Venetia looked at Mrs. Bloom’s closed door and sniffed. Overbearing harridans who thought them selves better than their fellows had a serious lesson to learn. But before Venetia could address that wrong, Miss Platt’s unflattering opinion of herself had to be improved. Yet how?
It was too bad Venetia couldn’t enlist Gregor’s assistance. If he would just pay the slightest bit of attention to the lady, it would do wonders for her sorely missing sense of self-worth and might give her the confidence to face down Mrs. Bloom’s bullying.
The memory of the kiss burned through Venetia, and she gulped back a maelstrom of emotions. Perhaps Gregor was too intoxicating a force for Miss Platt.
Gregor was too much, but Ravenscroft…Venetia nodded thoughtfully. That might work. If Ravenscroft could be prevailed upon to pay a bit of attention to Miss Platt, it might drive up her sagging sense of worth.
The problem was Gregor; he wasn’t acting with his usual reserve. Indeed, he’d become oddly possessive since his arrival, as if rescuing her had given him some sort of rights over her actions.
Of course, that had been yesterday, when emotions had been running high. Today things should be back to normal—though she wasn’t completely certain that Gregor would sit idly by while she attempted to assist Miss Platt. Gregor never appreciated the gratification of helping a fellow man. Even now, it astounded Venetia to think that he’d ridden to her rescue—though she supposed it had been more a matter of pride for him than anything else. He certainly hadn’t seemed suffused with the milk of human kindness since his arrival. All he’d done thus far was mock her every effort. Which was why she had to keep Gregor from interfering in her plans.
She could almost pity him for his misconceptions. If he didn’t suffer from such a superior attitude, she might have worked up a bit of sympathy rather than irritation.
There had to be a way. Fortunately, she knew from dealing with life’s many challenges that she only needed to be patient and the answer would occur to her. It always did.
And woe betide Gregor then!
Chapter 7
’Tis an odd fact o’ life that some marriages are part pure love and part pure frustration. Sometimes the very thing that drives a man and wife apart also glues them together.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
B efore going down to breakfast, Venetia spent some time going through her limited wardrobe. To prove to Gregor that she was unaffected by their accidental kiss, she needed to sail into the common room laughing and talking, completely unaffected by his presence. Which meant she would definitely need to wear her best gown.
With this thought in mind, Venetia dressed in a blue round gown of a deep color, which was fortunate, as her only petticoat had ripped in the accident. Elsie had promised to mend it, but it would be the next day before it was ready.
The gown was beautifully made, decorated at the hem and on each sleeve with tiny pink rosettes backed with tiny green leaves. A bright green ribbon tied directly beneath her breasts, while a delicate lace collar adorned the modest neckline. Though she’d forgotten to bring the matching blue shoes and the green ribbon for her hair, she hoped she appeared at her best.
Gathering her courage, she marched to the common room, reaching it at the same time as Ravenscroft. He was dressed in a coat of blue superfine with a deep wine-colored waistcoat, his collar so high that he couldn’t turn his chin to either side. Gregor never adopted extravagant fashions, scoffing at anything he considered either uncomfortable or excessive. For that reason alone, Venetia was willing to look upon Ravenscroft’s dandified clothing with a kinder eye than usual.
She smiled at him. “Goodness! How did you get your shirt points so high?”
He beamed. “Mrs. Treadwell’s girl is quite handy with an iron. Who would have thought it, in the middle of nowhere?”
“Fortunately for us, Elsie is also good with a cooking pot. How are you feeling this morning? Are you much bruised from our accident?”
“My head is still a bit tender.” He touched a spot over one temple. “Other than that, I’m fit as can be.”
“Excellent,” Venetia said.
He hesitated a moment, then said in a rushed voice, “Venetia, I must apologize for my behavior in bringing you to this wretched place. I never thought—that is, I shouldn’t have—although I didn’t expect—I had no way of knowing that—”
“I know,” Venetia said, laughing a little. She patted Ravenscroft’s arm. “You were very wrong for what you did, but I must admit, your intention was quite romantic.”
