Lord Ashworth glared down at his skewed cravat in irritation, then jerked it roughly from his neck to begin tying it anew. He was exhausted and irritable, and he knew it was because of the party the previous evening.
Clenching his jaw, he yanked the cravat into a precise knot. His refusal of Helen last night had been unavoidable. In fact, her continued presence in this house was becoming an unnecessary peril. Eliza would be here this morning, and she had already hinted to him in her letters her plans to initiate his search for a suitable wife.
Two light raps brought his attention back to matters at hand. “Enter,” Ashworth commanded gruffly, and his bedchamber door opened to frame Matthew, looking sharp in his livery.
“Good morning, my lord. We’ve received word from the village that Lady Cartwick will be arriving shortly.”
The earl nodded in acknowledgment. “I will be down soon.” He paused to glance sideways at the man. “Excellent playing last night, by the way.”
Beaming at the unsolicited praise, the footman nodded politely. “Thank you, my lord. I am pleased you found it to your satisfaction.”
Lord Ashworth proceeded down the grand staircase and strode through the front doors out to the drive. Matthew followed behind him, then made his way over to assume his position near Charles beside the rest of the domestic servants. The earl’s eyes unwittingly sought Helen and found her easily—the print dress, apron, and cap in no way diminishing her allure. A now familiar heat surged through him, and he tamped down his desire with an irritated sigh.
The sound of the incoming carriage caused everyone to straighten where they stood, except Rosa, who began jumping for joy. Placing his hands gently on the girl’s shoulders, he was able to exert enough pressure to subdue her sufficiently for a civilized greeting.
Once the vehicle had come to a complete stop, Matthew approached and pulled open the door. Lord Evanston was the first to disembark and Ashworth greeted him with a handshake and a perfunctory nod before shifting his gaze to Rosa, who had ducked around the viscount to scramble up the steps of the carriage.
A great jostling could be heard from the carriage’s interior, hidden from outside view. Ashworth and Evanston exchanged small smiles with each other, then Matthew stepped forward to assist as Eliza’s lady’s maid clambered hastily out of the vehicle. Looking a bit frazzled, she smoothed the front of her skirts and adjusted her shawl before glancing up to curtsy politely in Lord Ashworth’s direction.
“Hello, Patterson,” said the earl with a grin. “Did the carriage suddenly become too small for you?”
She laughed with good humor. “It certainly seemed to, my lord.” The woman took a step backwards, waiting patiently for her mistress to exit.
A few moments later, Rosa emerged triumphant with her dolly. Following just behind her was Eliza, shining blonde curls catching what little sunlight had managed to break through the clouds that day. Lord Ashworth came forward, first guiding Rosa off the steps, then reaching up to take her mother’s hand. Eliza’s previously happy green eyes shone with tears at the sight of his face.
“Dear William, it is so good to be home,” said Eliza, her voice cracking perceptibly on the word home. He quickly wrapped his arms around her and brought her close.
“All will be well,” he murmured reassuringly. “Both you and Rosa will be taken care of. I can promise you that.” He stroked her hair and pulled back, bending down to her height so he could meet her eyes directly. “You will stay at Lawton Park as long as you choose.” William reached into his pocket and offered his sister a clean handkerchief, patting her comfortingly on the arm.
Eliza took it and dried her eyes, glancing awkwardly at Thomas, who was now busily scanning the landscape, acting as if nothing had happened. After a moment, she smiled down at Rosa, then stepped aside to survey the attending staff. The earl knew what was coming.
“Which one is Helen?” she asked her young daughter. Ashworth’s gaze flicked over to the lovely maid in question, who suddenly appeared very nervous. Rosa smiled and pointed in Helen’s direction.
“That’s her, Mama. Doesn’t she look like my dolly?” She raised her doll for an easy comparison.
His sister smiled and cast her gaze between the two figures, noting the similarities. “She certainly does, my love.” She walked purposefully over to Helen, who curtsied respectfully before lifting her gaze. Eliza surprised her by taking her hands and pulling her close to place a kiss on her cheek.
“You and I are already friends, you know,” said Eliza, squeezing her fingers warmly. “You saved my precious girl, and I will never forget it. Thank you, Helen.”
