Lisa Bingham (13 page)

Friend.

With a rush of feeling, she remembered that she needed to get a message to Phoebe. Since Louisa had been unable to send a telegram before leaving New York, Phoebe would be worried sick if she didn’t receive a message as soon as possible.

“Beatrice, is there a way for me to send a telegram—or even mail a letter—without going into town myself?”

“Yes, of course. Just let Mrs. Hillard, the housekeeper, know. She can send one of the stable boys into town for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anyone in particular that you need to reach?”

“No. Just a friend.”

But when she turned, it was to find that John had entered the room.

How much of her conversation with Beatrice had he heard?

Standing ramrod stiff, Louisa dared him to say something, but after several long seconds, the man merely stated, “Mr. Pritchard and the undertaker are waiting for you in the parlor.”

Although Louisa longed to devote her immediate attention to Evie’s situation, it soon became obvious that the errand would not be completed that day. Louisa had scarcely finished her tour of the castle when neighbors began to call, offering condolences.

To Louisa’s utter horror, she was required to accept the visits in the parlor, with Charles’s coffin mere yards away. Over and over again, she was asked to recite the circumstances of her marriage to him, the occasion of their introduction and her voyage to America—so much so that with each new guest that arrived, she embellished the story for her own entertainment.

By late afternoon, with her head pounding and her body screaming for the opportunity to stand and stretch, Louisa decided that “polite society” wouldn’t dream of visiting so close to teatime without an invitation. She instructed the housekeeper to tell any tardy visitors that she had become indisposed and would not take any further calls for the time being. Then she retreated from the grimy shabbiness of the castle’s central rooms to her own small apartments overlooking the garden. Unfortunately, her vantage point only seemed to remind her of the gross disrepair of the house.

Frankly, she didn’t understand how a man with such an elegant personal railway car could let his own home rapidly decay. He’d spent a good deal of time and money arranging for such an elaborate structure to be rebuilt in America, but for all intents and purposes, the building was uninhabitable.

Tomorrow, Louisa would see about readying the suite of rooms next to hers for Evie. As much as she might want to send for the girl today, she felt it was important for Evie to have a comfortable place to call her own.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…

There were so many things that needed to be done. Louisa found it exhilarating to think that she was in charge of such decisions. It was also terrifying. If things went wrong, she had only herself to blame.

She would have given anything to have someone trustworthy to use as a sounding post. But with Phoebe thousands of miles away and Beatrice still a new acquaintance…

Louisa didn’t want anyone to think she was too weak to handle the responsibilities she’d been given.

As she sank onto the swooning couch and rested her head against the padded back, she fought a wave of loneliness. Despite Beatrice’s kind manner, Louisa knew she was still an interloper here—a fact Boyd made clear by throwing her frosty glares and leaving the room whenever she appeared.

How would the family feel when she began making changes to their home? She shivered, anticipating Boyd’s reaction. She was sure that he would find ample reason to offer a cutting remark about her willingness to spend Evie’s inheritance.

But the castle wasn’t a healthy place for a young girl. If left unattended, it would be a moldering ruin by the time the child was put in charge of her own fortunes.

Louisa’s temples throbbed. When she had agreed to marry Charles, she hadn’t thought beyond marrying the man himself. She hadn’t considered how her actions would have repercussions throughout the whole family. Indeed, she’d been so sure that Charles was without family.

A knock at her bedroom door caused her to sigh. She had asked to be left alone, yet the outside world had interrupted yet again.

“Come in.”

But it wasn’t Beatrice or the housekeeper who entered. It was her bodyguard. Behind him stood several servants, laden down with trunks.

Louisa nearly scrambled to her feet before she realized that she wasn’t expected to rise. She was the mistress of the house.

“Where would you like your trunks to be placed?”

Gathering Bitsy against her like a shield, she motioned to a doorway that led to a small dressing room. “In there would be fine.”

Since the housekeeper and the cook had been the only servants on duty the previous day, Louisa had arranged for only a few bags to be brought up to her. It had been one of Louisa’s first decisions as mistress of the house to recall the rest of the staff in time for the funeral.

An army of footmen and stable hands moved in and out of her suite until the opposite wall was piled high with trunks. Looking at the sight, Louisa grimaced.

Had she really bought so many things while she was in New York? She must have been mad.

After the servants disappeared, John lingered near the door. “Tired?”

Louisa knew that she shouldn’t encourage his familiarity, but she needed the sound of a voice that was not her own.

“I am beginning to see that the ceremonies of grief can be very exhausting.”

