The Price of Pleasure (30 page)

“Why on earth should I help you? You broke her heart.”

He frowned, thinking of Victoria's cool words to him. “She's not behaving like her heart's broken.”

“No, but you're looking it.”

He nodded, knowing she was right.

“No more than you deserve.” Her tone was cutting, shockingly so.

“My God, I liked you better addled.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry. I just want to marry her, spoil her—”

“Love her?”

He looked her in the eye. “More than anything.”

“So that's why Amanda and Nicole were so adamant. I'm surprised you told them.”

He threw up his hands. “I talk about this to anyone who'll listen. The bloody stable boy knows I'm devoted.”

“Well, what do you propose?”

“She said before that there was no affection, no ease between us. I know no one will trick her into meeting me. So what can I do? I want to show her there can be affection between us, but it's impossible when I have to hunt her down. And the one meeting we had since I returned was rushed.”

“And, of course, you were nervous.”

“I was not nervous.” At her disbelieving expression, he grumbled, “There's a lot riding on this.” Moving them back to the subject, he said, “I want to be with her alone and uninterrupted for the remainder of the month at least.”

She shook her head. “Tori won't leave, and if she did, she'd be so distracted thinking about all the work she needed to be doing that it'd be like she was still at the Court anyway.”

“Then I have to be here. With her alone.”

“You'll ruin her reputation,” Camellia pointed out. “You can't just
live
with her.”

Grant had already planned for this argument. “The Court is isolated. I know you don't get visitors. The villagers and the Huckabees are loyal to their bones. Think about it—if they weren't, the papers would have been here to follow the story of the castaways. And I know your nearest neighbor, the baron. He's a good man who would never gossip.”

Camellia was silent for some time, clearly torn.

Grant saw her waver, and pressed. “If worse comes to worst, my mother has agreed to say she was chaperoning here the entire time.”

Finally, Camellia said, “Tori's had some papers drawn up. She wants you to sign them and swear off your claim.” She studied him. “I might help if you signed them—”

“Done.”

“—and left them with me.” Camellia raised her eyebrows. “If you don't make her fall for you in two weeks, you lose her
and
the Court. Are you willing to do that?”

“I want
her.”
His hands clenched.
“Bugger the rest.”

Camellia coughed delicately at his language, then said, “I'll trust you on this, but only because I
know
she loves you. But if you hurt her…”

“I won't.”

She pointed her finger at him. “And don't you dare offer her money or try to fix this. She wants—she needs—this for herself.”

A quick nod. “Agreed.”

“So, alone, you said?”

“If possible.”

Her brows knitted in thought. “The Huckabees moved back into their cottage recently. They'd only been in the manor house to care for the earl. And as for me…”

“Perhaps you could visit Whitestone?”

“Oh, I'll just tell her I'm having a torrid affair with that baron and am going to his hunting lodge for a couple of weeks.”

Grant straightened. “I wouldn't ask you to lie.”

She blinked up at him. “It's not a lie.”

T
he roof on the sheep barn?” Tori asked Huckabee in one of their thrice-weekly office meetings.

“We're still getting estimates for materials.”

“The shearing?”

“We've got a crew coming in later this spring. But they're going to want half their fee up front.”

She sighed loudly. “I'll find it somewhere. The low acres?”

“We've contracted to have them drained by the end of the month.”

Her eyes narrowed. “In time for planting?”

He checked a smile. “Aye, miss.”

“Let's meet at the barn tomorrow and go over the repairs.”

“Right after breakfast, then?”

She nodded, amazed at his unwavering enthusiasm. For some reason, Huckabee was delighted with how she was doing. Mrs. Huckabee related that he'd said he'd never worked for anyone as involved and knowledgeable as she was coming to be. He charged out with a spring in his step and his shoulders back.

She was already lost in thought on what else she had to get done that day when Cammy passed through the doorway a moment later. “So how has your day been?” she asked, taking the seat across from the desk.

“Well enough, I suppose.”

“Huckabee certainly looks pleased with the progress.”

Tori nodded absently.
That barn is going to be the death of us and timber is so expensive right now….

“I wanted to let you know that I'm going on a trip for a while.”

