Chapter Seventeen
THEY WALKED for perhaps twenty minutes, staying close to the woods, then cutting through the swath of trees that curved back toward the house.
Irene saw that they were close to the ruins of the Norman keep that had once kept watch over the Bankes land, long before the earldom had been bestowed on them.
She had seen the place on her first walk here and had wanted to explore it, but she had not yet done so.
The riding party a few days earlier had gone past the ruins, and Lady Calandra, unsurprisingly, had thought it would be fun to explore.
They had not stopped, however, for Miss Surton had declared with a shiver that it was eerie, and Gideon had prosaically commented that the place was too unstable to poke about in.
“The ruins?” Irene said now, casting a quizzical glance at Gideon. “Is that what you wanted me to see?”
“In a way. Something inside the tower.”
“I thought it was too unstable, that it was dangerous to go inside,” she reminded him.
A quick grin flashed across his face. “For Miss Surton, it is, certainly.”
Irene let out a gurgle of laughter. It pleased her more than she cared to admit to hear Gideon’s dismissal of Rowena Surton.
He led her into the tower. It was dim inside, but as they climbed the stairs, chinks and even holes in the stonework let in more and more sunlight. They emerged onto the top floor, and he opened the sturdy wooden door, revealing a room beyond. Irene drew in her breath in surprise.
Unlike the rest of the tower, dust and ruin had been banished here.
A large piece of canvas slanted from the remains of the fallen roof down across to the waist-high southern wall of the tower, closing out the elements.
A rug was spread across the portion of the room farthest from the half-ruined wall, and upon it were a pile of large comfortable pillows and a low table, as well as a small bookcase.
A kerosene lamp sat on the table, and two candles stood on the bookcase.
Close to the canvas-covered wall, by itself, with only a stool nearby, was a telescope.
“Gideon!” Irene looked around her, amazed. “I had no idea!”
“No one does.” He walked over to the wall and unwound a rope from a bracket, then pulled on it on it, and the canvas rolled up, opening the room to the outside.
“It’s beautiful,” Irene breathed, looking at the suddenly revealed view of the countryside. She raised her head, looking up at the late afternoon sky.
“So this is where you come at night!” she exclaimed.
“What?” It was his turn to look surprised.
“I’ve seen you once or twice, late in the evening, walking out through the gardens, and I’ve wondered where you went.” She paused, then added candidly, “I thought perhaps you were having an assignation.”
“Indeed?” He arched his brows. “How…interesting to hear your opinion of me. And who did you think I was coming to meet? One of my tenants’ wives? A maid?”
“I had no idea. But I could not imagine why else you would be slipping out this way, on foot, at that time of night. I had no idea you were an astronomer.”
“I scarcely qualify for that title,” he replied easily, strolling over to the telescope and running a hand along it.
“Actually, I had no interest in it—indeed, had never thought of it—until I came here. But this telescope was in the house—a hobby of my grandfather’s, apparently—and I decided to try it out.
I found the skies fascinating, and then, when I was roaming about, learning the grounds, I came upon the tower and saw how, with a little rebuilding, it could be used for an observatory.
” He looked out across the landscape. “I find it soothing. An escape.” In an undertone, he added, “I have used it a great deal the last few days.”
Irene glanced at him sharply, then looked away. “You…have not enjoyed the party?” she asked in a determinedly casual tone, keeping her eyes on the landscape beyond.
He made a low, inarticulate noise. “Bloody hell, Irene! Of course I have not enjoyed it. Who could enjoy listening to conversation so treacly it makes one’s teeth ache?
Everything is so ‘sweet,’ so ‘cunning,’ so ‘pretty’ and ‘pleasant.’ If I ask for an opinion, all I receive is a laugh or a wave of the fan, or perhaps, ‘Oh, my lord, I do not know. What do you think?’ What sort of an answer is that? I know what I think.”
She could not help but laugh, and he swung on her with a dark look.
“Oh, yes, well you may laugh. You are not the one having to endure it. Don’t think I have not seen you sneak away every chance you get.”
She should not have been so pleased, she knew, to learn that he was not enjoying the dogged pursuit of the young women at the party—or that he had noticed when she left the room.
“There is little for me to enjoy,” she replied, and though she knew she should not, she added, “You did not even ask me to dance.”
