CHAPTER 14 #2
She missed again. Gareth eased the pistol out of her grip, then took the powder bag too.
“You do not need to be able to hit anything, Eva, because it is very unlikely you will actually fire. Just wielding a pistol will send intruders running. I am tempted to take the powder with me, so you do not do something rash or hurt someone by mistake.”
“Don’t you dare take the powder away. I promise not to use it on my own until I am expert with this pistol. However, I’ll not be treated like a child who shows no sense, or a woman too stupid to avoid shooting her own foot.”
“I said nothing about shooting your own foot.” He caressed her shoulder in a soothing rub.
He had done that a lot today since arriving with the pistol and that huge board on a wagon with Harold at the reins.
It was the kind of comforting touch one used on people who grieved, or who had become undone by emotion.
Side by side they walked through the garden to the house.
Cleaning the house and practicing with the pistol had distracted her from his attraction, but just walking beside him made the pull he exerted tantalize her again.
Invisible tethers between him and her body tightened in naughty, teasing tweaks.
She had no idea if he did that deliberately, or if it just happened as a result of his mere existence.
“Have you written to your sister about what happened?” he asked.
“I have a letter to post tomorrow, but it does not contain this news. I do not want her to worry, or to shorten her visit with Sarah.”
They entered through the kitchen in the cellar. Gareth lit a lamp while she followed her nose to the hearth. A pot simmered there. Harold must have brought it, the way one brings food to invalids.
“Stew,” she said. Beef stew, from the smell. That was a treat. Her stomach made happy noises. “Will you have some? There appears to be some fresh bread too.”
He responded by taking two plates off the high shelf. A good amount of broken crockery had littered the floor a few hours ago, but not everything had been destroyed.
He went out to the springhouse for water, then they sat down to their meal. She noticed how he watched what she ate.
“Do you approve?” she asked. “Have I eaten enough to keep up my strength and not become sick from a nervous disorder?”
“Do not scold me for worrying about you. You were not physically harmed, but you were still assaulted. It takes a body some time to recover from that.”
“I am fine. Did I faint? No. Did I cry like a madwoman? No. Well, I did cry, but not hysterically, and in anger, not sorrow. Nor have I lost my appetite. See?” She scooped more stew into her mouth.
His eyes narrowed on her. “You are sure you are fine?”
“Completely.”
“Absolutely fine?”
“Totally.”
“I am happy to hear it. I will not worry about it in the least henceforth.”
“That suits me.”
She took the plates and carried them to the sink to wash. When she was done, they went upstairs. “Will we practice with the pistol again tomorrow?”
“If you like, but not too early.”
She led him to the reception hall, and the door. “I promise to wait for whenever you choose to come.”
She realized he no longer walked with her. She turned to see him leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching her.
“You will not have to wait on my arrival, Eva, because I am not leaving tonight.”
He meant well and it charmed her, but she did not want him hovering like an angel. “I do not need you to be here. I promise I will not stay awake all night, cringing with fear.”
“All the same, tonight you will not be alone in this house. Do not argue with me. I will not be gainsaid on this.”
“Do you intend to stand guard? Sleep on the divan with your own pistol at the ready?”
“That was my intention. However, since you are completely, absolutely, and totally recovered, I have decided your bed would be more comfortable.”
She did not think he believed she should sleep on the divan instead.
The implications instantly had her imagining the sensations, remembering the ecstasy.
Her attempt to summon indignation over his presumptuous announcement saw little success.
Desire became a living force in the space separating them.
He came to her, kissed her, then led her to the stairs. Up they climbed.
“I had intended to think a while before we did this again,” she said. “I really should.”
“Think all you want. Starting tomorrow.”
“I cannot have an affair with you. You must know that.”
“All I know is I want you and you want me.”
“Still, we should—”
He stopped and pulled her into his arms. His kiss ravished her mouth and showed none of the restraint of last night. “No more shoulds. Not now, or I will make you wait until you ask again. I will make you beg until you are screaming.”
“I had rather counted on your doing that anyway.” It just blurted out, leaping over all the shoulds trying to get a good foothold in her thoughts.
The look he gave her caused her legs to wobble. With a quick scoop he lifted her into his arms and strode up the stairs.
It was different this time. No desperation. No shocks. Pleasure did not riot through her body. Rather it lapped through her in waves, controlled by Gareth’s masterful caresses and kisses.
Nothing especially wicked happened either.
He took her carefully, almost sweetly, and they entwined in an embrace that permitted her to hold him close.
She knew incredible pleasure, but little delirium.
Instead she felt him around her and in her, in a stunning intimacy.
Even the power at the end did not obscure that, but rather intensified it.
And as she rested in his embrace afterward, she knew this was the more dangerous passion of the two she had experienced, because it was the one that touched her heart.
* * *
Eva woke first. She stayed in Gareth’s arms for a while, savoring the calm and peace. Then she eased out of his embrace and left the bed.
She donned an undressing gown and slipped downstairs. She quickly walked down the garden path, bucket in hand, to get some water. Upon opening the springhouse door, she froze.
Someone had been here since she last used the spring, and not merely to get water.
A big box that held her gardening tools no longer had the hoe and shovel on its top.
They had been moved to the floor. Peering into the box, she saw that its contents had been rearranged haphazardly.
