Beyond A Wicked Kiss (25 page)

Chapter 7

By West's reckoning, it was nearing two o'clock in the morning when he saw the manor at Ambermede again. His view from the back of Draco was unobstructed at this curve in the road, and the silvery cast of the fall moon's light illuminated /
 
every snow-covered hillock, valley, and open field. The manor was positioned like a jewel in a deep bed of white velvet, a diamond itself with the moonshine glancing off its stone walls.

West tugged on Draco's reins, slowing the mount to a walk, then halting him. Looking around, West realized what it was about this particular view that tickled his memory. Off to his left was the lake, iced over now but still visible by the outline of its banks. There, too, was the stand of trees—beeches, firs, oaks—and the venerable and stately chestnut that he had loved to climb in his youth.

A slight change in the pressure of his knees was all the encouragement Draco needed to start walking, this time turning off the road toward the wood. When they reached the chestnut, West stopped his horse again and looked up. The branches of the tree were perfectly limned by moonlight and snow, and West could follow the route he had taken to the top. Accounting for the growth of the last twenty years, West realized he had not much exaggerated the height and breadth of this great tree in his own mind. He had no trouble finding the peculiar cradle of the branches that had held him safely while he surveyed all of the countryside. Seeing the precariousness of that position now, and the considerable distance it was from the ground, West wondered that he had not broken his neck either in an attempt to reach it or leave it.

He lowered his head and let his gaze fall on the lake. Without quite realizing that he'd signaled Draco to do so, the stallion began heading in that direction. Draco carefully picked his way along the edge of the bank until West stopped him. Judging the distance from the woods and the perspective of the lake from this angle to be the right one, West was satisfied he had come upon the very spot where he had jumped into the water to pull young Ria out.

All these years later, it was still a question in his mind if he had really been the cause of her tumbling into the water. Was his effort to pull her up short the thing that made her take the spill? If he hadn't left the tree, would she still have run into the lake? He knew how he remembered the incident, but on occasion he wondered if his memory played him false. Why had no other person seen what he had? If he was innocent, why had his father flayed the skin from his back?

A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air or the frozen landscape made West turn Draco away abruptly and set off for the road and Ambermede.

* * *

Ria could not sleep. She had managed to hide her concern regarding West's long absence from Tenley and Margaret, but that had been during the day when there were activities to occupy her, chief among them avoiding being alone with Tenley. The children helped by being eager for her company and willing to do whatever she suggested. With the assistance of the groundskeeper and one of his lads, they built a snow castle with crenelated embattlements. Caroline wanted to live there in relative peace as princess; William wanted to lay siege to it. William's warlike inclinations triumphed, and the ensuing flurry of snowballs caught each of them at one time or another.

Building and battling in the snow could not occupy the whole of the day, however, and when tempers wore thin, Ria moved the children back inside for their lessons. While they were attended by their governess, Ria enjoyed a short visit with the infant James, then sought out Margaret for adult companionship. There were questions about West's enigmatic missive and subsequent departure to be carefully turned aside, but it was not too difficult to accomplish as Margaret was certain the cause of it lay with the previous evening's kiss and West's discomfort with the tendre Ria had developed for him.

"You have given the game away," Margaret had scolded her gently, "by being entirely too forward."

Ria had agreed this was probably the way of it and let Margaret speak at length on the cowardly nature of men when they were confronted by a woman's tender feelings. During Margaret's argument, Tenley joined them briefly, and Ria noted that he offered nothing in his defense, or in defense of his sex. He backed out of the room as quickly as possible after seizing a book that he'd supposedly wanted.

When the doors closed behind him, Margaret had given Ria a significant, knowing look, and neither of them could contain their laughter. It was the first time in Ria's memory that she and Margaret had shared such a moment of abandon and delight. That it should come at Tenley's expense seemed rather more right than wrong.

Hours and hours had passed since then, every one of them devolving into the next with excruciating slowness. Dinner filled up some of the time, and Margaret's recital at the piano following the meal engaged still more. At the end of the day, however, there was nothing for it but to retire to her room with all of her own questions unanswered.

Ria had prepared for bed by taking a steaming bath in lavender-scented water. When it had seemed that she might fall asleep there, she roused herself enough to be dried and dressed and directed to the comfort of the large four-poster. She was in anticipation of immediate slumber and turned on her side, one hand under her pillow, the other folded into a light fist and nestled close to her lips. She was vaguely aware of the maid extinguishing the lamp and quietly exiting the room, then conscious only of her own soft intake of air.

Twenty minutes later, she was still conscious of her breathing. It did not matter that her eyes were still closed—she was as thoroughly awake as she had been before she'd taken her bath.

"Bloody hell," she said under her breath. It was a credible imitation of the intonation West used when he had occasion to curse. She found it deeply satisfying. "Bloody, bloody hell."

Pushing herself upright, Ria relighted the lamp and picked up the book she had taken from the library after breakfast. Scott's
Guy Mannering
had held her interest through three chapters this morning, but now she could not gather sufficient concentration to go on. After reading, then rereading, the same half-dozen pages, Ria finally gave up and set it aside.

