Lords Of Desire Part 38

John leaned back against the motorcar, one boot resting upon the running board, his hands thrust into his pockets. "Indeed it is."

"I had to escape the house for a bit. Do you think they've noticed my absence yet?"

He nodded. "Likely so."

"And how are you enjoying Edith's party so far, Mr. Leyden?"

"Tolerably well, I suppose."

He heard her sigh. "That's progress. Four words," she muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Four words, Mr. Leyden. That seems to be your limit today. I'm only trying to make conversation. You could put a bit more effort into it. After all, you were nearly chatty last time we met. In the greenhouse," she added, as if he had forgotten.

For a moment he simply stared at her, entirely bewildered.

"You must excuse me, Miss Symth." If only he didn't become so d.a.m.ned tongue-tied around her. If only he could converse easily and charmingly, as Sir Edmund did.

When he glanced back at her, he was surprised to see the color had risen in her cheeks, and her eyes, once so merry, were now flas.h.i.+ng angrily. "That's it? I must excuse you? Really, Mr. Leyden, you might try harder."

"I don't always find idle talk...comfortable, Miss Smyth. I did not mean to offend-"

She advanced on him. "Yet I offend you, don't I? What is it about me that you find so distasteful?"

What the devil was she talking about? "You misunderstand, Miss Smyth."

"Is your good opinion so very hard to come by? Heaven knows why I should care what you think of me. Perhaps it's the challenge; I'm not quite certain." She shook her head, then raised her flas.h.i.+ng gaze to meet his. "All I know is, all these years I've had to suffer beneath your disapproving stare, and I've no idea what I've done to earn it. Pray, enlighten me."

Did she not realize the double standard? All these years, she'd looked down her pretty nose at him, perhaps pitied him, yet she expected him to behave like a lapdog, panting after her like Sir Edmund did? Like all the young gentlemen of her acquaintance did?

And why would he? While she coquetted with every other man about, he might as well have been invisible to her.

"I realize that I'm no gentleman, Miss Smyth," he said angrily, his blood thrumming hotly through his veins. "That I lack the education and good breeding of the men you're used to a.s.sociating with."

She tipped her chin into the air. "I've always treated you as an equal."

"Have you?" he asked harshly, unable to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

"I always supposed I did."

"How very charitable of you," he bit out.

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, clinging to the dark fringe of her lashes. "I suppose that explains why you despise my company, then."

At the sight of her stricken expression, his temper vanished at once. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he hadn't meant to hurt her. "I admit I am often uncomfortable in your company," he said softly, "but not because I find you lacking in any respect. Besides, you have an army of gentlemen like Sir Edmund to do your bidding-"

"Sir Edmund is a silly fool. You think I wish to have men like him pawing-" She stopped short, one hand rising to cover her mouth. "Forgive me," she said at last. "Perhaps we should head back to Hadley Hall."

He swore under his breath, pus.h.i.+ng off the side of the motorcar and moving toward her before he could reconsider what he was about to do.

In seconds he reached her side and placed his hands on either side of her face, his thumbs gently stroking her silky skin. "I'm uncomfortable in your presence not because I have an ill opinion of you, Christobel, but because I'm constantly fighting the urge to do this," he said roughly, his mouth slanting toward her trembling lips.

At first she stood motionless, her arms stiff by her sides. As his mouth opened against hers, her hands rose, sliding sensuously up the back of his coat, to his neck. With a small moan, she pulled him closer, her own hot, wet mouth soft and inviting.

He kissed her hungrily, his mouth hard and insistent as she pressed her body against his, her fingers digging into the corded muscles in his neck, her stomach firm against his rock-hard c.o.c.k.

At last he retreated, his mouth moving down the column of her neck, to her throat. "And this," he added, pressing his lips against her collar, where her pulse fluttered wildly. He inhaled her sweet, familiar scent, unable to bear meeting her gaze, to risk seeing displeasure there in her face.

"I had no idea," she said at last, breathlessly. "I thought...I thought you despised me."

Emboldened, he met her gaze. "I only despised myself for wanting something I could not have-something I can never have."

"Except twice now...good heavens, if anyone were to see us!"

"No one can see us. We're well off the main road, Christobel."

"You called me 'Christobel,'" she said softly, a smile tipping the corners of her mouth.

"Such a lovely name."

"Goodness, Mr. Leyden, I think you've made my knees go weak. I need to sit down."

He led her back to the motorcar and handed her up to the seat. For a moment, neither spoke. John looked off toward the bluff, toward the town in the valley below. Cranford-his home. He could see Leyden Mills in the distance, their smokestacks rising toward the sky, reigning over the bustling town.

"What do you think of the view from here?" he asked, unable to disguise the pride in his voice.