She looked around the little hut. Nothing had been broken or destroyed, but she suspected her house invaders had come here too.
Gareth must have seen this when he came for water yesterday.
He probably had not realized something was not normal.
A shiver up her spine spoke the answer. If this springhouse had been searched, someone had been looking for something specific, not merely taking advantage of an empty house to see what could be had.
She carried the bucket back to the kitchen and warmed it by the hearth.
Then she carried it upstairs to her dressing room and washed and dressed.
Back down in the kitchen she readied a pan to cook some of the eggs Gareth had brought back from town yesterday.
She set the table. Ever since she began doing for herself, toting all the food up to the dining room made little sense.
With all prepared for cooking breakfast, she went up to the library. Her new canvas and paints still sat on the floor in a corner. She removed a small hammer from a drawer and began prying one of the ruined paintings out of its simple frame.
She planned to use the new canvas for copies and reuse these ruined canvases for her own work.
The idea of creating a composition of her choice, of allowing the symphony to play, excited her.
She would make some sketches at the lake, and perhaps paint a long view that took in the lake’s western shore—a sunset view, with purples and oranges streaking the sky and trees casting long shadows on the water.
The result would be much improved on the painting that had been destroyed. She just knew it.
She looked down on the roll of fresh canvas. As for that, she needed to find paintings to copy. Good ones, so Mr. Stevenson’s new patron would want them.
She set about wiping even more turpentine on the painting, finishing what the intruders had begun. The painting had been well dried, so removing all the paint would not work. She managed to reduce the landscape to a ghost of its former self, however. New paint should obscure it enough.
Sounds above told her Gareth had risen. She wiped her hands and set the canvas on her small easel to dry. Again the new materials arrested her attention. If she told him about those stored paintings, would he let her use some?
She recoiled from broaching the subject.
Short of lying to him, she could not avoid a confession if she raised the matter at all.
Her behavior could only make him think less of her.
He assumed she was a lady, a good, honest woman.
Not a thief who took chairs to sell and paintings to copy.
Not the kind of person who kept neglecting to tell him about those pictures in that attic, because she hoped to find a way to take a few more in the future.
Even admitting to the copies would embarrass her.
He had complimented her landscapes. She did not want to tell him she had used her small talents the last two years mostly on slavishly reproducing the art of other painters.
That would be like discovering that a great wit only repeated clever observations other, truly interesting people had said first.
“You have made it worse.”
She looked up to see Gareth five feet away. He wore a waistcoat over his shirt and no cravat. He looked at the ghostly landscape on her easel.
“It was ruined, and now I can reuse the canvas. I have plans for it.” She set the bottle of turpentine back in her paint box and closed its lid.
“Big plans, from the looks of that roll there.”
He meant the new supplies. That canvas is for other things, like copying the paintings in your collection.
“When do you expect your sister to return home?” he said.
“If you ask because you worry about my being alone—”
“I would prefer you were alone. I could stay every night then. If you allowed it.”
Would she? The unspoken question hung there, waiting for an answer. Not the one in her heart. That one shouted its joyful affirmation. The rest of her held back, trying not to be swayed by the sensual power of his presence. Think. You must think, even if you do not want to.
“I do not expect her return before next Saturday, unless something changes.”
He pointed to her new canvases. “I need to ride to Derbyshire tomorrow, but then I am going to London. You could come with me. You should see the art there, and the other sites. People will have started arriving for the Season, so the parks should be lively.”
She had never been to London, but her imagination had constructed it in her head many times.
Bigger than Birmingham, and better in every way.
Big parks full of fashionable coaches and people.
Thousands of shops. Magnificent buildings.
And, yes, art everywhere. The finest art made by the very best artists.
“I do not have a wardrobe for London,” she pointed out.
“We will find a way to see you do.”
His mussed hair framed his incredible face, leaving a few appealing locks skimming his brow.
The eyes under that brow captured her attention.
They reflected charm and amusement, but also his sensual intensity.
They were the eyes of a rogue, but still retained the joyful, devilish lights one sees in the eyes of naughty boys.
Think. You must think before it no longer matters if you do.
“I hope you are not offering to buy me a wardrobe. I could never accept that.” She stood and turned toward the stairs.
“Nor could I visit London without Rebecca. She has dreamed of going for so long, you see.” It killed her to say it.
The most delicious food had just passed under her nose, but she could not indulge.
“She can come too. Write to her today. Invite your cousin as well. She will be your chaperone. No one will raise an eyebrow then.”
He astonished her. “Sarah really will be a chaperone if she comes. She would not take her duty lightly.”
“It is not my intention to seduce you in London, if that is what you think, Eva. I am only plotting the fun that I promised when we first met.”
“You agree, then, that when we go to London this affair will end?”
“If that is what you want, of course. If you have no expectations from me, I can hardly demand any from you.”
Very true. Very sensible. She wondered if anyone else in the world had as dispassionate view of the dealings between men and women as Gareth.
“I will write and ask her, but I do not know if her husband—”
“He can come too. Tell her that I will introduce him to some people he will appreciate meeting. Reassure your cousin that there will be no need to find rooms in a hotel. You will all stay at Langley House.”
“Langley House?”
“My father’s house in London. Now my brother’s. The Duke of Aylesbury’s residence.”
She stared at him.
“So it’s settled then.” He smiled with beatific contentment, and wandered off.