Helen’s face flushed, clearly pleased at his sister’s approbation. “You are very welcome, my lady. I am only happy I was able to help.”
William watched the interaction, puzzled. Aside from her initial nervousness, Helen seemed rather at ease in conversation with a lady of superior rank. Then again, she had certainly displayed a willingness to break boundaries with him, and damn it all if that hadn’t spurred him on to breach propriety, himself.
His sudden scowl gained the attention of Thomas, who, noticing the change in his demeanor, stepped forward to touch his arm.
“Shall we head inside?” he asked in a low voice.
Ashworth nodded. “Let us get you settled in, Eliza,” he said, interrupting their conversation with as much tact as he could muster. It wasn’t much. “You and Helen will have the opportunity to converse later.”
Eliza looked at him with some surprise, then glanced back towards Helen. “Yes, of course. No need to chat idly here in the cold,” she said with a smile. “In fact, Rosa has requested we ride to the Gilded Rose for a spot of tea later on today. Perhaps you could join us?”
The earl clenched his teeth until pain shot through his jaw. Christ, it was one thing to have the woman living under the same roof, tormenting him with her nearness. It was quite another thing altogether to be subjected to her company while being forced to act normally in her presence. He tried to think of a polite way to object to Eliza’s wishes, but came up with nothing.
The housemaid seemed taken aback as well. “I . . . I am honored, my lady. I will ask if Mrs. Malone can spare me once my afternoon chores have been completed.”
“Very well, then. I hope to see you later.” With a parting smile, his sister took Rosa’s hand and proceeded towards the main entrance, Evanston following closely behind her. Ashworth forced his gaze forward as he marched past Helen, ignoring the way her eyes followed him as he accompanied the small group into the house.
Glasses and plates clinked merrily at the Gilded Rose, and an occasional boisterous laugh broke the conversational hum inside the establishment. The innkeeper had been sure to seat the earl’s group at his most attractive table, nestled quietly towards the rear of the dining room, adjacent to a score of foggy windows. A tea-dyed lace tablecloth and a fine china tea set adorned its surface, adding to the charm.
Observing quietly, Clara studied the interaction between brother and sister from her chair in the corner. Rosa had requested the seat between Clara and her mother, and was now carefully drinking her tea with her pinky finger splayed out demonstratively.
Clara admired Eliza’s satin frock. It was a lavender shade that suited her well, and was also in keeping with society’s expectations for widows in half mourning. Her polished refinement made Clara feel quite plain in comparison, and she glanced down at her hands in forlorn contemplation. Her dry skin and broken fingernails did nothing to help her mood, and she sighed, bringing her eyes up to the tablecloth instead. Despite her own pensive thoughts, she couldn’t help but be curious about Eliza’s troubles at home. While Clara had not been close enough to hear their dialogue outside the carriage, the young woman had clearly been upset. The earl, too, had appeared agitated.
She found it interesting that despite his blunt rejection of her last night at the dance and afterwards, Lord Ashworth had been ignoring her today as though she were the one who had perpetrated a great offense. Gazing covertly at him from across the table, Clara couldn’t help but feel some slight satisfaction at his intimations that watching her dance last night had made him jealous. His painful confessions on the staircase had been surprising, but the sorrow she had felt for him had been muddled by his peculiar treatment of her. One moment he was divulging personal secrets, while the next he was shoving her away as if his breach of conduct had somehow been her doing. Now he was being forced to endure her presence after his abominable behavior, and she enjoyed watching him squirm.
With a start, she realized Eliza was looking in her direction. Ripping her eyes away from the earl, Clara promptly snapped her attention back to the discussion at hand.
“The earl has told me that you are sorely needed belowstairs, Helen, or else I might be tempted to claim you for Rosa’s nursemaid, at least until Florence is fully healed and with us once again.” Eliza shrugged and smiled. “Since I can’t poach your services, perhaps you might be available to assist as need be, and join us upstairs on occasion?”
Clara stared at Lord Ashworth’s sister in humbled gratitude. “Thank you, my lady. I would be honored.”
