Chapter 11

11

T omorrow , I’ll arrange for us to dine al fresco,” the dowager marchioness announced as footmen swept in to clear the remaining dinner dishes and whisk away the tablecloth. “ A lakeside luncheon would provide the perfect opportunity for us to show our guest the grounds, would it not, Rockliffe ? And afterward, you can give her a tour of the estate. Do you ride, Lady Burville ?”

Nicholas took a hefty swallow from his wine goblet, his eyes roaming toward the window where heavy raindrops continued beating against the glass, just as they had all day. The grounds would be wet tomorrow, and the deluge may have no inclination of stopping. Now that his mother had decided on a picnic, though, the mere consideration of weather conditions that proved less than ideal would be akin to sacrilege.

“ I do.” The lady to his right took a sip of wine as well, peering at him over the edge of her goblet. “ My father had a particular interest in horses, and his country seat, Sanford , has an expansive park where I learned …”

She continued speaking, telling a tale of her prized mare from girlhood. However , her words began to blend, becoming an indistinct whir of chatter that floated around him. All that stood out was the woman herself, filling a seat that yesterday had been empty.

His mother was right: Lady Burville was no simpering society miss. On the contrary, her voice contained a note of measured elegance, her mannerisms courteous and dignified. She was a tall woman—a trait amplified by her perfect posture—with a set of flawlessly arched dark brows, a slender but sharp jawline, and strong shoulders set off by a subdued green gown. Not pretty—that seemed too juvenile a word—but striking, with an air of quiet confidence.

Despite the rain, he’d spent most of the day finding reasons to keep occupied outside of the house and not associate with the dowager and Lady Burville . However , now that they’d passed dinner in each other’s company, he could see the truth in his mother’s postulations, as much as he’d rather walk through fire and brimstone than admit it. Lady Burville gave the distinct impression she’d make a model wife. Even -tempered. Sensible . Respectable .

Except when he considered the possibility, nothing stirred within him but coldness.

“ I believe we have a mare in our stables who will suit you. Persephone , a dapple gray. Do you think her fitting for Lady Burville’s use, Rockliffe ?”

His mother’s question pulled him back to the dining table, where footmen were beginning to reenter with the dessert course.

“ Mm .” He gave a half-nod to the lady who sat peering at him serenely, straightening himself against his chairback. In reality, his mind remained far from the suitability of the horseflesh in Beaumont’s stables. Nor could it focus on the endless array of cakes, sweetmeats, and fruits the footmen piled upon the table, causing Lady Burville to utter a polite remark of appreciation.

“ As for this evening,” his mother said, plucking a custard tart off a silver tray, “some music in the drawing room would be just the thing. I hope you can indulge us, Lady Burville .”

The lady agreed at once, launching into a speech about her enjoyment of the pianoforte. But once again, the words didn’t sink into his awareness.

Someone was murmuring in the corridor. In fact, multiple low voices talked over one another, and then, something thumped against the floor.

He leaned toward the table to take a meringue he didn’t want, trying to focus as Lady Burville expressed her fondness for Haydn’s English Canzonettas .

Whatever had just thumped now scraped, making a dull screeching noise as it traveled across the floorboards. His mother’s brow creased momentarily, and she tilted her head. She heard it, too, and was undoubtedly planning the lecture she would deliver to the servants later for their disruption. Yet her expression of ire vanished as quickly as it arose, her face becoming placid once more as she nodded in agreement at Lady Burville , whose speech hadn’t missed a beat.

The voices sounded again, augmenting and then fading, followed by another thump.

“ Careful ! Quiet .” That was Barrington , issuing commands in a perturbed whisper, his boots making rapid taps that echoed down the corridor.

Nicholas threw aside his meringue, shoving back his chair and pushing to his feet. “ If you’ll excuse me a moment.”

He didn’t wait to see if his mother took issue with his sudden departure but marched out of the dining room, following the direction of the commotion.

He arrived just in time to see two footmen—ones whose presence in the dining room had no longer been required—disappearing up the servant’s stairs while hefting the sturdy library ladder between them, Barrington supervising from the bottom stair with a frown.

“ What’s going on?” He approached the butler, feeling his brow quirk.

“ My lord!” Barrington pivoted instantly, bringing his stocky shoulders upward so he stood at full attention. “ I sincerely apologize for the disruption. There’s a slight problem in the attic.”

“ A leak?”

“ No , nothing like that, my lord.” Barrington hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “ This problem is of the … feline variety.”

