The Ground She Walks Upon (14 page)

"Shall I post the banns?" Trevallyan asked dryly, contempt mirrored in his eyes as he still leaned against the mantel, not two steps from where she and Chesham sat.

"Forget the wedding, Chesham, and move right along to the honeymoon," Ramsay interjected drunkenly.

"My son, get hold of your tongue!" Father Nolan exclaimed.

Trevallyan shot Lord Reginald a glance that should have killed the young sot right where he stood.

A thousand deaths were preferable to the blush that crept up her cheeks. "I really should go now...." She glanced at the velvet bellpull near Trevallyan. "Would someone please ring Greeves to see me out?"

"Don't go...." Chesham pleaded softly.

"My grandmother is an old woman. I can't leave her alone much longer," she lied, knowing full well that Fiona was staying with her. She gave the father a piercing stare, praying he wouldn't contradict her.

He didn't.

"Is the evening over so quickly?" The priest put his empty cordial glass down onto a table. "Would you like an escort home, Ravenna?" he asked.

She stood, and watched the gentlemen follow her lead. "Very much," she said, relief in her voice.

"Then it is my pleasure." Father Nolan smiled.

She said her farewells in the parlor doorway. Trevallyan growled something incoherent to Father Nolan, then he mysteriously disappeared, wounding her again with his rudeness.

But there was always Chesham for flattery. He kissed her hand again and again, then his mouth brushed passed her ear and whispered, "Meet me tonight in the back staircase and we can finally be alone."

She must have hidden her revulsion well, for Chesham neatly stepped away and allowed Monsieur Guy to pose in front of her. Deep down, she was probably angry that Lord Chesham believed her so stupid and foolish as to desire an intrigue with him, but she didn't feel angry. It was no surprise what he thought of her. How could he think well of her when his cousin Trevallyan made it clear she was nothing but rubbish, not even worthy of a decent send-off after being invited to dine at the castle.

The count grunted farewell, and Greeves appeared in order to show her to the great hall. Ravenna followed the butler, glad to be rid of the evening's company forever. She wouldn't be meeting Chesham in the back staircase or anywhere else; it had been an insult to ask her. Though she'd been taught well in England how to hide her feelings, the men had raised her ire. Still, she wouldn't waste her emotions on them. All she really wanted to do was go home and never see any of them again, especially Lord Niall Trevallyan.

Nonetheless, she departed the drawing room with a lump in her throat. It hurt her to think that Trevallyan thought so little of her presence that he failed to give her a proper good-bye. He had so rudely exited that she hadn't even been able to thank him for the dinner—not that she had wanted to thank him—but the fact that he didn't even bother to wait for thanks irrationally wounded her.

"The master will see you in the library, miss," Greeves said as she and the father entered the great hall.

"Are you speaking to me, Greeves?" she asked, taken aback.

"Yes, miss. Lord Trevallyan would like to see you in the library. Father, may I serve you a whiskey while you wait?" Greeves bowed to Father Nolan.

"Why, certainly, certainly!" Father Nolan said, taking a seat on an Elizabethan bench by the castle's enormous doorway.

She looked at the priest, wondering what had gotten into him. A man was requesting her presence alone, and the priest was not even offering chaperonage.

"Miss?" Greeves repeated, with increasing superiority.

She stole one last glance at Father Nolan. He merely smiled at her and waved his hands in a motion that said, "Run along with you, child, and
whenever
you should return, I'll be here waiting."

As before, Greeves strode through the great hall, expecting her to follow. With no other choice, she lifted her skirts and walked at a quick clip to keep up with him. The library was only two doors from the great hall. A room warm and slightly shabby like the parlor.

"Greeves said you wanted a word with me before I leave," she said to Trevallyan who sat staring at the fire.

Greeves departed, closing the mahogany library doors firmly behind him.

"Yes. Have a seat."

She bristled. Trevallyan hadn't even stood up at her entrance. She cursed an education that made her desire courtesies that were not given those of her class. He thought her a lowly peasant, and that was all he would ever think of her; still she wouldn't let him treat her like one.

"I should like to stand." She had just the right amount of ice in her voice to draw his attention.

His looked at her, but with a strange, unexpected emotion in his eyes. "Contrary to the end, aren't you, Ravenna?"

She refused to comment.

His laughter was a black, brittle sound. "You stand there in your sorry little gown, looking like a wallflower with no gentleman to sign your dance card, but still you think to challenge me, don't you?" He rose to his feet and took a menacing step toward her.
"Sit down."

She wanted to refuse again, but one look at him told her it was pointless. For whatever the reason, he was in a foul mood. It was best to get this business done with and leave the castle with a minimal skirmish.

"What is it you desire to speak to me about, my lord?" She lowered herself to the proffered seat.

"I want to give you a few lessons." His voice was tight with anger. "The first is that you are never to go walking in the woods unescorted again. You were lucky I found you when I did. Something terrible could have happened to you all alone in the forest and—"

"Lord Trevallyan, if I may remind you: The only terrible thing done to me in those woods was the fact that your hounds—"

"That is not the kind of tragedy I am trying to avoid here!"

His shout set her back on her heels. She had never seen a man so angry. "What kind of business is this of yours?" she whispered incredulously.

His eyes flashed with annoyance. "You're a young and beautiful woman now. What do you think a man would do to you if he found you alone in the woods one day?"

She stared at him, her heart beating heavily against her ribs. "I—I suppose he would do what you did when you saw me there."

His grim gaze held her. "I am no ravisher of women. I cannot speak for every man in this county."

"You imply the men of this county are untrustworthy, but what you speak of is a 'gentleman's' problem. Are you accusing Lord Chesham of—?"

