Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (193 page)

“I did no such thing. I swear. The pony spooked.”

“Liar!” she hissed. Turning her back on him, she stalked off down the path.

He hurried after her. “Look out.” Grabbing her hand, he steered her around the trunk of a tree just before she would have walked into it. “I
never
lie, Miss Daysland.”

With a snort she accepted his guidance but remained rigid and silent.

It was useless to defend himself against her claims. When her anger abated maybe then he could make her see reason. Resigned to her silence, Tyrone led her down the path back to the garden gate. Once there she wrenched her arm free from his grasp and marched up the steps. Stiff backed, she crossed the veranda and stomped into the house. The door banged behind her. He cringed at the sound. It seemed every conversation they entered into ended in a slamming door. Shaking his head, he turned back to the path to the woods to search for whatever spooked the pony. Perhaps he could prove his innocence.

Why did the woman insist he was out to hurt her? There was nothing for him to gain by her injury or death. It was not as if he needed her money. Guilt niggled at him. That was not precisely true. Wasn’t he marrying Miss Deval for financial and political gain? Nonetheless, surely Miss Daysland knew he would never stoop to hurting someone for monetary reward. He groaned. No, how would she when her own servants seemed to be after her inheritance?

Jester materialized by the garden gate as if nothing was amiss, startling him. Tyrone opened it and let the pony in. The beast appeared no worse for wear, he noted before shutting the gate behind him and heading for the trail through the woods. An hour later he returned, none the wiser as to what caused the pony’s flight.

Chapter Eleven

Delilah made her way downstairs later than usual the next morning. Caution stilled her steps as she entered the breakfast room, listening for any sign of the earl. When no noise drew her attention she made her way to the buffet. She groped for the lid on the first warming tray, lifted it off, and sniffed. The buttery aroma of scrambled eggs greeted her. Running her fingers along the edge, she located the spoon and slid a plate closer. After placing a spoonful of eggs on the plate, she replaced the lid and felt for the next tray. A deep inhale of its contents made her smile.
Ah, honeyed ham, one of my favorites
. She stabbed a couple slices and added them to her plate, along with a flaky croissant and a pat of creamy butter. Then she heard it, a soft sound most wouldn’t have noticed: the scarcely detectable “shush” of material upon material, as if someone crossed their legs. Delilah spun around, dropping the lid with a metallic clang. The light scent of mint reached her.

“I did not hear you enter, my lord.” She tried to keep her tone light but couldn’t help the slight hint of outrage at his presence.

“I did not mean to startle you. I was reading the morning paper here all along.” As if to prove his claim, the newspaper crinkled.

Snatching her plate from the side board she angled toward her chair, counting the steps to the edge of the table. She set the plate down, grimacing when its clink betrayed her mood. “Good manners dictate one would give notice they were here upon my entry.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “I thought you would have heard my presence. Besides, I enjoy watching how you take pleasure in the simplest sounds, smells, and textures of the world around you.”

“I am glad to know my antics amuse you, my lord.” Snubbing him, she sat and speared a piece of ham, popping it into her mouth and chewing with exaggerated attention. It appeared her attempt to avoid the earl was foiled for the time being, a fact that did not please her in the least. She jabbed another piece of ham on her fork and lifted it to her lips.

“I thought last night’s dinner party went rather well, do you think?”

She frowned, dropping the fork with a clatter, her tidbit forgotten. “Rather well? I have never been more uncomfortable in my life. I will never forgive you for so callously putting me on display, like a pathetic, lame broodmare paraded about for inspection. Did I not tell you how it would go?”

“You cannot expect a man to offer for you when you sabotage yourself,” he pointed out with a haughty air.

She clutched the lace tablecloth in her fist. “I do not
expect
or want any man to offer for me, as I have already told you. Is it so obscene to you?”

“It is not obscene to expect someone to desire you. You are smart, witty, beautiful, and remarkably self-sufficient. You seem the only one who thinks an offer is impossible. Makes me wonder if you use your blindness as an excuse not to marry.” The harsh edge in his voice softened. “Are you afraid you might find someone who will love you?”

