Vixen (15 page)

She nursed her smarting hand and stared up at him in shocked silence.

He took her by the shoulders and shook her once. “Do you understand?”

“But why?” Chloe managed to say.

“Why!” he
exclaimed. “You ask why? After last night.”

“But … but I enjoyed last night, it was lovely, I felt so wonderful. And if you feel guilty about it, you mustn’t.” She spoke with fervent urgency, her eyes burning with intensity. “There’s no reason for you to feel bad about it. There’s nothing to regret—”

“You presumptuous little girl!” he exclaimed. “You have the audacity to tell me what I should or should not regret! Now, you listen to me, and you listen very carefully.” The bruising grip of his curled fingers on her shoulders made her wince, but she could no more move than she could tear her eyes away from the piercing green gaze that held her own.

“What took place last night occurred because I was drunk. If I’d been sober, it would never have happened. Do you think I’m mad enough to find a naive schoolgirl irresistible?” Another sharp shake punctuated the question.

“I did not know what I was doing.” He enunciated the brutal words with a cold clarity. “And from now on you will stay out of my way unless I summon you. And I swear on my mother’s grave that if you ever try your temptress tricks on me again, it will be the sorriest day of your life.”

He released her shoulders abruptly, pushing her from him. “Now get out of here.”

Chloe stumbled out of the library, too numb for tears. She didn’t seem able to breathe; it was as if she’d been plunged into an icy lake, and she stood in the hall, forcing
the air into her lungs until the piercing pain under her ribs diminished. Then instinctively she moved toward the open door, questing the warmth and sunlight of the courtyard to caress her icy flesh and breathe life into her frozen spirit.

C
HLOE TOOK HER
usual seat on the rain barrel and sat numbly, staring into space. Vaguely, she wondered why she wasn’t crying, but the wound was too deep for something as simple as tears. She wanted to run from this place, from the man who could cut so deeply, but she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Except Jasper. She disliked her half brother, but he was the only kin she had. Her mother had feared him, Chloe knew, just as she knew what was said about him in the district, that he was a hard man to cross. But he’d never really taken much notice of his little half sister and she couldn’t remember receiving any overt unkindness from him. She’d had much more contact with Crispin.

The sound of hooves on the driveway beyond the courtyard penetrated her bitter musing, and she looked up incuriously toward the archway. As if in response to her reflections, Crispin Belmont rode into the courtyard. He was alone and astride a black gelding of impeccable pedigree. He looked around, saw Chloe on her rain barrel, and raised his curly-brimmed beaver. He offered her a small bow that seemed to invite a shared joke at this formality.

Chloe stood up slowly. “Good day, Crispin. What brings you here?”

“That’s not much of a welcome,” her visitor said with a jovial heartiness that struck a slightly false note to Chloe’s ears. “I come with all goodwill and friendship, Chloe.” His gaze flickered over her and a spark of interest
enlivened his features as he took in the rippling mass of shining hair, the slender waist accentuated by the sash of her flowing muslins, the rounded bosom, and the gentle flare of her hips. This Chloe was very different from the grubby, brown-serge schoolgirl eating bread and ham the other morning.

He dismounted, looping the reins over his forearm, and smiled at her. “Do you always walk around barefoot?”

Chloe glanced down at her feet and shrugged. “I felt like it.” She stood waiting for him to reveal the purpose of his errand.

Crispin struggled to overcome his annoyance at this cool reception. He had a task to perform and was in all things obedient to his stepfather’s commands. The new plan, hatched over the breakfast table, was to be initially conducted single-handedly by the intended bridegroom. He now swallowed his anger, reminding himself that eighty thousand pounds compensated for many an insult. Besides, such disrespect wouldn’t survive under Jasper’s roof.

He smiled again and held out a parcel. “My mother sent you some gingerbread. She was remembering how much you loved it when you used to come up to the big house as a little girl. I think there’s something else in there too. Ribbons or some such frippery.” He laughed in self-deprecation. “Ladies’ trifles, my dear.”