“ Oh , for Christ’s sake.” Nicholas’s jaw tightened so severely that it was a wonder he didn’t crack a tooth. “ And what does a feline problem entail, exactly?” I may well be sorry I asked .

Barrington smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from his flawless black coat before pressing his hands to his sides, appearing the very picture of dignity. “ It seems Miss Windham’s cat slipped into the attic and climbed up to the rafters but is now afraid to come down.”

And that was why his servants were in an uproar? Nicholas folded his arms across his chest, forcing his teeth to unclench. “ Good . Leave the damn thing up there.” Give me a night where I don’t have to worry about entering my bedchamber to the sight of a fur-covered mass using my pillow as a throne . “ It will jump down when it gets hungry enough.”

Barrington pressed his lips together, a deep vee forming at the bridge of his nose. “ I’m afraid Lady Emily is rather upset by the incident. Apparently , she was the one who opened the attic door and is blaming herself for the cat’s predicament. Mrs . Connelly located a ladder in the attic itself, but it wasn’t high enough to reach the rafters, even when the tallest of the footmen attempted it. Therefore , I hope you have no objection, but I took the liberty of allowing the library ladder to be brought up so the footmen can make another retrieval attempt. Unfortunately , the cat doesn’t seem particularly inclined to cooperate.”

“ Imagine that,” Nicholas muttered under his breath, his nails digging into his coat sleeve. There was no peace in this house. No safe space where he could be left to his own devices.

There was also no question of how he needed to proceed.

“ I’ll take care of it, Barrington .” He ascended the first step, giving the butler a brisk nod. “ You’d best get back to the dining room before the dowager has cause to breathe fire.”

Then , he continued the trek up the servant’s stairs, all the way to the attic.

He’d considered making a similar journey earlier today. Not to the attic, specifically, but to Emily’s rooms below it. After all, if he was to determine whether Emily would take to Lady Burville , the first step was for them to meet. However , Mrs . Connelly had informed him over breakfast that Lady Emily was indisposed and wouldn’t be up to the task. Nothing serious, she’d rushed to say, somewhat red-faced, but the young lady had adamantly expressed that she didn’t wish for visitors of any kind. In other words, Emily wanted nothing to do with him, her grandmother, or the new houseguest.

And so, he’d left well enough alone, not willing to start a battle in which there would be no winning. Truthfully , he couldn’t blame his daughter’s reaction to yet another disruption; in fact, he rather wished he’d used the same excuse himself. And if Lady Burville was to remain for the month—assuming the dowager didn’t terrorize her in the meantime—they’d have plenty of time for introductions another day.

Of course, Emily wasn’t the only one with whom he had unfinished business. Miss Windham had remained shut away upstairs, too, not showing her face since last night in his study. That didn’t stop the incident from circling through his mind in everything he did. The soft weight of her on his lap. The press of her lips. Her wetness and heat.

And the moment the ominous cane had begun thumping against the floor, sending it all to hell.

He would give a small fortune not to have it end that way. But as undoing that damnable misfortune proved impossible, he needed to see her again, to say … he didn’t know. He would think on it more clearly once he dealt with the feline problem .

A hum of voices floated down as he reached the final set of narrow stairs. More talking over each other, it sounded like, accompanied by another loud groan against the floorboards.

He entered the attic to the sight of the two footmen who’d gone up before him dragging the ladder to the far side of the space and attempting to steady it alongside one of the rafters.

“ It’s your turn to go up there,” one hissed, “seeing how I already attempted it.”

“ But cats make me sneeze,” the other protested in an overloud whisper, eyeing the rafter with a grimace.

Their spat continued, their efforts at staying quiet lessening with each word. However , Nicholas no longer heard what they said, for his attention transferred to a shadow in the corner. Emily , sitting upon the floor with her knees hugged to her chest, Miss Windham beside her with an arm wrapped around her shoulder. Both made gentle calling noises, tapping at a saucer of cream they’d positioned in front of them.

Except then, Emily’s gaze shifted from the rafters to him, her face ashen in the low light, her eyes wide and troubled. He stayed unmoving, waiting for the cut direct. But this time—perhaps because she found herself too stricken—it didn’t come.

He pushed forward, dodging trunks and old pieces of furniture to approach the ladder. “ Stop bickering. I’ll do it.”

Both footmen whirled around, their mouths dropping open in unison. “ I apologize, my lord, we?—”

“ Never mind. I said I’ll do it.” He stopped at the ladder’s base, peering up to survey the rafter where, sure enough, an obscenely furry orange lump sat perched on the edge. What combination of neglected items the creature had used to jump that high, he couldn’t say. Only that it seemed to feel itself lacking an equally acceptable way down.