His words held an element of truth she was reluctant to admit to anyone, least of all him. “Why can you not leave me be?” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Why must you persist in this? No good can come of it.”

When his chair scraped across the floor she swiped the tear away, steeling herself for his denials and pleas. Instead his footfalls came around the table, his minty smell filling her nostrils. His warm, calloused hand enclosed hers where it rested, still squeezing the table cloth between her fingers. She jumped when his finger stroked her cheek with gentle intimacy.

“If only I could show you what I see. You are a woman like no other, proud, strong, and so deserving of a man who will cherish and make you happy.”

Delilah was woefully tempted to fall into his arms and allow him to kiss her again. Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lower lip of its own accord and his finger followed its path. Struggling to find her voice she whispered, “Show me … ” Tilting her face to him she waited, her heart pounding against her breast. Her eyes closed and for the tiniest moment she almost laughed at the irony of the lashes lying against her cheeks. Why close her eyes when she couldn’t see? Then his breath tickled her lips. Damp and warm, they moved over hers, sensual and light. With a sigh of longing she opened for him, inviting him to play. He took her invitation with the slightest of groans, deepening his kiss. The thrill of the forbidden contact made her toes curl inside her satin slippers. His fingers slipped down to cup her jaw. With a sigh she slipped her arms along the plains of his velvet waistcoat to twine around the thick column of his neck. He tasted of eggs, salty ham and the familiar mint. Slipping his mouth from hers, he kissed the hollow, sensitive area behind her ear. She dipped her head to give him better access.

“I would marry you if I could,” he whispered, the breath from his words brushing her damp skin atop his lip’s caress. He pulled away with a tortured moan.

Her heart leaped into her throat at the thought. “Why not?”

His breathing was irregular and deep as he retreated to his chair. “I have already entered into a courtship with another.”

The apologetic hint in his tone unleashed her wrath
.
Shoving her plate away, she leaped to her feet. “Bastard,” she spat and fled. She made her way to veranda, exited the house, and whistled for Jester. He was at her side within moments. Lost in a turmoil of emotions, she allowed him to lead her where he chose. They went down the steps and crossed to Jester’s favorite napping spot beneath the old apple tree.

When Jester laid down; Delilah settled herself beside him, resting her head against his neck. “What has come over me?” she mumbled. “I practically threw myself into his arms and he rejected me. I should have known he would. I do not know why I was angry at his reaction. Oh Jester, papa would be mortified by my display of wantonness.”

• • •

Tyrone headed for the study but paused when he passed the window over-looking the back lawn. Beyond the window pane the sun cast a cheery feel across the landscape. Deciding it was far too nice a day outside to be stuck indoors he changed course to the veranda instead. As he shut the door behind him he spied Delilah curled up on the grass beside the dozing pony. Perhaps he should apologize and explain the situation to her. Maybe he could appeal to her practical nature and convince her marriage to some suitable gentleman was not the end of the world. With firm resolve he descended the steps and crossed the lawn. He was only a few feet away when he realized her lips were moving. He assumed she was talking to the pony and stopped to listen.

“I am in such turmoil. When my father was alive everything was comfortable and routine, now, with the earl here … well, one moment I find myself enjoying the company and other times … Oh! The man seems determined to drive me noddy. I cannot seem to make him see reason on this marriage idea. What is so wrong with wanting things to stay as they were? Why must I marry, just because I am a woman? It seems a silly rule, if you ask me.” Delilah lay back against the pony.

“I suppose marriage would not be so bad, I mean if I could find a man who could see me and not my affliction. Perhaps someone who would allow me to follow my own pursuits, liked the same things I do, and would not drag me to one humiliating social function after another. Someone like my father.”

She sat up. “The earl thinks I use my blindness as an excuse against marriage. Do you think I do, Jester?” The pony blew through his nostrils and Delilah bit her lip. “I think he may be right, though I would never admit it to him. Oh dear. I fear I frightened every man within reach away with my behavior last night. Maybe the earl was right and I should have given them a chance. Now what will I do? I suppose I owe his lordship an apology, though it serves him right for springing the whole situation on me that way.”

