The Lodestone (21 page)

He closed the door and placed a chair for her at his hearth. Standing on tiptoe, she put the candle on the mantel, then sat down and waited for him to take a seat. After he put the necklace down beside his brandy glass, he took his dressing gown from the chiffonier and drew it around her shoulders. Then he took a warming brick from the fireplace, wrapped it in the flannel kept nearby, and placed it beneath her feet.

“We cannot have you greet your solicitor with the sniffles,” he said. “It has turned chill. Winter is soon upon us, I’m afraid.” At last he settled himself in the chair near her and her blue eyes stared up into his with uncertainty. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of this visit?” he asked.

“There is something important I would ask of you, Mr. Stoneham. If there were anyone else whose judgment I respect, I would not trouble you.”

“You seem to have found a friend in young Easton.”

“Oh.” She dismissed that possibility with a wave of her small hand. “He means well, I’m sure; but he has not an inkling of insight into reality.” Drake had to smile as she continued, “I never believed this search of his would bear fruit, but he chose to go on with it. Now, I don’t know what to do.”

“I would have thought it obvious.”

“Some weeks ago, I’d have thought so myself. But now, with my mother regaining her health and with all the interesting work you’ve entrusted to me, I’ve experienced contentment such as I have never known. And no matter how kind these relatives may prove, I’m not sure it would be good to place Mamma in an unfamiliar environment. May I ask, Mr. Stoneham, if my work here has been satisfactory?”

Her question took him by surprise, for he had been as captivated by her sincerity as he was by her words. Gripping the arms of his chair in order to prevent himself from crushing her to him and kissing away her worry, he said, “Of course. Completely.”

“Then perhaps if I were already bonded and could vouch for my own security, I would not be required to leave your employ for the time being. And then, naturally, when Mamma is well, we will be happy to seek other—”

“Cleome,” he interrupted, and his own unexpected use of her name was sweet on his tongue. Rising from his chair to pace before the fire, he went on, “Bonding you would have little effect against money and influence. No woman would be allowed to remain a servant when more fortunate members of her family, who happen to be of noble birth, wish it otherwise and are willing to assume her care.” She slumped back in her chair, disappointed, and he quickly added, “Please believe, however, that I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you do nothing which is repugnant to you. You and your mother may remain here for as long as you wish.”

Tears of gratitude sparkled in her eyes and she went to stand before him in the circle of warmth that radiated outward from the fireplace.

“And may I ask one last favor, sir?” Unable to speak, he only nodded and she went on, “Would you sit with me when Mr. Landshire calls? I value your judgment and I have begun to think of you as a . . .” she paused. Then, as the flickering firelight touched the sudden color in her cheeks with an amber glow, she stammered, “As a sort of . . . friend.”

“Of course,” he said softly. She handed him back his dressing gown and went to the door where she stopped as if troubled. “Is there something else, Cleome?”

She turned back and looked at him with a longing she could not disguise. “Only . . . a question,” she answered, her voice so low he could scarcely hear her.

“Yes?”

“Did you not find satisfaction with me at the ball?”

“I did. Why do you doubt it?” He tossed the dressing gown aside and went to her. “Every young buck there wanted to dance with you. When we left they were lined up a dozen deep, just for a chance to be near you.”

He went to the desk, picked up the music box Jimmy Parker had found in the spoils of war and intended for his beloved Ramona, and wound it tightly. Then he opened it and held his arms out to Cleome. As the tinkling notes filled the room, she went to him. Together they moved in a small circle before the fireplace but the sudden heat he felt was not from the flames. When the music stopped, she looked up at him and her lips parted in a smile. For what seemed an eternity, she stared into his eyes, to the depths of his soul, with a yearning that was unmistakable. Hesitantly, he drew her closer and bent to her with a trembling sigh. Before she could speak, before he could stop himself, he sought her mouth. Her full lips parted as if they had a destiny of their own, and he surrounded them warmly with his. Try though he might, he could not force himself to release her. It was as if, once he had tasted such sweet nectar, he had to have every drop or he would be forever thirsty.