He glanced at her, something sparking in his eyes. “Ah, that rankled, did it?”
“Is that why you did not ask?” she countered, his remark sparking the dry tinder of her hurt and anger. “To rankle me? Were you punishing me?”
“I did not ask you,” he said, each word short and sharp, “because you do not care to be my wife. You have made that plain. Therefore I must turn my mind to those who are willing.”
Irene burned to make a sharp retort, but she could think of nothing that was not foolish. He was right. She was not in the running, and it would be a waste of his time to dance or talk with her when he could be measuring the others’ assets as a bride.
“Of course. I forget that friendship and emotions have no place in your scheme of things.”
She shot him a flashing glance, head high and chin up in a defiant pose.
Gideon took a step toward her, his eyes suddenly burning hot, and for an instant the air between them was charged, heavy and humming with anger and heat.
She thought that he was going to pull her to him and kiss her as he had before, and her loins blossomed with warmth, her nipples tightened. Her body felt as if it were opening to him, and she knew that if he kissed her, she would go up in flames like straw at the touch of a match.
She wanted nothing more than that. And nothing scared her more.
She turned abruptly, striding away from him to the center of the room. Almost before she knew what she was going to say, the words came tumbling out of her mouth. “Tell me about Dora.”
There was an instant of stunned silence following her request, and she swung around to look at him.
“What?” he asked. “Why do you ask about Dora?”
“That was the name you said, the woman whom you were protecting from my father’s advances,” Irene went on. “That night, when I found you downstairs…”
“Yes. She is the faro dealer I told you about.”
“Is that all she is to you? An employee?”
“No,” he replied, his eyes searching her face. “Why are you asking me this? Who told you about Dora?”
“Teresa. I remembered the name when she said it. I remembered how you told my father never to touch her again.”
“And do you have a difficulty with Dora?” he asked, his voice tight, his eyes guarded.
“I?” Irene responded with a sinking heart. His attitude was certainly not that of a man speaking about an employee. “No. How should I have a difficulty with Dora? I have never met the woman.”
“Then what is your interest?”
“Curiosity, I suppose,” she answered in a voice she hoped was as cool as his. “I wonder if you will tell your wife about her.”
“I will,” he responded, his eyes still fastened on hers. “She is a part of my life. My wife will have to realize that.”
“So part of the price she must pay to become countess is to endure your mistress?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Is that what Teresa told you? That Dora is my mistress?”
“Yes. She said that she had heard you arguing about her with your grandmother. She said you told Lady Radbourne that you would never give her up.”
Gideon released a sigh. “Dora is not my mistress.”
Irene tried not to sag with relief.
“I have known Dora for years, since I was a child. We grew up together. She was another of the children Jack collected about him. She was a little younger than I, smaller, weaker. We were friends. I protected her. We shared our food, our blankets. She is…for all my life, she has been the closest thing that I have had to a family. She is like my sister. But I have never—just the thought of that, with her, is inconceivable.”
He looked, Irene realized in amazement, almost embarrassed.
“Indeed, she is engaged to Piers,” he went on. “But one thing Teresa said is true. I will not give her up. Ever. Any more than I would give up Piers.” His gaze was defiant.
“Of course not.” Irene’s smile was dazzling. “No one should ask you to.”
He let out a noncommittal grunt. “You should speak to Lady Odelia and my grandmother.”
“I suspect, deep down, even Lady Odelia admires your loyalty.”
“And do you think any of those young ladies will?”
Irene hesitated. Quite frankly, she doubted it. What was disturbing, she realized, was that the idea of his prospective brides falling short pleased her.
“If she is the proper wife for you, she will,” she answered finally, somewhat primly.
He looked at her for a long moment, and suddenly nervous, Irene turned away. “We should leave soon, or we will be late for supper.”
“Yes. Of course.”
He rolled the canvas back, securing it in place, and they left the tower.
* * *
THE LARGEST EVENT of the weeklong house party was the ball scheduled for the following evening.
There was only another day planned for the guests after that, and then the visitors would pack up and leave.
The ball would be an opportunity for everyone to dress up in their finery and look their very best, and Irene felt sure that most of the girls planned to put their utmost effort into the evening.