn't much different from Robert and Justin's need to express love for their mother with flowers on her grave.

Mr. Henderson cleared his voice. "Well, Ben, I think I am up to it. I hope your playing is not as rusty as my singing, or we are really going to need a brandy before we sleep."

"We will need that anyhow," Benedict said, but he moved over to the piano and settled himself to play. Katherine, as she had before, went and sat on the floor next to the piano and placed her head against it, a woman reaching for something she could never have. As I sat and watched Benedict play, absorbing his every movement, feeling every note he struck as if he played upon my soul with the gentle strength of his hands, I too knew that I had tried to reach for something I could never have.

When the clock struck the midnight hour, I made my way to Benedict's bedchamber. My plan to tell him of my decision to stop this fever between us before it destroyed us both fell silent as I opened the passage's door into his room. I stood there stunned. Candles lit the quarters, and an exotic scent hung enticingly in the air. A trail of roses lay upon the floor, leading a path to the bed, where Benedict, dressed in his robe, reclined with a rose in his hand.

He held it out to me, and tears stung my eyes. No man had given me flowers before. I was awed by how this man, this busy man, had taken the time to reach all the way into my romantic soul. Had he known what I'd planned to tell him?

I looked into his eyes, and could do nothing else but go to him. Morning would be soon enough to face the harsh truth. Just one more time, during the mists of midnight I'd pretend that what I wanted most in life was truly mine. Just one more time.

Reaching the bed, I took the rose from him, noticing that this rose, so perfect and beautiful, had no thorns. He'd sheared them away. Would that pain in life could be so easily dispatched.

"Thank you," I said softly.

Benedict rose to his knees and gazed directly into my eyes. There was a deep well of unspoken things between us, a well that now swirled with turmoil, for there was no denying that his mother's words had affected us both.

"No," he said, taking hold of my hand, urging me to kneel upon the bed before him. "Thank you. Come let me love you tonight, Titania. I need you."

Easing the rose from my fingers, he set it aside, then slipped my robe from my shoulders. With a slow gentleness, he unbuttoned my gown and lifted it over my head. He wore only a robe, which he untied and shook off, then pulled me into his embrace. He kissed me tenderly, barely brushing his lips over mine before he kissed my cheeks, my eyes, and my forehead.

Tonight I felt a difference in his manner, in his touch. He moved as if he had all the time in the world, as if he'd brought time to a halt, and we were the only two people in the universe unfrozen. Then he kissed me deeply, with a longing and a reverence that wrapped a bittersweet chain about my heart. This man had captured my every dream, my love, and my soul and freed them to soar. I kissed him back, equally meeting his every touch.

Leaning, he softly brought us both to the mattress, I upon my back with him over me. I thought he would kiss me then, love me then, but he didn't. He sat back, picked up the rose, and brought it to my lips, brushing the fragrant velvety petals gently across my mouth. I inhaled, taking in the scent of rose, of sandalwood, of him, and felt as if a different kind of ambrosia fed my senses.

He bathed me then, bathed all of me with the petals of the rose, from the tip of my nose to the tender flesh of my instep, from the peaks of my breasts to the valley of my femininity. And finally he took each of my hands, my reddened, work-worn hands, and bathed them with the softness of the rose. He made me feel beautiful, made me feel cherished. I thought I could know no greater tenderness, but I was wrong. He followed the brush of the rose with the brush of his lips. Every place the rose had delved, his lips kissed until he again reached my hands. He kissed my fingertips and threaded his fingers through mine so that we were palm to palm. It wasn't until he gazed into my eyes at that moment that I saw the ferocity of the passion he held in check. And I knew even before I arched to him that I would be unleashing a fire that might consume us both.

"Yes," I said to him with conviction. "Love me tonight. I need you, too."  The fire erupted, instant, blazing, scorching. His lips claimed mine, our tongues mated in a primal dance that fired our need as air fueled the heat of a fire. I locked my legs about him, urging him to join with me. No words were said as he thrust into me and I arched to him. We needed nothing but each other's touch and the perfect mating of our bodies and hearts.

I awoke several hours later, surprised to find myself alone in Benedict's bed. Where was he? The expanse of his room, its richness, the luxury of his jumbled covers, didn't belong to me. I didn't belong with him. I'd hoped to spend the night in his arms before I told him of my decision.

It was probably better this way, I thought as I rose and dressed. I'd leave his bed with the memory of a perfect night, and in the morning I'd go to his study and say the words that we both had to face.

After I dressed, I picked up each rose he had left for me and gathered them against my heart, feeling tears fall in my soul. He'd removed the thorns from them all. And I knew I would have to hold on to that forever. I'd have to hold on to the passion we'd shared, keep the roses next to my heart, and remember that thorns didn't have any place in the beauty he'd shown me, no matter how painful our parting would be.

Taking my lantern and my roses, I left Benedict's room. My stomach knotted, as if what I was doing wasn't right. No, I told myself, taking a deep breath. This is what I had to do, for Benedict, for Justin, for Robert, and for myself. I shut the panel to his room behind me and started up the stairs. Now that I was completely in the dark, I realized the oil in my lamp was low, and only a sputtering flame was left to guide my way. But I knew there was enough of the wick to last for a while yet, so I continued up. Three steps from the landing, I thought I heard a noise behind me. I swung around, expecting to see Benedict there. Yet only darkness met the glow of my lamp.

My heart sped up even as I chastised myself for being overly imaginative.

"Hello. Is anyone there?" Only my own voice echoed back at me. I never felt more alone than I did at that moment. Not even when my mother died had I felt so completely vulnerable and alone.

