Belmary House Book One (25 page)

“Nonsense. I want to hear it even more. Hurry and tell me.” He pulled her closer, wrapping his fingers around her hand that rested on his sleeve.

She grinned up at him, delighted at his eagerness to hear her dirt. “Okay. I think Serena and Kostya are falling for each other.”

His face froze into a look of dread, as if she’d told him a vengeful ghost haunted the well and not that his friends were possibly finding love.

“Ridiculous,” he said. “On what do you base your findings?”

She would have laughed at him if he hadn’t looked so frightened. “They spend a lot of time together, just them, and Serena’s always finding ways to work him into conversations, which is a dead giveaway when you have a crush on someone.”

“A crush? What kind of foolishness is that? You have to be wrong. They can’t possibly— he sputtered to a stop and took a breath. “Really, they’re very close, but you’ve got it wrong.”

“Whatever you say, Captain Grumpypants,” she grumbled.

He hadn’t let go of her hand, but why was he reacting so adversely to thinking Serena might like someone? She hadn’t felt the shameful pangs of jealousy since she and Serena became closer friends, but now they were back in force.

His brow returned to its furrowed state, but he sighed and laughed once more. “I believe you may have lied to me, Matilda,” he said, looking past her at his land.

“What? When did I?”

“I recall you saying something about being shy and reserved, but you caught a criminal, made friends with one of the snobbiest women I know, got the parson to play an undignified game with several of my servants, and are making up mad stories like a seasoned village granny.”

“I have very good intuition about these things, just mark my words. And Serena’s not snobby, she’s just difficult to get to know. She’s sweet once you do.” Tilly jumped to her defence, shaking her head at Ashford’s lack of loyalty to one of his oldest friends.

“Oh, take my word for it,” he said. “Why do you think she’s an old maid?”

Because she was waiting for you, dummy, Tilly thought, but exclaimed out loud, “Old maid? How rude. She’s your age, right? God, men in this time.” She shoved him away from her, but he didn’t miss a step.

“You know men need longer to mature.”

“At least you’re aware of it,” she said, softening and moving closer to him again.

They’d slowed to a snail’s pace. They could have been in the house already, but she wanted to stay out with him as long as possible. Once he was inside, he’d disappear both physically and mentally, and who knew how long it would be before she got this sunny Ashford again. Even he seemed loath to go any faster.

“All beside the point, which is that I do not believe you to be either shy or reserved. All evidence points to the opposite.”

She swept her hand in front of her, and looked at the sky. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s this place? Or the time? I feel different here.”

“Different? How?” He stopped and placed his palm on her brow. “Have you had a fever? Do you have any pain?”

She ducked away from his concerned touch. “No, not at all. I feel better. Like I’m a better person. Like I belong.”

Ashford linked arms with her again, the look in his eyes unreadable and far away, almost as if he’d got a shock. He nodded and looked down at her with a crooked half smile.

“Aye, Matilda, perhaps you’re right.”

He leaned closer and for a heartstopping moment she thought he would kiss her, but he merely nodded again and slowly started walking once more.

He didn’t say anything else, only kept her close. She leaned against him as much as she dared, wondering what she was right about.

Kostya caught up with Serena and placed his hand on her arm. She stopped just before entering the house, her eyes hard and bright. He’d seen the same brittle mask of concealed emotion settle onto her face countless times before, all brought on by Julian’s carelessness. He sighed to himself. What did Julian have to be careful about? He wasn’t aware of Serena’s lifelong devotion to him, as she was so conscientious about hiding it. He wondered what might have happened if she had exposed her feelings years ago, but knew her pride would never have allowed it, even to get closure. She’d rather hopelessly hope than move on.

He was angry at himself for thinking he might have helped her move on, angry that it clearly wasn’t the case. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, hoping to release some of the disappointment he felt along with it. It didn’t help.

He led her into the house and upstairs to her room. She’d been keeping Tilly entertained and out of his hair for the last two weeks— Julian had been adamant that the girl not be left to wander off alone— barely going home the entire time. She only seemed to realize where she was when he closed the door behind them.

“I’ll pack up and leave now that Julian’s returned,” she said in a clipped voice, looking around the room with disdain.

“Nonsense,” Kostya said mildly. “Why should you leave?”

He led her to the sitting area by the cold fireplace and nudged her into a chair, taking the seat opposite her and waiting. After a long moment, her ramrod posture eased back into the cushions.

“He’s chosen her. That child. He’s chosen her,” she said. “Oh, doesn’t my voice sound bitter? I can’t hide it anymore, it seems. That’s why I have to go.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” he said. “He feels responsible for her, nothing more.”

“You’re blind, Kostya, or pitying me again.” She laughed sharply, suddenly dropping in front of the fire to light it, scraping her knuckles on a log. She bit back a hiss of pain, and slumped into her billowing skirts. “I can’t even hate her,” she said in a voice he’d never heard from her.

The vulnerability that he saw made him hurry to her side. Instead of offering a comforting pat, which he knew she would shrink from, he set about building up the fire for her. She continued to sit in front of the hearth, staring down at her hands.

They hadn’t spoken of the time they were together, right before Ashford left, and at first he was grateful. It seemed like it would be a burdensome entanglement if she had real feelings for him, beyond that of their friendship, but now he wasn’t sure what he felt. It irked him that she couldn’t let go of her childhood love, and it was taking all his willpower not to pull her into his arms and make her forget.

“Do you really not see it?” she asked, the pathetic hope shining once again from her eyes.

He knew she wanted to be wrong, wanted to be seeing things out of jealousy. He closed his eyes against the sight of her, because the urge to do something to comfort her was becoming too strong to resist.