That snapped Tori's attention back. “What? Where?”

“I was going to tell you this sooner, but Winfield and I have been seeing each other. A lot.”

“I gathered that. And if your humming and rosy cheeks are any indication, this is more than an infatuation?”

Cammy nodded. “He wants me to go with him to his hunting seat in Devonshire for the last half of the month. It's supposed to be beautiful there.”

Tori was too jarred to say anything, though she wanted to appear happy. Two weeks in a lovely part of England, doing nothing but relaxing with the man you love…Part of her was jealous. But Cammy deserved this more than anyone. “You're going to have a wonderful time.”

Cammy leaned in to whisper, “I told him everything, Tori. Everything that happened on the island. And he said he was proud of me for what I did.”

“He should be,” Tori said fiercely. “You saved my life.”

“Well, you started it by saving mine.” When Tori gave her a watery smile, Cammy asked, “Will you be all right for two weeks?”

She hadn't thought about that. Two weeks alone. “I'll be fine.”

“Then it's settled. He's to pick me up tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow?” Tori swallowed.

“Is that all right?”

“Of course,” she said casually. Yet when she saw Cammy off the next day, she thought about asking the Huckabees to move back in. That would be silly. She was the mistress of her home, a woman grown who'd conquered a damn jungle, and could be here unattended. Still, as noon approached, she dreaded the night alone in the big desolate house.

 

“Where the devil have you been, Grant?” Amanda cried when Grant ran in the front door after a three-day absence. “You're supposed to be at the Court this afternoon.”

“I know that,” Grant said, then nearly groaned when Nicole entered the room as well. He didn't need this. He was already unsettled by his travels and running late. “I don't have time just now—”

He tried to pass Nicole in the doorway; she crossed her arms over her chest and blocked him. “Yes, why don't you tell us where you've been? We have an interest here.”

He feinted left; she blocked him. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Damn if I didn't like my life better without a sister.”

That seemed to please her, but she still wouldn't move.

“If you must know, I've been riding around the country”—he paused and his voice became embarrassed—“trying to buy back everything Victoria sold.”

They smiled at him like at a dog who'd done a good trick. He leveled a scowl at both of them, then tore off to change shirts and get a fresh horse for his trip to the Court.

Deep in thought, her mind clouded with myriad concerns, Tori nearly ran into the strange man carrying bed slats into her home.

“What is this?” She didn't like surprises. Too many new ones greeted her each day at the Court.

“Furniture we're moving in.”

She noticed another man walking past them with the headboard. “Where did it come from?”

He pointed an elbow at a moving wagon in the drive. “Sutherland.”

So now he was buying her furniture? How embarrassing that he'd noted their lack and sought to fix it.

“Please remove this at once and tell him that we won't accept these gifts.” Although that dresser she spotted near the back would look perfect…

“They're not gifts. He's moving in.”

A slap couldn't have rocked her more. “Stop. Just stop what you're doing! Move your little ant line in the opposite direction.” She stiffened when she heard chuckling from behind her.

“Ant line?” She didn't have to turn to know it was Grant.

 

Victoria whirled on him with a withering look. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Moving in.”

“This place is mine.” She hiked a thumb at her chest.
“Mine.
You can't just come in here like this.”

“The deed says it's mine,” Grant said in an even tone.

“B-But you said you didn't want it. That you wouldn't claim it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You said you didn't want it either.”

Biting out each word, she said, “I changed my mind.”

“As did I.”

He walked in the direction of his new room. She was right beside him. “No! You can't do this. Do you know how hard I've worked? I worked myself to the bone. I earned this place.”

He slowed. He couldn't do this. He couldn't hurt her. And still part of him was so eager to be near her. “I earned it too. I gave up more than a year of my life for it. I'm staying.”

“You're kicking us out?” Her voice was broken.

He stopped then, rushing to assure her, “Who said anything about kicking you out? You and Camellia are welcome here for as long as you like.”

She looked as though she were strangling on her words. “You expect me to live here with you?”

“From what I understand, the place needs someone to oversee and expand the sheep operation. I'm hiring myself.”

She was bristling now. Good. If she had cried, if her bottom lip had trembled whatsoever, he wouldn't have been able to do this.

