“Of course, I know that.” She lifted her chin. “Well then, we can discuss…artists?”
He leaned back and watched her, his amusement growing. “Of course.”
“Did you have formal training?”
He sipped his wine. “A little in Italy.”
“From what I’ve seen, your work is very…interesting.”
He knew most people did not understand nor appreciate the angry splashes of color that consumed him in heated moments. He didn’t understand, only knew he needed to release the torment. She was obviously less than impressed with his ability. It didn’t matter; he’d never cared before how people responded to his art.
“How do you find it?” The words slipped out before he could contain them, and he mentally cursed himself for asking.
She looked directly at him. “Angry.”
He averted his gaze, feeling the sudden urge to tug at his collar. He’d never expected a real answer out of her. No one else spoke the truth in this blasted house, why should she? He forced a laugh past his lips. “Angry?”
“Yes. The slashes of bold colors. The way you paint. It’s always when you are upset, isn’t it?”
“Not always.”
“When I’ve seen you. That first day, throwing your paintings into the garden. Is it on purpose? Do you purposefully act so…determined?”
Cazzarola, why was she asking these questions? Not even Akshay spoke to him of his need to create. Painting was his truth, his reality, a reality that frightened most; yet here she was, determined to know more about his feelings and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to explain. “And this constitutes polite dinner conversation?” He locked his gaze on her, determined to frighten her into silence.
She had the good sense to look away. “Fine then, who is your favorite artist?”
“Me.”
She rolled her eyes. “I do believe you are the most arrogant, self-centered man I have ever met.”
His lips twitched.
“That is not a compliment.” She rang for the next course.
“I think you like my arrogance.” He watched her as the footman replaced their plates with fresh ones.
“Ha, think again, my lord.”
He picked up his fork and took a bite of meat. It tasted dry, much like his mood.
She stared at his hand, her brows furrowing slightly. Perhaps she did not like the shape of his fingers, or the color of his skin. He had no doubt she’d tell him, if so.
“Arrogance is not something I approve of in a man,” she murmured.
He dipped his fingers in his water bowl and cleaned his hands on his napkin. “And what do you approve of in a man?”
She stood up so fast her napkin fell to the floor. “Why you…you rat! I should have known!”
He sat there, still and confused. “Excuse me? Did I miss something?”
Her eyes narrowed on him, and she set her hands on her hips. “I will never trust you again.”
He tossed his napkin to the table. Standing, he loomed over her, but his intimidation didn’t seem to work. “Have I done something to offend you?”
“Offend? Offend! You insult me with your games. This entire time. The dancing, just now using the correct fork. You deliberately deceived me! Why am I here if you already know everything?”
He tried to keep from wincing, but feared he failed. “It was a lucky guess.”
“Does your grandfather know this? Does anyone?”
“Leo.” Akshay burst through the open doors, his breathing ragged.
“What is it?”
“Come, quickly, your grandfather…Charlie,” Akshay got out.
Leo raced around the table. “What about my grandfather? What about Charlie?”
“He’s fine. Just…” Akshay waved toward the open doors. “Go.”
Leo raced from the room. With each step his heart slammed in his chest a little harder. If anything had happened to his grandfather…or Charlie…
The sound of stern voices made him slow his pace. Immediately, his wariness grew. He turned the corner of the gardens to see a small group of men gathered around his grandfather. They stood directly in front of Charlie’s enclosure. One by one, they turned toward him and the group fell silent.
“Leo.” His grandfather stepped forward, his face pale and drawn.
Leo ignored the old man and scanned the enclosure. When he found Charlie lying there licking his front paws, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“What is it?” Ella stumbled to a halt beside him, her hair coming lose from its bun.
“The lock.” Akshay pointed to the padlock that dangled from the open door.
“You forgot to lock Charlie’s cage,” his grandfather explained.
“I didn’t forget. I never forget.”
His grandfather stepped closer. “Leo, Mr. Freeman has a dead sheep. It was attacked by something, and Charlie’s cage is open.”
“He’s missing a leg,” Leo shot back. “I visited with him only an hour ago. How in the hell would he attack a sheep and get back here within an hour?”
A tall, thin man wearing overalls and muddy boots stomped forward, his jaw clenched. “What else could it be then? We have no predators in this area. We have children who play in the fields; do we need to worry about them being killed?”
Lord Roberts rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. “No, no, of course not. We will make sure to keep the animal tightly enclosed from now on. Please, come to the house and I’ll compensate you for your loss.”
The man mumbled but nodded his agreement. Every single man in the small group darted an accusatory glance at Leo before following his grandfather. Looks so familiar, he felt he was in India again. Looks that told him he didn’t belong. Would he ever belong?
Ella stepped closer to the enclosure, her hands gripping the bars. Charlie stumbled to his feet and limped toward her, plopping down as if a docile kitten looking for a cuddle.
“He didn’t do it,” she whispered.
Akshay’s brows drew together, and he glanced at Leo.
“How do you know?” Leo asked.