“I know Father gave servants half a Sunday, every other week, for their time off,” Eliza continued thoughtfully. Tipping her head towards her brother she asked, “Has that policy been altered over time, William? It seems domestics could do with a bit more than that, I feel.”
Ashworth shifted to lean back in his chair, folding his hands over his flat stomach. “As it turns out, I happened to agree with you. Servants receive a full day off, after morning duties are finished, every Sunday.”
“No,” Rosa contradicted, reaching across the table towards a plate of tiny cakes. “Not Helen. You have her do more chores.”
Eliza’s luminous green eyes grew even larger. She turned to face her brother incredulously. “Surely not.”
The earl stared across the table at them and shrugged. “Actually, yes. But only for a short while.”
“May I ask to what purpose?” Eliza’s beautiful features were now a mask of thinly concealed irritation.
Clara stared at the tablecloth and lifted her cup to her lips in an attempt to hide her amusement. Deciding to risk a glance upwards at the earl beneath her lashes, she caught him staring at her, his dark gaze unreadable.
“No reminder necessary, sister. I am quite aware of the steps Helen took to ensure Rosa’s safety,” he rejoined, shifting his eyes towards Eliza. “But as I explained to her after the incident, her measures were extraordinary. I could not proceed without disciplining her in some way, even if only to assert myself as master of this estate.”
Clara felt an inappropriate thrill at the notion of Lord Ashworth asserting himself as her master. Unfortunately, the reality of the situation had not been nearly that exciting.
“And on this point,” added Lord Evanston, “I must agree with the earl. You cannot leave a servant unpunished for taking a horse, no matter how heroic the circumstances.”
Silence filled the air, and it became obvious that Eliza had not been made aware of the details of her daughter’s rescue. She blinked at Evanston in surprise, then slowly rotated in her chair to address Clara specifically. “You stole a horse?”
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny of the peers at the table, Clara managed a shaky reply. “I—er . . . well, yes, I did. But I returned it, obviously,” she stammered. “So . . . so it was more like borrowing.”
“She did, Mama!” said Rosa, reaching towards the cake plate once more. “And she tied her apron around my leg when it was bleeding, too.” She stuffed another cake into her mouth.
The earl’s sister stared at Rosa, then at Clara, then finally at the men seated at the table. “How long has this punishment been in effect?” she asked.
“Since the incident occurred, two weeks ago,” answered the earl.
Straightening her spine, Eliza looped a finger through the delicate handle of her teacup and raised it to her lips. She lowered it to rest on its saucer with a small yet deliberate clink, and glanced pleasantly at her brother. “I feel that should be sufficient, don’t you?”
Clara could sense the earl’s temper simmering quietly. He did not like his authority questioned, and yet his sister was probably the only person on the planet who could manage to do so without fear of consequence. She held her breath and stared at her fingers, anxiously awaiting his answer. Finally, he sighed. “Perhaps I could revisit the matter.”
Eliza shot a satisfied glance in Clara’s direction, and Clara longed to throw her arms around the woman in a tight hug.
“I’m sorry to say,” declared the viscount, “but this type of mishap is one of the reasons I can’t ever imagine having children.” He paused, noticing that Rosa had halted in mid-slurp of her tea to regard him curiously. “No offense intended, of course,” he assured her. “It’s only I can’t see having the energy to worry about anyone but myself.”
Lady Cartwick scoffed and regarded him cynically. “There is plenty to worry about with you. This is true.”
Evanston looked ready to make a biting retort of his own when a rider burst through the door, laughing heartily at the sodden state of his attire.
“The storm came out of nowhere! Save yourselves!” he brayed loudly to the other customers, before wetly stepping up to order a fortifying pint of ale from the innkeeper.
“Perfect,” muttered the earl under his breath, standing abruptly. He crossed the dining room to open the door, surveying the inclement weather with a wary eye, then closed it and rejoined them at the table.
“It doesn’t seem likely to let up soon, so we either spend the afternoon here or ride out now,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m wishing we would have brought the carriage, after all.”
Evanston rose from the table with a sideways glance at Eliza and her daughter. “I will ride to the estate and return with the carriage, if you wish.”
