An Affair to Remember (11 page)

F
or Anna, the ride proved to be a great success. Once away from the stern and forbidding manor house, the children became more talkative. Anna even won a laugh from each of the girls. If only the boys had been as cooperative—Desford remained openly hostile, while Richard ignored her every word. Except once, at the end, when he’d warmed up just for a second…

She sighed. It hadn’t lasted more than a moment, but perhaps it was a beginning. Anna walked up the front steps of Greyley House behind the children, who scampered quickly out of sight once inside. Anna could hear Mrs. Stibbons scolding about the dusty boots marring her clean floors.

Anna smiled at Jenkins as she walked inside the cool foyer. It seemed abysmally dark after being in the sunshine.

“Did you have a pleasant ride, Miss?”

She dragged her hat from her hair and ran a hand over her tangled curls. “Glorious! The weather is perfect.”

He took her hat and handed it to a waiting footman, who immediately turned to take it to her room. “When you have more time, you should try the path by the river. There are some lovely spots and even a waterfall, if I remember correctly.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Anna said, deciding instantly to take the children exploring. If they came to enjoy Greyley’s lands, they wouldn’t feel so discontented with their lot in life. “Thank you, Jenkins.”

The butler bowed. “Shall I have warm water sent to your room?”

“Actually, I could use a hot bath after sitting in the carriage all morning.” She grimaced. “I thought the ride would work out all of my bruises, but I fear I only made more.”

A faint smile hovered over his mouth. “I shall see to it at once.” He bowed once more, then left.

Anna rubbed her shoulder where a stubborn ache persisted, her gaze falling on the suit of armor that stood guard at the foot of the stairs. Greyley had well-developed taste, she decided reluctantly. She might have placed the armor in a less prominent position, which would shift attention to the colorful tapestry that covered the west wall, but other than that, everything was as it should be. Everything except…no, something was missing.

She turned around, slowly staring at each object. It was a beautiful area, spacious and filled with an intriguing assortment of items. If only it wasn’t quite so…dark.

She wondered if Greyley would consider adding a mural on the high ceiling. It would brighten the entire area and make the entryway more inviting. Maybe a sky vista, with a few scattered clouds. Or a group of cherubs, floating on a sea of feathered clouds. “Something brighter.”

“Brighter than what?” came a deep voice behind her.

Anna whirled to see Greyley standing in the doorway to
the library, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark gaze fixed on her. She pressed a hand to her thudding heart. She wished someone would tie a bell about that man’s neck. It would save her heart countless thuds. “I was just thinking that the foyer is too dark.”

He raised his brows.

“Not that it’s any business of mine,” she said hastily, “though I do think you should move the armor to a less prominent position.”

“You do, do you?” He regarded her with that lazy, heavy-lidded gaze, just like a large cat trying to decide which end of the mouse to devour first.

Anna decided to take his lack of verbal response as encouragement. “Have you ever thought of having a mural placed on the ceiling?”

“No.”

“It’s the first place one sees on entering the house,” she said, warming to the topic. “It would make a wonderful impression and—”

“Miss Thraxton,” he broke in, frustration and amusement warring for a place in his tone. “You cannot stop interfering, can you?”

“I wasn’t interfering; I was making suggestions. Friendly, simple suggestions.”

“Call it what you will. I’m glad I caught you before you went upstairs. We have unfinished business, you and I.”

For some reason, thoughts of their forbidden kiss flashed through her mind. But she could tell by the way he was looking at her that it wasn’t anything that pleasant. What could he want? Surely she hadn’t—oh yes.
Matilda
. “Ah, yes. Of course. Perhaps after I’ve had a chance to change—”

“It would be best to discuss this now, while the children are not about.”

She supposed he was right; it would be better to discuss this while they had some privacy. Anna glanced cautiously at him from under her lashes, trying to gauge the level of his irritation. He didn’t
appear
too upset. He pushed the door wider, and the light from the library brushed the muscled lines of his hip and legs and outlined his powerful arms.