“I'll make you rue the day you concocted this scheme. I'll have you out of here within the week.”

He ignored her and directed a workman, “Take this up to the second story, fifth door on the right.”

“That's adjoining my room!”

He gave her a smoldering look. “Is it?”

 

She'd fought so hard not to cry. But later in her room, while she paced back and forth, the struggle became harder. Cursing him helped. Kicking things helped more. How could he do this to her? Hearing him next door, walking about “his” room, she thought she couldn't feel more fury.

If she'd ever doubted her decision to stay, she was filled with new resolve. Her territorial feelings were staggering. And for him to interfere now, to take his time claiming the place—it was insufferable. And dear Lord, she could hear him washing up. This wouldn't do, this thinking about him shirtless, wet…

She shook her head. She would move to another room! But she dismissed the idea. First the room, next the Court itself. She had to take a stand. Besides, nothing would prevent him from moving right beside her again.

A knock sounded on the door. On the adjoining door. The nerve!

She yanked it open, every ounce of will used to prevent herself from kicking him.

His nonchalance didn't help. He leaned his tall body against the door frame, and ran his gaze over her face, then her breasts, sweeping down her body and up again. His eyes darkened as they did when he wanted her.

A look like that could make a woman forget why she was angry….

“What do we do for sustenance around here?”

We? We!
“You don't really expect me to help you? Or to even talk to you, for that matter?”

“Would you deny a starving man?”

“With you as the man? Gladly.” She moved to slam the door. He placed his boot in the way.

“Listen, Victoria. You believe you're going to find a way to make me leave?”

She lifted her chin. “Depend on it.”

“So why not use me while I'm here? I'm strong—I could help you. I can work.”

She saw where this was leading. “But if you work here, it would give you even more claim.”

“What if I swore I'd never use that against you?”

“You also said you didn't want the place. Strange, but aren't you here because you ‘changed your mind'?”

“I'd give you my word.”

She frowned at him, confused by the fact that she knew she could trust him on this. She didn't know how, but she knew. And help would be so critical right now.

She exhaled and said, “We retire early at the Court and had dinner some time ago. And you won't find your meals at the end of a bellpull around here.”

“I understand.” He gave her a quick nod. “Does this mean you'll help me tonight?”

“Unwillingly. But rest assured I'll be paid back.”

His smile was heart-stopping. Cocky and sensual and as powerful as a weapon.

She yanked her gaze away and scuffed to the kitchen, helping him to stew and bread, which he obviously found delicious. “What shall we work on tomorrow?” he asked.

She hesitated, feeling she was about to capitulate more than she ought. Her voice pained, she said, “Be at the north fence tomorrow morning.”

 

Though Grant arrived not long after sunup, Victoria, Huckabee, and an elderly villager were already at the downed fence waiting for him. Victoria looked adorable in her work boots and straw hat. The rough gloves she wore swallowed her hands.

He grinned at her; she glowered at him.

Turning to survey the job, his eyes followed the line of damaged fence as it went on. And on. He scanned in all directions looking for more workers. Irritation sniped at him.

No wonder she'd been working like a field hand. She
was
a field hand, and unnecessarily so. Victoria had been through so much in the last few months, and he'd be damned if he'd let her run herself into the ground.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her aside. “This will take days to finish. Why haven't you recruited more men?”

She glared at his hand.

“Why?” he repeated, before reluctantly releasing her.

“Can we not get started?” she said.

“You'll lose sheep. Penny sure and pound foolish.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Proverbs? You can't take blood from a stone. And even if we had the money, there isn't anyone to hire. All the young men in the area went off to find work when no money was being put into the estate.” Her voice went low. “How dare you question my decisions?”

Great start, Grant.
“I'm”—he swallowed—“sorry. It's just that I'm concerned about you working a line like this without help.”

Her mouth parted at his apology. She turned away and mumbled something about a long day ahead.

So for the next several hours, Grant worked as though possessed, mainly to keep the others from it. The old man, Gerald Shepherd, looked as if he could keel over at any moment, Victoria swayed on her feet when she rose too swiftly, and Huckabee's face was a constant alarming shade of red.