“No,” answered Eliza, placing her napkin on the table and standing with Rosa. “I can’t think of a more rousing welcome home than a ride in the rain. It’s not a long trip back to the house. I’m sure it won’t be anything a change of dress and a half hour by the fireside can’t fix.”
Clara stared at her shoes. She had walked to the inn by herself to meet them, and had no horse to ride. This would not be an enjoyable voyage for her, but there likely wouldn’t have been enough room for her in the carriage anyway. She tried to imagine what her family might’ve done in similar circumstances. She surely would’ve let Abigail into the carriage with her, but then, she wasn’t exactly conventional.
With a sigh, she stood, only to find Lord Ashworth eyeing her thoughtfully.
They stepped out into the stormy weather, and the innkeeper and his son rushed to retrieve their horses. William lifted Rosa, her cloak already soaked, onto Evanston’s horse, while Thomas assisted Eliza as she mounted her steed sidesaddle. Clara saw a blush rise on Lady Cartwick’s cheeks when the viscount placed a steadying, and perhaps not entirely necessary, hand upon her waist. He then turned expectantly to Lord Ashworth, who stood in the rain, staring with indecision at Clara.
“Ashworth?”
“You three go on ahead,” the earl yelled above the pounding rain.
Evanston nodded and rode off with the ladies, but not before grinning and casting a knowing glance at his friend that made Clara’s face grow warm. The earl appeared to ignore the silent communication. Instead, he acknowledged the innkeeper and his boy with a brief tip of his head.
“Thank you for your assistance. I can manage from here.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the men in tandem, dashing back into the steamy warmth of the building.
Squinting amidst the deluge, he glanced at Clara, then at the surrounding streets, which were suddenly empty.
“You will ride my horse,” he commanded. Streams of rain trickled down his face to drip down off his nose.
She shook the water out of her eyes to stare at him, mortified at how it might appear if anyone saw her on the earl’s horse. “I will not.”
“Pray, do not forget yourself,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “I am master of this estate, and I am ordering you to ride.” He swiped a hand over his face, displacing the moisture that had collected. “And quickly, before we catch our deaths.”
“My lord, indeed it is you who is forgetting yourself. You are the Earl of Ashworth. I am a housemaid. You should not even be in my company right now, let alone allow me to ride your horse.” She tried to put more distance between them, but her attempt was frustrated by the mud sucking against her boots.
Ashworth’s angry sigh was punctuated by a thick cloud of steam, foggy and white in the frigid air. “I am not allowing it, I am demanding it. And since when have you needed my permission to ride one of my horses?” he asked sardonically. “Now mount up. Your hem is already covered in at least six inches of mud.”
Clara faced him directly, shaking the raindrops from her eyes. “My dress is worth nothing. You should ride your horse to spare your fine clothing, my lord. I won’t have you ruin your garments on my account.”
“I possess an extensive wardrobe, whereas your dress may well be the only one you own aside from your service gowns.” He glared at her. “Get on the horse. Now.”
Clara bristled. He made a very good point but rather than conceding, her annoyance from the previous evening’s snub provoked her into losing her temper instead.
“I’m curious,” she said crossly, “as to why my welfare concerns you so very much, when just last night you couldn’t even be bothered for a dance.” The words slipped out before she could censor herself.
The earl reared back in shock, then his brow lowered, his eyes turning molten.
“You,” he said in barely more than a shouted whisper, “have become a nuisance.” Ashworth leaned in close, his rain-soaked hair sleek and dark. “I am not obligated to explain myself to you, Helen. I will dance with whomever I choose, and you will stay silent on the matter, regardless of your infatuation with me.” Sparks shot from his eyes. “Perhaps the better idea would be for you to find employment elsewhere instead.”
The rain fell heavily all around them, drowning their exchange in steady white noise. Clara opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Fear, mortification, and heartache burnt her spirit to ashes from the inside out. She had been so foolish. Not only had she mistakenly convinced herself of the earl’s preference, but her inability to conform to life as a servant had just ended her days of service at Lawton Park.
Hot tears spilled past her lashes to stream down her cheeks, mingling with the chilled tracks of rain. She wanted to die. If he sent her packing tonight with nowhere to go, she very well could, either on the streets or at the hands of the baron.