“ I beg your pardon, my lord, but I’m not certain that’s wise.” The footman who’d professed himself ill-affected by cats stepped forward, lowering his voice back to a murmur. “ That cat is the devil’s own spawn. She hisses and growls like nothing else, and the instant anyone gets near her, she runs out of reach.”

Devil spawn . An apt description if ever he’d heard one. But as matters stood, he couldn’t let that stop him. “ Hold the ladder. Both of you.”

“ My lord …” The footman who’d already made a rescue attempt gave the ladder another slight tug so the top skirted the rafter, and he glanced upward uncertainly. “ I’m not sure how steady this is. It’s still not quite tall enough to reach, and?—”

“ I’ll trust you to hold it tightly, then.” Nicholas wiped his palms against his breeches, then grabbed hold of one of the wooden rungs. Fortunately , Beaumont Manor footmen were of the trustworthy—and sturdy—sort, and they both obeyed in an instant, taking hold of the ladder so securely that it didn’t make even the slightest wobble when he placed his foot atop the first rung. Good . If a time came in his life when he had to fall and crack his skull, he’d much rather it didn’t happen in the name of a cantankerous feline named Marigold .

“ I’ll help.” A female voice rang through the attic, and heavy skirts swished against the floor. Not just any voice, or any skirts. Miss Windham’s .

He continued his upward climb, glancing down to see her slender fingers grasping the edge of the ladder alongside the footman’s stocky ones. She was gazing up at him, her brow creased with concern, her eyes the same mixture of colors as a turbulent sea. “ Please be careful, my lord.”

He turned away, focusing his attention on lifting one foot after the other. He could still envision those eyes when they’d grown bright with desire. When her eyelids had fluttered closed and she’d cried out with her release. If he didn’t turn his thoughts from that direction, he’d fall and break his head for sure.

The ladder grew more unsteady as he neared the top. Yet without looking down again, he knew everyone kept hold of it. The true challenge lay with what waited above him.

A warning growl sounded, alerting him that he advanced at his peril. He would have expected nothing less. Unfortunately for Marigold , he had no option but to proceed.

If there was any small mercy for which to feel thankful, it was that the cat didn’t bolt, for he didn’t especially relish the idea of having to crawl across the rafters. Instead , he came face-to-face with the massive orange abomination, and a pair of yellow eyes glared at him in contempt.

The thing hissed. Of course it did. He glowered back, his palms digging into the ladder’s rails. “ I don’t like you, either.” Then , before the creature could wreak any fresh havoc, he shot his hand out, securing it by the scruff of the neck.

A weight hit his chest, piercing him with a mass of tiny needles. He staggered, feeling the ladder wobble, hearing gasps from below.

“ F —” He promptly clamped his mouth closed, his hands flying out to regain purchase on the rails and narrowly averting a disaster. His heart pounded far faster than he’d like to admit. Nonetheless , he supposed he deserved a small bit of credit. He’d managed to steady himself and avoid shouting a profanity in front of his daughter.

As for the cat, it remained attached to his coat like some parasitic vermin, holding tight by the strength of its claws.

He had no particular desire to hold the creature—doing so seemed a good way to lose a finger. Yet with its claws otherwise occupied, the cat accepted his arm when he cupped its ridiculously furry body, giving nothing more than a cursory low growl. Together , they went down the ladder, the attic below in perfect silence. The weight of numerous gazes fell upon him, though, something he could sense even without seeing.

Sure enough, everyone was waiting when his feet hit the floor, and it was difficult to say whose eyes were the widest. The footmen and Miss Windham , none of whom had yet released their grip on the ladder? Emily , rising to her feet, stepping out of her shadowed corner? Perhaps it was Mrs . Connelly , who at some point during the ordeal had appeared in the doorway, holding a dish that looked to contain the remnants of the fish course.

And here he was, a spectacle for them all, holding a bloody cat that refused to retract its razor-sharp claws.

“ Go on,” he grumbled under his breath, giving his torso an abrupt shake.

Surprisingly , he received neither hiss nor growl for his efforts. Indeed , the cat listened, the needles withdrawing from his chest as it jumped to the floorboards and sauntered over to Mrs . Connelly and her dish of sole. That was good to know: Marigold seemed to prefer fish to doing him bodily harm.

He smoothed his coat, scowling at the sight of the formerly pristine black wool marred by orange tufts. He would need to change if he was to go back down and listen to Lady Burville’s musical performance. Perhaps fortify himself with a glass of port first, too.

