The Mistress of Trevelyan (43 page)

"We have too much truth between us, Miss Ann, for either of us to start lying now."

"Please, it was of my own doing. I went to him. I had to. I loved him, and I had to know him." Tears filled my eyes.

Stephen looked down at himself. "It would seem I had rather forgot my appearance myself. Let me grab a shirt, and then I am going to go bloody Benedict's face."

"No, I have to speak to him. I have let a misunderstanding hurt him because I was too much of a coward to tell him the truth. All of my fuss about him running away, and it was I who did so. I should not have run from the picture, either. I should not have let the knife upset me so."

"Knife?" Stephen said sharply. "What knife?"

"The one someone stabbed though Katherine's picture of me. In the sitting room. That's what frightened me so."

"My God, Ann." With a horrified look, Stephen turned and marched to the sitting room. Deciding I didn't want to be left standing alone, I hurried after him. The easel sat in the middle of the room, just as I'd left it. Only now, a different painting sat serenely in place of the butchered one of me. It was a beautiful picture of horses running in a pasture.

"Ann?" Stephen turned to look at me.

I shook my head. "It was here, just minutes ago. A picture of me as a fairy queen. Someone had put a knife through the queen and wrote 'Leave or die' in red on it." I looked at Stephen, feeling an uneasy sensation of unreality steal into my heart. "You do believe me, don't you?"

Stephen blinked. He looked back at the painting, then at me. "Yes, Ann, I do believe you, and I think we need to go discuss this with Benedict, though I doubt he will be able to hear us. He's deafer than Katherine when he's hurt or angry."

In my mind's eye, I saw Benedict questioning and accusing everyone, just as his mother claimed he did after I was pushed down the stairs. And considering that the picture had already disappeared, his mother would no doubt say that I had once again concocted a story to force Benedict to protect me. "No, Stephen. I do not want Benedict to know about this yet. I need to speak with him first and set a few things straight."

"The avenging angel is back? Good for you, Miss Ann. In fact, tell my brother he cannot fire you because you have already quit. I have a post for you to fill. Since I will be putting my pen to paper, I need a practical person to organize my prose. Will you be my assistant, Miss Ann? This is a completely respectable position that I am offering, I assure you." Stephen smiled softly. "You might say that you know me too well for me to ever sweep you off your feet, which, given the romantic nature of my heart, is an absolute must for me."

His offer touched my soul. I smiled back at him, feeling as if I had truly gained a friend, though I knew I could never accept his offer. "Thank you, but—"

"No, don't answer now. Just know that you have a respectable place to go should you need to. It is rather ironic that my mother was right after all." Stephen said.

"How?" I asked, surprised at his remark.

"About Titania falling in love with an ass."

Despite the situation, a small laugh escaped through my turmoil.

"I have a few words for Benedict myself, so I won't be too far behind you."

"I fear this is going to take some time to straighten out. I've made a terrible muddle of everything."

"He's a fool if he does not listen to you. You know, Miss Ann, something strange happened the other night when I was drunk in the garden. I stumbled into the house shouting, Abandon Hope all ye who enter here.' And guess what happened?"

'"What?"

"I found hope."

"I'm glad for you, for at least one thing will come aright from all of this. It's more than I could have hoped for." I was thankful in some part of my heart that someone had found the hope that I had lost. At least it would live on, just not in my heart. Turning from Stephen so he wouldn't see the unshed tears in my eyes, I left to go find Benedict. I stopped and picked up the paper Benedict had thrown down. It was the note I'd written to Stephen, what seemed like ages ago now, asking him to join me in the sitting room. How had Benedict gotten this? I closed my eyes and remembered that Stephen had dropped it on the floor when I'd returned Elizabeth Barrett Browning's book to him. I had to go to Benedict. I couldn't let this much hurt lie between us. I couldn't run away any longer.

At first I headed to the study, but then I instinctively knew he wouldn't be brooding in the darkness. I started to run to the stables, my hip and side hurting, my heart and head pounding. I passed by Dobbs when I entered the solarium in a blur, and unfortunately I left him standing. He called after me with no small amount of asperity, but I ignored him, running out the door.