Anna found that she couldn’t swallow. Nor could she move. She could just stand. And stare. Goodness, but the man was well built. She wondered how often he rode, for only steady exercise could—

“Miss Thraxton? Do we discuss this now?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Right now.”

For some absurd reason, she was suddenly aware of how she must look, hot and mussed, her hair falling from the pins. She ran a damp hand over the skirt of her habit, wondering if she was also splattered in mud. “I hope I don’t get mud on your rug.”

He didn’t answer, but stepped back from the doorway, obviously expecting her to follow. A bath was out of the question until Lord High and Mighty had his say. It was just like Greyley to ignore the niceties of life. The thought prickled at her and gave her a new sense of irritation, which she held closely. It was much more comfortable than the heated flickers she fought when looking at his finely muscled thighs.

A hot shiver shook her at the thought and she crossed her arms beneath her breasts as she followed Greyley into the library. Once there, she asked in an ungracious voice, “Well?”

Greyley stood leaning against the mantel, an arrogant pose that suited him well. “I wanted to speak with you about two matters.”

“Fine, but first—”

“Have a seat, Miss Thraxton.”

There was definite menace in his tone. Now was not the
time to explain how his manner tended to push the children into disobedience. The stern cast of his jaw seemed to tighten, and she swallowed the thought before she could explore it.

Moving slowly enough to let him know what she thought of his ill-mannered tactics, she found a chair, carefully smoothed her skirts, and then perched on the edge of the seat.

“Miss Thraxton,” he said, completely unmoved by her silent communications, “I will not be blackmailed. Not by you, or anyone else. From now on, any personal information given to you by my sister will remain in confidence.”

Anthony tried to keep his voice even, but firm. He was not an unfair man. But he had to stifle Miss Thraxton’s attempts to run more than the nursery. “Do I make myself clear?”

To his immense irritation, she didn’t argue or even appear shocked. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and said meekly, “Yes, my lord.”

The gesture was so patently fake that he snorted.

She abandoned the pose immediately, leaning back in her chair and regarding him with a tired, but humorous smile. Her hair had fallen on one side, the thick curls hugging her neck, in vivid contrast to her white skin. “In my own defense, I did not repeat anything that was improper for a child to hear.”

“How could you?” he retorted immediately. “I didn’t do anything improper. The relationship was as short-lived as it was chaste.”

“That one, perhaps. But what about Margaret, or Jane, or that woman from the inn in town—I don’t believe any of those flirtations were quite so chaste.”

A roar filled Anthony’s ears and sought to throttle his thoughts. It was a full moment before he could speak. “The next time I see my sister, I am going to kill her.”

“Don’t blame her. I’m sure she never thought I might use such information against you.” Miss Thraxton’s gaze fell on her hands, still neatly clasped in her lap. “But you are right—I do owe you an apology. I’m sorry, Greyley. It will not happen again.”

She looked sincere. So sincere that Anthony wasn’t sure how to respond. He narrowed his gaze. “Don’t bam me, Thraxton.”

“I would never apologize insincerely. I’d think you’d know that about me.”

Strangely, he did know that. She was irritating and a practiced scamp, but she hadn’t a malicious bone in her body. His gaze immediately flickered over that body and he noticed how tightly the coat fit over her breasts, curving around them in a most fascinating manner as if—

He caught himself before his thoughts could progress any further. Damn it, this wasn’t how he’d planned this conversation. He raked a hand through his hair. “Miss Thraxton, I believe we should begin again. We’ve gotten off to an unpleasant start—”

“Nonsense. I had a very good ride with the children. And you were right about the mare; she’s a sweet goer.” Enthusiasm warmed her voice until it was throaty, as sensual as her glorious hair. “Such a graceful animal.”

Anthony found himself looking at the slight sheen of perspiration that touched her neck where it rose above her collar. He remembered cupping his hands about that slender column, of feeling the hot beat of her pulse, of the taste of her on his lips.

His body tightened in response. God, but she was a delectable piece, even with that proud nose.

“It really was lovely,” Anna continued, her voice filtering through his jangled thoughts. “Smooth and long. Quite enjoyable.”