"It's dreadful, isn't it?" came her reply. "So...so crowded and dirty and..." Her voice trailed off as she met his gaze. "And you love it, don't you? You must forgive me. I did not mean to offend-"

"Don't apologize for speaking your mind, Miss Smyth." He reached for his gloves and goggles and climbed in beside her. He must have been mad to ever think that he and Christobel...no. No. He would not allow his thoughts to travel that route.

"You're right, we should head back to Hadley Hall," he said. Without waiting for her reply, he reached for the plunger pump on the dash and quickly pumped air pressure into the fuel tank. When that was done, he set the throttle and climbed out to turn the crank on the front of the car. In seconds, the engine roared to life, and John climbed back in and unlatched the hand brake.

Their return to Hadley Hall was accomplished in utter silence.

CHAPTER 6.

"Wherever have you been?" Edith asked with a scowl. Sir Edmund trailed behind her.

Christobel did her best to school her features into a pleasant expression. "I was sitting with Marie. I fear I let the time slip away from me."

It was true, after all. As soon as she and Mr. Leyden had returned, she'd hurried in and had Simpson return her clothing and hair to their proper order. She'd immediately gone belowstairs to check on the recuperating housemaid, as she'd done each and every day since the girl's a.s.sault. Unused to such idleness, poor Marie was going mad with boredom.

Edith just shook her head. "I should have known."

"Marie?" Sir Edmund asked, his ginger-colored brows drawn over bright blue eyes.

"One of my housemaids," Edith supplied. "She was...er...recently injured."

Christobel nodded. "And while she's abed, I'm teaching her to read." Indeed, she'd found an old primer in the library and started with the basics, and Marie had shown a quick, sharp mind.

Sir Edmund looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "Teaching her to read? A housemaid? Why would a maid need to read?"

Christobel bristled. "And why not? Such a dull, dreary life, the life of a maid. Should she not be able to escape into the worlds created by the Brontes or Miss Austen? Or perhaps you'd think Mr. d.i.c.kens more appropriate?"

Sir Edmund rocked back on his heels, looking entirely flummoxed. "Well, er, perhaps. Still, I don't think it's your place-"

"Come, Sir Edmund," Edith interrupted, casting her a scathing look. "Everyone is gathering in the drawing room. I've got a delightful entertainment planned for this afternoon."

Looking suitably repentant for her outburst, Christobel followed the pair out and into the drawing room, eager to see what diversion Edith had in store for them. Anything to take her mind off John Leyden.

Hide-and-seek. Not what Christobel would have hoped for, even though it had become all the rage of late. Even now, Edith was drawing names from two hats, one holding the ladies' names, one the men's. Once everyone was paired up, one couple would be designated the seekers, and everyone else would head out in search of hiding places, either indoors or out in the park. The game could go on for hours, as those "found" joined in the search.

Christobel generally found the game tedious at best-she did not enjoy sitting still, just hanging about waiting to be discovered. But now, as she eyed the hats filled with folded slips of paper, her mind raced. Not Sir Edmund. Please, anyone but him. Silly, of course, as he was the perfect gentleman. Still, she had no wish to be alone with him. What if he were to attempt to take liberties? Thank G.o.d Mr. Leyden was nowhere to be seen, because if she were to- "Miss Christobel Smyth," Edith's voice called out gaily. She reached into the dark gray bowler hat that Jasper held aloft. "And Mr. John Leyden."

Christobel's heart skipped a beat. She saw the confusion on Edith's face. Clearly this was not the outcome her sister had hoped for, either.

"I told my cousin I would not take 'no' for an answer,"

Jasper said in reply to Edith's questioning gaze. "It shall be great fun, won't it, John?"

Christobel's gaze darted about the room, and then she saw him, tucked into the shadows by the door, looking every bit as uncomfortable as she felt.

Still, there was no way to beg off without publicly insulting him. She had no choice but to go off with him, alone, for G.o.d knows how long.

Minutes later, the boundaries of play had been set and Edith and Jasper were named seekers. Time to pair up with one's partner. Christobel took a deep, fortifying breath and made her way toward Mr. Leyden, who still stood where she'd seen him last, as immobile as a statue, leaning against her sister's William Morrispapered wall, watching her approach.

She swallowed hard as she continued to pick her way across the room toward him, his icy gaze bold and unwavering. His arms were folded across his chest, one knee bent, the sole of one boot pressed flat against the wall in an insolent pose. He looked rakish, almost dangerous...nothing at all like the bland, boring John Leyden she remembered.

Heat pooled in her belly; excitement raced through her veins. Dear G.o.d, whatever had come over her? Over him? This was madness-her and John Leyden, of all people.

Christobel was nearly breathless by the time she reached his side, though she could not credit why. "I suppose we shall have to make the best of it," she said before she'd thought better of it.

Instantly, his eyes darkened a hue. A muscle in his jaw flickered, and she realized that, once again, she'd insulted him. Blast it, but her wits seemed to abandon her whenever she was in his presence.