“Oh.” Chloe took the parcel, looking rather nonplussed. “Well, please thank Lady Gresham for her kindness.” She half turned away.

Crispin was searching for some way to hold her attention, when Samuel appeared on the steps of the house. Samuel had been watching from an upstairs window and, mindful of the need to keep Sir Hugo’s ward under constant surveillance, hastened downstairs.

“A word wi’ ye, miss,” he called.

“Excuse me,” Chloe said with offhand politeness, and went over to Samuel.

“Who’s ’e?” Samuel wasted no words.

“Crispin, my brother’s stepson. Why?”

Samuel scratched his head. He could see no harm in a conversation in the courtyard with a relative, and the sharpness of her tone was belied by the sadness in her eyes.

“Where’s that dog of your’n?” he asked. “Sir ’Ugo said you was to keep ’im out of trouble.”

“He’s shut up in my room. I forgot to let him out.” The defiant sharpness faded from her voice. She had had very good reasons for thinking Dante might be an unnecessary addition to the scene she had planned in the library.

“I’ll let ’im out.” Samuel turned back to the house. “But don’t you go leavin’ the courtyard.”

Chloe walked back to Crispin, still standing beside his horse.

“Rather peremptory for a servant, isn’t he?” Crispin frowned.

Chloe shrugged. “He’s not an ordinary servant, more a kind of confidant.”

Dante came bounding down the steps, barking joyfully. He stood on his hind legs and put his front feet on her shoulders, licking her face. “Would you believe someone tried to steal this silly animal?” Chloe said, laughing as she pushed him away, forgetting her dismal mood for a minute. “He’s such a commoner, surely no one could imagine he’d be worth anything.”

“He’s unusual,” Crispin said noncommittally, trying to ignore Dante, who sniffed at his boots and pushed his nose into his crotch in a most embarrassing fashion. “And there are so many poachers in the area. There’s no knowing but that one of them saw him and took a fancy to him. He might make a good rabbiter.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would,” Chloe agreed. “He’s extremely intelligent … Dante, stop that.” She toed him away from Crispin.

“Where’s your guardian?” Crispin glanced casually around the disheveled yard.

Drinking himself into a drunken stupor.
Chloe bit her lip hard, keeping both the words and the tears at bay. “In the house somewhere,” she said. “I have to go in now. Things to do …” She gestured vaguely. “Thank you for calling, and please thank your mother for the gingerbread.” She turned and ran lightly up the steps without waiting for Crispin’s responding farewell.

The young man remounted and trotted out of the courtyard, perfectly satisfied with his progress so far. If Sir Hugo believed the dog to be the object of the attack, then he was more of a fool than Jasper thought him, but whatever he believed, he had no proof. And Chloe, at least, was not suspicious. And he’d made a small step toward disarming her. Jasper would be pleased.

Chloe wandered into the kitchen, averting her eyes from the closed library door as she passed it. She put the gingerbread on the table and began to unwrap it. “Fancy Lady Gresham remembering how I used to like this,” she said, selecting a piece.

“Now, don’t you go eatin’ that before nuncheon; it’ll spoil your appetite,” Samuel said sharply, scooping up the parcel.

Chloe frowned. ’1 don’t suppose it would, but I don’t really want it anyway.” She broke off a corner of the piece she had in her hand and held it out to Dante.

“Samuel!” Hugo spoke suddenly from the kitchen door. Chloe, unthinking, spun around toward him, then turned away, flushing. “I’m going into Manchester,” Hugo said, his eyes unfocused, his voice heavy. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Runnin’ out of brandy, are we?” Samuel said.

“Damn your insolence, Samuel!” The door slammed on his departure.

“Why’s he going to Manchester?” Chloe asked.

“Always does when the devils is bad,” Samuel observed.

“But what does he do?”

“Drinkin’ and whorin’,” Samuel said flatly. “Ell be gone for days, I shouldn’t wonder.” He put a round of cheese on the table. “Sir ’Ugo’s fightin’ some powerful demons, miss. Has been ever since I’ve known ’im, since ’e was nobbut a lad of twenty summers.”