The words echoed dizzily in Anthony’s head.
Smooth and long. Quite enjoyable. Bloody hell, what was she talking about?
“Smooth?”

“The horse’s gait.” She frowned. “Are you well? You look ill.”

He was. He was burning with a fever to taste her again. He grabbed his wayward thoughts by the tail and tried to rein them in. “I’m fine. There was one other thing we needed to discuss. The children’s schedule—”

Thraxton stood. Or, more correctly, she popped out of her chair so quickly that Anthony was tempted to take a step back.

“I’m glad you brought that up,” she said, her chin level, a warm light silvering her gray eyes. “I’ll be certain to set up a schedule that will benefit the children.”

“They already have a schedule—”

“Does it include mathematics?”

What was she doing? “Naturally it includes mathematics. And reading and—”

“Watercolors?”

“For the girls.”

“French?”

Anthony shook his head, bewildered as to where this line of conversation was heading.

“Ah ha!” she said triumphantly. “No French. I thought as much.” She offered him a dazzling smile. “I’ll have to adjust their schedule to make room for it. I will begin work on that immediately.” She turned and crossed to the door, talking as she went. “It should only take me a week or so to finish it, but I’ll put forth the best effort to get it done in a proper fashion.”

A week? To finish a schedule?
“Thraxton, I don’t think you understand the importance of keeping the children on task. They have suffered from a lack of constraint and it is important to provide them with structure.”

She stopped at the door. “Greyley, there’s no need to be so oppressive.”

He blinked, unable to believe he’d just heard aright. “Oppressive?”

“Inflexible. Stodgy. Stiff. Stuffy.” She said the last word as if it tasted bad.

That hurt. “I’m sorry you find my company so objectionable,” he bit out. “But that does not change your duties. I will have that schedule on my desk by tomorrow, if you please.”

“A week.”

“Three days.”

“Done.” She regarded him with a pleased smile. “Was there anything else you needed to say? I really must change.”

Anthony didn’t like the way she eyed him, as if he were a bull and she a red flag. “Miss Thraxton, you may think this a facetious matter, but—”

“It is obviously important to you,” she said, still with that firm smile on her lips. “You’ll get your schedule, Greyley. In the meantime, you can work on governing your temper
and
your language.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but with a swish of that damnably seductive habit, she was gone.

It took Anthony a full moment to realize that he’d been dismissed. Dismissed, discounted, and disrespected. He closed his eyes and slowly, slowly counted to twenty, but still he was a jangled mass of frustration and something else. Something heady and hot. Something that increased his frustration to the boiling point. Something that felt suspiciously like disappointed desire.

He opened his eyes to discover that his hands were balled into fists. It was true—he desired Thraxton, wanted to feel her beneath him, wanted to taste her skin, wanted to dive beneath the trim line of her skirts and feel her moistness. His manhood quivered and stiffened as his vision filled with tight
red curls and long, long white legs, of full rounded calves and delicately arched feet.

He shook his head, but the vision refused to leave. Instead it taunted him more. The legs curved, then parted—he moaned and dropped his head into his hands. God help him, but he hadn’t lusted this strongly over a woman since…well, since the untouchable Matilda, if truth be known.

Women had always been available to Anthony. Coming into his title at an early age, his fortune beyond respectable, he’d been pursued by hordes of matchmaking mothers and their avaricious daughters, all of whom managed to bore Anthony to tears.

Still, it had been no secret that one day he would have to provide an heir. It was his duty, after all. On reaching his thirty-fifth birthday, he’d decided the time was now and he’d gone about the business of selecting a bride just as he went about everything else—carefully and methodically, making lists and checking out financial situations. It was amazing how many of England’s great families were insolvent.

He’s almost given up hope when he’d met Charlotte. She was everything the Elliots were not—quiet, well-mannered, and gentle. Her parents had trained her well, and she would never embarrass him or cause him alarm.

Charlotte’s goals in life would be to see to his happiness and the happiness of their children and to the smooth running of Greyley House. He, in turn, would give her the benefit of his maturity and wisdom, and a handsome amount of pocket money. In return, she would provide him with an heir and make no ridiculous demands of his time.