She threw back the covers and took her flannel robe from the foot of the bed and put it on. Her slippers had been placed at a practical distance from the bed so that all she had to do was step into them. The fireplace was her immediate destination, and she chose a poker from among the fire irons and jabbed at the logs until a great flame jumped from between them, and they were burning evenly again.

Satisfied she would not catch a chill, Ria turned her attention to the window. The heavy maroon velvet drapes denied her a view of the starkly beautiful winter landscape. Through a slender parting in the panels, she could see that the moonlight was uncommonly bright this evening. The hem of her own nightdress was frosted by silver-blue light wherever it was touched by one of the slim bands of moonshine.

Ria pulled back each panel and secured it against the wall with the matching velvet sash. She knelt on the upholstered window bench and rested her arms on the narrow sill. Her breath clouded a pane of glass at first, then slowly disappeared.

The breadth of the landscape never failed to astonish her. This panoramic view of the estate was at once familiar and foreign, the former because she knew every curve in the ribbon of the road and in the lay of the land, the latter because each time she visited this place, the exploration of the countryside seemed as novel to her as the first.

Compliments of the recent snow and this full moon's light, the fields were awash in crystalline splendor. The crests of drifted snow sparkled, and the long boughs of the firs were swept gracefully downward by the weight of the snow. Several deer wandered cautiously away from the wood in search of food. Farther still in the distance was the lake. Iced over, it was almost indistinguishable from its surroundings, but Ria knew where to look for it. She stared at it for a long moment, toying to make out its perimeter, when a movement along its southern bank captured her attention.

At first she thought it was deer come looking for water. The size, though, puzzled her. She rubbed at the glass with the sleeve of her robe to erase the last vestige of condensation. When the clarity of her view still did not satisfy, Ria threw open the window.

The air was bracing, and the first icy gust shivered the drapes and flattened Ria's robe and nightdress against her chest. A moment later, the wind stilled, and Ria could draw a full breath. She leaned out the window, her pale braid falling forward over her shoulder so that it hung like an icicle.

Eyes narrowed, her stare intent, Ria was able to make out the shape of horse and rider. She could not be sure that it was Draco and West, but intuitively she knew it to be true. To what purpose would a stranger detour from the road and go down to the lake? Moreover, to that particular curve in the lake's bank? She wondered that he had the courage to go there. It must be a place fraught with unpleasant memories. She had not often gone back, and her memories were rather more vague than she suspected his would be.

Ria's right hand lifted absently, and she massaged the back of her neck. When she realized what she was doing, she smiled a trifle wryly and let her fingers fall away. An old habit, she thought, one that gave her an odd sort of comfort when those uncertain and unsettling memories came to the forefront of her mind.

She watched for as long as she could withstand the cold. She followed West's progress away from the lake and back up to the road and lost sight of him in one of the curves. By the time he reappeared, she was shaking with the effort to stay in the open frame of the window. Her fingers were stiff and clumsy when she reached for the latch, but she managed to secure it after a few attempts. Hugging herself until she reached the fireplace, Ria thrust her hands as close to the flames as she dared. Droplets of water fell to the floor from where the end of her damp braid had actually frozen and was now melting. Ria unplaited her hair and combed through it with her fingers.

He was finally returning. The realization had the power to ease Ria's mind as well as disturb it. She remembered his clipped and chilly accents from the previous night when she told him she could think of no reason she would have to trouble him again.
Then you underestimate yourself,
he had said.
I'm certain something will occur to you if you apply yourself
.

God's truth, but she was out of patience with him for being right.

* * *

West let himself into his room and found Finch was waiting up for him, or nearly so. The valet was snoring softly in a wing chair that had been pushed close to the fireplace. Finch's plump arms rested comfortably on the curve of his belly, and his feet were propped on a three-legged stool. West woke him by stomping his boots rather loudly, because to let him sleep on would have been the graver insult.

Finch was at the ready immediately, and West pretended not to have noticed there had been a moment's inattention to his duties. They had gotten on well for years in such a manner, and West was confident that so it would go.

"Was there much in the way of speculation regarding my absence?" he asked as Finch unwound his stock.

"Enough that I felt compelled to start a wager book."

West ignored that dry retort. "Did Miss Ashby ask after me?"

"No."

"That either proves that she is learning some restraint or that she concluded for herself where I had gone."

"I suspect it is the latter," Finch said as he assisted West out of his frock coat. "She impresses as being capable of deciphering your cryptic missive."

"I also suspect it is the latter, but that is because I cannot conceive she has mastered restraint."

"She has not yet bloodied your nose. That is always a good sign."

West frowned. "You will have to explain that remark. I have treated her in every way respectfully. She has had no—" He stopped because Finch's rounded countenance was clearly skeptical. "What have you heard below stairs? No doubt there is gossip."

"It seems you were caught out in a provocative pose."

"Provocative? What the devil does that mean? I was kissing her."

Finch shrugged.
"Provocative
is how they're telling it in the kitchen. Mr. Hastings—he is the first butler—has been disapproving of such talk, but it goes on outside of his hearing. Some of the speculation is that you went off to secure a special license."