The Marker (19 page)
Diamond-paned windows graced either side of the blue door. Nicholas fiddled with the keys for a moment and fumbled with the lock before pushing open the door and allowing her inside.
They stopped short in the entry. A thick layer of dust clung to everything—the floors, the banisters, the walls even. The sunlight spilling in behind them caught the dust disturbed by their entrance, and Lexie saw it floating through the air. White sheets covered the furniture, and cobwebs draped from the ceiling and clung to the dirty curtains.
She gave Nicholas a smile before she ventured into the sitting room. She flipped the covering on one of the sofas, kicking up dust, but she found sturdy, expensive furnishings beneath. Moving to one of the chairs, she pulled the covering off that too and ran her hands over it. The chair was comfortable and well made, with elegance in the simplicity of the fabric. The furnishings were all like that: practical and well made, not ostentatious yet still striking her as elegant. Perfect for a busy, well-to-do family, she mused. She sneezed.
“Bless you,” Nicholas said automatically, his voice hollow. When she looked up at him, she noticed how he shifted his weight, how he clutched the keys to the house in his hand, how he made no move to join her. “You know, Lexie, you don’t have to do this.”
She smiled briefly before turning to deposit the furniture coverings in the corner. “Of course I do,” she said. Already, she envisioned how she would rearrange the furniture, what this room would look like cleaned up. She flung open the drapes, and dust flew through the air and clung to her hair. While the drapes were a dark color—she suspected that beneath the thick layer of dust, the heavy velvet had once been forest green, a color of which Nicholas would certainly approve. Underneath them were sheer lace curtains.
This was the type of house where a man like Nicholas could settle with a woman. With a little work, this place would be a home.
“I...I will get us a hotel.”
“No, you won’t,” Lexie responded, pulling aside the lace curtains and gazing out through dirty windows to the overgrown back garden. Running her finger over the grimy window, she mused, “How long do you think this place has been empty?”
“About a year.”
“Mm. I wonder why they left it like this.” Silence stretched between them, and Lexie turned back to the sitting room. Whoever had owned this house had left so many treasures. Why would anyone abandon them? The furniture in this room alone would have fed her family for months, if not an entire year. “How did you find this? Did you get it from the bank?” No one would abandon a place like this, not unless forced, and the furnishings seemed too personal for a rental. To Lexie, losing the house to debts seemed like the most logical explanation.
“Something like that,” he responded stiffly. “Really, Lexie, let’s get back in the carriage and go to a hotel.”
“Nonsense,” she said as Mrs. Ferguson and her husband Seamus entered behind Nicholas. He didn’t turn to look at them. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on her face. Tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, Lexie continued. “This house is lovely. It just needs a little work. This is nothing Mrs. Ferguson and I can’t handle, right?”
The older woman’s gaze shifted from her employer to Lexie and back again. “Mr. Wetherby is right. Perhaps this isn’t the best place for us.”
She frowned at the Nicholas’s housekeeper. “Of course it is,” she said, turning from them and gesturing to the room. “Can’t you just imagine it? It would be so lovely. A few minor changes and some cleaning and this place will be a home. Don’t you just feel the love here?” she asked, a little breathless, for she certainly could. It wasn’t just the expensive furniture or the size of the house, or even the fact that the entire front room had views of the bay. Love was in lace sheers beneath dark drapes, in walls painted primary colors but capped with delicately feminine crown molding, in the fragile blown-glass paperweight sitting on a large, dark desk.
“You didn’t tell her?” Lexie heard Mrs. Ferguson hiss.
She turned back to them to find the housekeeper regarding Nicholas with a pained expression. “Tell me what?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Nicholas answered sharply.
“Och, lad, you need to tell her.”
“We will not be discussing the matter further.”
“Tell me what?” Lexie repeated.
