The Ice Seduction (Ice Romance) (19 page)

60

‘Did she?’ Vicky frowns. ‘I don’t know anything about that. But I know Mrs Calder and
Dirk Mansfield have some sort of understanding. He lets her have the run of the castle, put it that way.’

‘Mmm.’ I think about that. ‘
What does Patrick think of Mrs Calder?’

‘He can’t stand her. Just like the rest of us.
Especially since she’s always parading her daughter in front of him, trying to get a marriage proposal.’

‘Mrs Calder told me Patrick
was spoken for,’ I say. ‘That her daughter was waiting for him to set a date.’

Vicky laughs. ‘Did she indeed?
She wishes. He isn’t interested in Margaret at all.’

‘I know that now,’ I admit. ‘Patrick told me.’

‘
Patrick
told you?’ Vicky stops walking. ‘Why would Patrick … Seraphina Harper, is there something going on you’d like to tell me about?’

I blush. ‘No. I mean, not really.’

‘Not really?’ Vicky smiles. ‘Come on. Spill it. What’s going on?’

‘Not … much
.’

She grins. ‘Patrick is different since you came to the castle. More thoughtful. Like something or
someone
is on his mind …’

I bite my lip
. ‘Things have … okay, things have happened.’

‘What kinds of things!
’

We start walking again.

‘Oh, just … things. It’s a fling, that’s all. But it won’t do either of us any good.’

‘
A fling?’ says Vicky. ‘Patrick? Having a
fling
? Oh no, no, no. He’s a decent man. If you and he are up to something, he must really have fallen for you.’

I shake my head.
‘I’m just the nanny. And he’s my boss.’

‘T
his is the twenty-first century,’ says Vicky. ‘Who cares about that?’

I feel a lump i
n my throat. ‘But we’re from different worlds,’ I insist.

‘So what
?’

‘I’m just trying to be realistic,’ I say.

‘Hah!’ Vicky scoffs. ‘Realistic! You don’t need to be realistic, Seraphina. You’re drop-dead gorgeous. And a lovely girl, to boot.’ She turns to me. ‘How do
you
feel about Patrick?’

Oh. What a question
.

I’m
aware of Bertie suddenly, and hold his hand extra tight as we turn onto the little lane leading to the castle.

‘I … I’ve been trying not to think about how I feel,’ I admit.

‘What does your heart tell you?’ Vicky asks.

‘
It tells me I’m in a lot of trouble.’

Vicky laughs. ‘B
ecause you’re the nanny and he’s a lord? You can’t think any of that stuff really matters, can you?’

‘But it does,’ I insist. ‘It really does matter. I mean, lords and nannies just don’t get together.’

‘So set a trend. Follow your heart. It won’t steer you wrong.’

‘
I just don’t see it working out. Anyway, I’ll be packing my bags and heading back to London if I can’t get this little one to eat something. So … I guess it doesn’t matter anyway.’

‘Think positive pet,’ says Vicky. ‘You never know how a day will end
.’

61

By the time we reach the castle, I’m lost in thought.

Snow is
falling again and Vicky, Bertie and I are covered in crisp, white flakes.

Dare I even consider the idea that Patrick and I could be more than
just a casual, throwaway thing?

No. Thinking that way can only bring pain. But t
he truth is, I feel much more for Patrick than just something physical.

I don’t know why.

It’s hard to explain. But … it’s like he sees the real me. Even though he knows nothing about me, he sees right inside my soul. I’m shy around him, because he makes me feel naked.

And I see him too. I see more than the hunter and the army offic
er. I see a man who would do anything to protect those he loves.

I wonder about the women who have come before … how serious they wer
e.

As I’m getting Bertie changed, I feel myself hoping, wanting Patrick to
be nearby. But he isn’t. I know he isn’t. If he were, I would feel it.

Not that it matters anyway. I’ll be going home soon.

‘Well Bertie,’ I say, as I help him onto the bench in the great hall. ‘What a day, huh? I loved hearing you play that violin.’

