Suzanne Robinson (12 page)

“You like weak coffee with lots of cream and sugar,” the marquess said. He poured cream into a cup until it was half full.

“How did you know, and why do you care?”

De Granville handed her the cup and stood by her while she took a sip. It was perfect. She sipped some more. He dropped to his haunches beside her chair. Her cup clattered against the saucer.

“Miss Grey, you’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Looking at me as though I were dung clinging to your shoe. I am at a loss. I barely know you, yet you abhor me.”

He rested his arm on her chair. She glanced at it, then shifted her gaze to his face. Somehow his eyes had changed. They looked almost sleepy, yet glittered with vibrant life. Bottle-glass green, torrid and heavy-lidded, they were lodestones that caught and held her own gaze. She forgot to be angry. Indeed, she was concentrating so hard on the brilliance of his eyes, she failed to notice that he was leaning toward her. When she did, his mouth was close, and she was too late to avoid him. His tongue darted out. It touched her lips and feathered over them. She blinked, and during that blink, he replaced his tongue with his lips. No, his tongue was still there. It was inside her mouth.

It felt so good, she decided to forget her distrust. She wanted to feel his mouth and his tongue, even if he was a snake.

He pulled back so that their lips barely touched and breathed his words at her. “Little savage.” He pressed close and delved into her mouth again. There was a clatter, and he jerked away.

Kate was still holding her cup and saucer, and it had finally begun to shake along with her hand. Breathing heavily, she clutched it with her other hand too. The marquess took it from her and set it on the small table between her and the fireplace. Then he rose and stood by the fire with his hands behind his back.

Of all the actions she might have expected, his kissing
her would seem the least probable. She pressed her hands together in her lap. Hellfire. Her breasts were tingling, and other places too. She much suspected that she was experiencing arousal. Patience had explained the feelings to her long ago, but her descriptions had been inadequate.

“I apologize, Miss Grey.”

She turned even more red than she already was. “You’re sorry you kissed me. I don’t know why you did it, but—”

“I’m not sorry I kissed you,” he said. “I was apologizing because as a gentleman I shouldn’t take liberties.”

“If you’re not sorry, don’t bother about the rest. I’d rather you were honest instead of polite.”

De Granville cocked his head to the side. His smile revealed his confusion. “Miss Grey, you are unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“What did you want to talk about?” She was fast becoming edgy. The longer they were together, the more she regretted the kiss.

Taking the armchair opposite her, the marquess poured himself coffee from an urn separate from the one containing Kate’s weak concoction.

“I wanted to speak to you about Maitland House. Long ago the estate was the property of my family, and I’d like to purchase it from you.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t sell it. Mama wants to live there. You see, ever since she married my father she’s regretted leaving England. It’s always been her dream to come home and be in Society again. Now that Papa is dead, it’s all she cares about.”

The marquess set his cup down. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs. “I understand your concern, but I want the place for a reason. I’ve undertaken to care for some of the wounded from the war. Right now they’re in the old Dower House, but the building is in
poor condition, and there’s not enough room. Surely you see the importance of caring for them.”

“Of course,” Kate said. “But you can fix your old building. I can’t replace Mama’s childhood home.”

“Miss Grey, I’m having to put some of the men in the cellar.”

“Adding to the Dower House will take less time than the repairs to Maitland House.”

The marquess stood and scowled at her. Kate lifted her chin and refused to be intimidated.

“I’ll offer you twice what it’s worth,” de Granville said. “The land contains an old tower that is a part of my family’s heritage. I want the land and the house, Miss Grey.”

“You can’t have it,” Kate said. She thrust herself to her feet. Now she understood the cozy room, the just-right coffee, and the kiss. He thought she would be so frazzle-brained once he touched her that she’d agree to anything. “You don’t really need the house, and it’s not for sale.” She marched to the door with the marquess glaring at her the whole time. He muttered something, and she spun to face him. “What did you say?”

“I said ‘mountain goat.’ ”

Kate’s voice was low and calm. “What?”

“Your mama wants to climb the social mountain, and you’re going to see that she gets her chance at the expense of mutilated and dying men.” De Granville walked past her and opened the door for her. He bowed. “Mountain goat, Miss Grey.”