Nicholas scowled at Mrs. Ferguson, but when he turned to her, his face was impassive. Since they’d left Sacramento, he’d been distant, uncomfortable. His gaze shifted, and he stared out the window behind her head. His voice and his stance uncharacteristically guarded, he asked, “Do you like it here, Lexie? Do you like this house?”
She looked around the dust-covered room, but she envisioned spending long, leisurely summer nights down here with him. She imagined the meals she would cook for him once she found the kitchen. In her mind’s eyes, the red oak floors gleamed with a fresh coat of wax, the oriental rugs were beaten out, and the chandelier in the foyer sparkled in the morning sun. Once the garden was cleaned up, she could imagine sitting outside on the stone bench, admiring the fountain in the fading light of twilight or watching the sun rise over the bay at dawn.
“I do. I really, really do.”
Nicholas gave her a nod. “Then we’re staying.” He smiled in a way that had surely melted hearts, yet his eyes were pained, and Lexie’s heart twisted. Something had tempered his jovial nature, and she couldn’t figure out what it was, but it had been bothering him since before they’d left Sacramento. She wanted to believe it was all business, but she didn’t.
She had the sinking suspicion she was to blame.
“You’re sure?” she asked. She wanted to stay, but he was so uncomfortable she wanted to at least offer him the option of leaving.
“Of course,” he answered brusquely. Turning to Mrs. Ferguson, he said, “Make sure she gets any help she needs. If you need to hire someone, do it.” Mrs. Ferguson opened her mouth to protest, but Nicholas waved her words away. “No arguments. The decision is made.” As silence fell between them, something passed between Mrs. Ferguson and Nicholas Lexie couldn’t interpret. She made a mental note to ask the housekeeper about it later.
Eventually, Nicholas nodded in her direction before taking his leave. As he stalked from the room, he called over his shoulder, “Lexie, you will set yourself up in one of the guest rooms upstairs.” His tone left little room for argument.
“Of course,” she said.
By the time she got the words out, Nicholas was already gone.
Lexie’s days were a flurry of activity as she and Mrs. Ferguson worked on the house—moving furniture, dusting, waxing the floors to a polished gleam. The chandelier on its own took an entire day to clean, and three strong stable lads to hang it back up. She’d worked hard and was pleased with her handiwork. She wished Nicholas were around to see it.
She wasn’t sure where he slept, but he didn’t sleep here. In fact, since he had left that first day, he hadn’t been back. She wondered what she had done to offend him so.
More than anything, she wondered where he lay his head, and with whom. Mrs. Ferguson, who had been so enlightening when Lexie hadn’t been speaking to Nicholas, merely reassured her that, if he had invited her here, he had not found alternate companionship. If Nicholas’s housekeeper knew where he rested, she steadfastly kept her silence.
Much as she had been keeping her own counsel in regard to Nicholas’s heart. If Mrs. Ferguson knew the reason behind the distance she sensed in Nicholas—and Lexie suspected she did—she never told Lexie.
A few days later, when she came down in the morning, she found him in the foyer regarding the chandelier, pride and bitterness mingling in his expression. She stopped on the stairs.
“You’ve been busy,” he commented, without taking his eyes off the chandelier.
“Yes.”
He glanced around. “Looks good.”
“Thank you,” she said, moving past him into the sitting room. She caught herself wringing her hands and went to open the curtain facing the back garden. She’d not been this awkward around him since the first days she had been in his employ. He had inexplicably become a stranger once again, and she sensed Nicholas felt the same way.
“It...I...um...I like what you’ve done with the place.”
She didn’t turn, but she did smile at his awkward attempt at praise—it seemed so incongruous with everything she knew about him, so out of character for the man she had come to know in Sacramento. Nicholas Wetherby was far more complicated than she had originally thought, and was deeper than anyone gave him credit for. “Thank you. Would you care for some breakfast? I’ll make you something.”
“No need to trouble yourself.”
She walked back to him, and the way he looked at her—with greedy, hungry eyes—did not escape her. At least that hadn’t changed. She laid a gentle hand on his chest, dragging it across his body as she moved past him. “It’s no trouble,” she said lightly, savoring the jolt of awareness passing through her.