Ella shrugged, pink traveling up her neck to her cheeks. For some reason, she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Because…because animals have a certain look about them when they’ve hunted and Charlie doesn’t have that look. Besides, he has no blood anywhere on his coat.” She pushed away and stepped back from them. “You said it yourself, he wouldn’t have had time to kill the sheep and get back into his cage.” Without another word she turned and left them.
Leo watched her run down the trail until she disappeared around a bend. “What in blazes was that about?”
“She is not important at the moment. Leo,” Akshay interrupted his thoughts. “You realize what this means?”
Leo sighed and raked his hands through his hair. “Yes, I bloody well know what this means. Someone purposefully opened the lock.”
Chapter 7
“Oh Ella, my dear, there you are.”
Ella mentally cursed her bad luck. Her plan to borrow a book and spend the afternoon reading in her room felt like an unattainable dream. Forcing a smile upon her lips, she turned to face Lord Roberts.
He returned her smile and blast, if he didn’t remind her of her grandfather. “You are coming outside, aren’t you?”
“Well, I…” She glanced out the open doors of the library, where a warm breeze entered the room and rustled the pages of an open book on a nearby table. The gardens beckoned, alight in sun and colorful blossoms. She couldn’t see the visitors, but she could hear them, their mingled conversation and laughter floating in through the doors like a long lost friend. But they were no friends of hers, and never would be.
“Oh, you must come, Ella. Meet a few of the country folk.”
She took her lower lip between her teeth. Really, she’d rather not, but the old man looked so bloody hopeful.
He gave her a sad, soft smile and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I thought, well, that it would be the perfect opportun
ity to introduce Leo to society. But you see, he’s not exactly cooperating. Perhaps you might be of assistance?”
She knew when he lifted his puppylike eyes to her, she couldn’t decline. “Of course, I’ll try to help.”
His smile spread into a delighted grin. “Thank you, my dear.”
She smoothed her plain gray dress and patted her hair into place. Satisfied with her appearance, she slid her arm through his and followed Lord Roberts into the garden.
A few guests turned and studied her, whispering behind their hands and no doubt wondering over the identity of the plain sparrow attached to Lord Roberts’s arm. Ella forced a serene smile into place. There were more than a dozen men and women dressed to show their wealth and status. Next to any one of them, she looked the peasant, but then she was used to fading into the background.
Lord Roberts leaned close to her. “Dear, I’ve told them you are a distant cousin; hope you do not mind.”
Her steps faltered. Lie? She’d always been terrible at lying! “Of course.”
He patted her hand and led her toward an older man and a woman who cradled a tiny dog in her arms. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, this is a distant cousin of the family, Ella Finch.”
She curtsied as the couple studied her through narrowed, unforgiving eyes.
“So pleased to meet you. Are you staying long?” Mrs. Miller asked.
Ella tore her gaze away from the woman’s ridiculously large violet hat and glanced at the dog, who was trying unsuccessfully to gnaw off a large pink bow from around its neck.
She felt the dog’s frustration and fought her smile. “A while.”
Mrs. Miller nodded. The dead bird on her hat wavered back and forth, and the dear dog whimpered, its emotional desire to catch the bird sweeping through Ella on a wave of sweet torture and making her fingers curl. Oh, how she wanted to rip the bird from the woman’s hat and tear it to pieces with her teeth…no, no, she didn’t want to do that. Flushing, she glared at the little mutt and tried to keep his emotions and wants from entering her body.
But the image of pouncing on the woman and ripping her hat from her head produced a hysterical bubble of laughter that threatened to spill from her lips. How she wished she could share the image with Leo. The thought made her heart still for the briefest of moments. Share with Leo? No, what was she thinking? She couldn’t share her abilities with Leo. She barely trusted the man.
“The weather is absolutely beautiful today,” Mrs. Miller declared.
“Yes, yes, weather has been wonderful for a fortnight now,” Mr. Miller added, a smile upon his round, flushed face.
“We can only pray it continues,” Lord Roberts added.
Leo’s face flashed to mind. Well then, what shall we talk about?
The weather?
How utterly exciting.
The laughter welled again.
“Miss Finch,” Mrs. Miller’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Do you prefer warm weather or cool?”
I suddenly find I prefer to talk of something more exciting than the weather. “Either will do.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Mr. Miller agreed as if she’d just said something very important indeed.
“Ah, and here is the vicar.”
Ella curtsied as the tall, thin man shuffled hesitantly toward their group.
“Vicar, this is our guest and cousin, Ella Finch.”
Ella tried not to react to the lie, but really, fibbing to a man of God! Surely she would burn.
The man’s smile brightened, and her stomach churned.
“So nice to meet you, Miss Finch.” With a quick glance around, and apparently seeing the other guests occupied in conversation, he stepped closer. “I know you are here to help Leo, and I think it is an amazing Christian duty you perform.”
She resisted the urge to groan. So he knew they lied, just wonderful. “You are too kind.”
“Yes, well, how do you like our countryside?” he asked, his voice rising once more.
“Well, the weather is lovely.”
