Prudence drew her spectacles from her pocket and put them on. “You should enjoy it, my lord,” she said, her voice as cool as the steel frames against her skin. “You have such an affinity for masks.”
She turned to go.
“As do you, Miss Walker.”
Prudence paused, but did not turn around. She knew he was no longer smiling. She managed to keep her back straight and her hands steady until she had left the study and pulled the door shut behind her.
She leaned against the door, welcoming the dig of the oak paneling into her spine. There was no sound from within the study. Tears scalded her eyes, and she realized with a shock that they were not tears of guilt, but tears of anger. The rage felt good, cleansing her of the melancholy that threatened to buffet her. She jerked off her spectacles. Damn Tricia anyway!
Tricia. It had always been Tricia. Bright, tinkling, gay Tricia. Prudence would simply have to understand that Tricia needed the money more than they. Tricia was an orphan. Tricia had no one. Prudence and Papa must be content with their books and each other. Prudence would understand. Prudence was such a good girl.
She dashed the tears from her eyes with a clenched fist. She was tired of understanding. She was tired of being a good girl. Being a good girl meant giving up Sebastian and his lovely mouth forever.
A bust of Plato sneered down at her from a velvet draped pedestal. Prudence shoved her spectacles on his marble nose and started for her room, jerking out hairpins as she walked.
• • •
Prudence sought out Jamie the next day. As she neared the holding pen, his amorphous form solidified into angular sinew and muscle. Sunlight sharpened his hair to carrot orange, and she shielded her eyes from its brilliance. He was straining against a blob of russet—the mare Tricia had presented to Sebastian as an early wedding gift. Early and premature, Prudence dared to hope.
She folded her arms on the fence. The air was laden with moisture, and the sultry heat sent sweat rolling down her sides, pinning her heavy damask dress to her stays like a second skin.
Jamie tugged the lead, guiding the wild-eyed yearling in a trotting circle. “Hullo, luv,” he said. His voice was dry. “How could ye stay away so long? Are ye tryin’ to break me proud heart?”
She gave him a reproachful look. “It didn’t look so proud when you were drooling at my aunt’s feet the other morning.”
“Jealous, sweeting?”
He clucked, and the spindly horse trotted within his reach, shivering and prancing. He soothed her with an expert touch on her haunches. She stopped shivering and slipped easily within the circle of his arms. He drew a halter over her head.
“You’re very good at that,” Prudence said.
“Never let it be said Jamie Graham don’t know how to gentle a lady. What did ye expect? Ridin’ crops? Whips?”
She shrugged. “Some men take ‘breaking a horse’ literally.”
“Some men are fools.” He turned his back on her to run a brush down the mare’s flank. Though he hummed softly under his breath, his jaw was taut.
Prudence climbed up to sit on the fence. Her stockings snagged on the rough wood. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Mr. Graham?”
His even strokes did not falter.
She took a deep breath. “I need your help. I want Sebastian.”
“Ye don’t need me for that. Go find him. He’s never minded obligin’ a lady in need.”
She flushed and looked down, toying with the dusty folds of her skirt. “Not like that.” She struggled to find the words, any words, that might leave her a few shreds of dignity. “I want him to care for me.”
“Oh, bloody hell!”
Jamie threw the brush. It struck the fence with a bang. Prudence flinched and the mare loped away, seizing her sudden and unexpected freedom.
Jamie turned on her, his eyes blazing almost as bright as his hair. “Has it ever occurred to ye, Lady Walker, or whatever it is ye fine folk call yerselves, that with me ain’t the safest place to be?”
A hot wind barely stirred the air as Prudence glanced around. The meadow was isolated. Even the brick chimneys of the house were hidden from view by a slight rise in the land.
The muscles in Jamie’s arm knotted. “I may not be big, but I’m strong. I could pop yer wee neck ’tween me thumb and forefinger.” He snapped his fingers to demonstrate the ease of it. “If Sebastian is too besotted to kill ye, I am the next most likely choice.”
“Kill me?” Even to herself her voice sounded as if it were coming from very far away. “Why would Sebastian want to kill me?”