She twinned her fingers in the pony’s mane. “I liked his kisses, you know. I know I should not have; a well-bred lady does not go around kissing men in the woods, or the dining room for that matter. No one has ever kissed me before. Every girl wants to be kissed you know.” The pony snorted as if refuting his mistress’ claim. Delilah’s lips curved into a small smile. “It’s true. You can snort all you like, Jester, but what would you know of a girl’s desires? You only desire to eat, sleep, and go for a wander in the woods now and then. Your life is simple and uncomplicated.” Jester opened one eye and sighed before returning to his nap.

Tyrone stood, undecided whether to interrupt her musing by announcing his presence. Against his better judgment he stayed quiet and listened as she continued her one sided conversation.

“I am afraid as usual I have made a mess of things.” She buried her head against the pony’s neck. “I have no one to confide in but you, Jester, and you are not much help in matters of the heart I am afraid.” Her shoulders shook and muffled sobs reached Tyrone’s ears.

Maybe Delilah was not as prickly as she tried to appear. Did her fear and loneliness cause her to shield herself behind a sharp tongue? He couldn’t really blame her for being bitter at the cards fate had dealt her. Her affliction left her unsure and vulnerable, and the loss of her father would have been a deep blow. The obvious solution would be to wed Delilah himself, but that was not possible. He could not honorably cry off his courtship of Miss Deval, even if Delilah would have him, besides, the king would surely frown on the arrangement. The king ordered Tyrone to see Delilah suitably wed, not to court her himself. And there was also the matter of his political aspirations. Miss Deval and the king were his stepping stones to a brilliant political career.

Tyrone turned away and crept back to the house, unwilling to let Delilah know he witnessed her private thoughts and tears. His ward’s plight deeply troubled him and he felt compelled to ease her fears but was at a loss as to how to go about it.

When he entered the study his gaze fell on the books he purchased at the village shop. A book of poetry and a sea faring adventure caught his eye and he hoped they would provide a little entertainment for Miss Daysland. He glanced out the window where Delilah still rested curled up to the pony on the grass. Perhaps now might be a good time to read.

Tyrone scooped up the two books and hurried back outside. This time he took care to make his steps heavy and whistle a jaunty tune to be sure Delilah heard his approach. He noted her wipe the tears from her face with her sleeve under the guise of pushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “Miss Daysland?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“I found a couple books I thought you might enjoy while in the village.”

A small smile graced her pink lips. “Thank you.” She held out her hand.

Instead of giving them to her he seated himself across from her on the grass. “Would you like to hear some poetry or a swashbuckling tale of the dangerous sea?”

A soft giggle, like tiny bells slipped from her lips. “Oh, the sea tale please. I do love a good adventure, though my father said that type of book was not for the likes of a lady.”

Tyrone could not help but chuckle at her unbridled enthusiasm. “I shall endeavor to skip the most un-lady-like parts then,” he teased hoping to draw another delightful giggle from her.

Her lips formed a small pout though her eyes twinkled. “Do not dare. Those are the best parts you know.”

He smiled. “As you wish.” After settling back on his elbow he lay the book on the grass and opened it to the first chapter. “When I first saw the
Percephany
she was anchored in the English Harbor … ”

Tyrone glanced at Delilah now and again as he read amused by her rapt attention to the tale. Her facial expressions betrayed her emotional involvement in every scene. During an especially tense one she worried her bottom lip between her teeth which he found charming. Before he realized it he was lost in her animated delight.

Chapter Twelve

Delilah smoothed the brush over Jester’s coat, running the fingertips of her free hand along after to relish the satiny feel of the slicked hairs. Grooming the pony was a welcome respite from the conflicting thoughts swirling around in her mind since reading with the earl the day before. “Your winter fuzz is starting to come in, Jester. It will not be long before we shall frolic in the snow, I think.” The pony sighed as if mourning the passing of summer. She smiled and ran the brush down his neck. “Do not be so sad. You love Candlemas and the hunt for the perfect Yule log.” This time her sigh was the one of mourning. “It will not be the same without Papa.”