“Ah yes, the weather…”
Where was Leo? From beneath her lashes, she studied the area. The gathering was for him; the least he could do was mingle. She turned her head slightly, pretending interest in a rosebush, and spotted him looking very unconcerned, reclining under a tree. As if he sensed her attention, he met her gaze and watched her with dark, hooded eyes. A shiver, hot and cold, raced over her skin. With a tilt of her chin, she tore her focus away. If he thought she would forgive him for his deception during their luncheon the other day, he could think again.
Mrs. Miller nudged her husband aside and swept Ella a ruthlessly thorough assessment. “Do you play croquet?” she demanded.
Ella smiled, amused by the woman’s pushy attitude. She’d dealt with worse. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it.”
The woman quirked a brow and chuckled. “Never heard of it? Oh my, where in the world did you spend your childhood?”
“An orphanage.”
They fell silent. Ella regretted her honesty the moment the words sprang from her lips. But really, after dealing with Lady Buckley’s eldest daughter, she just couldn’t help putting Mrs. Miller in her place.
Lord Roberts shifted in obvious unease. “Yes, that was, umm, before we knew about her. Sad mistake really.”
“Well then,” the vicar replied, with a glance around the group. “We’ll have to teach you the game. It’s the newest thing, you see.”
Ella cursed under her breath. Why had she allowed her anger get the better of her? Already, they were looking at her differently, their brows furrowed in speculation.
Lord Roberts leaned closer, the comforting scent of peppermint and tea lingering around his form. “Ella, would you mind fetching Leo?”
She nodded. “I’ll do my best.” Fetching Leo was certainly better than feeling the outcast. She swept across the open lawn, eager to get away.
“Good afternoon,” she said.
Leo didn’t respond, didn’t bother to look at her. She resisted the urge to kick him.
“It is generally good manners to say ‘good afternoon’ back.”
“Yes, well, I think we’ve already established I do not have any manners.”
His annoyance, his vulnerability, washed in like a breeze off the ocean. Did he feel as awkward with these people as she did?
“Ha.” She lowered herself to the ground. “You have better manners than most; you just don’t use them.”
“Well, then let me correct myself: I think we’ve already established that I do not give a damn about manners.”
She sighed. “Yes, that is true. But…” She plucked a purple violet from the grass. “You do care about your grandfather, do you not? You may be able to play the brooding, uncaring lord with others, but not with me.”
He didn’t respond. But he didn’t need to. He didn’t need to say much for her to sense his emotions. He did care for the old man…and she’d annoyed him with her words.
She resisted the urge to smile. “And your grandfather would like you to play croquet.”
“What the hell is croquet?”
Feeling validated, she tossed a glare at Mrs. Miller. What the hell was croquet? “Some game everyone insists on playing.”
“I’m not a child; I do not play games.”
She thought of his lies, his secrets hidden so deep even she couldn’t decipher his true intentions, and she couldn’t help herself. “Oh, I think you play games very well.”
His eyes narrowed, and his ire rushed through her in a heated wave. “What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she said in a hushed whisper. “Your entire presence here has been a game.”
His jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the grass. “For a good reason.”
“Well, please share. Explain to me why you would deceive your only grandfather. I’m most eager to hear your excuse.”
His amber eyes flared. “I am not deceiving him. Never once have I lied to the man
. I just do not feel the need to prattle on and on like some people.”
She gasped at his obvious insult.
“Ella, Leo.” Lord Roberts hobbled toward them, leaning heavily on his cane. “You are playing, are you not? We do need more participants. Mrs. Miller has insisted, and I’m afraid to say she takes her croquet very seriously. ’Tis an easy game to learn.”
His blue eyes twinkled with such hope, Ella could only agree. “Of course we are.”
“Wonderful,” he exclaimed. “They are setting up now.”
“We’re coming.”
Lord Roberts nodded and left them.
As soon as the man was out of hearing range, Ella turned to Leo. “You will do this for him.”
Leo’s stubbornness was apparent in the quirk of his brow. “I do nothing for no one.”
“Really, your generosity overwhelms me.” She stood. “You will do this, or I will make sure they all know the real you.”
He jumped to his feet, the anger obvious in his clenched jaw and flared nostrils. “This is the real me, Ella. Do you not understand? I am selfish. In the jungle you have to be selfish to survive.”
His despair washed through her, a cry for understanding that softened her heart and made her want to reach out to him, to hold him. “You are in the jungle no longer, Leo.”
“Perhaps I always will be.”
His indifference, his lack of trying, his resignation—it suddenly all made sense. “You’re going back. You plan to leave here after you accomplish whatever it is you set here to accomplish. Why? Why would you possibly want to go back to the place where your parents were murdered?”
“I’m not going back to India, but Italy, where I can paint and drink and be the complete and utter cad.”
Sadness and betrayal engulfed her. She felt the truth in his words. He wanted to give up. “You’ll leave your grandfather, just like that?”
“The game has begun,” he said and left her standing there alone.
How dare she pry? How dare she act the saint and judge him? She had no idea what his life had been like, had no idea the hell he’d gone through. No one did. He glanced her way to see her leaning on her mallet, a frown marring her usually cheerful features. The wind tugged at her skirts and hair, sending tendrils dancing on the breeze. She caught his glance and blushed.