“ ’Cause with one dainty sigh, ye could send us all to the gallows. Word’s out there’s a steep price on yer head and Sebastian’s got his orders to follow like any other man.”
The sun paled before Prudence’s eyes. “I don’t believe you. You shouldn’t tease so. It’s cruel.”
“Cruel?” He puffed out a sigh. “I’ve been watchin’ ye the last few weeks. Ye don’t ask fer much, lass. The least I can give ye is the truth.” He buried his fists in his pockets. “Don’t worry. Sebastian’s a good man. He’ll make it quick and painless if he’s able.”
It might be quick, she thought, but it was far too late to make it painless.
She clambered down from the fence, praying her legs would support her. “Such lies are very unbecoming, Mr. Graham. If you didn’t want to help me, a simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”
“Believe what ye will, lass. But take care.”
Jamie clucked softly and the mare trotted to him. As Prudence walked back toward the house, he watched her go, his cheek pressed to the horse’s silky mane.
The sun scorched the back of Prudence’s neck. Her sturdy shoes rustled the dry grass. She couldn’t remember the last time it had rained. Or could she? She squeezed her eyes shut and almost stumbled. When she opened them, they burned as hot as the air.
Jamie was lying, she thought. She said the words aloud and it made her feel slightly better. The petty little wretch, she added to herself, was only jealous of the attentions Sebastian had paid her.
Are you so sure? whispered a small voice inside her head.
She knew that voice. It was the voice that reminded her she was too old to waste time woolgathering about a husband and children. It was the voice that soothed her back to sleep when she awoke tangled in the bedclothes, her body aching with some nameless longing, her cheeks wet with tears. It was the voice that kept her sane and safe by quenching all of her dreams and yearnings.
She stomped up the hill. Of course she was sure Jamie was lying. After all, Sebastian had come to her when he was wounded. To her—not to Jamie or Tricia.
And why wouldn’t he? the voice asked. Especially if you won’t be around long enough to betray him.
But he said he wanted her.
He spoke of need, not caring. The bulls in the field have the same needs. Why not want you? Why not slake his lust on you rather than some loose-tongued housemaid? You won’t be around later to cause any embarrassing scenes.
Prudence gave herself a harsh shake, fighting to silence the rational demon within her. “Sebastian has shown me only kindness,” she said aloud, ignoring the curious stare of a gardener watering the hedges.
What better way for Sebastian to keep an eye on you than to be always underfoot? What better way to seek out your weaknesses, await the opportune moment to silence you forever?
She stumbled to a halt as all the voices of her reason blended into one devastating truth.
If the kitchen blew up again, who would be suspicious if she happened to be standing beside the oven? And no one would be shocked if a bite of her own cooking killed her. Sebastian would cut such a dashing figure in mourning! The grim black would set off the sandy highlights in his hair to perfection. Her nails dug into her palms as she strode across the lawn.
Sebastian’s own words condemned him. If you see my face, your life will be worth naught. Neither to me or my men. A stark chill cut through the heat, ma
king her shiver.
Sebastian. Beautiful, considerate Sebastian. A thousand small kindnesses crumbled to bitter ash in the wind. Sebastian handing her a book she was too short to reach. Sebastian trimming her kitten’s claws with his own tiny dagger, his hands deft and gentle. Sebastian wrestling the icing bowl away from her, demanding the last lick with that slow, sweet grin of his.
Not sweet, she corrected herself coldly. Cunning. She dashed away a tear before it could fall. He might murder her, but he would not make her cry. Sebastian Kerr wasn’t worthy of her tears.
She marched up to the front door and flung it open. Before she could take three steps inside the house, Sebastian emerged from the parlor.
He looked up from the book in his hands and grinned. “There you are. I’ve been waiting for you. I think I’ve found something in this book about the properties of mercury.” He pulled out a creamy envelope tucked between the pages. “And this came in the post today. You’d best open it first. It looks important.”
