Latimer’s ominous words dissuaded Ceressa from playing the coquette. A twinge of fear assailed while a strange warmth raced along her veins. His eyes were now a dark gold, and his grip was firm. As her gaze locked with his, she realized he was drawing her closer. Surely, he didn’t intend to kiss her? Gasping, Ceressa drew back, breaking his hold. He remained immobile while his brows lowered. “A woman has already made a fool of me today. I won’t tolerate it happening again. Seek your entertainment and kisses from one of those foppish youths who are prancing about my uncle’s ballroom. I believe I noticed you with one earlier, besotted and misguided though he is.”
“I assure you, I have no intention of doing any such thing.” Fiery anger exploded inside. How dare he tell her with whom she should seek companionship? Most unforgivable was the fact he must have spied when she was with the viscount and his mother. “I refuse to spend another second in your unacceptable presence.”
“By all means, take your leave.” Latimer stepped back, then swept her a mocking bow. Lifting her chin a notch, Ceressa moved gracefully away although her heart slammed hard against ribs, and it was difficult to breathe, unrelated to her near choking. Thankfully, the lout would be out of her life in a matter of hours. This Latimer Kirkleigh in no way resembled the gallant young man she’d so admired at the age of ten and four. At least now she could banish all romantic notions concerning him and move forward. She should thank the Lord that He had revealed Latimer’s faults and failings before she’d made a complete idiot of herself. Yet, she was saddened by the knowledge.
When she returned to the ballroom, the dancing had begun. Scanning those present, she hoped to see the viscount before he saw her, and thus avoid him. Fortunately, she spotted Sir Geoffrey holding out his hand. Ceressa gratefully took it. As he led her toward the formation, Sir Geoffrey smiled.
“How kind of you to take pity on an old man who cannot dance.”
Ceressa returned his smile. “You are much too critical of yourself,” she said as she easily executed the steps of the galliard, marveling at how Sir Geoffrey always made her feel special. It was one of his qualities that made her love him so.
“I can see the envying gazes of men not blessed with so lovely a partner.” His words were spoken seriously, and she blushed. Ceressa knew she was not a traditional English beauty with her disobedient wheat-colored curls and violet-brown eyes. Her parents claimed her eyes and hair were an inheritance from a Nordic ancestor, a Viking princess who’d washed up on the Cornish coast hundreds of years before. Ceressa could in no way be considered the loveliest female dancing in Sir Geoffrey’s ballroom.
“Do I detect a troubled look?” There was a note of concern in Sir Geoffrey’s voice. “Is my goddaughter not enjoying herself? Shall I order the musicians be hauled away and summon a more pleasing quartet?”
That brought laughter to Ceressa’s lips. “I wouldn’t want you to go to that trouble. Besides, I’m sure they are hoping to be compensated for their evening’s work.”
“Then I want a smile from my favorite goddaughter.”
“I’m your only goddaughter, Sir Geoffrey.” They made an intricate turn that required concentration. Ceressa wondered what it would be like to dance with Latimer.
“So you are.” Sir Geoffrey grinned. “What has become of the little tyke who used to sit in the library and listen to my stories? How many years ago was it that you spent the summer at Kirkleigh Hall?”
“Seven, to be exact.”
“You seemed to grow up so much that summer. You thought nothing of racing wildly across the meadow on the fastest of my steeds. And I’m not sure that Jon knows you learned to wield a sword as well as any man during that same visit.” Ceressa opened her mouth to remind Sir Geoffrey it was Latimer who’d taught her, but she quickly substituted different words.
“That has to remain our little secret, Sir Geoffrey, even though I do manage to practice occasionally with Father’s valet. However, Garren will keep that information to himself because I’ve promised to slice off a few of those long curls he so prizes, if he doesn’t.”
Sir Geoffrey laughed so loudly, the couple to their right looked and missed a step. Ceressa had to swallow her threatening giggle.
“May I never cross swords with you. You would be a most formidable opponent.”