“Especially for a woman who is far too young to be widowed.”

Her lips twitched in a semblance of a sad smile. “I had no idea that Charles was so…well connected. Most of the visitors conducted business with Charles.” Her brow creased. “I have yet to meet any of his friends.”

Realizing that such a comment could be interpreted as being disloyal, Louisa quickly changed the subject. “At least you managed to be a bit more inconspicuous this afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t want you to think that I was completely insensitive to your sorrow.”

Now why did his remark sound as if he was mocking her? She fixed him with a firm gaze. “Tomorrow I wish to retrieve Evie from her school.”

“Do you really think that’s wise?”

“She’ll need to be here for the funeral the following day.”

“Perhaps she would be safer at school.”

“Safer?” Louisa shook her head. “She would never forgive me if she weren’t here to offer her last goodbyes.”

“But it might be better for you if you could familiarize yourself with life at Winslow Manor first.”

She shrugged. “Right now I would welcome the company of the little girl.” When Neil regarded her curiously, she waved her hand. “Arrange for a carriage to be ready for me first thing in the morning.”

“Do you want a driver, or would you like me to do the honors?”

She opened her mouth to immediately request a driver, then thought better of it. She had no guarantees of Evie’s reaction. The girl might regard her with the same disdain that Boyd had shown. If that was the case, Louisa would prefer to have only one witness to her shortcomings.

She idly petted Bitsy’s silky fur before asking, “I don’t suppose that you would allow me to drive myself?”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you know how to handle a buggy?”

More than anything, she wished that she could answer in the affirmative. Since she couldn’t, she said instead, “I’m sure that I could get the hang of it with a few quick instructions.”

John scowled. “Don’t even think about it. Tomorrow I’ll drive you to the school myself.”

T
he air the following morning was crisp and clean as Louisa stepped from the castle and pulled the door shut behind her.

She hadn’t told Beatrice that she would be retrieving Evie from school. It was Louisa’s decision to collect the girl and bring her home, and she wanted to surprise the woman. Judging by the many stories Beatrice had told about nursing ailing relatives, she was a born nurturer. She would find the arrival of her niece to be a special pleasure, Louisa was sure. It would give Beatrice a family member to dote upon during such a trying time.

As if on cue, a buggy clattered over the cobbled drive, saving Louisa the trouble of walking to the stables to find John.

“Good morning, Mrs. Winslow,” he said, looping the reins over the brake and touching a finger to his hat.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith.”

He jumped from the wagon and held out a hand to assist her. Quickly, she tugged her gloves over her fingers, knowing that to touch the man’s bare flesh this early in the morning would cause a jolt to her equilibrium.

“Will you be needing anything else for your ride, Mrs. Winslow?”

“No, thank you, John. I have the address in my reticule. The school shouldn’t be too far outside Boston.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The buggy dipped as he climbed onto the seat beside her and collected the reins.

“Hiyah!”

With a touch of the whip to the horse’s flanks, the carriage jolted into motion.

They made their journey in silence until they were well past the estate’s main gates. Then Smith asked, “Would you like a turn with the reins?”

Startled, Louisa studied him closely. She hadn’t expected him to remember that she wanted to learn to drive. Moreover, she wouldn’t have thought he would be willing to allow her to become proficient at anything that might give her a small modicum of freedom.

“You’re sure?”

He put the reins into her own palms, and she was glad that she’d worn a pair of thick kid gloves. On more than one occasion, she’d heard the disapproving whispers of elderly women complaining that the younger generation was ruining the delicate skin of their palms by driving without proper protection.

With the buggy on the straightaway, there was no real skill required in directing the horse, but when the road bordered the winding path of the creek, she allowed John to wrap his arm around her waist so that he could help her control the skittish animal.

All too soon, she forgot the thrill of managing her own carriage. Instead, she became aware of the warmth of John’s arm around her waist, his hands gripping her wrists.

A hunger like none she had ever known swelled within her. Gooseflesh raced over her skin, only to be replaced by a tide of heat.

Sweet heaven, don’t let me feel. Don’t let me feel!

But it was too late. She was already trembling with an awareness that was as potent as a fever. She barely noted as the carriage rattled over the wood of a covered bridge. Unconsciously, she pulled tighter on the reins, causing the horse’s hooves to move slower and slower. Somewhere shy of the bright sunlight on the other side, the buggy came to a complete stop.

She would never be sure who moved first. She only knew that when she turned toward John, she found herself pulled firmly into his arms.

