The Price of Pleasure (29 page)

Apparently. Tori strolled in, saw she was injured, and ran for them, looking like she'd do Winfield harm. “Are you hurt? What happened? Why is he holding you?”

He answered in a patient voice, “Miss Scott's a little banged up. She fell from her horse. I'm holding her because I don't want her to walk.”

He placed her lightly on the settee in the parlor and called for ice, pillows, and tea. Tori hesitated, eyeing the baron, but when she saw Huckabee starting in the direction of the icehouse, she glowered at Winfield in warning and went for pillows.

He propped up Cammy's pitifully unswollen ankle with the small cushions available. She swished her skirts over it as though modest.

“May I call on you and check on your recovery?”

He'd already helped her so much. “That really won't be necessary.”

“I insist.”

She shook her head. She didn't want him
obligated
to come see her and certainly didn't want him to know she'd lied about her ankle. “I don't think that would be a good idea.”

For the first time, his face fell. “Of course.” Almost to himself he said, “I tend to forget how old I am.”

“Old,” she scoffed, rubbing a smudge from her hand. “You're in your late thirties, if that, and most virile.” She glanced up just as she gasped at herself. The earth would swallow her now, if it did as bidden.

His eyes were merry, his expression pleased. “Early
forties
. But I fear you're too young for me.”

“I am not too young for you.”

His smile widened.

“I meant, should two people of our ages…” She trailed off with a frown. “I'm simply saying that should circumstances…” Her face was on fire. “I'm quite near thirty!” Maybe he wasn't just amused
at
her. It could be argued that he was delighted
with
her. Or both. She just didn't know.

“I don't see how that could be possible, but as it works to my favor—”

Tori returned then with blankets, pillows, and Mrs. Huckabee bearing Cammy's favorite tea. Tori scrutinized Winfield looking at Cammy and didn't seem too pleased with the situation. He must have sensed Tori's animosity because, with a last lingering kiss on Cammy's hand, he turned to show himself out. But not before he said over his shoulder, “Friday, Miss Scott.”

Both she and Tori stared at the doorway for some time after he left.

“Tell me everything,” Tori finally said.

Cammy explained her fall and detailed his kindness. And she didn't omit the inane things she'd said. By the end, she and Tori were laughing.

“Oh, Cammy, I was so rude to him. Again. I was just worried about you. And the way he was holding you.
Possessive.”

“Really?”

Tori nodded. “Absolutely.”

“I can't believe I called him virile. And that's only one of the dim-witted things I said to him. I was rattled to find that I can't converse.”

“I think you're brilliant at conversing if the way he was looking at you is any indication. So what shall you wear Friday?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Cammy scoffed. “You make it sound like he's coming to court me.”

“That's exactly what he's doing. Mrs. Huckabee said he's been a widower for over ten years.”

Cammy hardly knew him and yet she felt so sad for his loss. “He's just being polite. Handsome, powerful men like that don't court emaciated, pale, formerly out-of-their-mind redheads.”

“None of that is true but for the red hair,” Tori insisted. “But I have a feeling that even if all of it were, this man would.”

 

Winfield returned on Wednesday.

After rushing up to her room and trying on as many different dresses as she owned, Cammy chose a royal-blue walking dress, smoothed her hair, and then calmly descended the stairs. The pain in her legs and backside that she'd complained of only that morning had vanished.

He sucked in a breath when he saw her and seemed so admiring that she concluded the poor boy was losing his eyesight.

“I had an excuse ready about how I didn't think you could get around easily and it was such a fine day I'd hate for you to be inside. But the truth is, I didn't want to wait till Friday. And I liked the idea of carrying you again.”

“Oh,” was her rejoinder. She barely left off the breathy
my.

“So, I've a blanket, some wine, a bit of food, and an early-blooming cherry tree to enjoy them under.”

She nearly sighed, it sounded so wonderful. “I'll go with you, but I must insist I walk. My injuries feel better after moving around.”

“But your ankle…”

“Hardly a twinge. Like I said, just a hiccup.”

She saw him hesitate and knew he was suspicious, but she poked out her chin and defied him to say something. Surely, as a stubborn person, he recognized her stubbornness.

