Rebecca Hagan Lee (16 page)

Was he being deliberately obtuse? Or was he simply enjoying her difficult situation? The very thought that he might be gaining amusement from her anger made her blood boil. "W-w-what can they know? They know my reputation is in shreds! They know you tore off my nightdress! And I don't doubt that they know about the night we spent at Marlborough House in the same bed. They know that I've become your m-m-mistress!"

"That's news to me," Blake muttered.

"What did you say?" Cristina demanded.

"I said, are you? I wasn't aware."

Those softly sarcastic words sent Cristina flying into action. She launched herself at him. "Do you deny it? Do you deny that we spent the night together?

Let go of my arms, I want to scratch out your eyes. Let go and stop laughing!

Stop laughing at me!"

Blake couldn't help laughing, because despite his throbbing head, Cristina's wriggling was having an effect on him that was sure to make her angrier once she stopped wiggling long enough to notice. And being a man, he couldn't help but enjoy the marvelous effect she had on his senses or that special surge of adrenaline that made him forget everything but the exquisite thrill of battle with her. He had to fight to keep his wits about him as he struggled to hold her hands away from his face, and keep her teeth away from his vulnerable arms.

Far from angry, Blake was enjoying the duel of wit and strength.

But if he was enjoying it, Cristina was not. And seeing the glint of desire in his eyes was like rubbing salt into a wound. She turned her head from side to side to evade his lips.

Blake took no notice. He let go of her hands and framed her face with his palms on either cheek, holding her still while he fastened his lips on hers.

She bit down on his soft lower lip and he tasted the metallic taste of blood. His blood.

Blake's black eyes glowed with pain and for one long moment Cristina was afraid he might retaliate in kind. Instead, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he began to chuckle. "I knew you could be bloodthirsty. I just didn't know how bloodthirsty. Don't they feed you? Do you have to try to take pieces out of me each time we meet? Not that I mind that you find me so appetizing, but there are better ways to satisfy that hunger...."

"Oooooh!" She took the bait. "You are without a doubt the... the--"

"Handsomest? Cleverest? Best?" He interrupted her with an offer of suitable adjectives.

"--most arrogant, conceited, vilest... man it has ever been my misfortune to meet. I wish--"

"That I would take you in my arms and kiss you again." He followed his words with action. His kiss was demanding at first, but gradually became softer and more giving, until she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck.

He kissed her to his satisfaction, then finally drew away from her upturned mouth and stared down at the desire etched on her face until she became aware of his studied gaze and jerked out of his grasp.

"You had no right. I--"

"I had every right. You gave it to me by marching into my bedroom half-dressed and throwing yourself in my arms. You were begging for my attention. You demanded it. And my kisses as well."

"I didn't."

"Didn't you? You had every intention of making me want you or you wouldn't be here now. You can call me a villain if it makes you feel better, but the fact remains that you sought me out and not the other way around. I took only what you wanted to give to me, what you flaunted before me."

"You are the most arrogant, conceited, most vile--"

Blake interrupted her flow of abuse, "You've said all that before and it's beginning to bore me to tears. Can't you come up with anything else?"

"Bastard!"

"There now," he grinned at her. "Don't you feel better? It's not exactly correct or original, but I knew you could come up with something else. Not very ladylike, either, but then we both know you were born to the position and that it's strictly honorary."

"If I'm no longer a lady in fact, it's because of you. You've ruined my chances of making a good marriage."

"Indeed?" His expression was full of scathing disbelief. "Tell me how I managed that."

"By abducting me from a public carriage in broad daylight, by taking me to your home and by keeping me here against my will, thereby forcing me to become your mistress."

"I can be persuasive and even demanding on occasion, but I never use force," he told her. "I'm too much of a gentleman. And I don't remember you objecting to my methods."

Cristina stuttered with impotent fury, "B-b-but--"

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And my dear, as I've explained to you before, you're laboring under an obvious misconception. I don't consider you my mistress--only a houseguest. Although we spent the night together sharing a bed, we passed the time sleeping. There's a lot more to being a mistress than sharing a pillow. Of course, you could remedy that situation.