So furious she wanted to roar, Kate didn’t settle for cussing at the man. She doubled up her fist and rammed it into his stomach. Caught off guard, the marquess doubled over with the breath knocked out of him. Kate swept past him. Outside, she passed Valentine Beaufort.

“You looking for the marquess?” she asked.

The young man stopped and nodded.

She pointed to the open door behind her. “He’s in there, the snake.”

Alexis was still bent over rubbing his sore stomach. A pair of shoes and the tip of a cane walked into his line of sight.

“Have a row with the little American, old fellow?”

“She hit me.” He sounded ridiculously like a ten-year-old bully who had gotten a black eye. “She hit me.”

“I’m sure you deserved it,” Val said. He limped over to a chair and sat down. “Fulke and I both think you’d be better behaved if more women hit you instead of spreading their legs for you.”

Alexis eyed Val. He quit rubbing his stomach and took the chair opposite him. “Hmmm.”

“I know that look. Don’t,” Val said.

“I want Maitland House for the men.”

“It’s cruel, and you want revenge for the punch.” Val poked Alexis with the tip of his cane. “You’re fizzed because she doesn’t pant after you.”

“I’ll make her pant. It will do her good. All she thinks of is poking about in affairs that should be left to men. Uppity female. Someone has to teach her why God gave her that body. And when I have, she’ll sell me her house and anything else I want.”

Val scooted to the edge of his chair, grimacing, and placed his hand on Alexis’s arm. “This isn’t like you. You’re never deliberately mean, Alexis, At least, not to innocent girls.”

“I won’t be mean. Miss Katherine Grey needs reforming, and I’m going to do her the favor of undertaking the challenge.”

“Ah!”

“What do you mean, ‘ah’?”

“It’s your pride, and the excitement of the chase. How
cliché. I’m going to give Miss Grey some of those flowers you made me gather and get to know the lady.”

“She’s mine, Val.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make her acquaintance.”

“It means I’ll chain you in the dungeon if you do more than that. Now explain why you weren’t at dinner.”

Val looked away. “I was tired from hefting all those flowers.”

Alexis slipped out of his chair and stepped over to Val. “But you’ve had plenty of rest. Come.” He took Val’s arm.

“Where are we going?” Val halted as they started across the room. “I told you I’m not going to the Dower House.”

“You’re needed there. You need to be there.”

“I won’t look at any more men without arms and legs.”

“It’s not that,” Alexis said. “You’re afraid.”

“Don’t you call me a coward, you bloody ass.” Val turned away from Alexis and limped to the door.

“You’re afraid to know them and then see them die.”

Val faced Alexis and clamped a shaking hand on the doorknob. “At least I’m not afraid of my own dreams. And I’m not the only one who hides from the past.”

“I’ll send for a carriage,” Alexis said. “We’ll take some of your flowers to the Dower House, and you can meet the new physician.”

Alexis approached Val again, took his arm, and led him away from the door.

“You were jealous of your sister, Alexis, and you can’t forget that. You told me how she used to get you in trouble, blame you for things she did, and you took the beatings she deserved.”

Alexis jerked Val’s arm. The cane slipped, and he was forced to catch Val before he fell.

“You’re trying to distract me, and it won’t work. I need help with the Dower House. Someone has to see that
supplies are ordered and the servants do their jobs. I can’t do it all and manage the new wounded too.”

“Your sister is dead, and your father,” Val said as Alexis pulled a cord to summon the butler. “Let the past go.”

Alexis said nothing. When the butler came, he ordered both carriage and flowers, then waited for them with a furious Val. He helped his friend into the carriage and remained silent until they drew up to the Dower House. Through the windows he could see the yellow glow of lamps and the shadow of a nurse as she walked past. He glanced at Val. His friend was sitting amid baskets of flowers. He held a rose and was studying its petals as if the flower were a map.

“Do you suppose they’ve learned not to send cavalry against artillery yet?” Val asked.

“I don’t think so. Val, Russell is telling the country what’s going on. The generals, the Horse Guards, they can’t hide the disaster because Russell is printing it in
The Times.”

Val laughed then, a laugh filled with pain. “What is the old saying? Something about evil hating the light?”

Alexis got out of the carriage. Holding out his hand, he waited for Val.

“It takes a different kind of courage to face life than to face death,” Alexis said. “You’ve shown me the second, now show me the first.”