“Tell me the truth,” she urged. “Be that one person I’ve always been able to count on for the truth of things.” She leaned forward and took his hand and he opened his eyes to see that hers were glistening with unshed tears.

“I see it,” he admitted. “But I don’t believe it’s what you’re thinking.”

Of course he couldn’t tell her the truth, and it burned in his stomach, even as he was glad she might finally let her hopes for Julian go. Glad for her, glad for himself.

“Ah, I don’t allow myself to think about it too much,” she said. She seemed to realize she sat amongst the cinders and shook her head. “I turned down other offers for him. Good men.”

“Do you think you could have been happy with one of them?” he asked.

She stood and brushed off her skirts, frowning at her reflection in the mirror above the mantle. “Happy?” she asked. “As I am now, you mean?” She shook her head and shrugged. “Who can say. At least I could have had children.”

The words struck him like a blow. “Children are indeed a comfort,” he said, standing and watching her eyes in the mirror. He saw her flinch, realizing her insensitivity but too far gone in her own misery to do anything about it.

“Oh, Kostya,” she sighed.

He knew her sadness was as deep as his own, and for a moment, he felt hers more. It was a relief, really, sick as he was of his own.

She finally looked up, her face red and tear streaked. Her large blue eyes glistened in the light of the fire, her lashes dark and wet. A tremulous smile crossed her pretty face, and he knew she was embarrassed.

It had been a long time since he’d loved his wife, longer than she’d been dead, longer even since they’d lost Lucy. He’d tried to forgive her, understand her, but her obsession drove him away. He thought love was something he wasn’t meant for and had given up any hope of feeling it again. He knew what he felt for Serena in that moment was as close as he’d ever be allowed to get.

“I’ll go,” she said, turning away.

He hurriedly took her by the shoulders. She looked at him, confused that he would prevent her leaving. He knew he should say something but all he could do was look at her. If she leaned into him, he would kiss her. Part of him wanted her to shrug free and go, continue holding onto her broken dreams. A bigger part of him made him grip her tighter.

“Kostya?” Her voice shook.

“Could you ever see anyone other than Julian?” he asked, causing her to blink rapidly. He pulled her closer, expecting her to pull away. “Could you picture things any other way?”

She drew in a breath and he waited.

“I thought perhaps what happened before was all you wanted,” she said slowly, unable to meet his eyes.

He tipped up her chin so she would have to look at him. “I want whatever you’ll give me,” he said. “Perhaps we both still have some small corner of our hearts with room for the other?”

She nodded. “I think so,” she stammered. “Yes, I do think so.”

He kissed her before her words were completely spoken, too filled with surprise at the sparks he felt. Life and hope seemed to flow from her as he pulled her close, and he lost himself in her soft skin and earthy fragrance.

Their first time had been desperate, bordering on angry, and they’d been awkward toward each other since, but now he felt her giving way to him, not just her body, but her soul, and he tried with all he had left to reciprocate. All he wanted was to be normal, not cursed, not hunted by evil. He wanted what Serena was wordlessly offering. Love, and mutual respect, and just plain liking each other.

He knew he was a bear to be around most of the time, gloomy and regretful, but with her tentative kisses and curiously questing touches, he felt more and more like he could be the sort of man she deserved. The sort of man he wanted to be. He was afraid to offer too much, make promises he couldn’t keep, but she made him reckless.

He wasn’t sure, as it had been so long, but he thought he felt happy. He wanted to say something, but uncertainty clutched at him, the way his frightful grandmother used to dig her sharp yellow nails into his shoulders, and he kept quiet. He could show her his feelings, though. He would make certain she knew how he felt as he leaned in and abandoned himself to her rosy lips.

“Matilda.” Ashford stroked her hair aside as he whispered close to her ear.

His tall frame crowded against her but she had no urge to move away. It was as if she was floating just out of his reach, wanting so very badly to touch him, but unable to.

“Matilda,” he said more urgently, gripping her shoulders and leaning in.

She struggled to take a normal breath, desperate for him to move those last inches and press his lips to hers. Her arms stayed uselessly at her sides, but her fingertips tingled to work their way under his jacket and his shirt and who knew what else men wore in this time. Her breath caught in her throat and she wanted to scream from the frustration of his nearness.

With her eyes closed, she inhaled his crisp scent, like clean laundry and a fresh morning breeze. He slid his hands down her bare arms and she sighed as she finally felt the warmth of his lips against her throat. Yes, this was what she wanted, complications and probable heartbreak be damned. She wanted him so much, she forced her weak arms to reach out to him.

No sooner had she wrapped her fingers in his velvet, lace trimmed jacket he began to shake her so that her teeth rattled.

“Matilda, wake up.”

With a jolt she dragged open her heavy eyelids to find herself clutching Ashford’s sleeve as he bent over her bed, one hand on her shoulder. Disappointment flooded her so thoroughly there was no room to be embarrassed. Quickly sitting up and pulling the blanket up to her throat, she blinked and noticed he’d opened the window, letting in the cool morning air. She scowled at him.

“I was right in the middle of a dream,” she grumbled, stealing a quick glance at him.

Ashford straightened up and shook his head at her. He was dressed rather conservatively in a dark, fitted jacket with no flounces, his shirt only adorned with one thin black ribbon, and grey breeches. She wiped away what felt like drool from her chin.

“It was just getting to the good part, too.” It took all her willpower not to drag him onto the bed with her and she looked away.

“Would you rather go back to sleep, or go into the village with me?” he asked, a revoltingly smug look on his face.

There was no use in pretending, so she threw aside the covers and jumped out of bed. Ashford quickly grabbed her dressing gown and wrapped it around her, but not before goggling at her pajamas.