“Yes, it was! Venetia, I love—”
“Don’t begin that again!” she interrupted hurriedly, removing her hand from his arm. Seeing his expression, she softened her tone. “You know I am not in love with you. I am sorry, but that is the way things are. And I will not discuss it again.”
He flushed, his shoulders sagging. “Very well. I will try not to say anything more. But if you change your mind, or if you think of something you need done, or wish to have, I hope you’ll tell me.” He regarded her with burning eyes. “I’d do anything for you, and it’s not just because of your dowry.”
“Dowry? What dowry?”
“Why—your father said—not that I paid him any heed, of course—but he mentioned that if you married, he wished to give you a large sum for your dowry.”
Venetia chuckled. “He said he wished to give me a dowry, because that’s all he could do—just wish. I hope you didn’t believe he was actually going to settle funds on me.”
A definite flash of disappointment settled on his face. “Oh. No. Of course I didn’t believe him. I just mention it because, ah, well, he did say it, though I assure you that had nothing to do with why I wished to marry you.”
Venetia raised her brows. “Indeed?”
“Indeed,” he said somewhat testily.
Her lips quivered. “Poor Ravenscroft.”
“Venetia, I love you. Even if you cannot return my feelings, I would do anything for you. Just say the word, and I’ll prove it.”
She’d already turned to enter the door when his words halted her. She paused. “There is one thing I need.”
Ravenscroft grasped one of her hands and pressed it to his heart. “Please! Allow me to be of some service to you.”
Venetia eyed the young man for a moment. He wasn’t dangerously handsome like Gregor, with his intriguing scar and bold manner. Nor could Ravenscroft make a woman feel shivery with just one look. Still, she was fairly certain Miss Platt would think Ravenscroft’s dandified dress quite the thing.
The woman deserved a chance, and if Venetia did not do something, the opportunity might pass. “Very well, Ravenscroft. You may do me a favor, but I warn you, it might be quite difficult.”
He leaned forward, every line of his body eager.
Leaving her hand within his grip, Venetia explained her plan.
Despite his promise to do anything she wished, Ravenscroft put up surprising resistance. But eventually, armed with both his promise and the happy knowledge that he was performing a great service for the good of mankind—or woman kind—Ravenscroft finally capitulated.
Venetia entered the common room with a satisfied smile on her face.
Gregor didn’t realize until the moment Venetia entered the room how tense he’d been, waiting for her, but the second he saw her, his body fired awake.
Damn it all, this was not what he’d hoped. Last night, after their impetuous kiss, he’d most unusually found himself unable to sleep. Never had he allowed an incident with a woman to rob him of his God-given right to rest.
But somehow, every time he’d closed his eyes, he’d found himself thinking of Venetia, of the surprising flare of passion that had flamed between them, of the incredible softness of her lips beneath his. Over and over, he’d relived the moment, thinking of all the implications.
Though she was no young girl, Venetia was an innocent in many ways. He was cer
tain she would feel embarrassed at her reaction to their embrace. He’d imagined she would be subdued and pale this morning. He would, of course, ignore that she was ill at ease and reassure her by acting as if nothing had happened. He had some experience with such things and it would take her some time to realize that he was not about to betray her.
So it was something of a shock when Venetia finally arrived in the morning room, wearing gay colors, laughing at something Ravenscroft must have said. Her gaze didn’t so much as flicker toward Gregor. Without pause, she merrily answered a comment made by Mrs. Treadwell, teased Ravenscroft about being famished and remembered to call him “brother” in a particularly beguiling tone, gave an enthusiastic greeting to Miss Platt, inquired after Mrs. Bloom’s health, and even managed to assume an interested look during the older lady’s lengthy answer.
Upon meeting Gregor’s gaze for a fleeting second, she blithely turned away and went to peer out the window at the melting snow, commenting to Miss Platt that they would soon all be on their way, and what a delight that would be.