Her own hands slid up his chest, testing the hardness she found there. Hungrily, she plunged her fingers into the thick waves of his hair. Sighing against him, she met his lips with hers. She fell against him, allowing him to hold her weight as she became lost in the maelstrom of her desire.

Heat blossomed within her, chasing away the lingering chill of the morning and the cool air lingering beneath the bridge. Restless, she pressed herself against John, needing something more, but not knowing what she required. She only knew that her body had become a traitor, responding to a man whom she should avoid.

“No…” she whispered achingly, struggling to collect the last wisps of her control before she was completely undone. “No!”

Wrenching free, she jumped from the carriage, her heart knocking in her chest as she hurried out of the concealing shadows and leaned over the railing at the far end of the bridge.

Neil moved more slowly, knowing that he should remain in the carriage, but admitting he couldn’t have stayed away from this woman for all of the gold in California.

As he closed the distance between them, she looked up quickly, her eyes shining with something akin to shame and self-loathing.

A glimpse of her guilt was enough to give Neil pause. What was it that injured her conscience? Was it the fact that she was living a charade? Or could it be something more? Something darker and far more serious?

Unbidden, he was reminded of her bouts of sickness and his earlier doubts.

No. This woman couldn’t be pregnant.

Could she?

During their correspondence during the past few years, Neil had asked her several times to become his bride. Usually he had been offering the proposition in jest, trying to imagine the way such an outlandish idea would make his old friend smile. But it had only been a short time ago that she’d unexpectedly sent him a telegram, agreeing to his proposal.

A telegram, not a letter.

As if time was something she couldn’t afford to waste.

Had his childhood friend found herself in trouble? Had she decided to journey to America to make a fresh start, all without telling him of her circumstances? Had she planned to have her baby and pass it off as his?

Neil’s jaw clenched at the mere idea. No. He couldn’t believe such a thing about her….

And yet what did he really know about this woman? He couldn’t vouch for her integrity when he hadn’t seen her in years. Moreover, he knew that she was living a lie in order to inherit a fortune.

Would she have lied to him about being innocent?

She stared up at him with the wild eyes of an animal suddenly aware of the proximity of its hunter, and he resolutely pushed such thoughts away.

He was jumping to conclusions, he thought, his gaze dropping to the slender span of her waist. Except for her unsettled stomach, he had no evidence of a pregnancy. Until he did, he should remain loyal to an old friend.

Even if in doing so she makes a fool of you?

Shoving that thought away, Neil leaned on the railing, his hand nearly touching hers.

Side by side, they stared down at the eddying river, the quiet of the morning settling around them like a cloak.

“I—I’m sorry,” Louisa whispered. “I don’t know what possessed me to…” She stopped and bit her lip. She admitted much more reluctantly, “You seem to have a very strange effect over me, Mr. Smith. When I’m with you, I forget myself.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

“Oh, but there is. My behavior is unforgivable and…”

“Human?”

She shook her head. “I have enough on my plate as things are.”

“I’m sure yesterday was a challenge. It must be difficult comforting strangers.”

She shrugged. “That has been the least of my most recent worries.”

He barely resisted the urge to pull her against his chest and cuddle her there. “What has you so troubled?”

“The castle, for one thing.”

He grimaced. “Was it part of Charles’s plan to rebuild the house in the same disrepair he found it?”

She sighed. “It isn’t healthy. I need to bring Evie home, but the castle is so drafty and cold, I fear for her well-being.”

The mention of the girl reminded Neil that his bride-to-be would not have an easy time extricating herself from her current responsibilities.

“I don’t understand why Charles left Evie’s guardianship to me. Why would he do that? Wouldn’t she be more at ease with her aunt or uncle?”

“Charles must have had his reasons.” But Neil only had half a mind on his words. All the while he was studying Louisa, wondering what secrets she harbored behind her dark eyes.

Unable to stop himself, he caressed her cheek, then the soft skin of her neck. When he felt her shudder, his control weakened yet again and he pulled her to him. Despite his suspicions and the possibility of being made a fool, he could not seem to rid himself of her hold on him. Like a spider, she had pulled him tightly into her web of mystery and allure, and he was powerless to resist.

Softly, sweetly, he brushed his lips against hers. And as his body instantly reacted, he was struck with the sudden realization that no other woman had ever made him feel so alive, so…

Shying away from anything more that his heart might whisper to him, Neil lifted his head and said gruffly, “We’d best get going.”

She nodded. “Yes. I think you’re right.”

Louisa knew that she should step out of the circle of his arms, but when John finally lifted his head, her limbs trembled so badly she could barely stand. Defeated, she dropped her forehead against the plane of his chest.