“And you don’t know what they are?”

“No.” Samuel shook his head. “E’s never said a word, not even when the drink’s on ’im. Most men babble like a Bedlamite in the drink, but not ’im. Close-mouthed ’e is. Like a oyster.” He cut into the cheese. “How d’ye fancy a morsel of toasted cheese?”

Chloe shook her head. “No, thank you. I think I’ll go upstairs and lie down. I feel rather tired.”

When Crispin Belmont appeared in the courtyard the following morning, Samuel called Chloe down from her room. “Ye’ve a visitor, miss.”

“Oh? Who?” The question was lethargic and Samuel silently cursed his employer, who had to bear the responsibility for the girl’s heavy-eyed pallor. She’d also returned to the brown serge, which didn’t improve matters. A diversion of some kind would do her a world of good.

“That relative of your’n.” He gestured with his head to the open door.

“I’m not sure I want to see him,” she said, turning back to the stairs.

“Don’t be foolish,” he said roughly. “It’ll do ye good. Can’t mope around up there all the livelong day.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Oh, don’t you?” Samuel abruptly decided that his
role as watchdog needed expansion. “Now, you get along out there, miss, an’ talk to your relative. Downright rude it is to refuse to see a visitor. I don’t know what Sir ’Ugo would say.”

“And we’re not likely to find out,” Chloe muttered, but she went out to the courtyard.

Crispin had already dismounted and held a large bouquet of wildflowers. He offered them with a smile as she came up to him.

Not accidentally, he’d hit upon a happy choice. Cultivated flowers found no favor with Chloe, but the natural melange of color in the bunch of foxgloves, pimpernel, bindweed, and bugloss drew a cry of delight from her.

“Oh, they’re lovely. Did you pick them yourself?”

“On the way here,” he said. “Do you remember making daisy chains? You once made me a crown and collar.”

Chloe frowned. She didn’t remember—in fact, from what she did remember of Crispin, it seemed rather unlikely. However, she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt and said, “Vaguely.”

She felt sufficiently in charity with him to consider inviting him into the kitchen, and then remembered Hugo’s voice telling Jasper he wasn’t welcome in his house. Presumably, the prohibition applied to Crispin also.

“Would you like a cup of water?” she offered, gesturing to the pump. “It must have been a hot ride.” It was the only hospitality available to her, but Crispin looked as neat and cool as if he hadn’t ridden the seven miles from Shipton.

“Thank you no,” he said. “But I’d like to walk with you. How about we take the dog across the field?”

Dante heard the magic word and emitted a short, excited bark, his tail waving.

Chloe frowned. “I’ll have to ask Samuel.”

“The servant? For permission?” Crispin sounded genuinely shocked.

“He runs the household,” she said. “While Sir Hugo is … is away.”

“Oh. Where’s he gone?” Crispin asked casually, bending to pat Dante.

“Into Manchester,” Chloe said.

“How long will he be away?”

Chloe realized she was not prepared to admit she didn’t know. “Just a day,” she said. “I’ll go and talk to Samuel.”

Crispin watched her run into the house and wondered why she’d reverted to the hideous serge and the clumpy boots. He didn’t much fancy a walk through the fields with quite such a dowdy companion. But his instructions were clear, so he waited for her return with an eager smile pinned to his lips.

Samuel’s negative had been unequivocal and Chloe returned disconsolate. “He has to obey Sir Hugo,” she explained. “It wouldn’t be fair to press him to do otherwise.”

Crispin put a good face on it. “Let’s sit in the sun, then.” He led his horse over to Chloe’s rain barrel and hitched himself boyishly onto the low wall beside it.

Crispin kept up a cheerful flow of friendly conversation for half an hour before taking his leave. Chloe was thoughtful as she returned to the house. There was something about him that jarred on her—a false note somewhere—but she couldn’t put her finger on it, and it seemed ungenerous to look for faults when he was going to so much trouble to entertain her. And if anyone needed entertainment and something to divert her thoughts,
she
did.