Inwardly, Gregor seethed. He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed her cool reaction to him, either. Mrs. Bloom was looking from Venetia to him and back, obviously bursting to know what had happened between them. As soon as she could, she made her way to his side. “Well?” She eyed him as if he were a particularly tasty morsel. “What have you done to Miss West that she is ignoring you?”
What had he done? Hah! He’d done nothing that any other red-blooded male would have done. To halt Mrs. Bloom’s rampant curiosity in its tracks, he shrugged. “I’m not sure what you are talking about. Miss West is simply seeing about the weather. I think the snow has come to an end, don’t you?”
That sent Mrs. Bloom off in a scurry of speculation about the weather, just as he wanted. All the lady required in the way of conversation was someone to nod occasionally and murmur “Quite so!” every now and again.
Meanwhile, he was free to slip a look past her to where Venetia stood by the window. The second he did, he wished he hadn’t.
It was blazingly bright outside, the sun reflecting off the snow. The light poured in, Venetia to one side of the window, partially in the shadow, though the light touched the crown of her head, shimmering on her hair until it appeared burnished with gold.
It was odd, but in London he’d never really had the opportunity to see Venetia just so. When they were there, they rode together in the park and occasionally danced with each other at some amusement. She frequently met him at Lady B’s Chocolate House on Bond Street, where she’d sip a cup of hot chocolate while they talked and laughed and discussed horses, people, and books, their most common interests.
An oddly wistful pang shot through him. Were those days gone? Would they ever be back to the easy friendship they’d once shared?
As he wondered, Venetia moved slightly to her left, the window’s bright light now shining directly on her…and through her skirts.
He started. Bloody hell! Why wasn’t she wearing a petticoat? Her gently curved legs were plainly visible, the fullness of her calf, the delicate line of her ankle.
Gregor’s body flared to life, his heart thudding hard as pure, primal lust jolted through him.
“Lord MacLean?” Mrs. Bloom’s demanding voice cut through his thoughts.
He blinked down at her, suddenly remembering he’d been listening to her diatribe about the weather. “Quite so,” he said, hoping that answered her question.
Her prim mouth folded in disapproval, her eyes flashing. “Lord MacLean, I asked you twice if you thought a good rain might melt this snow, and you have yet to answer!”
Gregor struggled to understand her words, his mind still on the vision by the window. Venetia should take more caution when in public. Any man might look at the window and see—good God, where was Ravenscroft?
Gregor turned to find the younger man in conversation with Miss Platt. Just then, Ravenscroft sent a harried look toward Venetia and then froze in place. His mouth fell open, and his eyes bulged.
Damn it all!
“Mrs. Bloom, that is an excellent question. Allow me to ask Miss West for her opinion. She knows all about thunderstorms.” Gregor crossed the room, captured Venetia’s elbow, and yanked her out of the light.
She stumbled, her warm body soft against his chest before she pulled away. “What are you doing?” she hissed, her face bright.
He turned her firmly toward Mrs. Bloom and modesty. “I am keeping you from making a spectacle of yourself,” he said under his breath.
She planted her feet, bringing them both to a halt. Her silver eyes flashed up at him. “I beg your pardon?”
Gregor leaned down. “You were standing in front of the light from the window.”
“So?”
“I could see right through your gown, as could Ravenscroft and everyone else.”
Her cheeks burst into color. “Oh! I didn’t know—that is, I never thought—my undergown was torn, and Elsie hasn’t yet finished mending it.”
Gregor suppressed a strong desire to trace his fingers over her heated cheeks. “You won’t get a coherent word out of Ravenscroft for the rest of the day,” he said curtly.
Her color heightened, even as her lips quivered into a smile. She peeped up at him to say mischievously, “I’m not sure that will impede his normal speech pattern all that much.”
Despite his irritation, Gregor had to laugh. “The lad is not a wordsmith, is he?”