This was wrong, so wrong.

So why was she so powerless to resist?

“You must think me a loose woman.”

When he didn’t immediately respond, she looked up. A shadow had touched the depths of his eyes. That combined with the continued silence was enough to make her stiffen and turn away despite the weakness of her limbs.

“I can assure you that it isn’t my habit to fall into a man’s arms at the slightest provocation.”

The silence grew thicker, fraught with a tension that she didn’t understand. Even with her back to him, Louisa could feel his gaze on her like a hot hand. Yet this time the scrutiny lacked the heat of passion and felt more like the scalding blaze of recrimination.

“How did you and Charles meet?”

Her stomach lurched. “W-we were introduced by a mutual acquaintance.” Louisa soothed her conscience by insisting to herself that her explanation was the truth, for the most part.

“Yet you agreed to marry a man by proxy.”

She pressed a hand to her waist as her nervousness increased. “You needn’t make it sound so…cold-blooded.” She scrambled to think of a logical reason why any woman would marry a stranger. Heaven only knew she couldn’t tell him the truth. “We corresponded for years.”

“Really?”

Why did he sound so doubtful?

“Yes. We spent some time together as youngsters.”

“But Charles is much older than you.”

“W-well, yes…I was a child and he was…younger then.” She waved her hand as if her vague reply explained everything. “We grew quite close with our letters.”

“So how was it you didn’t know he had a daughter?”

Blast and bother!

Her stomach lurched and she scrambled for her handkerchief.

“I think we’ve had quite enough questions about me, Mr. Smith. I don’t think it’s seemly for a hired hand to be so familiar.”

“Why not?”

Her mouth worked for a moment as she sought a suitable answer. “Because you already know far too much about me, while I know hardly anything at all about you. I doubt that you would enjoy matters if the tables were turned and I was the one interrogating you.”

“Feel free to ask me anything you like.”

Louisa knew that she should resist the temptation he offered. She had no business asking this man about himself. Her only defense against his allure would lie in keeping him at a distance—and knowing the intimate details of his life wouldn’t help.

But even as her brain churned out a list of reasons why she should call a halt to their conversation, she found herself asking, “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Smith?”

When he grinned, she flushed.

Why hadn’t she begun her interview with something more bland, more mundane?

“Why, Mrs. Winslow, I’m impressed with your audacity,” he drawled.

She clenched her teeth to keep from offering a pithy—and very unladylike—response.

“As a matter of fact, I am currently courting a very fine young lady.”

Courting? The man was
courting
another woman and at the same time kissing Louisa?

“Her name is Betty.”

“Betty?”

“She’s a barmaid at a little tavern I frequently visit.”

A tavern or a saloon?

“She’s a fine one, Betty. Granted, she’s had a tough time of it since she lost a tooth in a brawl—”

She’d lost a tooth?

“—but as long as she keeps her mouth closed, she’s still a looker.”

Smith suddenly stopped, then tipped his head to the side as if considering something. “I don’t suppose you would help me woo the girl, would you, Mrs. Winslow?”

Her fingers curled so tightly around the strings of her reticule that she could feel her nails biting into her gloves.

“I beg your pardon?”

“She’s a bit persnickity about the kind of fellow she entertains.”

I’ll just bet.

“She keeps telling me that my manners are too rough for her delicate sensibilities.”

“I can see why.”

“We’ll be marrying soon.”

He was nearly married to one woman, yet he was kissing her? Louisa thought, stunned. Jealousy surged through her, but was quickly doused by a slow anger.

“You’re engaged?”

“No, no. Not yet. Betty hasn’t agreed to my proposal. Like I said, she thinks I need some polishing.”

Saints preserve them, the two of them made an appalling pair. Louisa had been widowed only a few days and John was all but betrothed—yet neither one of them could control the awareness that pulled them together time and time again.

Although Louisa might have expected as much of John, she was disturbed by her own waywardness. Had she no pride? No sense of respectability?

Without thinking, she swung out her hand and slapped John Smith hard across the cheek.

“There’s lesson number one, Mr. Smith. Never,
never
toy with the affections of one woman when you are clearly involved with another.”

Then, lifting her skirts, she marched back to the carriage, her chin high, her breast filled with outrage…

And her heart aching in a way she didn’t completely understand.

The rest of the journey was made in an uncomfortable silence. Through it all, Louisa sat rigidly, damning the fact that she had ever met John Smith or that she’d had the lack of foresight to have melted in his arms—not once, but on numerous occasions.