He caught her hand and pulled her close, trapping her hands between their bodies, his expression serious. “You’re not a servant here, Lexie. You don’t need to wait on me.”
“Who says I’m doing it just for you? Maybe I’m famished,” she countered with a lopsided smile.
“Maybe. I just wanted to make things clear.”
“Duly noted,” she returned. “Would you like some breakfast now?”
“I’ve already eaten.”
“Of course you have. I assume at wherever it is you lay your head at night.” She had meant to keep her tone light, to not start a fight with him she had no right to win. He wasn’t hers, nor would he ever be, but bitterness leeched into her words anyway.
The corners of his lips twitched into the shadow of smile. “That’s not jealousy I’m detecting, is it?”
“Certainly not.”
He put a finger under her chin and tipped her head up, planting a gentle kiss upon her lips. The moment she started to respond, he pulled away. “I’ve been working, Lexie. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Of course you’re not,” he responded, but the way his mouth curved into a wry smile told her he didn’t believe her. “But if you were, I hope to assure you I am spending my nights alone.”
“Hm. I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t worried,” she lied. Fumbling for the right words, she began hesitantly, “Listen, Nicholas, if you’ve changed your mind...”
He snorted a laugh and his arms tightened around her. “There is no one but you, Lexie. No one.”
“Ah,” she said, disconcerted by how relieved she was by his declaration, though being the focus of the attentions of a man like Nicholas was disconcerting in and of itself. She cleared her throat. “Well. Would you care to come with me to the kitchen?”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” he said, bending his head and gently brushing his lips against hers, a kiss light and delicate and so delicious it sent shivers down her spine.
When they parted, she asked, “You’re leaving already?”
“It’s unavoidable.”
“Why come back at all?”
He laughed. “Now, there’s the temper. I was afraid something had happened to drive it away,” he said, kissing away her frown. “Actually, Lexie, I came to see you.”
“Hm.”
“I’m free this evening. I’d like to go on an outing.”
“Are you asking if I’ll join you?”
“Seems I am.”
“Then I’d like that.”
“Good,” he said with a satisfied smile, and she couldn’t help grinning in response. He kissed her again, his lips warm and gentle against hers. Her heart fluttered at the promise those kisses held. Parting before passion exploded, as it always did when they touched one another, he said, “Until tonight, Miss Markland.”
“Until tonight.”
“Where are you taking me?” Lexie asked with a laugh.
“Just wait. We’ll be there soon enough.” He seemed so pleased with himself—his expression jovial and self-satisfied—she laughed again. Though she wouldn’t admit it to him, she was glad to be in his company once again, to be the focus of his attention. She was happy to have her Nicholas back.
Not her Nicholas, she reminded herself. Never hers.
The carriage stopped, and Nicholas took her hand and helped her down. The smell of cedars surrounded her as she descended into a world both primordial and wild, though they were only a few short miles away from the largest city on the west coast. Lush cedars surrounded her, and a narrow path led through ferns and brush. A chill had settled in the air, wispy fog swirled amongst the canopy of trees, and the wind whispered in the branches, still and silent and lovely.
Nicholas waved the footman away and grabbed a basket. He took her hand and led her up the narrow, winding path. After a time, Lexie asked, “Nicholas, where are we going?”
He gave her an enigmatic smile. “Just wait. Trust me, it’s worth it.”
She had a hard time believing anything could be lovelier than this place. Accustomed to the scorching summer heat of Sacramento, of hills brown with dry grass, Lexie found this cool green, lushly forested paradise wondrously romantic. Eden couldn’t have been more beautiful. She had never even imagined any place like this existed. But then Nicholas turned and smiled at her, real joy evident in those turquoise eyes, and she realized she had seen such beauty. She saw it every time she looked in Nicholas’s eyes.
She was a fool to be here.