"Lord Chesham is my cousin. My own blood relation. But you take him and his group of dissolute friends and put them in a certain kind of mood, throw in a poor, helpless girl like yourself... and I cannot say what would happen."

Though she gave no signs of it, she agreed with him about Chesham. Lord Chesham's offer to meet in the scullery was an insult and an affront to her intelligence. Yet, the very thought that Trevallyan believed she needed this lecture was only further insulting. Her simmering anger came to a boil. "What you say about your cousin may be true, but let me correct you on one point, my lord," she countered, lifting her chin. "I am not helpless."

His eyes lowered to her petite, shabbily adorned figure. He was not a giant of a man; still she knew he was thinking even he could overcome her should he ever want to. The message in his gaze was quite clear.

"Why do you make this your concern?" she asked, the look in his eyes making her suddenly desperate to change the subject and even more desperate to leave.

"I am saying this for your own good, you foolish girl."

She stood. "Fine, then. You have said it. Now if that is all—"

"No, that is not all." He stared her down with that unnerving aqua gaze. "Sit down."

Her bottom hit the leather seat once more. She almost hated him. "Are you angry over Lord Chesham's attentions? Is that what this is all about? If so, you needn't be. I have no designs upon anyone in your family as I'm sure you would laugh at the folly of it if I did. So let me assure you that I will be happy to refuse Lord Chesham's call, should he make one—which I don't believe he will."

"He can get you one way or another if he tries hard enough," Trevallyan snapped, then glanced away, as if he were hiding something even from himself. "Lord Chesham is smitten. Even I can see that. But I warn you: Any impropriety will not be tolerated."

Aghast, she just looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. His insults went beyond the pale. "Is it because I'm poor that you think I've no honor, no self-respect? Poverty is not synonymous with impropriety, my lord. And only
a
wretch would think so."

"You misunderstand—"

"No," she said solemnly, cutting him off. "Your meaning really doesn't matter." She stared at him, hurt and confusion written on her face. "Why is this your concern? You aren't my guardian. You aren't my father. My actions don't reflect on you, yet you lecture me as if you have all the right to do so. And you dare to insult me by implying that my behavior might be disreputable. Apologize this instant."

He looked at her as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Anger crossed his face, clearly a common emotion with him, but another one filled his expression too. It was almost a begrudging respect.

"You may go to the devil, my lord." Hearing no apology, she stood and walked to the door, eager to be gone.

He stopped her, capturing both her arms and holding them in a viselike grip to her sides. "You misunderstand, Ravenna. 'Tis not
your
impropriety I speak of. You've led a rather sheltered life. You're thoroughly alone in this world and you have no guardian. It's not uncommon for an English peer to make free with Irish girls, as you may well know. Any man might be tempted to interfere with you, given the lack of reprisals."

"But there are reprisals! There is the law—"

He shook her until she was silent. "Did the law help your mother? Would you turn out like her? Have you the desire to whelp a bastard like yourself?"

His cruel words sliced her. Tears sprang to her eyes. "What concern is this of yours? Is this only to hurt me? Why do you want to hurt me?"

"Nay, I don't want to hurt you," he whispered. "It's just... just..."

"What? That you want me gone from this castle and never to cross the Trevallyan path again? Well, I tell you, 'tis done. Tell Lord Chesham I refuse his call. Someday soon I must be making plans to go to Dublin, and I cannot be bothered with him."

The grip tightened on her arms. "Don't you learn, Ravenna? Don't you hear what I'm telling you? You can't go to Dublin. You're a woman alone, unprotected. There's no one to watch out for you in Dublin."

"
I
can watch out for myself," she volleyed.

"You?" he spat incredulously. "You have no relations in Dublin and no means by which to keep yourself. You'll be forced to lodge in some tenement with no lock on your rooms... only to wake one night to find a strange man hovering over your bed. Robbing you of what he would have to pay for elsewhere...."

She wished he'd let her go. She began to tremble in spite of the fact that she wanted to show a brave front. "You are not my benefactor, nor my guardian, Lord Trevallyan. I don't have to stay here and listen to these tales." His intensity unnerved her. She could not understand it and so she feared it.

"I'm only trying to give you some worthy advice. Dublin isn't your future, neither are men like Chesham. Chesham is a rakehell. His friends are worse. Just know, my fine girl, that until they offer you marriage and a wedding band is on your hand, you are nothing but a toy to them, and they will treat you like a toy, until you are broken and thrown away."

Unbidden, the tears began to flow down her cheeks. She tried to free herself but he wouldn't let her go. Suddenly she hated Trevallyan at that moment more than she had hated him the day she was sent to school. He spoke a truth she knew all too well, but to have to listen to him say it was like applying acid as balm for an open sore.

Lashing out in the only manner she could think of, she drew herself upright and spat the words at him as if speaking to a dim-witted servant. "My lord, you needn't to remind me of such things. I have my mother as a testament to male heartlessness. And should I need further evidence, I can always remember you and
this
conversation to remind me of pointless cruelties."

She ripped her arms away from him and wrapped them around herself. Uneasily she glanced at the portrait over the mantel of the woman whose son looked so much like her. Trevallyan's own mother had been a Celt, an Irish girl much like herself, but deep in his heart Trevallyan was entirely of the Ascendency. Unlike those Trevallyans before him, this Big Lord felt himself too lofty, with his fine education and polished manners, to mingle with his mother's people. And why should he bother with the likes of her, when he had every advantage? Hundreds of years earlier the king of England had given his family all of Lir's lands and all of Lir's wealth. He had everything and she had nothing. And it was monstrous of him to point out all her misfortunes when he had had so few.

He stared at her. Stunned anger hardened his features.

A wretched silence passed between them.