“Cleome,” he whispered her name like a prayer. “So many nights I have been tempted. For so long I’ve wanted you.” He melded her lips again with his, and as if entranced by the mysterious promise of his body against hers, she did not try to stop him. “But you are too precious, far too dear . . . to be taken lightly,” he murmured softly against her hair. He held her close for yet another moment and kissed her again. It was deep and hungry and her quick, rapid breathing only increased his desire.

“Mr. Stoneham, I beg your pardon . . .” She pushed him gently away and hung her head, embarrassed. He cupped her chin in his large hand and raised it so that their eyes met. Her own were filled with tears.

“Don’t fret,” he whispered thickly. “T’was a kiss, nothing more. And I am honored to be called your friend.” Again, he pulled her close and her sweet longing for him threatened to cancel out every ounce of strength he possessed. Then putting her firmly away from himself, he went on, “First we shall see what Mr. Landshire has to say about your future and then we will explore this . . . feeling there seems to be between us. Go now,” he whispered. “Go and get some sleep. We’ll see what the morrow brings.”

He took her candle, and bending towards the flame, lit it so that she could find her way back to her own room. Before he lost control of the situation and the increasing voracity of his loins that her presence inspired, he reached around her and opened the door. He did not trust himself to see her to her room, for he knew that, exposed to her for very much longer, he would demand satisfaction and his case would be entirely lost.

He quickly closed the door behind her and stood for a moment, listening as her footsteps retreated in the darkness. Before she had claimed so simple a thing as his friendship, he would have been able to pursue a different course of action in the intimate atmosphere his bedroom offered. Now it was impossible. But dear God, how he wanted her. There would be no sleep for him that night, nor any peace. He thought of going into the pub in Oakham, drinking himself into a stupor and then sampling the charms of one of the ladies upstairs. Instead, he sat and stared morosely into the fire.

Chapter Ten

Cleome tossed and turned in her solitary bed, strangely unsettled by Drake’s kiss, reliving every moment of their embrace and wondering why it instilled within her such delicious fear. Shortly before the first light of morning streaked the sky, his words,
T’was a kiss . . . nothing more
, echoed inside her head. Suddenly, she understood the source of her fear. Perhaps it was just a kiss for him, but to her it was much more; and his words troubled her. In spite of her inexperience in such matters, she knew she was falling in love with Drake Stoneham. But she had not the slightest idea how to—or even if she should—act on that awesome fact. Reflecting over and over on the sweet caresses she and Drake had shared, she felt too excited to sleep but soon the velvet clutches of a dream in which Drake bent close to her and his mouth captured hers enveloped her.

A little while later, she sat up, suddenly alert and remembering Mr. Landshire’s impending visit. A fire was burning brightly in the hearth, and she saw that Mary had already been in and pulled the curtains back, revealing the gray, rainy day that awaited her. As she threw off the covers and got out of bed, there was a tapping on her door and then Jacqueline entered with a large copper can of hot water. She smiled upon seeing Cleome standing barefoot in the middle of the room like a confused child.

“Mademoiselle!” she chuckled. “Your death will catch you if you do not remain warm in your bed. But no, is better to go into the hot bath I prepare for you.”

“Nonsense. Why was I allowed to oversleep so shamefully? I had hoped to have my work done before Mr. Landshire arrives.”

“
Non, cherie.
The master has ordered every consideration for you.” And the determined French woman would have it no other way. Soon Cleome was out of her nightgown and in the steaming tub Drake had loaned her only the night before, so that she could prepare for the Harvest Ball. After her bath, Jacqueline brought up her breakfast and fussed over her in a delightful mixture of English and French. She helped Cleome into her best day dress and then insisted on arranging her hair.

“When you are so great a lady, you will remember that Jacqueline make a good lady’s maid,
oui
?” she said.

