A Secret Passion (3 page)

An uncomfortable silence ensued as the tall, muscular man turned to retrieve his hat. He returned with a glint in his eye, which Jane could not fathom. “Yes,” he said, “his lordship will be most displeased.”

He didn’t speak or act like a servant, and yet his behavior and clothing were not gentlemanlike. He must be a gentleman in name only, reduced to earning a wage. His arrogant countenance showed he had refused to become accustomed to his low station in life.

His eyes roamed her entire person from the tip of her boots to her eyes. It was a completely improper action, and Jane felt anew the awkwardness of the situation. She wondered for just an instant whether anyone would be able to hear her if she needed to cry for help. She pushed this thought away and began to back up her horse. “I will ride on to enlist the aid of another stable hand and a new mount for you.” She was pleased to note that despite her discomfort, her tones were cool.

“Oh, no, miss. I was thinking you might be able to convey me to the area yourself, as you were the cause of this trouble.”

“Me? How dare you presume to blame me!”

“Well, you startled him just as I had got him almost under control.”

“Nonsense. You had absolutely no control over him to start with.”

“All the same, the least you could do is give a
poor bloke
a ride pillion back to the stables.”

She stared at him in horror. Could he really mean to suggest she allow him up on her horse with her? It was too much. As he started to lead her animal to a felled tree to mount up, she pulled Pax up short. “Unhand my horse. I will ride on in search of help.” She moved her riding crop from her saddle to her hand.

But he reached up and easily took it away from her. “You shall do no such thing. Stay still. It never pays to fight the inevitable.” And with that, he grabbed the pommel and cantle of the saddle and swung up behind her. His bronzed forearm grazed her hips as he settled behind her.

“This is entirely improper,” she began before he cut her off by putting both hands around her waist.

“Move on, old girl, before I use this whip.”

Jane was appalled, unsure if his command was directed toward her or her steed. She dug her heels into the animal and urged her forward.

The heat from his large hands was unsettling. They almost encircled her entire waist. flustered and angry that this arrogant groom had the impertinence to insist and force himself up onto her horse, she urged Pax into a fast trot, but to her dismay, this only made the man tighten his grip on her waist and move closer to her body. She could even smell the male essence of him. Jane immediately brought her horse back to a fast walk.

She thought she heard him laugh, but his voice was bland as he inquired, “Is your horse winded already, Miss, ah… Perhaps I should know your name, considering our circumstances.” He removed one of his hands to rearrange the saddle pad as he wrapped his other entire forearm around her waist. The strength in his arm unnerved her, as did his warm breath on her neck.

Jane hesitated. It was very improper of this man to insist on an introduction. It was the outside of enough. She decided to refuse an answer. It was difficult to cut someone when he was holding a part of one’s body, but she persevered.

“So I am not to learn the trespasser’s name, then? I am not surprised,” the man continued.

Jane responded with a sniff. When they were finally past the stream, he directed her through a small grove of apple trees. She stopped at the foot of a manicured drive and allowed her gaze to drift over the estate. The structure was immense. Pale limestone cut into rectangles formed a symmetrical castle boasting at least two hundred windows. Jane almost forgot her passenger for a few moments while she admired the classic lines of the edifice. Conical evergreens framed the tall archway of the entrance as well as the entire outside of the castle and pathways.

“Do you like what you see?”

Her unwanted companion’s warm breath on her neck reminded her of the discomforting state of affairs. “Who would not?”

“Indeed,” he said as he leaned closer. “Shall we press on, then? I could arrange a tour of the Hall should you so desire. In fact, I could escort you myself, considering your unexampled kindness in condescending to share your horse with me.”

She could feel his whiskers tease her ear. “You may dismount here,” Jane commanded in a clipped fashion. “And I will depend on you not to discuss this incident with anyone.”

“I daresay this means you will not offer to escort me to the main stables?” he responded. When this met with no response, he swung off the horse and slid down. Jane noticed a long tear on the right side of his shirt, which revealed a muscled shoulder with a jagged scar. She pulled her gaze away from him and leaned over to take the riding crop he still held.

“Have no fear, ma’am. For”—his eyes narrowed in amusement—”who would believe I was offered escort by a nameless trespasser in the neighborhood?” The man smiled for the first time, revealing straight white teeth. The sun appeared from behind a scudding cloud, and his eyes turned to burnished silver before he bowed and strode with purpose toward the drive.

Jane summoned as much dignity as possible as she urged her mare to trot back down the small lane while she wondered what on earth she had done to merit such a series of unfortunate events. Now, in addition to her long list of worries in London, it seemed she must add yet another here in Littlefield. She sighed. While her life had been far from perfect a day ago, it had been at least secure and proper.

For the first twenty-three years of her life, the most improper thing she had ever done was infuriate her music teacher. This entailed running away from home when she was twelve, following the severe scolding she had received from her father regarding a certain toad in the pianoforte. Her mother had found her down by the cliffs, huddled in the wild grasses of the shallows with her knees drawn up and her chin tucked down. She remembered the sensation of her mother’s hands stroking her hair and whispering that she must return home. She had picked up her butterfly box and scribbling book and trudged homeward.

After stabling her mare, Jane walked toward her aunt’s cottage. The thought of the scribbling book made her smile. Yes, that was it. Finishing the story she had begun to write two months ago would take her mind off of her current worries. It was a better idea than trespassing in search of the sea and good scenery.

Clarissa rose from her cramped position in the garden to welcome Jane at the gate. She removed her muddied gardening gloves and apron. “Jane,” she said with obvious pleasure, “I have been waiting for you, dearest. I have something to show you which I think you will like!” The two women entered the cottage and made their way through the narrow hall into the kitchen. Jane’s curiosity could not budge Clarissa’s desire to surprise her.