“No, though his heart is good.” She glanced past Gregor to Ravenscroft, who was back in conversation with Miss Platt, though he kept sending red-faced glances at Venetia. “I find very little fault with him except a sad propensity for being romantic at the most importune times.”
She sounded fond of Ravenscroft. Gregor’s smile faded, though he supposed it should not have been surprising. Venetia had a tendency to adopt any stray that came her way. Still, was that all she felt? What if, in making such a grand though misguided gesture as eloping with Venetia, Ravenscroft had accomplished what Venetia’s father had at first hoped for and ignited a spark of something more than fondness?
Venetia was even now watching Ravenscroft with Miss Platt. Whatever she saw there did not please her, for she frowned mightily and then, to Gregor’s surprise, made a subtle “go forward” gesture with her hand.
He glanced over to see Ravenscroft straighten his shoulders and say something to Miss Platt that made that lady turn pink.
Gregor stole a look back at Venetia and caught a satisfied gleam in her eyes. Hmmm. What was the minx up to now? Her smile was particularly smug, but Ravenscroft’s eyes were wild, his posture lacking his usual boyish bounce, and his smile nearly maniacal. Though he stood beside Miss Platt, his eyes were everywhere but on her, as if he were afraid to meet her gaze.
Gregor’s brows rose when Venetia gave Ravenscroft a very encouraging nod. Gulping noisily, the young man lifted his chin as if preparing to march to his death, then asked Miss Platt in a stuttering voice if she didn’t think it a particularly fine day, and could they perhaps go for a walk at a later time.
Miss Platt flushed, spiraling down into a mad mangle of incoherent speech. Venetia, meanwhile, beamed upon the two.
Bloody hell, she was at it again! Despite their precarious predicament, Venetia was up to her neck in some scheme.
He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I don’t know what you are doing with Ravenscroft and Miss Platt, but you’d best have a care.”
Some of Venetia’s glow faded. “I don’t need you to tell me how to run my life. I’ve been doing it myself for the last decade, and I am quite capable of making my own decisions.”
“So one would think,” he retorted. “Yet you continue to make bad choice after bad choice.”
She stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that we are not yet out of the woods, and getting embroiled in the lives of our fellow travelers is the last thing we should be doing.”
“I am not ‘getti
ng embroiled’ in anything. I am merely assisting Miss Platt in developing a bit of confidence.”
“You are encouraging Ravenscroft to make a fool of himself,” Gregor returned in a low voice, his eyes sparkling dangerously, his hand coming to rest on her wrist.
The second he touched her, a flare of heat raced up her arm, causing her skin to tingle, her breasts to tighten in a most nerve-rattling way. She pulled away, rubbing her wrist where he’d touched her.
Gregor’s brows lowered, his eyes flint hard. “Stop meddling in Miss Platt’s life.”
Venetia’s lips thinned. “Gregor, it has been a pleasure speaking with you, as usual. Good day.” She spun on her heel and went to stand with Mrs. Bloom by the fireplace.
Gregor was not a man who expected flattery wherever he went. But he was used to a certain amount of respect, so Venetia’s refusal even to listen to his opinion resulted in an immediate swell of indignation.
He followed Venetia to the fireplace and placed his hand under her elbow. “Excuse us, Mrs. Bloom. My charge and I have something to discuss.”
Venetia frowned. “I am not discussing anything else with you.”
“Miss West,” Mrs. Bloom said in her heavy voice, “Lord MacLean is your guardian. One should always pay service to the proprieties. Besides, I think I shall go ahead and take a seat at the table. From the sounds in the hall, breakfast is about to be served.” She nodded regally and left.
Venetia pulled her elbow free, her eyes snapping angrily. “What do you want now?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I want to know what scheme you are hatching with Ravenscroft and Miss Platt.”
Venetia shrugged airly. “Why must you always think I am scheming?”
“Because in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve done nothing else but. You’ve always gotten involved in things beyond you.”