“I take that as a compliment.” Their conversation lagged as they executed a step that was fast and tricky.
Once successfully mastered, Sir Geoffrey resumed their conversation. “Where have the years gone? Oft times I feel so old.”
“You’ll never be old. You’re quite popular with the ladies.”
“Only women who are either hoping to snag my purse by slipping the matrimonial noose about my neck or have designs on Latimer and hope I will put in a good word.” Sir Geoffrey’s normally twinkling eyes were filled with disgust.
“Is, ah, Latimer looking for a wife?”
Her godfather grunted. “So he tells me. When Constance died in that beastly wilderness called Virginia, she left behind a baby, conceived with the native man she married.” Ceressa remained silent. “Latimer has cared for the child since Constance’s passing but now feels the child requires a woman’s nurturing.”
“I see.” Ceressa was deeply disturbed by Sir Geoffrey’s words. Had Latimer’s search for a wife failed, given his odd comment earlier about being made a fool of by a woman?
“No need to trouble yourself, yet I know you will. It always touches me how you worry about others. Don’t waste your time on Latimer. He has made it very clear he can and will take care of his own affairs.”
“I can’t help but be troubled, Sir Geoffrey. I’ve always considered Latimer a dear friend.” The Latimer of seven years ago, she mentally added. Not the one I encountered a short while ago who was angry, and unkind, and insulting.
“You do enough in the service of our Lord without taking on Latimer. Look at the time and effort you’ve put into educating the servants’ children at the mews. Your parents are very proud.”
“I’m very proud of them.” Her heart brimmed with love and pride for the two people who had given her life and the faith in God to live it honorably.
“Jon has been more of a brother to me than Cameron ever was. As for Theressa, I’ve never known another woman like her except…” He stopped as they performed a switch, crossing under each other’s raised arms. Ceressa noted his expression, now one of remorse. She wondered who the exception was—his wife, perhaps? She wanted to ask but thought better; his sad eyes conveyed such deep distress. Ceressa always wondered why he’d never remarried. She suspected the loss of his wife had broken his heart.
“We must play chess soon, Sir Geoffrey,” Ceressa said, hoping to lighten the mood. “It’s been ages.”
“I’d like nothing better. As soon as I’ve put the current unpleasantness,”—he was referring to Latimer, Ceressa suspected—“behind me, we’ll make plans. I intend to spoil you while I have you all to myself.”
“It’s a shame Latimer is leaving so soon. I’m sure Mother and Father would have invited him to dine.”
A fierce scowl ripped across Sir Geoffrey’s face, and his eyes narrowed piercingly. His look stunned Ceressa.
“Praise God, and I mean no disrespect, but by the time your parents return, he’ll be on his way to that ghastly place where an Indian would as soon put an arrow in his back as look at him. You would think he’d see reason, given the fate that befell Constance.”
“What do you mean?”
“She and her husband were murdered by his kind.”
Shock spread through Ceressa.
“Latimer can toil in his corn and tobacco fields from sunup to sunset and continue to defy me. If he chooses to do so, I shall dissolve our shipping arrangement. He needs ships to get crops to market, and he needs me to do that. I shall make him see how important it is that he pleases me. Whether he likes it or not.”
Ceressa had never heard her godfather speak that way. How tragic that his relationship with Latimer had deteriorated so badly. And how odd for Sir Geoffrey, one of the finest Christian men she knew, to completely forget the love, compassion, and forgiveness the Lord required. Although Constance’s husband had been a native man, he’d still been beloved of God. It was almost as though this disagreement between her godfather and Latimer had robbed Sir Geoffrey of reason. “Does it have to be that way between the two of you?” Ceressa asked softly.
Sir Geoffrey shook his head as he hopped on one foot and clapped his hands with the music. How bizarre they were dancing to so lively a tune when their conversation was so disturbing. Ceressa could feel the pressure of tears.