At last Jacqueline was satisfied with her appearance and Cleome walked slowly downstairs as if enroute to the guillotine instead of the parlor. Drake was waiting for her there, and when she entered he held his hand out to her. She took it and he escorted her to the big chair that had been her grandfather’s favorite. Before either of them could speak, the bell over the door in the reception hall clanged loudly, announcing the arrival of a guest.

“I wish you the best, Cleome,” Drake said, and he brushed her hand with his lips before he released it.

She longed to ask him what his kisses meant. Instead she replied simply, “Thank you, sir,” as Fanny came in and curtsied before him.

“Two gentlemen to see Cleome, sir,” Fanny announced resentfully as Garnett rushed into the room, Oliver Landshire at his side.

“I say, Cleome, you look positively ravishing,” declared Garnett as Fanny relieved him and Mr. Landshire of their hats and coats. “Drake,” Garnett nodded to their host and continued pleasantly, “I trust the onset of this foul weather has not kept you from anything important.”

“No,” Drake replied without returning his neighbor’s smile. “It has not.”

“Miss Parker, may I say how delighted I am to see you again,” Oliver offered.

“Thank you, sir. Won’t you sit down?” she responded politely, and Drake ordered Fanny to bring in some tea. They made pleasant conversation until Mr. Landshire had warmed his gnarled hands around a cup of the hot brew and turned to Cleome, at last ready to begin.

“Well, miss. I hope you are prepared for a delightful surprise—and I trust you have a strong heart,” the barrister announced.

“I am eager to hear of any relative charitable enough to undertake my care, and my mother’s,” Cleome replied. “There’s one thing, however, that Mr. Easton neglected to mention in his correspondence; and that is my mother’s condition. She has not been well for some time and of course, I wouldn’t expect any relation, no matter how generous, to extend support to both of us, in such a situation.”

“Relatives?” Mr. Landshire looked at her curiously. “I’ve discovered absolutely no kin of yours anywhere, Miss Parker, for which you can be most grateful.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Cleome said. “Your letter stated—”

“My letter stated that I have some interesting information for you, and because this sort of news is usually greeted with joy and thanksgiving, I did not wish to disclose it in an impersonal letter.” He rubbed his hands against each other, and then holding his cup out for Cleome to refill, he went on, “My dear young lady, you and your mother have inherited the entire Houghton estate, which has remained in my care and jurisdiction since the death of Lord Henry’s only brother. You see, the old man’s will provided that in the event his brother died childless—and he very considerately remained a confirmed bachelor to his last breath—the estate would revert to Adelaide’s descendants. Now, I understand from young Easton here that your mother is not quite . . . ah, well . . . able to take any of this in, or to make decisions for herself. So naturally, my dear, you must take responsibility. You are next in line.”

“Next in line for what, precisely?” Drake asked when Cleome remained silent.

“Why, her inheritance, sir. The figures have not been brought up to date, but I can assure you they run high, very high. The interest alone is over eighteen thousand pounds a year. There is the property and income from various enterprises, and the title. No small matter, that. How do you think you’ll like being addressed as Lady
Cleome?”

Cleome was speechless, so great was her amazement; but the energetic Mr. Landshire suffered no such malady. He poured himself another cup of tea and continued. “It is a bit of a shock at the moment, I’m sure, but believe me, one gets accustomed to wealth in a scandalously short time.”

Garnett, too, was speechless but only for a moment. “Mr. Landshire, do you mean to say Cleome is her own mistress, free to go or stay anywhere she wishes?”

“Indeed, I am. Exactly that.”

“Why—you never said a word about it last night.” He turned to Cleome, happiness lighting his face. “After asking a few questions about you and your mother he refused to divulge one scrap of information.”

Cleome stared at Garnett, unbelieving. “How can I ever thank you?” she finally managed, offering her hand, which he accepted and pressed to his lips.

“We must share these glad tidings with my mother. And my father—not even he can discount such wealth,” he said. “You must come to tea at Easton Place,”

“Garnett!” She exclaimed, laughing. “I couldn’t! It is unthinkable.”