As I clashed across the stones of the garden, past the angel, I saw Benedict, astride Odin, come thundering out of the stables. I knew if I ran hard enough, I'd make it to the narrow opening through the copse of trees where he was headed. Then he'd have to either stop or trample me. I didn't hesitate. No matter how angry he was, I knew with my whole heart he wouldn't hurt me with anything but words.

I'd just made it to the opening in time to look up and see him heading right for me. I don't know if he'd been looking the other way, or if he'd been too blinded by his
own
emotions, but I saw the moment of shock when he realized I was there.

And maybe that moment was a bit too late for him to bring Odin to a stop. I saw him jerk the reins. Odin veered, and I tried to dodge to the side. I felt the rush of Odin's body skimming behind my back, then suddenly an arm slammed into my side. I was snatched off my feet and brought up against Benedict's body, then pulled across his lap, imprisoned in his arms with the saddle horn digging into my side.

I thought Benedict would stop immediately. He didn't. He raced through the trees at a terrifying pace. Any moment I expected for all of us to miss a turn and go slamming into an unyielding oak. But we didn't; we flew from beneath the cover of the trees to the open field we'd ridden to before. Only this time the sky was a dark gray, and the wind seemed to be lashing the land as forcefully as the waves crashing against the distant shore.

The saddle horn dug painfully against my bruised hip, and I wiggled, searching for relief. My situation must have broken through Benedict's haze, because he brought Odin to a stop. Benedict's breathing was just as labored as Odin's. Torrid anger poured from his every muscle. He looked as fierce and as terrible as the hot storm blowing in from the ocean.

He grabbed my shoulders, turning me to face him, and I was about to set him straight on his jealous rage, when he spoke and ripped my own words right from my mouth.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed? You were almost trampled beneath Odin's hooves. How could you do something so foolhardy?" His voice was as hard as the distant cliffs. Then without waiting for me to answer, he kissed me, his passion ruthless in his quest of my response. I knew I should pull back. I knew I should deny him, but I couldn't. I needed him too much.

I returned his desperate passion with one of my own, matching his kiss, pressing my body against his. His tongue delved deeply into my mouth, questing, as if he were searching for my soul. I pressed my breasts hard against his chest, wanting with my whole being to go straight though to his heart. The embrace consumed me, consumed him, stealing away reason, leaving our need for each other stripped naked, vulnerable. In one quick motion, he slid me down his leg to the ground and swung off Odin. Then he swept me into his arms, kissing me again and again as he walked. I cared not where he went. I cared only that he took me with him, that his passion would brand my soul one last time. It wasn't until he set me down that I knew he'd brought me down to the sandy shore, behind a private outcropping of rocks, where the roar of the waves lashed the land wildly, impassioned by the approaching storm.

His dark gaze held mine as he stripped off everything. He gave me time to run from the fury of his emotions, but I didn't. My hands went to the buttons of my dress, slipping them from their moorings as easily as my sensibilities had loosed themselves from my mind, for I wanted him amid the building wildness of the hot summer storm. He came to me, adding his efforts to mine until we both stood as Adam and Eve had. I brushed my hand along his rough, clenched jaw, running my finger along the slight cleft of his chin, then over the sensual curve of his lips. "I knew you would not harm me. No matter how angry you were."

He didn't speak; his eyes only darkened, and he pulled me into his arms, renewing the onslaught of his kisses until we were both breathless, our bodies throbbing to fulfill the promise of our embraces. The pile of our clothes made a soft bed in the sand. He lay back upon them. "Come to me, Titania. Bring me your magic."

I went to him, and he pulled me to him, kissing me deeply. Every place he touched, I burned with need until nothing could satisfy me but having him within me. "Benedict, please," I cried out to him.

"Love me, Titania," he said softly, pressing me upward until I sat upon him. Then, anchoring me with his hands on my hips, he arched up, filling me completely. I shuddered with pleasure. The wind of the storm whipped at my back and hair, but its power couldn't even come close to matching the passion of the man who drove himself into me until we both crashed like a helpless wave driven relentlessly upon a shore of pleasure. I fell against his chest, pressing my ear to the thunder of his beating heart, and he wrapped his arms around me.