..." He finished his speech, his voice husky and filled with suggestion.

"I-I--"

"Speechless? That's something new for you. I thought you'd be only too willing to comply with my suggestion as it's all you've talked about since you stormed in here."

Cristina suddenly found her tongue. "That isn't why I came in here and you know it."

"Really? Then why did you come?" He arched his brows in feigned innocence.

"I came to let you know your staff has a mistaken idea about my reason for being here," she informed him haughtily.

His mouth turned up a tiny bit at the corner, and what began as a smile soon turned into a chuckle and then into hearty laughter. "If they were mistaken, my dear, I'm relieved to know you've set them straight. I'll bet they have the right idea now!"

Cristina turned on her heel and exited the room with as much dignity as she could muster. She didn't stop until she reached the safety of her own room where she slammed the door with all her might, trying unsuccessfully to drown out the sound of his deep laughter echoing through the house.

"I guess you told him," Leah commented when Cristina flung herself down on the bed. "And the rest of house, too."

A drowning man will clutch at a straw.

--PROVERB

*Chapter Twelve*

The war had to end. It couldn't go on. The tension in Lawrence House hung as thick and stifling as smoke caught between the layers of the early-morning fog. The staff tiptoed around the master and his guest and did their best to remain unnoticed. It was the only way to weather the storm.

Blake entered his home and started up the stairs. He met Cristina coming down them, her arms full of embroidered linens.

He halted in his tracks and stared at her. He had spent the last couple of weeks purposely avoiding her, throwing himself into his work until he was too tired to think of anything except sleep. He had left Cristina to stew in her own juices since the morning she had stormed into his room demanding he salvage her reputation. Blake had hoped his absence would reduce the unbearable tension between them and improve her disposition, but if anything, it had compounded the problem.

She was proud and she was angry, but enough was enough and Blake had reached the limit of his endurance.

Mackie had spent the better part of the morning begging him to do something about Cristina. According to the housekeeper, Miss Cristina was working herself to the bone, burning off excess energy. She had asked to help plan the menus, balance accounts, even polish his mother's silver and monogram the linens. Miss Cristina meant well, Mackie explained, she was trying to help, but she was driving the staff crazy with requests for more tasks to keep her busy and Mackie told him, she'd even cajoled his valet into parting with some of Blake's shirts and handkerchiefs. Then his housekeeper had demanded to know why he hadn't noticed the fancy monogramming on his garments.

Blake decided to see for himself if what Mackie said was true. So he had set out to find Cristina and the truth.

"Cristina?"

She peeked around her armload of what appeared to be his shirts and looked down at him. He was taken aback by her haphazard appearance. She was pale and thin and there were dark smudges under the eyes that calmly returned his stare.

"What in God's name have you been doing? I almost mistook you for a maid."

Cristina glanced down at her dress. She did resemble one of the staff in her plain, gray dress and with her hair hidden beneath a cap. She knew she must look terrible. Cristina blinked at him in surprise. "I spent the afternoon polishing a collection of silver salt cellars and I was returning some of the shirts I've--" She stopped. "I was taking these to Hudson for Mrs.

MacKenzie."

"You look as if you've been doing hard labor," he said, uncharacteristically undiplomatic. "How long has it been since you were out in the fresh air?"

"I don't know. A week or so," she answered him.

"You don't know? Don't you care how you look? Don't you keep up with those things? I didn't hire you as a maid, Cristina. You're a guest. And where's Aunt Delia?"

Cristina's temper flared. "Of course I care how I look, Lord Lawrence, when there is someplace for me to go or someone to see me. Since I've been at Lawrence House I haven't seen anyone except the staff, your aunt, and Dr.