She willed herself to be strong, but regardless, Clara felt her face crumple, a choking sob escaping her despite her attempt to hold it back. The earl’s expression changed dramatically, but she was too distraught to pay it close attention.
“My lord, please forgive me . . .” Clara managed to say, before turning away to cover her face completely. She had managed to make a home for herself here these past few months, though it hadn’t been easy. It had been hard enough leaving Silvercreek. What would she do now?
Immersed in her misery, she didn’t detect the earl’s approach, but her senses were jarred back to reality by the protective slide of his palms over her arms. Clara froze in confusion with him standing silently behind her, her heart beating like a hammer.
Ashworth said nothing for a long while, then pulled her gently back against the hard surface of his chest to wrap himself fully around her in what could only be described as an embrace. An intoxicating heat surged through every part of her, and she swayed dizzily in his arms.
“My lord . . .” she said, her voice unsteady.
Choosing not to reply, his strong arms tightened their hold and he leaned forward to rest his cheek against the side of her head.
“Helen.” He spoke softly, his breath hot against the delicate edge of her ear. “Ride with me back to the house.”
She lifted her head to protest, but the earl interrupted her.
“We will travel along the woods to the west. I will take care not to be seen.”
Clara was suddenly tired of fighting. She simply nodded in acquiescence, and Lord Ashworth slowly released her to cross over to his horse, placing one hand on the saddle, then turning to stretch his other hand out to her.
The sight of him standing in invitation caused her heart to thump painfully. She joined him, slipping her hand into his. The touch of his skin upon hers was more than she could bear, yet his clasp was unyielding and she had no choice but to proceed.
She gripped the pommel and he helped her up into the saddle. Rather than sitting astride, as she had on her journey to find Rosa, she seated herself sidesaddle as best she could with her skirts drenched and caked in muck. The rich smell of leather mingled with the horse’s musty aroma, and a thousand memories of home came rushing back to her. But these thoughts were eclipsed the moment the earl placed his boot in the stirrup and swung up behind her, swiftly eliminating the distance between them. The saddle, not truly created for two riders, made for a snug fit . . . one that took her breath away.
Ashworth tensed as he reached around her to take the reins; she could feel the muscles in his arms and chest contract. He set the horse off at a slow pace, which was reasonable given the conditions of the road and surrounding fields, and guided them to the wooded area along the southwest border of the estate. The canopy, although lacking the leafy foliage of summer, still provided some much appreciated shelter from the steady rain.
They rode in silence, the sounds of the horse’s hooves and their breathing the only intrusions amidst the lull of the downpour behind them.
Clara’s mind drifted as they made their way slowly towards the house. It was easy to dream with the noise of the storm and the heat of Lord Ashworth behind her. She rested against him, all too aware of the hard strength of his body brushing against her back.
Fat drops of glittering rain fell from the branches above to strike them with cold indifference. They came to the creek that ran west along the estate. What was normally a bubbling brook of diminutive size had changed into a fast-flowing waterway. After considering for a moment, the earl urged his horse onward with a jab of his heels. The horse plowed ahead but its hooves slipped on the slick surface of the rocks beneath the churning water. With a frantic whinny, the large animal pitched forward, upsetting Clara from her position in the saddle. She gasped and heard Ashworth utter a curse, yanking on the reins to right his steed, then quickly sliding one arm around her waist to haul her back against him. His horse scrabbled for purchase, then found his stride and pushed out on the opposite side of the creek, tossing his soggy mane and prancing a bit as he emerged victorious onto dry land.
Clara slumped against the earl in relief. She noticed his arm remained wrapped securely around her, although the danger had passed by then.
The shuttered west wing of Lawton Park became visible through the trees, but he continued further north to stop at a small wooden bridge that rose above the agitated waters.
Clara’s breath caught as she felt the scrape of his jaw against the soft skin of her cheek. And then, the rain-wet heat of his lips brushed against the same place. Fire licked through her veins in an instant, and she remained still as he dragged his mouth back to caress the delicate lobe of her ear. Pleasure shot through to her very core and she gasped quietly.