Bertie fidgets a little.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I won’t tell anyone. But it’s a crying shame that there are people in this
castle who don’t think Gregory’s music is a good enough. Music shouldn’t be an ambition. It should be a joyful thing.’

I hear a clatter, and Vicky calls
out, ‘Supper’s ready, hen!’ from the serving hatch.

I collect Bertie’s liquorice and
milk, and beef stew for me, served with Irish soda bread and fresh butter.

‘J
ust what we need after a day out in the snow, huh?’ I tell Bertie.

He glan
ces at my beef stew and slurps his milk.

I sigh. ‘I guess this will be our last night together.’

We eat in silence for a moment, me spooning up stew and Bertie gobbling up his liquorice sticks.

Then Bertie points to one of the huge oil paintings on the wall, and I follow his finger.

‘What is it, Bertie?’ I ask. As I look closer, I see it’s the picture of two boys on horses.

They look like b
rothers, I decide.

I get up from the bench and look closer.

Under the painting it says, ‘Patrick and Jamie’.

Patrick …

The taller boy looks a little fierce, but very cute. He’s on top of a white horse, while the younger boy, who I guess must be Jamie, is on a brown pony beside him.

‘Why do
you want me to look at this painting?’ I ask Bertie. And then something clicks and I turn a little red. ‘Was it because of what Vicky and I were talking about earlier?’

Bertie nods again
. He points at me. Then he points at Patrick in the picture. And he clasps his hands together.

‘Oh, no, no. We’re not … I mean, no. Vicky and I were just talking. There’s not much more to it than that.
Anyway, by the looks of things I’ll be leaving here tomorrow. So I’ll never see Patrick again.’

Bertie’s eyes drop to the table. Then he does something I totally don’t expect. He pi
cks up my spoon and takes a dainty mouthful of beef and potato stew.

62

I stare at him
.

As I watch, eyes wide and my mouth dropping open, Bertie tips the spoon into his mouth and begins to chew.

I stand there like an idiot, completely shocked. Then a smile threatens to split my face open.

‘Bertie,
’ I breathe. ‘You ate some stew!’

He swallows
, then gently puts the spoon back in the stew dish.

‘Bertie
! Oh my god! Bertie, that’s amazing.’

I run back to the table and throw my arms around him, crushing his little face into my chest.

‘Would you like to try some more?’ I ask, taking a seat beside him.

Bertie nods.

He takes another small spoonful, and I clap my hands together in delight as he chews and swallows.

‘Bread?’ I ask, tearing off a chunk.

Bertie takes the bread from me, tears in it half, and then pops the smaller piece into his mouth, sucking on it carefully.

‘What’s all the noise about?’ Vicky calls from the kitchen.

‘It’s Bertie!’ I shout. ‘He’s eating your stew!’

‘Woo!’ Vicky shrieks, running out of the kitc
hen. ‘Oh my goodness! I’ll go get Mrs Calder.’

She runs out of the hall.

I slide my bowl of stew over to Bertie, and watch like a proud parent as he takes spoon after spoon.

I wish I knew why he
’s suddenly decided to eat. But then again, I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s getting a good meal in him on a cold day, and I couldn’t be happier.

Behind me, I hear clipped footsteps and Mrs Calder comes sweeping into the room
with Vicky.

‘What’s all this no
nsense about Bertie eating stew?’ she says, storming up to our table. ‘He’s never eaten stew in his life.’

‘Take a look,’ I say, and lean back so she can see Bertie scraping the bowl clean and popping a spoon of beef, potato and gravy into his mouth.

Mrs Calder stands there, mouth open, hands on her hips.

For onc
e, she has nothing to say.

‘Looks l
ike Seraphina will be staying at the castle, Mrs Calder,’ says Vicky, smiling broadly. ‘And Bertie too. You’d better tell Dirk to cancel that boarding school place.’

Mrs Calder closes her mouth, then opens it again. ‘Well. It appears … I mean, one swallow doesn’t make a summer. This is only one meal …’

‘Which is more than he’s eaten the whole time he’s been here,’ says Vicky.