"Why," he asked softly. "Why did you say what you did about Francesca after you fell in the stairwell?"

My eyes popped open, and the sensual haze blew away with the wind. Of all the times he could have chosen to speak of his dead wife, was it quite necessary to do so when he was so thoroughly buried within me? I started to lift from him, but he held me against him, only allowing me to angle up enough to meet his gaze.

He must have read my mind. "We will talk while we are together like this so there is no room for misunderstandings. We have nothing to hide behind, except for these rocks to keep us from the prying eyes of the world. We're both naked and vulnerable."

"This is completely impractical, Benedict, and impossible. My mind is always in a muddle whenever you're inside me."

"I like your mind in a muddle." He brought his hands up to my cheeks, framed my face, and kissed me lightly, then sighed. "We will dress, but we aren't leaving here until everything between us that needs to be said is spoken."

Dressing did indeed put a barrier between us. I felt it the moment I looked at him after I anchored my last button in place. With him inside me, I'd lost sight of the reasons why we couldn't be together, and I regretted not bearing the awkwardness of staying wrapped in his arms as we spoke just so that I could be in his arms for a few last moments.

Benedict sat in the sand, leaning his back against the rocks, and patted the ground next to him for me to sit. He went right to the heart of the matter with his first question. "Do you believe I killed Francesca?"

Settling myself, I angled enough so that I could meet his gaze. "No. But I believe she was killed, and I believe you are protecting someone from the authorities. I have a dear friend in town, Mr. McGuire, the bookstore owner, whom I think of as my grandfather. He's always been so kind to me, and he was very worried over my employment here. He's also an acquaintance of Dr. Levinworth. His concern drove him to ask questions. He.. he had Dr. Levinworth speak very frankly to me about Francesca's death. I know she was with child. I know you had been away quite some time. I know there are strong arguments that Francesca would not have taken her own life in so painful a way by jumping from the tower. She would have taken laudanum."

He gave me a sad smile. "Why am I not surprised you have learned so much?"

"You said you paid the authorities to have her death declared a suicide. Who are you protecting, Benedict?"

He sighed heavily. "That is not a question I can answer. Ever. Don't ask me again."

"I thought you just said that there would be nothing but honesty between us."

"I am sorry, Titania. I told you I had nothing but dishonor to give to a woman."

I wanted to be angry with him. I wanted to shake him, but instead I knew too well the honor that kept him silent. It was the same honor that would keep me from his arms. The honor of protecting those whom I loved. "Is it your mother?"

"I cannot answer that," he said harshly.

I turned from him, tears filling my eyes. He set his hands on my shoulders and pulled me back.

"Can you still love me?" he said softly against my ear. "I apologize for what I said when I saw you with Stephen. I know in my heart you would never become another man's lover, not now, maybe never. But when I saw the note on my desk and then saw you in his arms when I went to speak to him about it, I..."

I turned in his arms, facing him. "I wrote the note last month. I had put the pieces together about him and Francesca. I was angry at him, hurt for you, and I had to speak to him. I don't know who put that note on your desk, though. You lashed out at me when you saw me with Stephen because part of you is still wrapped up in what happened with Francesca and Stephen."

He stepped back, his fists clenched, and closed his eyes. "My own brother and my wife were lovers. I cannot forgive what they did."

I placed one hand over his fist and the other over his heart. "I am sorry."

He slit his eyes open, his gaze burning with emotion. "I did not kill her, and I am not sure she did not kill herself. She left a note."

"Your mother told me about the curse, vowing to haunt and destroy all whom the Trevelyans love."

That brought his eyebrows up. "And what else did my mother have to say?"

"She's worried about things she has every right to worry about. What she had to say in your study is true. I was going to tell you as much when I came to you that last night, then leave you. But you had the candles and the roses, and I could not turn away from you. Yet I had to. When you misunderstood what my pain-hazed mind was saying about the laudanum, it was easier to let you believe that I feared you than to tell you we could no longer be lovers. Your mother is right, Benedict. This passion we share has no future, and it can only bring harm to everyone."