She stared at him. She wasn’t prepared for this, for his devastating good cheer, his rumpled shirt. He had abandoned his boots again and his hair tumbled loose around his face. He looked good enough to eat—luscious and forbidden, like the ice cream Tricia had once brought from London for one of her parties. Prudence had eaten it until her stomach ached, then been sent to bed without supper for her gluttony.
Pain knifed through her heart. What a fine actor he was! She couldn’t bear it. She wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. Her furious passion disappeared behind an icy veil.
She looked him up and down, her lips twisted in a smile of cool disdain. “Perhaps you should fetch your boots, my lord. If you keep going about garbed in such a manner, everyone at Lindentree is going to know you’re nothing but a common peasant.”
His smile faded. His hands dropped to his sides. Her heart spasmed in regret as a raw, bewildered pain touched his features. It was gone so quickly, she might have imagined it, and was replaced by something dark and wary. She gathered her skirts, but he did not move.
She was forced to brush past him to reach the stairs. As her breast grazed his unyielding chest, he caught her wrist in a bruising grip, pulling her against him. His eyes searched her face.
She returned his gaze with insolence, terrified he would hear the wild thudding of her heart, the mad rush of blood through her veins. The tension in his body strummed so tight, she expected him to shove her against the wall and throttle her right there in the entranceway.
They both heard the telltale scrape of a chair behind them. She called toward the dining room in a parody of calm, “I’ll be taking dinner in my room, Fish. I have a terrible headache.”
Sebastian released her abruptly. As she climbed the stairs beneath the probing heat of his gaze, she discovered she wasn’t lying. Her head was pounding nearly as hard as her heart.
Eleven
“Sebastian, old boy, it’s your play.”
Sebastian jerked his gaze away from the window. A bleary-eyed cyclops was peering at him. He suppressed a faint shudder as Squire Blake lowered the quizzing glass he wore on a gold chain around his neck.
“Attentiveness, my boy, is the key to success when playing such lovely and intelligent creatures as these.”
Devony giggled and Tricia clucked her tongue against her teeth in the chiding manner Sebastian was beginning to loathe. He briefly entertained the notion of choking her with the curtain cord the next time she did it.
His smile tightened to a grimace as he threw his card down, winning the trick. “Your pardon, Squire. My concentration is somewhat lacking this afternoon. I can assure you it is not the charm of my companions which distracts me.” As far as Sebastian could tell, his companions had no discernible charms.
Devony struggled to hold on to her cards with fingers that sported long carmine daggers for nails.
Tricia tapped the back of Sebastian’s hand with her fan. “We were hoping it wasn’t us.” She winked at Devony. “If we thought it was, it would make us terribly ‘whistful.’ ”
Her dreadful pun sent them both into tinkling peals of laughter. Devony dropped her entire hand of cards on the table. Squire Blake’s chortling led to a fit of coughing so intense, Sebastian feared it might end up in apoplexy, and he half hoped it would.
The light tap of footsteps outside the door jerked his head up. It was only one of the maids dusting a brass spittoon. He hid his disappointment behind a black glower that sent her scurrying back down the corridor. When would he stop expecting every footstep, every murmur, to be Prudence?
She had contrived to spend not one minute alone in his company in the past week. When she did emerge from her room long enough to dine, he would glance up to find her eyes fixed on him with a look of such dark betrayal that it made him ache. Her stack of letters on the pier-table lay untouched. He paced the library each day at dawn, listening to the hollow echo of his own footsteps. That morning, he had finally crawled back into bed and lolled until noon, only to awaken more sluggish and irritable than before.
Beneath the table, Devony’s beribboned slipper crept up his calf for the third time. Tricia twined her ankle around his other leg. He felt as if he were in the grip of some serpentine vine that would suck him under the table to meet a hideous fate.
The ormolu clock on the mantel ticked away endless minutes as Devony rearranged her cards and took the customary century to decide which one to play. Sebastian tugged at his cravat without realizing it.
He felt as if he had been trapped in the oppressively delicate parlor for a lifetime. Tricia’s hand at decorating was everywhere—in the fragile china Muses along the gilt mantel, the tiny roses embroidered on the brocade cushions, the ethereal lines of the Sheraton tea table. It all made him feel like an awkward giant set down in a dollhouse. The others seemed to recede, to shrink before him—prattling puppets in a mock tea party.