But suddenly, his plan to make a hasty retreat to his bedchamber vanished, for when he looked up, Emily was standing in front of him. Not staring daggers. Not turning her eyes to the floor. She simply gazed at him, and then, her lips parted, releasing words little more than a whisper. “ Thank you, Papa .”

At once, the tension in his body melted, and he allowed himself to sink downward until he crouched at her eye level. Not nearly so far a distance as the last occasion on which he’d done this, for it had been a long time. “ Of course, Emmy .” The long-ago nickname that she’d since deemed too childish slipped off his tongue before he could think better of it. How could he help it when, instead of peering at him with disdain, her face held the faintest hint of a half-smile, reminding him of the little girl who used to run to him and shriek with laughter as he swung her onto his shoulders? Had he realized just how fleeting those instances would be, he would have savored them more deeply. Dug himself out from beneath the heavy cloak of bitterness and made time for more of them.

She didn’t recoil at the name, and for a moment, a future flashed before his eyes in which there came healing after loss. Closeness after division.

But with a plaintive meow from the cat, the vision evaporated, for Emily spun away, flitting over to where the demanding creature cried at Mrs . Connelly’s feet. At least there was lightness in Emily’s step. Another hint of the girl who used to traipse through the corridors of Beaumont Manor .

“ Perhaps we’d best make Marigold wait to eat this in the kitchen,” the housekeeper said, shooting him a knowing glance. “ The last thing we’d want is for her to become so comfortable in the attic that she attempts another jump to the rafters.”

“ Yes , you’re quite right. Let’s go down at once.” At last, Miss Windham released the ladder, leaving behind a subtle trace of wildflower perfume as she rushed toward the attic door.

“ Miss Windham ?” He pulled himself upright, finding the power to make her name project across the space, causing her to halt in her tracks. He still didn’t know what to say, how they were to carry on. But given they were both here in the attic, it seemed as good a time as any to figure it out. “ I’d like a private word.”

The footmen needed no further cue to hoist the ladder between them and make a speedy exit, moving with far greater proficiency than they had on their way up. As for Mrs . Connelly , ever the efficient housekeeper, she smiled at his daughter, holding out a sturdy arm. “ Why don’t you come with me, Lady Emily ? I imagine Marigold would far rather eat her dinner in your company, and I think Mrs . Hodges may just have a few sweetmeats left that you would enjoy.”

Slowly , Miss Windham turned back to face him, her features set in an expressionless mask. “ As you wish, my lord.” The words were polite but distant, an acceptance born from duty and not any true inclination.

He took a step forward and then stilled, suddenly unsure where to go. Perhaps a private conversation up here in the dimness was a poor idea after all. Be that as it may, Mrs . Connelly and Emily departed the attic before he could utter another word, closing the door the instant the cat skulked out behind them.

Leaving him and Miss Windham well and truly alone.

“ I apologize for all this.” She started in at once, not allowing silence to linger between them. “ When Lady Emily asked if we could come up to the attic to search for some dolls that had gone missing from her old nursery, I didn’t see the harm in it. I’m afraid I didn’t account for Marigold’s jumping prowess.”

He followed her gaze to a camphor trunk in the corner, atop which lay a pair of ivory dolls, illuminated by the lamp that rested beside them. Perhaps they’d been brought up to the attic for safekeeping while his nephews—hellions, to hear the dowager tell it—were in residence last year. He could nearly smirk at the thought of the two boys he’d seen only in passing plaguing his mother with their antics, just as he and his younger brother, Samuel , used to when they were young. A very long time ago, for Samuel had estranged himself from the family upon his marriage to an unsuitable woman and, a decade later, had drunk himself to an early grave. He wouldn’t have liked seeing his sons at Beaumont Manor . Would detest what the future had in store for them.

A sharp ache clutched Nicholas’s chest, and he snapped his focus back to Miss Windham , willing it to dissipate. Even with his efforts, his skin continued to smart where the cat’s needlelike claws had hooked him, and he had no doubt that when he removed his shirt later, he would find blood. Yet that much, he found he couldn’t regret.

He pulled back his shoulder blades. Swallowed . “ There’s no harm done.”

Miss Windham’s lips parted, and one of her brunette brows twitched on her forehead. But just as quickly, she clamped her mouth closed, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth. Hell and damnation, not that . How was he to carry out a sensible conversation if all he could think of was Miss Windham doing wicked things with her mouth? And the wicked things he wished to do in return.