Clarissa moved to the table and untied two old-looking packets. Jane watched her aunt unfold lengths of beautiful crepe and Alamode black silk.

“Aunt Clarissa! Wherever did you find this?”

“I remembered this morning that I had had the foresight to purchase several lengths of fabric before leaving my brother’s residence in London. I knew it would be more difficult to find good cloth in the country.” Clarissa folded the fabrics and placed them in Jane’s arms. “Your father never should have forced you out of mourning. Your riding habit will have to do until this can be made up.”

“It only mattered to the outside world. In the privacy of my heart, I could still mourn him,” Jane said wistfully while examining the silks. “I can’t thank you enough. It is too much.”

Clarissa moved to place tea items on the table. “Your thanks are unnecessary. I will write a note to my brother, insisting he send your clothes for the end of the period.”

“He won’t relent. My father was very clear that I not take anything. It will be a point of pride. He will be furious enough when he realizes I took my mare.” She kept her eyes on her hands, which held the riding crop she had just picked up.

“Aunt, I must warn you of a particularly vexing event during my ride this morning.” She went on to relate the particulars of the meeting with the stable hand.

Clarissa was confused. “You say the man was very tall with black hair? It cannot be the man who oversees the stables, as that is Matthews and he is balding. I know all the inhabitants of the village, and most of the servants at Hesperides Hall are at least familiar by face. Are you sure it was not the earl himself? He fits the description,” the aunt said as she poured the boiling water into a pot.

“But this man was wearing a torn shirt without a neckcloth and breeches that were beyond description. He threatened that the earl would be furious for my trespassing.”

“Well, then it couldn’t be Lord Graystock.” Clarissa set a loaf of bread and some preserves onto the small wooden table. “Ah, but I remember… The rector was mentioning the earl was expecting a guest or two at Hesperides. He must be one of the gentlemen or a manservant of one of the guests.”

“You know the earl? Lord Graystock, you said?”

“I have not been presented to him, as he has only lately returned. However, I have seen him in church and he is an austere gentleman, as befitting his station.” Clarissa paused to pass Jane a small plate. “Before he assumed the mantle of the title from his father, he was married to a young lady. But it was for just a short while, well before I came here.”

Jane stood up and moved to look out of the window. “What happened?”

“She died when she lost the child she was carrying. Apparently, it was a dreadful time. The neighborhood had waited more than two decades for a new mistress of Hesperides, and she was there for only seven months. She was young, only eighteen.” She paused before rushing through the last of the explanation. “There was much talk about the circumstances of her miscarriage and death.”

It had begun to rain, and from the window Jane sensed the reflection of raindrops on her face. “What kind of talk?”

“The kind that breeds from idleness in a small village.”

“So, he became lord of the realm of Littlefield and reigns supreme over the area’s society, who bow and scrape to him while gossiping behind his back?”

“No, Jane. You are mistaken somewhat,” her aunt answered, taken aback by her tone. “The young gentleman purchased a pair of colors in the cavalry in the spring of aught nine, soon after his wife died. He vowed not to return. Reverend Gurcher said it was to escape the nightmares that haunted him. Although the rector should have never confided this to me,” Clarissa added. “It is said he sold out when his commanding officer insisted, after he had very nearly lost an arm to a saber at Waterloo.”

Jane squeezed her eyes shut. “I should not have surmised what I did.”

“It is worse still,” continued Clarissa. “His father, the old earl, died two years ago, convinced that his elder son would never return.” Clarissa added that he also had one other sibling, a brother.

“And the other son?”

“I have never met him, as I have lived here for just the last seven years. No one seems to know much about him other than the fact that he does not reside here.”

A long pause followed Clarissa’s words. Jane turned from the window to face her aunt. Clarissa’s pale blue eyes stared up at her from a drawn and tired face. Jane felt most unsettled and had to fight the urge to ask more questions. So, instead, she turned the conversation to arranging for suitable accommodations for her horse, still at the smithy’s small stall.

The Earl of Graystock was pensive as he retired to the old, cracked leather chair near the fireplace in his library. The book he had left draped over the arm failed to engross him after a dutiful ten-minute read. He turned to look at the flames in the fireplace and allowed his mind to drift to the woman he had left on the drive.

He remembered her fragile, proud profile as she had moved toward the lane. She had brushed fine wisps of pale gold hair from her porcelain cheeks as she urged her mare into a trot. In a hurry to get herself as far from him as possible, no doubt. And for that he could hardly blame her. What had come over him? He had never treated a lady in such a fashion before.

But she knew how to fight back. A slow smile spread across his face as he remembered her calculating perusal of his person back in the field. Those slanting eyes of hers were devilish. He had never seen eyes so mesmerizing—rims of blue with yellow in the centers. The colors played tricks on the senses. It had been next to impossible to drag his eyes off of her. It had been almost as hard to take his hands off of her soft, tiny waist. And he would not soon forget her intoxicating feminine scent, which seemed to have been nothing more than lavender soap and sunshine. Lavender soap and sunshine, indeed! He shook his head. This was not like him.

He sighed and knew he would go out of his way to never learn her name. Young women, especially ones of her stamp, always led to trouble… of the never-ending variety. Just the thought made him weary. He picked up his book to have another go at it.

Just as he deemed the book hopelessly dull, Gooding arrived on the heels of the butler, who entered carrying a tray of brandy. “Ah, Gooding, you have arrived at last,” Rolfe exclaimed as he looked over the compact medium frame of the slightly older gentleman.