Jameson. Why should I care how I look? Who is there to see me? You left orders that I was to stay inside--or have you forgotten? I didn't suppose I would be allowed to spend time out in the garden without your permission and I haven't had the opportunity to ask you. You haven't been here much. And what else is there for me to do but help out where I can. I've read half your library already and I'm not looking forward to tackling The History of Anglo-Austro-Hungarian Relations and Diplomacy in the Balkans or the rest of your books on diplomacy written in languages I don't speak or read. I was educated in a school whose headmistress thought ladies had to know how to perform the household tasks in order to supervise the staff..."

Blake grinned. "Sounds like a shrewd and inexpensive means of keeping a household staff for her school."

Cristina glanced up at him, surprised to find he shared her opinion. Their eyes met and something sparked between them. Suddenly nervous, she glanced down at his shirts. "Nevertheless, the fact remains that I'm not accustomed to being idle. As for your Aunt Delia's whereabouts, unlike me, Lady Wethering appears to have an active social life outside Lawrence House. She's busy making her morning calls. She invited me, of course, but since I'm supposed to be staying in the country, I didn't dare show my face in town."

"She's supposed to be here taking care of you."

"I'm not ill anymore. I don't need taking care of. But Lady Wethering spends her mornings with me just the same. We embroider in the parlor, in case you're interested, then she dresses for luncheon and after luncheon, she takes a carriage and makes her morning calls. She just returned and is upstairs changing for dinner. I wanted to finish this task." She nodded toward the stack of linen. "Before I dressed for dinner."

Blake watched her closely, relieved to find she still had her temper. He was appalled at the change in her and knew he was partly responsible. He'd been so involved in his work, and so determined to stay away from her, that he had almost forced himself to forget she was still a guest in his home. He could recall seeing her in passing only a few times since she had stormed into his bedroom spewing fire.

Cristina had underestimated the staff. There had been a few employees who believed she was or had been his mistress, but the household grapevine soon set them straight. Mackie, Leah, Perryman the butler, and Blake's valet, Hudson, had passed the word. The staff of Lawrence House understood that Miss Cristina Fairfax was his houseguest, not his mistress. He hadn't bothered to tell her, to ease her concerns about her reputation.

He'd allowed the seed of doubt about her reputation to remain planted in her mind, because he hadn't wanted her to risk leaving on her own. He'd meant for her to worry a bit, but he hadn't intended that she become a virtual prisoner in his home. Blake vaguely remembered Leah telling him that Cristina was proud and sensitive. She looked so fragile, so breakable and broken in spirit that his guilty conscience demanded he make amends for the pain he had caused.

"I'm returning to the city this evening and I thought you might enjoy dining out and maybe seeing a show. Aunt Delia will join us, of course. Would you care to accompany me, Cristina? I was just on my way upstairs to ask you."

Her head nodded "yes" of its own accord. She knew he was feeling the pangs of a guilty conscience and hadn't really intended to ask her to accompany him until he'd seen her standing on the stairs. She knew that he had asked her to come along simply to assuage his guilt and a part of her hated to accept his invitation. She hoped his conscience bothered him. He hadn't spared a thought for her in weeks while she had labored over his household linen and enjoyed it! Her pride told her she should refuse his invitation, but denying herself an evening out with Blake took more pride than she possessed.

Sensing her struggle, Blake smiled at her, "Go get ready and we'll make this night a night to remember."

It was the push Cristina needed. She turned and practically raced up the stairs in her excitement. It seemed like years since she had worn the regulation white gown and feathers for her presentation. She was so much older now than the girl who had danced with all the young men at the ball. So much had changed. She had changed overnight.

She bathed and dried herself and pulled on her underthings. When she finished she brought an evening dress of hunter green watered silk out of the depths of the armoire and called for Leah.

Leah buttoned the last of the tiny buttons and patted a stray hair into place before standing aside and allowing Cristina to view her reflection in the mirror.

Cristina couldn't believe her eyes. Leah had worked a miracle. The woman in the mirror was a stranger. "I don't believe it, Leah. Is that really me?"

"Well, it certainly ain't me," came Leah's honest reply.

"Do you think he'll approve?"