Panic threatened to overwhelm him. Each day brought him nearer to his wedding day, when he would be master of Lindentree and live forever in this miniature world. His gaze shot again to the door as he fought the barbaric impulse to climb the stairs and drag Prudence out of her room by her tight little chignon. If she wanted to see how a common peasant behaved, by God, he’d be more than happy to show her!
Empty teacups littered the table. Sebastian glared at his cup. He hated tea. He longed for an icy keg of ale, chilled in the fast running waters of a spring-fed burn. His gaze wandered hungrily to the window.
Sunlight flooded the sunken garden, its brilliance intensified by the dark bursts of clouds shifting across the sky. A teasing breeze wafted through the open windows.
His throat tightened as a ball of gray fluff detached itself from a yew hedge and hurtled past the window. Boris followed, a sleek gray shadow, running low and hard. Sebastian half rose out of his chair as Prudence careened out of the hedges behind the dog, her unbound hair streaming behind her. The severe lines of her black gown were marred by wild disarray. She stumbled over the trailing hem of her petticoat and nearly fell.
Devony drummed her fingernails on the table. The squire snapped open a silver case and sucked a pinch of snuff up his bulbous nose.
Sebastian gazed around wildly, wondering if he had imagined the entire scene.
“Didn’t you see that?” he demanded.
Tricia fanned herself with her cards as Prudence darted between the hedges at the foot of the garden. “It’s only Prudence out for her afternoon stroll.”
Devony tapped one of her cards thoughtfully. “Lovely day for a walk, isn’t it?”
“Nothing like a daily bit of exercise to aid the digestion,” Squire Blake said, and sneezed into his handkerchief.
Sebastian slowly sank back in his chair. It was no wonder Prudence insisted on fading into the scrollwork. They all treated her as if she were invisible.
As she passed out of sight among the grove of lime trees bordering the lawn, he glanced down to discover he had mangled the cards in his hand.
&
nbsp; “More tea, sir?” Old Fish’s white-gloved hand proffered a tray.
“No!” Sebastian barked. His answer came out louder than he intended.
Old Fish sniffed in obvious derision of any gentleman with the audacity to refuse tea. “Very well, sir. Perhaps later.”
Sebastian caught his arm. The tray wavered. “Not now. And not later. Not this evening. Not tomorrow morning. Not ever. No more tea.”
The butler’s pasty complexion went a shade paler. Sebastian realized the others were staring at him. He fought the urge to check his palms for tufts of hair or feel his brow for the beginning knobs of horns.
He stood, dropping his destroyed cards. “Do excuse me. My leg is throbbing. I believe I’ll take a nap.”
He forced himself to press a kiss to the powdered mask of Tricia’s cheek. Leaning heavily on his cane, he left the parlor, shuddering at the sympathetic clucking that followed him.
As soon as he was out of sight of the parlor, Sebastian dropped his cane in the potted orange tree in the entrance hall. He strode out the front door and across the lawn, taking care to skirt the parlor window.
The gardens and lawns yielded no sign of Prudence. He passed through the grove of lime trees and into the blessed wildness of a rolling meadow. The tall grasses swept to life around him, tossed and flattened by the warm wind. Patches of cornflowers and buttercups waved through the soft green. If he could only walk fast enough and far enough, surely the earth itself would swallow Lindentree and its mistress without a trace.
The darkening clouds sifted the sunlight, throwing the meadow into shadow.
“Prudence?” His cry sounded faint and dismal in a silence broken only by the distant whisper of wind.
The sun chose that moment to defy the clouds and flood the meadow. He shielded his eyes. A dense forest of pine hung in a blue haze at the edge of the fields. He strode toward it, lured by the promise of a cool respite to quench his burning restlessness. As he entered the forest, the crisp tang of pine penetrated his fuzzy senses, along with the steady chirp of a cricket. The long, fragrant boughs swayed in hypnotic rhythm, lulled by the wind murmuring through them.