‘I … this is … how did you get him to do it?’
Mrs Calder stammers.

I s
hrug. ‘Love and patience I guess. Lucky for me, he decided today was the day. Well. Lucky for both of us really.’

Mrs Calder snaps her mouth closed, and her lips go white with rage. ‘You might have won this battle, Seraphina Harper. But you’re still a stranger in this castle. An
d I’ll find a way to be rid of you. Just see if I don’t.’

She stalks off.

Vicky bursts out laughing.

‘
Just see if I don’t
,’ she mimics, putting an arm around my shoulder. ‘You did it, hen. You got Bertie to eat. So I guess you’ll be staying for a while. Which I for one am very happy about. And I’m sure Patrick will be too.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ I say.

‘Well I do,’ Vicky replies.

63

When I tuck Bertie into bed that night, I give him an extra big hug.

‘I’m so happy you ate something, Bertie. And I’m so happy I can stay here with you.’

And with Patrick
, says an unwelcome voice. But I brush that thought away.

Bertie’s cheeks have more colour in them
since his meal, and he seems happy and a little sleepy.

I
guess eating a proper meal with meat and vegetables, after such a long time on sugary liquorice, must feel terrific.

‘I wish I knew why you wouldn’t eat before,’ I say
.

Bertie pushes books around on his bedside table, and picks up one particularly grisly looking one with a snow-encased skull on the front.

He flicks through pages until he reaches a section that’s heavily marked up with blue biro.

‘More pen
marks,’ I mutter, looking closely. I read the words that are underlined and my heart skips a beat.

‘Poison’

‘Torture’

‘Starving’

‘Bad’

‘
Bertie, did you underline these words too?’

Ber
tie nods.

My mouth goes dry.
‘Did someone … did someone try and put something in your food or something? Is that why you stopped eating?’

Bertie looks away from me
.

‘I wish you could tell me,’ I say. ‘This is so, so important Bertie. If someone tried
to hurt you, I need to know. I can protect you. I promise I can.’

Bert
ie shakes his head even harder. Then he pulls the duvet over his head.

‘Are you okay under there?’ I whisper.

I feel the duvet shake as he nods.

‘Would you like me to leave you alone?’

The duvet shakes again.

‘Okay. Okay, Bertie I will.
For now. You could use a good night’s sleep.’ I frown. ‘I wish … never mind. It’s been a long day. You have a lovely sleep, Bertie boo. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?’

The duvet shakes again, and I leave the room.

64

As I head towards my own bedroom, my heart pounds.

Oh god.

I just can’t shake those underlined words from my mind.

Poison … torture …

Did Bertie understand what those words meant when he underlined them?

What on earth happened to Bertie, before he came to this castle?

It’s just unbearable to think that bad things happen to children. But they do. All the time. Sometimes thinking about them keeps me awake at night.

I need to talk to somebody. This is important. Really important. I need to figure out what to do next.

Vicky. Talk to Vicky.

Yes, she seems to know plenty abou
t the Mansfield family. Maybe she can tell me more about where Bertie was before he came here.

I
head to the great hall, but the kitchen is all closed up for the night. I guess Vicky has gone home.

Who else can I talk to?

Gregory
? No, he’ll still be in the pub.

Patrick?

Can I seek Patrick out, after everything that’s happened between us? I’ve spent so much time running away from him and telling him to leave me alone …

I give
myself a little shake. I don’t have any choice. I have to tell someone about what Bertie just showed me. And embarrassing as it might be to ask for Patrick’s help, here in this cold castle I don’t know who else to turn to.

The West Wing feels very still and silent as I creep along, poking my head around doorways.

‘Patrick?’ I call. But he’s nowhere to be seen. Not in the sitting room.
Nor in the drawing room where I met his mother.

Then I remember – the
South Wing. He was there a few days ago, working out in the gym.