“I’ve given up hoping for more between us. He’s asked to meet with me before he leaves tonight, and I already know what’s going to happen. We’ll rant and rave and argue. I’ll end up saying something regretful, and he will, too, and then we’ll both storm off, and I won’t see him for another seven years. It’s bad enough that he’s cast his lot with barbarous malcontents, convicts, and thieves who have flocked to the colony. I know Latimer is unhappy, and I am the cause of most of it. I’ve prayed to the Lord to grant patience and wisdom when dealing with my s—” He halted, then continued, “brother’s son. I’ve no right to beseech God for help when I’ve sinned so unforgivably. Yet, I can’t stand by and watch Latimer make the same mistakes. Why is he so angry with me for simply wanting…forgive me, Ceressa. Enough of this troubling talk.”
Biting her lip, Ceressa forced back questions that hovered. She had no wish to add to his sorrow and regrets. The music ended, and Ceressa rose up on her toes to kiss Sir Geoffrey’s weathered cheek. He gave her a tired, sad smile as he folded his hand over hers. He seemed so defeated and heartsick that Ceressa uttered a silent prayer that the Lord would unburden his soul.
“I have longed to see you find a good man, Ceressa; a man who could match you in spirit, intelligence, and goodness of heart, devoted to God and living a life according to His will. Forgive me for meddling, but Montvale doesn’t quite measure up to my expectations of the man you should marry. He loves his poetry and his books, but that’s hardly a basis for marriage. Reva overheard Lady Smythewick tonight tell the viscount’s mother that a match between the two of you would be most suitable. Have a care.”
“I have no intentions of marrying anyone. The viscount may stir my intellect but little else. Don’t concern yourself. And stop blaming yourself for the trouble between you and Latimer. You raised him and his sister after your brother lost his head to Cromwell’s executioner. You’ve done all that you can. The rest is up to Latimer.”
“And God,” Sir Geoffrey added. Ceressa smiled up into his haggard face. She understood his concern over Latimer, but Latimer was a man nearing a score and ten and had been on his own for some time. Looking to her side, she noticed that Lady Smythewick approached, and she stepped away from Sir Geoffrey. Certain the dowager had decided it was her turn to dance with the host, Ceressa gave a curtsy, and then cautiously moved away.
Her heart sank when she felt a light tap, dread engulfing her as she turned and had her worst fears confirmed. Slowly, she forced a smile, her heart sinking as the viscount opened his mouth. Before Montvale could utter a word, though, Latimer joined them. As Ceressa met his gaze, her heart soared, and her pulse raced. Without apologizing to the aggravated viscount, Latimer led her toward the other dancers, slipping her into place, his hand on her waist. She felt bereft when he released her as he bowed. She automatically curtsied.
“I’m beginning to understand,” he said, as he raised her arm with his as the first steps of the dance began. His eyes were mocking, and his voice vibrated along every nerve as though they were the plucked strings of a violin. She pretended to concentrate on other dancers, but when he placed his hand on her waist and drew her closer than the dance steps necessitated, she had no choice but to look up.
“What is it you understand?”
He would never permit her to ignore him for the duration of the dance. Pulling her around suddenly, she lost her balance and fell against him. His gaze bored into hers even as she attempted to perform the steps.
“I saw you kiss him. You must be my uncle’s mistress. That’s why you won’t tell me who you are.”
“I most assuredly am not,” she uttered in outrage, then glanced around to see if anyone heard Latimer’s ridiculous accusation. Lowering her voice, she added. “If you had sense, you would know that a God-fearing man such as Sir Geoffrey would never engage in a relationship of that nature.”
“I don’t believe you. Not that it matters. He’s no better than the rest of us sinners. I can admit I’ve done wrong.”
“And that makes it right?”
Latimer’s manner was irritating. “Of course not,” he had the grace to admit. “I was saying I have no problem telling the truth even when doing so is to my detriment. You would rather lie than confess to an improper relationship with my fa—uncle.”