Val threw the rose at him. “I won’t play the slave to your Caesar.”

“Very well.” He dropped to his knees. “Will you get out of that carriage if I kneel in the dirt and beg you?”

Lurching out of the seat, Val peered at Alexis. “Get up, you fool. Get up, I said, and help me out of this bloody carriage. You always were too damned dutiful. You’d have been better off becoming a curate.”

Together, arms loaded with flowers, they entered the Dower House. Inside the doorway, they stopped to unload
the blossoms. As Alexis shoved the last basket into the arms of a nurse, he heard a scream. Beside him, Val stiffened. His eyes widened and his face drained of blood. Alexis caught him by the arm and headed in the direction of the scream. Val hung back, causing him to stumble. A doctor rushed past them into the room from which the screams came.

“We’re going to help, Val. Nothing will be as bad as the Crimea. Val.”

His friend wasn’t listening. His eyes grew unfocused, and he suddenly hunched his shoulders and began rubbing his coat sleeves.

“I can’t stand it,” Val muttered. “Get it off. It’s flesh, his flesh.”

“Bloody Hell.” Alexis held his breath and slapped Val hard across the cheek.

Val jerked and thrashed, but Alexis held on, shaking him roughly. This time Val cried out and turned on him. “You frigging ass, you hit me.”

“Much better,” Alexis said.

“You won’t think so for long.” Val drew back his fist.

Alexis held up both hands. “Don’t you think we’ve seen enough fighting, you and I?”

Lowering his arm, Val was quiet for a few moments, then he sighed and wiped his brow. “God, it happened again. I knew it would. I was back there, in that valley of blood. God, I should be locked away.”

“Then you’ll never face the fear.” Alexis held out a hand. “Come on, old school chum. If you can survive a beating by the rowing team, you can do this.”

“I’d rather take the beating.”

Alexis chuckled as they walked together into the sickroom. Inside were two rows of beds. The doctor was sitting beside the first bed on the right, in which lay a sobbing man.

“It were like I was back there, Doctor,” the man was
saying. “A laying in mud watching me blood drain away. I’m going mad, I am. They’ll put me in one of them lunatic places.”

Val quickened his pace with every word, until he passed Alexis and arrived at the foot of the bed. As the doctor quieted the wounded man, Val leaned toward him.

“You have those waking nightmares too?”

The man, with the red nose and unshaven cheeks of a Dickens character, nodded his bandaged head. “Yes sir, and they’re going to put me in one of them lunatic places.”

“No they won’t,” Val said. “Will they, Doctor?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I won’t let them,” Alexis said to the patient. “After all, Val and I both have had them. Mine are going away. Aren’t they, Val?”

“Yes, and—and mine are fading. A bit. If so many of us have these spells, perhaps it’s the mind’s way of telling us it’s had enough.”

“Really, sir?” the man asked.

Val nodded.

Alexis waited quietly while the two conversed. Val was tense and white the whole time, but his own suffering seemed to fade as he talked. Finally, color flowed back into his face, and Alexis was able to relax his vigil. By the end of their stay, Val had promised to come back the following day and write a letter home for the wounded man.

When they returned to the castle, they both headed for the drawing room and the liquor cabinet. Alexis poured a whiskey and handed it to Val.

“Drink,” he said. “Think of it as a reward for good behavior.” When Val downed the whiskey in one gulp, Alexis knew his friend was in need of distraction. “Have another, and do me a favor. Help me think of ways to entice Miss Katherine Grey. I’m going to enjoy disarming my barbarian quarry.”

Disarming people was something Alexis had been doing
for a long time. When he was a boy, Fulke had chastised him for trying to make people like him. The criticism had confused him, for he never meant anyone harm. He was a youth of fifteen when he finally figured out that his cousin thought charm akin to seduction, and that seduction was a sin. Alexis had finally told Fulke not to try to make him into a saint, for he only had tainted material to work with.

He remembered his own father saying that Fulke’s father had been so religious, he went to church three times a day each day of the week. Fulke never talked about him, except to say that he’d been almost a saint, with an abhorrence of “fleshly weakness.” He used to warn Fulke daily about the evil brought into the world by women and would support his opinions by quoting Scripture. The older Fulke got, the more like his father he grew. Alexis considered himself fortunate that the worst godliness hadn’t taken hold of Fulke until the last few years.