No . He’d asked her to stay so they could speak, and she was waiting, her foot poking out from beneath her hem to tap noiselessly against the floorboards. A gesture, he’d come to recognize, she performed when feeling anxious or uncertain.

“ I assume you’re aware of the new guest to Beaumont Manor , Lady Burville .” Damn , what a bloody stupid way for him to begin. However , Miss Windham only inclined her head expressionlessly, waiting for him to continue.

“ The dowager has invited her for a lengthy stay,” he said, because now that he’d started, he may as well push through. “ I’d like Emily to meet her. My mother, who believes the weather bends to her will, is planning an outdoor luncheon by the lake tomorrow. Assuming the skies clear as she commands them, will you both join us?”

The words still didn’t feel like the right ones to say to her. However , hadn’t he just offered the very thing she’d been so insistent upon? Time spent picnicking by the lake in his daughter’s presence, in the hopes it wouldn’t turn into a disaster.

“ Certainly , my lord.” She displayed perfect manners, but still, that hint of coldness wouldn’t dissipate. “ That is, assuming Lady Emily is agreeable and her health permits it. But I’ll do everything in my power to encourage her attendance. Can I take that to mean you won’t be leaving Beaumont Manor after all?”

“ No , I’m not leaving. Not yet.” He stiffened his spine, fighting against the heat that began creeping up his neck. The promise of Foxhill —free of disruptions and interfering mothers—still beckoned. Somehow , though, the satisfaction he derived from the thought felt hollow. Because , maybe, escaping there was never the right choice .

“ I’m glad of it.” She offered him a smile, and for a split second, his view of the attic became all brightness and warmth. But the smile didn’t last, nor did it quite meet her eyes. Instead , her gaze darted to the attic door, and she clasped her hands in front of her, pale fingers against black skirts. “ Is there anything else, my lord?”

So much else. The main reason he’d asked her to stay remained unspoken, and if he didn’t take care, she’d be back down the stairs, shut away in her bedchamber before he uttered another word. Out with it, then . “ We should discuss what happened last night.”

Her cheeks paled, her fingers forming fists around the heavy bombazine. “ Please , my lord, there’s nothing to discuss. In fact, I think we’d best put the matter out of mind entirely.”

A sick feeling settled in his stomach, and he found himself moving toward her and then stopping partway, suddenly unsure of the wisdom in getting too close. “ If you have any regrets?—”

“ I have none.” Her foot abruptly stilled against the floorboards. “ And you can rest assured that I didn’t view our liaison as anything it wasn’t.”

The pinpricks in his chest throbbed uncomfortably, his skin going cold beneath the layers of wool and linen. “ You’d best explain to me what our liaison was and was not.”

She held her chin high, assessing him with measured coolness. “ It was but a careless moment. One that got out of hand. Not so far, however, that you need feel bound by any sense of honor or think that my reputation has suffered a stain. Unless your mother decides to make conjectures and spread gossip—which would not be to her benefit—our indiscretion need never be spoken of again, and we can place it behind us.”

A careless moment . An indiscretion . Why did hearing her speak of it in so offhand a manner make his veins feel like they were filled with ice? She was correct, after all; that’s exactly what it was. An instance where he’d let the fire in his blood get the better of him. It shouldn’t have happened. Couldn’t happen again.

But God , he wanted it to. Having her atop his lap, bringing her to release, had provided a mere hint of the pleasure they could give one another. He wanted to know how it would feel to have her naked body beneath him. How she would taste if he nestled his head between her thighs. What it would be like if she stroked him without the hindrance of his fall.

Except where would it lead in the end? Nowhere . He had nothing he could offer her.

He took a final step closer to her. Still not close enough . “ As you say, Miss Windham .”

She released an audible breath, her face remaining damnably unreadable. The only clue she gave was with her hands, still clutching tight to her skirts. “ I should really be getting back to Lady Emily and Marigold .”

What protest could he make to that? He’d said his piece. Not the maelstrom of half-formed thoughts and desires that rushed through his head, but the things he could say. There was nothing else left. “ Goodnight , Miss Windham .”

She released her skirts and curtseyed, as prompt and even as always, and for the first time, he found himself hating the formality of the gesture. “ Goodnight , my lord.” With that, she scurried over to the camphor trunk, making the briefest stop to take up Emily’s dolls before rushing from the attic.

She left the lamp behind, doing him the courtesy of not plunging him into darkness. However , the flickering light only served to illuminate the fact that he was alone, and she hadn’t looked back.