“As you wish.”

They strolled, slower than she would have liked, up in the hills to a spot overlooking the valley and set out their luncheon. Though she struggled to limit herself to only a few grapes, he plied her with wine and delicacies, candied apricots and roasted apples, cheeses so good she wanted to roll her eyes in delight, and brown and white breads wrapped in cloth and still warm.

The more wine she drank, the more loquacious she became. The wretch took advantage of her state to ask her questions about the island. How to tell him she was previously addled in the head, could never eat fish—a main staple of the English diet—and didn't remember a great deal of the last several years? How could she confide that there were things she wished she couldn't recall? She put him off by describing the flora and fauna.

At the end of the day, a singularly lovely day, he said to her, “The time passes too quickly when I'm with you.” He reached for her hand. “I want to see you tomorrow.”

Cammy stared at him, perplexed because he really did seem to like her. One could get used to having a magnificent man smiling at her as if she hung the moon.

Yet, she worried. How could she find someone, be
courted,
when Tori was mourning her grandfather? And the love of her life?

As promised, Winfield came around again on Thursday. But when he talked about what they would do the next day as though it was inconceivable that they wouldn't be spending it together, she said, “I would like to see you tomorrow, but circumstances at the Court are very delicate just now.”

“How so?”

“Lady Victoria has been under a tremendous amount of strain. I don't know that this won't add to her worries.”

“Wouldn't she be happy that a man, a good and decent man, I might add, is besotted with you?”

She thought he teased her. “Are you besotted?” she asked lightly.

His expression grew serious. “Since the moment I first saw you.”

Her mouth parted in disbelief. She wanted to cover up her amazement, to say something witty. But his lips covered hers and saved her the trouble. Slow, tender, yet urgent. He communicated more to her in those brief moments than she'd ever dreamed. He pulled away, his gaze catching hers. “Tell me you feel the same way.”

“I do,” she whispered, then brought her lips back to his, gently clasping his face to answer him in kind.

T
hough the scenery on the Atlantic coast had been striking for the last few days, Grant hadn't enjoyed it. Tonight he was treated to the sun sinking into the azure sea, the clouds strewn around painted scarlet. Grant slowed his horse, and felt the familiar pang he suffered whenever he saw something so appealing. His first thought was that Victoria should see it as well.

The night before Derek had left for home, he'd said he missed Nicole as he would air. Grant now understood that feeling completely. Victoria should be where he was. Period.

How could I know I was in love when I'd never felt it?

The sun hissed when it met the sea. The sky burned with afterglow.

“Ah, bloody hell.”
He winced, then dropped his forehead into his hand.

It was
because
he'd never felt this way before that he knew. He shook his lowered head. “I'm in love with her,” he mumbled to himself, noting that his voice sounded bewildered. Looking back at the sky, he said more clearly, “I love Victoria.”

His discovery made him near frenzied to get home to tell her, but he forced himself to painstakingly follow any semblance of a lead to the end. When he concluded that he'd missed nothing that could help them with Ian's disappearance, he allowed himself to turn back to England, riding day and night to the channel, then pacing on the short voyage across. Every mile closer to home, the guilt he felt for not finding his young cousin grew heavier to bear, but he simply couldn't find another direction to investigate.

Once he'd made it to Whitestone, he took his lathered horse to the stable and ordered his mount rewarded and another saddled. He hurried past Amanda in the garden and tossed a greeting to her.

“Grant,” she replied curtly.

Puzzled by her cool behavior, he strode into the house, starving, coated with road dust, and impatient as ever. He grabbed two apples for his dinner, then nearly walked straight into Derek. Grant noticed the tight look on his brother's face and narrowed his eyes. “Did you break the news to Serena?”

Derek gave a distracted nod. “She's sure she's dying of an equatorial disease she read about in the
Times
and rounded up the daughters to accompany her to Bath.”

“Poor chits.”

“But I've unleashed the runners,” Derek added. “They said they should have news soon.”

“That's good, because I found nothing new.” Grant jerked an apple in Amanda's direction. “Why isn't she talking to me?”

