The Price of Pleasure (21 page)

“It's
her.”

“Ahhh,” Grant said as if he knew what the hell Ian was talking about. “Time to go home, Cousin.”

C
amellia and Victoria had already breakfasted and had their belongings loaded into the traveling coach when Grant came down the next morning. Victoria's face didn't light up as it used to. Instead, she gave him a businesslike nod, the same nod Grant might give someone at a party whom he didn't particularly like. Camellia immediately quit the room to wait in the coach. Grant's mood—already at an abysmal level—sank.

“You don't have to accompany us to Belmont Court,” Victoria assured him over her shoulder as she strode to join Camellia. “We have detailed directions.”

That would be the end then. Part of him was tempted to test his theory about being away from Victoria, but there was no way he could surrender them to the dangers of coach travel. “I didn't sail thousands of miles to lose you somewhere in England. I'll go on to the Court.”

He heard her mumble, “The estate. Always the estate.”

He scowled. “I don't want you hurt.”

She twisted around and smiled meanly. “And I think I know exactly why.” With that, she climbed up the steps to slide onto the coach's squab seats. Grant shook his head and followed her in.

Three hours into the journey out of London, Victoria had become much more animated. The more rural or wild the countryside, the more excitement she showed. She obviously didn't like crowded cities, and Grant was glad the Court was far from any. But the excitement he sensed in both women wore off as the snowy roads continued to worsen. “We need to stop,” he said, and was about to call new directions to the driver.

“Nonsense. Not on my account,” Camellia said in what might have been an attempt at crispness.

“You need rest,” Victoria said.

“We can stop in the next town,” Grant suggested. “I don't think they have an inn, but we can try—”

“No,” Camellia protested. “The only thing that is getting me through this journey is thinking about warm food and a warmer bath.”

“Cammy, are you certain?”

“I am asking both of you to continue on.”

Victoria looked at Grant. “Very well.”

So they did, but with the next lurch of the coach, Camellia's lips thinned.

With the nearest inn still some distance away, Grant thought to detour to Whitestone. Nothing could compete with the comfort they'd find at his brother's estate. He hadn't wanted to go there and entangle his family in his affairs. All would ask him questions that he wasn't prepared or inclined to answer.

He looked over his exhausted charges, at Victoria petting Camellia's hair while the woman slept, her face drawn with worry, and realized that avoiding his family wasn't important. Certainly not more important than watching out for Victoria and Camellia. Decided, he gave the new directions to the driver.

“Is that your brother's estate?” Although Victoria finally spoke to him, she still looked out the window.

“Yes. It's closer for Camellia.”

She nodded her assent, then put the back of her hand against the glass. “Will your family be there?”

“This close after Christmas, I imagine they will.”

“Aren't you worried I might embarrass you? My ways are beyond backwater, aren't they?” she asked.

He frowned at her, puzzled that she would ask. To be honest, he was worried. His voice low, he said, “I won't be embarrassed if, for instance, you could refrain from skipping up to my brother to ask if your breasts have grown.”

Camellia stirred. Victoria put her finger over her lips, then faced the window again. Grant stared at her long after she'd turned from him, knowing he would never understand her.

A few hours after dusk, after they'd traveled far into the Surrey hills, their coach rolled into Whitestone's lamplit gravel drive. Grant felt a welling of relief, and when his family rushed out to meet them, he knew he'd made the right choice.

“Grant! You're home,” his mother cried, hugging him the second he stepped out.

“Looking as fetching as ever, Mother.”

Derek stood next to her and extended his hand. Grant took the hearty handshake, nearly wincing as his large brother slapped him on the back. “I'm glad you're back,” Derek said simply, but Grant knew what wealth of sentiment his words held.

“Grant!” Nicole rushed up and hugged him as well. When she stepped back, her attention was drawn behind him and her eyes widened. She plowed past him. “Oh, my Lord. Is that?…Is she?…”

“This is new. My wife is speechless,” Derek joked, but he turned serious when he saw what had caught her attention. “Why didn't you send a message? My God, you found her.”

Victoria was just emerging, and Grant rushed to help her down. When he set her away, he reached in to help Camellia out. “I was worried the message wouldn't be safe. I imagine the papers would like to stumble onto a story about castaways.”

Everything went quiet. His family stared at his charges as though they were ghosts. Just as the situation grew uncomfortable—

“Castaways!” Nicole squealed. “Things just got interesting!”

“Don't you want to introduce us?” Derek said under his breath.

Grant felt himself flush as he made introductions.

Nicole immediately asked, “You really were stranded on an island?”

Victoria nodded, though she looked overwhelmed. Camellia clasped her arm for support. Grant saw his mother focus on that, then look questioningly at Camellia. For the most part, his mother acted as if she had a head full of fluff, but she actually missed nothing.

“Dear, are you feeling all right?”

“The traveling must have caught up with me—”

“Grant, get her inside!” Her tone was strident, her movements brisk. “I know just the thing for Miss Scott. Marta's chicken soup.”

Grant heard Camellia mumble, “Anything but fish.”

 

Grant's mother, the dowager Lady Stanhope, went straightaway to have food sent up for Cammy and Tori, while Nicole showed them to their rooms. Tori had been successful in hiding her awe at the Sutherland town home, at the rugs, paintings, and gold, but now she couldn't stop gawking at the magnificence of this residence. Even Cammy appeared distracted from her fatigue by the wonders around her. Tori couldn't remember ever seeing such high ceilings or such intricate detail in a home's design. She wanted to stop at each set of moldings and trace the minute impressions carved in the soft wood, or run her fingers over the textured silk wall coverings.