Turning, I hurried up to my room, my feet moving as quickly as I could safely go in my slippers. I rounded the stairway to my floor, and suddenly something black and hard hit me, knocking me backward.

I screamed as I fell back. The lamp and my roses went flying. I tried to twist my body to put my hands before me, to do anything to break my fall. My hand caught the rail, and I clutched it desperately. The impetus of my body plunging downward ripped the rail from my hand, and my knee and hip hit the wooden stairs hard, sending pain shattering through my body. I rolled. My back scraped across the stairs, and my head slammed hard, making my stomach clench with nausea. I came to a stop as my side rammed into stone.

I groaned, too stunned, too hurt, to move. I could only lie there, alone, in complete darkness.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
HREE

"Titania!"

I heard Benedict's call from somewhere above me. A rumble of heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and the ever-brightening glow of approaching light made me shut my eyes in pain.

"Here," I said, but my voice came out as nothing more than a groan. I ached everywhere as I moved first my fingers and toes, then my feet and hands. I still wasn't sure how badly I was hurt. I was still stunned. I thought I must have fallen only moments ago, but I felt disoriented and wasn't sure how long I'd lain in the darkness.

"Titania! What in God's name happened? Bloody hell!" Benedict's cry was one of horror. The volume of it set my head to throbbing. I felt his hands upon my face.

"Shh," I whispered. "Hurt. Head hurts."

"Thank God, you are alive. Where else are you hurt? "

"Not sure. My constitution—"

"If you say one bloody word about your constitution, I am going to thrash you. Can I pick you up?"

I hurt all over, but other than the throbbing in my head, no one place seemed worst. "Just a bump on my head."

"I am going to pick you up. Tell me if I hurt you."

His strong arms slid around me and pulled me close to him. His warmth eased into me, and I sighed. I was no longer alone in the dark.

"We will go to my room. It is closer," he said, swinging around.

Cracking my eye open, I realized I had only fallen one level down. "No. My room. Do not want anyone to know about us. But they must. Pushed me."

"What did you say?" Benedict's arms tightened about me.

"Pushed. Someone pushed me."

"Someone's a dead man. Pushed you from where?"

"From the landing by the schoolroom."

"Titania, I was in the schoolroom, coming back down to you. I heard you scream. Within seconds I was in the passage. No one else was there."

"No. I was pushed. I am sure of it."

He pulled me closer. "Shh. We will worry about this later. You need a doctor."

There was no dissuading him. So a mortifying hour later I found myself ensconced in my bed, suffering the poking and prodding of a doctor's examination while a wide-eyed maid looked on and the sounds of Benedict pacing outside the door reverberated throughout the room. I'd yet to face Dobbs, but I did hear Benedict speaking to the man, telling him that my curious nature had me discovering the secret passage in the middle of the night. And my penchant for accidents had me falling on my head. I wasn't sure if I was more miffed at Benedict for concocting such a story or for Dobbs's ready belief of it.

Yet I had to admit that it was better than telling the truth. As dizzy as I felt, I wasn't sure if it was better to be a falling woman than a fallen one.

"Well, Miss Lovell, you are a lucky woman. That is all I can say." The white-haired, bushy-browed doctor, whose frown was bigger than his girth, pulled the sheet back up, covering my hips. "Bruised and slightly concussed seems to be the worst of your troubles. I will leave you something for pain, and after a couple of days of rest you should be able to be back on your feet. But I warn you now, you are going to have a mighty big headache, and the rest of you is going to feel twice as bad."

"Nothing is broken then?"

"No. I think your elbow and hip came close, but something must have broken your fall just enough to keep that from happening. I do not have to warn you that this could have been much worse, do I? No more strange stairs in the middle of the night, do you understand?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The fear that I had felt was still too fresh in my throat

The doctor left, and Benedict burst in. He looked as if he was about to say something that was going to let everyone within hearing distance know we were on much more intimate terms than governess and employer.

"Mr. Trevelyan," I said sharply, stopping him in his tracks. "It is kind of you to be so concerned for me." Speaking forcefully cost me. My head began to throb, and the room around me wobbled.

Benedict visibly sucked in air, then his gaze raked down me, not with desire, but with assessing concern. "Miss Lovell. I am just thankful your injuries are not life-threatening." He turned to the maid. "Will you need to collect anything from your quarters in order to spend the night looking after Miss Lovell?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be but a minute, sir," the maid said, curtsying before she left the room.

Alone with me now, Benedict came over and sat on the edge of the bed. I winced as my body shifted toward his weight. He took my hand and brought it to his lips. "Titania, this charade of distance is going to kill me. I swear to you, I am going to get to the bottom of all this. I refuse to believe in a bloody curse."

Curse? I wondered, but my head hurt too much to ask. I groaned with pain.

"Here," Benedict said. Reaching to the bedside table, he picked up a small cup and pressed it to my lips. "The doctor left this for pain."

The sickly sweet smell of laudanum syrup, which I remembered giving my mother during her last days, assaulted my nose. All I could think of through the haziness in my mind was Francesca, drugged and falling from the tower. I didn't want to die like Francesca. I turned my head quickly, suddenly nauseated, and closed my eyes.

"Titania!" Benedict said my name sharply. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He'd become as white as a ghost. The hand he held the medicine in was shaking like a leaf. "Why did you say that? Why did you say that you don't want to die like Francesca did? Dear God. You think I would do that? You think I did do that?" He threw the medicine across the room.