“I'm afraid it isn't just her,” Derek admitted. As if to illustrate his point, Nicole walked in, spotted Grant, and immediately quit the room.

“What's this about?” Grant demanded.

“I…it's about Victoria—”

Grant dropped the apples to fist his hands on Derek's shirt. “Is she hurt? Is she in trouble?”

“She's not hurt,” he rushed to assure Grant. “But the old earl passed away while we were gone.”

“He died?”

“Yes, he died.” This from his mother, who'd just entered the room. “Leaving her with nothing. Less than nothing. She's been working like a field hand and selling everything that isn't nailed down just to keep the creditors from taking the Court. And actually,
not nailed down
is no longer applicable.”

Grant sank down in a parlor chair and exhaled a breath.

“She had to sell her mother's wedding ring that Camellia took from Lady Anne before they buried her.” She glared at Grant. “You brought Victoria here. Then you abandoned her.”

Instantly, he was on his feet. “You know why I had to leave—”

“Then why didn't you make sure she had enough money before you left? Get someone to watch over her? You alone knew how destitute Belmont really was. None of us had any idea. You'd seen that the place was falling down around their ears.”

“In case all of you hadn't already noticed, I don't do my best thinking where she's concerned. I just never conceived he'd die so soon.”

“He did, and you stranded her—that's how she looks at it, as another stranding. And just like before, she's doing whatever it takes to survive. Believe it or not, she's making a go of it. But then she had to—”

Grant was out the door before she could say another word.

He made the Court in well under half a day. Energy surrounded the place and changes had been made, but he didn't hesitate to study anything in particular, only rushed to the entrance. The knocker was missing. Grant's brows drew together. Surely Victoria wouldn't have sold that too.

Strangely nervous, he banged on the door, but no one answered. Finding it unlocked, he let himself in and searched the manor until he came upon her in the study. Grant had thought he was prepared to see Victoria, but his chest tightened when he caught her rubbing her forehead, her face pensive as she inspected the account books before her.

He didn't want her pensive. Especially not because of account books. If there was one thing Grant could help her with, it was finance. He reminded himself that she didn't need him to take care of her.

Damn it,
he
needed him to take care of her.

A thought arose that made his nervousness return tenfold. There was a possibility—albeit slim—that he could mend the rift between them and have her in his arms within the hour.

 

So much work to be done, and already Tori's head was aching as if her temples were in a vise. Even the birdsong outside—which she had set up a feeder at the window to attract—grated on her nerves.

She put her arms up to stretch, to try to work out the tension creeping up her back into her neck. Her breath left her and her arms fell limply.
Grant?
He was leaning in the doorway staring at her. How long had he been there? She frowned. That man could not have chosen a worse day.

Without invitation, he entered her study.

Who did he think he was, walking into her home like this?

Like he owned it.

He stood for a moment at the desk, no doubt shocked at how tired she looked or how fierce her expression was when she faced him. If she looked tired, he appeared exhausted, his face drawn with some emotion. His clothes were covered in dust, his boots scuffed. He'd ridden here without even taking the time to shave. Her brows drew together in interest, until he casually laid his hat on her desk and took a seat. The gesture infuriated her and brought out a violently strong possessiveness of the Court.

“We need to talk.”

Please, don't be here about the Court. Don't want it like I do….

“I need to explain what's happened in the last few weeks—”

“Did you find Ian?” she interrupted.

His face tightened. “No, I didn't.”

She glanced down, not wanting to share her sadness with him. She'd assumed Grant would find Ian just as Grant had found her, and was crushed to hear otherwise. “Is that why you came here?” She faced him again. “To tell me you hadn't found him?”

“No. Not completely.”

“What else did you want to discuss? I'm afraid I don't have the time or the inclination for social calls just now,” she said, her voice cold and pleasingly steady.

His eyes widened a touch. “We haven't seen each other in weeks. You can't spare time for me?”

“Is that why you're here? To visit? You should have left your card.”

“You know that's not why I'm here—for a simple visit.”

“How can I possibly know what you could want here?” She put her palms up in true frustration. “The last time you left here, you swore you wouldn't come back—”

“I behaved like an ass, and I regret that.”