I head down there,
summoning all my courage and letting go of my dignity. After all the times I’ve told Patrick to leave me alone, I’ve got a lot of pride to swallow. But who cares? This isn’t about me. It’s about Bertie.

When I reach the gym, I see the lights are on and I hear the clank of weights.

Cautiously, I poke my head around the door and see the mesmerizing sight of Patrick, shirtless, doing pull-ups on an iron bar.

His muscles go round and tight as he pull
s himself up, and his chest is rock hard. He’s wearing loose grey sweat pants and his long, bare feet dangle over the ground.

He doesn’t look out of breath or in pain or anything as he pulls himself up
and down.

I stand for a moment, not knowing quite what to say. And then Patrick turns and sees me in the doorway.

He gives the flicker of a smile, and drops down from the bar.

‘Back again
Seraphina?’ he says, picking up a towel and running it over his face. He flings the towel down on an exercise mat.

I redden. ‘I … again
?’

‘You cam
e down here before,’ he says.

Oh god. How embarrassing
.

‘You saw me?’ I say, my voice going all squeaky.

‘I heard you,’ says Patrick.

‘I guess nothing gets past you. I’d hate to be something you were hunting. I wouldn’t stand a chance.’

‘You don’t,’ says Patrick, his voice deepening as he strides towards me. ‘But I can tell this isn’t a social call. Something’s wrong. What is it?’

Patrick comes closer, and I nearly swoon at the beauty of him – that elegant, muscular torso, and those dangerous icy blue-green eyes.

I see the eagle tattoo on his collarbone and my eyes sort of catch on it.

Patrick follows
my gaze. ‘This was for my brother,’ he says softly, grazing his fingers against his collarbone. ‘He was in eagle regiment. So I thought it fitted.’

‘It’s
beautiful,’ I murmur.

‘Do you like birds of prey?’ Patrick asks.

‘I like that one.’

Patrick smiles. ‘So h
ow can I help you today, Miss Harper? Any more boys stuck up trees?’

‘Not quite,’ I say. ‘But … I do need to talk to you about Bertie.’

Patrick frowns. ‘Is everything all right?’

I shake my
head, and feel tears coming again. I try to speak, but the words won’t come out. How can I say what I’m thinking? It’s all too horrible.

‘It’s okay.’ Patrick strides forwards and takes me into his arms, pressing me against his beautiful chest. ‘It’s all right.’

I shake my head at his ribcage
, embarrassed to be getting all upset like this.

Patrick tilts my chin up
so I’m gazing straight into his fierce eyes. ‘Tell me,’ he commands. ‘Right now. What’s wrong?’

‘I … I don’t know exactly,’ I stutter, feeling my lips red with blood. ‘But Bertie … he showed me some things tonight. In one of the horror books he keeps by his bedside.
He’d marked up some words. Like poison and starving. It was when I was asking him about food …’

P
atrick frowns. ‘Poison?’

I nod. ‘I don’t know what he wa
s trying to say exactly. He nodded when I asked if he’d underlined the words himself. But when I asked him if someone had put something in his food, he shook his head. I … I just get the feeling something bad happened to him and he’s trying to tell me about it. But he’s too scared. He wants me to figure it out.’

‘I’ll
make some calls,’ says Patrick. He drops his eyes back to mine. ‘Come with me.’

‘
I … maybe I should leave you to it,’ I say, trying to slap on a smile. I swipe at the tears under my eyes and rub my nose.

‘
You’re upset. I’m not leaving you alone. You’re coming with me whether you want to or not.’

‘Patrick, honestly
—’

‘Don’t argue. Or I’ll
just have to pick you up and carry you again.’

‘Don’t you dare
—’

‘Then come with
me.’ Patrick slides his fingers into mine.

The warmth of his hand
s against mine makes my stomach flip over, especially when he grips my fingers tight.

‘Okay,’ I say.

‘Finally,’ says Patrick. ‘You’re learning to take orders.’

‘W
here Bertie is concerned, I’ll do whatever is needed.’

‘T
hat’s good enough for me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘My bedroom.’