Nicole showed them up a carpeted stair to their rooms, set in one apartment. “I thought you two might want to be situated close to each other, but if you'd like separate apartments, please let me know.”

Apartments, as in a suite of rooms to oneself. Tori felt like a royal. “No, this will be fine. Besides, I'm already lost.”

Nicole chuckled. Tori could tell she wanted to stay and ask questions, but she said, “You two probably want to eat and tidy up in private. I know I would. The food will be up shortly, and please don't hesitate to ring if you need anything.” At the door she added, “And do join us downstairs if you feel up to it.”

Short minutes later a smiling servant brought up a tray and laid out an informal repast of soup, cheeses, breads, and fruits served on china as delicate as eggshell.

Cammy ate a surprising amount, exclaiming over the soup and the pleasing flakiness of the bread. “Are you going to eat that roll?”

Tori knew she looked startled as she surrendered the roll. “Would you like the rest of the soup too?”

“Oh, I didn't want to ask, but yes, very much.”

Later, just as Cammy was eyeing the plush coverlets on the antique-looking four-poster bed, a servant knocked to warm the sheets while another unpacked Tori's trunks and hung up her clothes in the next room.

She and Cammy stared at each other. “This just gets better and better,” Tori whispered.

Minutes later, Cammy drew the toasty covers up to her chin. “Oh, my word, I missed this. Tori, you have to sit here. Even better than the town home.”

She sat. Her eyes went wide when she sank down in what felt like a cloud.

“I could get used to this,” Cammy continued. “My belly's full. I'm warm and sleepy and in a bed that I should like to keep when we leave.” Her eyes were starting to close. “Sometimes, I remember things so clearly. Anne and your father would be so happy to know you are about to be with your grandfather.” Her eyes closed, she sighed, “Have you ever felt anything so…soft?” and fell asleep.

Tori pulled the cover up more snugly, then went to her own room next door. But after examining the elegant lace of the counterpane and the curtain fringe, then sweeping her hand over the upholstered chintz headboard and investigating under the furniture and searching the closet—which took some time to walk through—she grew bored.

She washed, repinned her hair, and changed into an emerald green silk dress, then made her way downstairs, patting the spiky ropes of garland artfully twined around the railing. She heard conversation and walked in that direction.

When she entered the great room, she drew in a quick breath at the beauty of the scene. Redolent with evergreen, the area shone bright from Christmas candles and from a roaring fire in what had to be the largest fireplace she'd ever seen. But the focus of the room was a spiring fir tree. Throughout its boughs were lighted candles, candies hanging from strings, and ribbons tied in graceful bows. She could hardly take her eyes off it.

Nicole saw her first and stood with a wide smile, the men following. “Please, won't you join us? I'll pour you warm cider with raisins.”

Tori noticed how striking Nicole's cobalt velvet gown was, how it emphasized her dark blue eyes and highlighted her red hair, already tempered with gold, and was suddenly very thankful that Grant had bought her new clothes. She might be uncouth, but she'd be damned if she'd look it. “That would be lovely.”

Nicole handed her a silver cup, aromatic steam rising from the liquid, and when she motioned for everyone to sit, Tori perched on a plush settee.

“Oh my, you are so beautiful. And so tall.” Nicole sighed wistfully. “But then, everyone is taller than I am.”

“Not everyone, sweet,” her husband said from his seat by the fire. “You tower among young children, for instance,” he supplied helpfully with a glint in his eyes.

While Nicole bantered playfully with him, Tori took a sip of her cider, scrutinizing Grant and Derek over the rim.

Grant looked a lot like his brother, both so powerfully built and tall. They both had thick, black hair, but Grant's eyes were blue to Derek's gray, and Tori knew those blue eyes could be cold. Grant was perhaps a bit leaner and more classically handsome than Derek, but it was hard to justify that distinction as he had not smiled once since Tori came down.

“You know, I've sailed near your island,” Nicole said to Tori. “That part of the world is breathtaking. It must have been hard to leave it.”

She had no idea. Tori could adjust to traveling halfway around the world and to all the jarring sights and confusion, but she couldn't help but reel when she let herself think life for her was going to remain just as uncertain. Tori felt tears pricking her eyes.

“Oh, Tori.” Nicole grabbed her hand. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

Nicole had called her by her nickname without permission or hesitation, as if they were the oldest of friends. Tori felt strangely comfortable with the thought.

“Amanda—Lady Stanhope, that is—wanted to come down this evening but she's tired out from”—she turned to smile at Derek—“from the day. She hopes you're settling in?”

“It's been perfect. I've never heard Cammy so content.”

“Good. Now that you're both here,” Nicole said, looking from her to Grant, “I want to introduce you to someone.” Nicole grabbed Tori's hand, pulling her up. Tori gave Grant a questioning look, but they both followed her up the stairs. She placed her finger over her lips and gently pushed open a door to reveal a nursery, decorated with light blue draperies and pillows, and clouds painted across the accent wall.

“Well, so much for being quiet. He's up!” Nicole lifted a baby from the crib. “Tori, Grant, meet Geoffrey Andrew Sutherland.”

Grant's eyes went wide. “You mean I've got a nephew?”

She grinned proudly. “We've been busy while you were away.”

“He's precious,” Tori said on a breath, noting the already expressive blue eyes of the boy.

“He's a handful. Amanda, who proclaimed herself expert at baby boys, begged for her bed tonight. So, who wants to hold him?”

Grant put up his hands. “I think Victoria should. I'll just watch and learn, if you don't mind.”

“Oh, no, I couldn't. I—”

“Haven't you ever held a baby?”

“Well, yes, some time ago—”

“So you know to cradle his head”—Nicole handed him over—“and hold him close. Perfect. See, you never forget how to hold a baby.”