He regretted that?
I'm sorry,
her mind cried.
Say you're sorry
. Her headache had spread to a band around her entire head. She remembered vowing that she wouldn't take him back even if he swore eternal love and begged forgiveness. He wasn't even close to that with this stilted, pulling-teeth conversation.

“I just don't have time for this,” she said, stacking papers in snappish movements. “You need to leave.”

“I don't want to leave yet.” He irritably raked his fingers through his hair. “I have to speak with you.”

She stood. “
I
don't
have
to speak with you. And by my calculations, you've had your way every single time we've been at cross-purposes, so I believe I'm due. Good-bye, Grant.”

He gave her a disbelieving look.

“It's over. I said good-bye.” She walked to the front entrance to show him out, and heard him follow. When she opened the door, he exited, secretly disappointing her. She'd hoped for a groveling apology. Without warning, his hand shot out to drag her to him. Then his lips were on hers, the mere contact as explosive as ever. She didn't slap him or struggle, but was motionless. After moments passed, she couldn't resist moving her lips under his just slightly. He groaned, she gasped. Their hands collided as they reached out to grab each other.

But he was breaking the kiss, seeming to drag himself away. She heard herself give a little whimper of protest. When she opened her eyes and they cleared, she stiffened.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It damn well isn't over.”

“That means nothing,” she blustered. “We've always been good like that. If you were listening to anything I said before, you'd know I wanted more.”

“I'm ready to give you more,” he said, the words like a promise.

She shook her head, furious. “Don't you dare toy with me. I would hope you knew your own mind enough that you wouldn't go from ‘a lusty marriage only' to ‘anything you want' in the space of a few weeks. A few weeks that we were apart and not working through this together, I might add.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “You made everything clear to me the last time we saw each other, and although I disagreed at the time, I've come to see that you were right about everything.”

“No. No, I wasn't. I was a bloody—”

“I want you to know that I wish you every happiness,” she interrupted coolly, and closed the door on his achingly handsome face.

But it only bought her a day. The next, he was back like a dog at a bone, continuing his pursuit. As there were only weeks left until the Court was hers, she resolved to avoid him at all costs.

Eluding him was as easy as it had been on the island. Anytime the dogs barked, she left the house or read in her closet by candlelight. Once, she and Mrs. Huckabee were in the kitchen when they heard him striding through the house. The woman had cocked a meaty hip into Tori, sending her flying into the larder just before Grant walked in. Another time, Huck had hidden her in the hayloft where she was silently trampled by a litter of adoring barn kittens.

The growing number of days she evaded him was satisfying.

Curse it, it
was.

 

Victoria had accepted life without him, which was unacceptable.

As Grant drummed the door at the Court, he replayed for the hundredth time the unflinching look Victoria had given him the first day he'd returned. Grant had prepared for her anger. Her resignation was far worse. But she'd fought for him; he would do no less by her.

Plot, organize, fight, conquer.
It worked in business. After much coaxing, he'd garnered support from his mother and Nicole, and if he couldn't find Victoria, he'd run Camellia to ground and recruit her as well.

But Camellia did not seem pleased to see him. Actually, at the front door she said, “I can't say I'm pleased to see you.” She let him into the house, at least.

The difference in her appearance floored Grant. Gone was the thin, ailing woman, replaced by a comely, vibrant one. “Miss Scott, you're looking well.”

He thought she would smile or thank him. Instead, she glared. “Why should I even speak to you? You've hurt Tori terribly.”

“I know—I can explain that. I had to go after Ian—”

“She knows
why
you ran off. But not to even send word? To check on her?”

“I thought she felt well rid of me. Especially when I left here that last morning.”

In a saucy tone, Camellia mumbled to herself, “She feels that way now.”

“Damn it, Camellia. I thought the time apart would dim her anger toward me. And it would have if the earl hadn't died before I returned.”

“The only reason I'm speaking to you is because your mother and sister-in-law wrote and asked me to,” Camellia said as she led him into the parlor. “You're lucky Tori's out for the entire day.”

When she took her seat in one of the few chairs, Grant sat as well. “This isn't easy for me to ask for your help.”