She'd been seventeen when she'd first met Mr. Leyden, when Edith had become engaged to Jasper. Nearly eight years ago, she realized. So many days spent in his company, and yet he'd never before affected her as he did now. Whatever had changed, and in so short a time?

After an uncomfortable pause, Mr. Leyden pushed off the wall and offered his arm. "Shall we?"

Christobel glanced back over her shoulder. Edith leaned toward Jasper with a furrowed brow and whispered in his ear; he nodded in reply, then c.o.c.ked his head toward the door.

Her legs trembling, Christobel turned back toward Mr. Leyden and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "I know just the place," she said.

The old gristmill. It sat abandoned, not far from the ornamental pond. She'd seen a cat dart inside just yesterday. A female cat, she'd determined, and dubbed her Clementine. Fearful and skittish, Clementine was clearly not used to human interaction, but Christobel was determined to tame her. She'd asked Jasper's groundskeeper to bring food and water to the mill each day. Going there now would give her a chance to check on the poor cat and see that the groundskeeper was heeding her request.

Mr. Leyden allowed Christobel to lead him out without comment. Other pairs were das.h.i.+ng this way and that, whispering among themselves, but she and Mr. Leyden walked in silence.

"Might you tell me where we're headed?" he said at last, startling Christobel as they ducked under a cottonwood's low branches.

"The old gristmill. There"-she pointed to a clearing just ahead and to the left-"beyond that maple."

"You're sure that's within bounds?"

Christobel nodded. "Quite sure. Come, let's hurry."

Minutes later, they stepped inside and closed the door on rusted hinges behind them.

"Here, Clementine!" Christobel called out. "Here, kitty, kitty."

"Clementine?" Mr. Leyden asked, looking about with a scowl.

"A lovely gray and white cat. I found her here just yesterday. Oh, good-I see Mr. Carter has brought food for the poor beast." There were two dishes in the corner beside a wooden trestle table and bench, one containing water, the other a half-eaten piece of fish. "I wonder where she's gone off to?"

Mr. Leyden resumed his previous pose, leaning against the mill's dusty planked wall. "Jasper tells me that you're teaching Marie to read," he said, folding his arms across his broad chest. He'd finally abandoned his somber black dress and was attired more appropriately today in a buff-colored pinstriped suit with a gold-striped waistcoat and matching four-in-hand cravat. His tan oxfords looked freshly s.h.i.+ned, his gold cufflinks buffed to perfection.

"Indeed, I am teaching her to read," Christobel said. "And I suppose you're going to scold me about it, too?"

His brows drew together. "Why would I do that?"

Christobel wiped her damp palms across her skirt. "I don't know. Sir Edmund seemed to think it folly to teach a servant such a skill."

"I would think that someone in her position would welcome the escape afforded by the ability to read."

"Precisely!" Christobel said, her cheeks warming with pleasure. At last, someone understood her way of thinking on the matter. "The poor girl is peris.h.i.+ng from boredom right now, forced to remain abed. The reading lessons are giving her pleasure, and she's catching on so quickly, too."

"I'm glad to hear it. I've recently started a free school at our mill for the workers' children. In most cases, it's their only chance for an education. At first my father and brother scoffed at the notion. The children will be put to work soon enough, they said, and book learning will be of no use to them. But now I think they're coming around to my way of thinking."

"What a lovely thing to do," Christobel said. "How very generous of you."

Mr. Leyden suddenly seemed uncomfortable. "Yes, well," he muttered, unable to meet her gaze.

Christobel's breath hitched uncomfortably in her chest as she realized how wrong she'd been about him, how vastly she'd underestimated him. Traits she'd seen as weaknesses were actually signs of his good character-his brooding silence hid a deep sensitivity; his supercilious nature a response to what he saw as sn.o.bbery. She'd dared to fault his quiet sensibility, when in fact she should have applauded his inability to indulge in empty, meaningless talk and mindless flattery. "Perhaps we're more alike than we believed ourselves to be," she said at last.

She was right, John realized with a start. All these years they'd been acquainted, and he'd never really known her-never known that she was the type to teach a servant girl to read, to make sure that a stray cat was fed and cared for. Instead, he'd thought her vain, selfish, even. How far off the mark he'd been, and how his heart-among other organs-swelled with the knowledge.

Desire coursing hotly through his veins, he watched her, mentally measuring the distance between them. Three yards, perhaps? No more than five. How he wanted to close that distance, to take her in his arms.

"Your limp," she said, so softly he could barely make out the words. "I...I know it's horribly rude of me to ask, but, well, considering what we've shared these past few days..." She trailed off, her cheeks suddenly red.

He didn't wish to speak of it, not now. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of his weakness, his physical imperfection. "I'd rather not discuss it," he bit out.