With a growl, Lord Ashworth released the reins to pull her body even tighter against his. He lowered his lips to the side of her neck, scorching the flesh with hot, openmouthed kisses that made her writhe against him. Frantically, she pulled away as far as the saddle would allow and twisted around to face him.
“My lord, we cannot,” she said through trembling lips, placing her chilled fingertips against his chest. “You would grow to hate me for it. Indeed you probably already do.”
His hands shifted to grip her upper arms, and he gave her a soft shake of remonstration. “You haven’t been paying very close attention,” the earl admonished. Pulling her forward, he whispered, “Let me tell you again.”
Ashworth’s mouth came down upon hers, and any further objections from her were kissed away with urgent ferocity. His lips were soft and sweet and tasted like tea, and his tongue was wickedly skillful. Bringing her hands up to the sides of his face, she returned his kiss with an intensity that had him pulling back in a daze, his breath heaving.
“Christ, Helen. And you wonder why I won’t dance with you,” he said huskily. “You’re all I think about . . .”
His open confession shocked her beyond belief. It was everything she had dreamt of him saying, but instead of feeling glorious she felt guilty. He couldn’t stop thinking about her—but in reality, he didn’t even know her.
The earl could sense her change in mood, and did not seem surprised when she twisted back around, sliding off the horse to plant her feet on the soft ground. He quickly followed, landing easily on the forest floor before reaching forward to grab her wrist. With one quick motion, she was back in his arms, gazing up at him in frustration.
“Please don’t, my lord. I am not worthy of you—”
“You are more worthy than ten of me,” Ashworth said hoarsely, jerking her up against him. His touch gentled at once, his hands roaming slowly across her back, serving to enflame her and simultaneously preventing her escape. She could feel her curves molded against the hard planes of his body, and she sank into it, tired of fighting, wishing for defeat. Longing for him, and loathing herself.
“Nothing can come of this,” said Clara, her voice barely discernible above the din of the rushing water beside them. “I can’t—”
He lowered his head once again to meet her lips. This time, his kiss was slow, sensuous, thrilling her with the insistent pressure of his mouth over hers, soft flicks of his tongue teasing her unmercifully into shaking submission. Clara’s knees weakened beneath her skirts and she slipped her hands beneath his soaked coat, seeking the heat of his body and pulling herself closer into his solid strength. Inhaling deeply into the kiss, she perceived the clean bouquet of sandalwood and citrus, along with his own, more subtle, male scent. She was dazed with the feel of him crushed against her, his incendiary warmth making her forget the frozen chill of the weather.
As her hands had begun exploring, so too did his. He stole her breath with his plunging kisses while one hand found her breast, compressed beneath the damp layers of her buttoned-up bodice. His tortured groan reverberated through her ears.
“I want to feel your skin,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want to taste it.”
She gasped at the thought, then his other hand found her backside and pressed his hips forward to meet hers, prompting a moan to escape her lips.
Ashworth hummed with pleasure, and Clara’s head spun at the feel of his hand squeezing her breast, at the intimate press of his manhood through her skirts, at the way her entire body was clenching and crying out for more friction, more pressure . . . more of everything. She arched into his touch, her fingers curled possessively against the soaked shirt that did nothing to conceal the rigid flex of his muscles beneath. She wanted to feel his skin, too. She wanted it so much that it scared her.
Clara thrust him away and took a step back, staring blindly into the rushing water of the stream, trying to control her breathing. Was she prepared to do this?
She knew in that moment, the answer was yes.
But when she turned back to look at him, Ashworth was quiet. He scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan, and she knew at once that he was about to reject her again. At last, the hand dropped and he looked away.
“Please accept my apologies, Helen,” he ground out with an attempt at formality. “You should proceed alone from this point. We cannot be seen together.”
She blinked at the earl, humiliation spreading through her chest. He had the look of regret that she would expect from a man who had just made a grievous mistake.
She attempted to keep her voice even, but it had grown thick with the emotions roiling through her. “Yes, my lord.”
He nodded, his eyes still affixed to some distant point. Clara clenched her fists and turned to stride briskly eastward. It was only until she was halfway across the field that the scalding flow of fresh tears made their way down her face at last.