Had he been about to say “father?” She was unable to consider that oddity when the enormity of his preceding words struck. “I would have preferred dancing with the viscount who wouldn’t have spent our time insulting me.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” His audacity made her want to slap him.
“If only you knew—” she said then shut her mouth. Let him make a fool of himself. Once she revealed her name, he’d be left shame-faced and humiliated. Latimer was arrogant and rude, the sort of man her parents had cautioned against. To think she’d been misguided enough to be infatuated with the jackanapes for seven years.
“If only I knew what?” he goaded as they marched forward in time with the music.
The pressure of his hand on her waist increased, and she imagined she could feel fingers digging into flesh, which angered and offended. “You’re hurting me.”
She found herself pulled around to face him, his look fierce. She opened her mouth to berate his atrocious behavior and poor manners until she realized he was as frustrated as Sir Geoffrey. What happened to cause these two such pain and antagonism, that the mere mention of the other caused them to dissolve into an apoplectic fit? These two needed the peace that only God could give. That Latimer could believe she was involved with Sir Geoffrey was beyond her comprehension. It was time she ended their partnering on the ballroom floor. “Given the foolishness of your words, I want nothing more to do with you.”
Breaking free, she lifted skirts and commenced toward the opposite side of the ballroom. To her consternation, he grasped her elbow and forced her forward. His strides were long and purposeful, and she grew breathless as she kept apace. When the viscount made the mistake of attempting to speak to Ceressa, Latimer nearly knocked the man down, pushing past him in a most ungentlemanly manner.
The years Latimer had spent in the Virginia colony had turned him into a raving beast. There was no choice but to go with Latimer or risk a scene, heaping further misery upon Sir Geoffrey.
Exiting the ballroom, he led her through several rooms before entering the garden. Latimer stopped suddenly, and she crashed into him. Grabbing hold of his sleeve, she attempted to keep herself upright. He put an arm about her waist. There was no light in this section of the garden that would allow her to see his expression, but his tone clearly conveyed mood.
“I brought you here to warn you. If you are so bereft of sense as to imagine yourself taken with Geoffrey Kirkleigh, divest yourself of such a notion. You might think him gentlemanly and courtly; a fine man and good Christian, but he is anything but. He is a liar, a man given to deceit, twisting and bending and manipulating to his advantage. And though you seem young, you have the beauty and manner of a courtier and are accustomed to intrigue. You would do well to stay clear of Sir Geoffrey.”
Ceressa’s mind reeled beneath Latimer’s words, and her legs threatened to give way, though she was clasped close by his arm. Grasping her chin, he forced her face up, his own hovering just above. She breathed deeply of his manly scent, an oddly intoxicating blend of tobacco, heated flesh, fresh linen, and sandalwood. Had Latimer lost his mind? Why was he saying such things about Sir Geoffrey? Light-headed and woozy, she feared she would swoon. Then she found her arms grasped by strange, unforgiving, harsh Latimer, and he shook her slightly.
“Who are you?” His voice was rough with demand.
The nerve of him. She hadn’t done anything. It was he who’d made all the wrong assumptions. But then she’d withheld her identity. He’d warned her earlier that he was not in the mood for any game.
“You remind me of a young girl I once knew.”
Terror beat against her heart as she wondered if her identity was to be revealed. Taking hold of a loosened tendril, Latimer twined it about his strong, lean finger.
“I remember her hair smelled of roses.” His voice was thick with emotion as though he struggled with inner turmoil.
He pressed his nose to the lock of hair. Of course it bore the scent of roses. It was her favorite. She was suddenly, horribly afraid and thrilled that he might realize who she was. To her dismay, he released her hair and straightened.
“You cannot be that girl.”
Something raw and painful twisted inside Ceressa. What did he mean by that statement? That she, the grown version, was a disappointment, falling far short of his expectations of what Ceressa would now be like? She was wounded by his words and hurt almost beyond bearing. Averting her face, Ceressa fought back a wayward tear. It escaped, and Latimer was too quick in detecting it. He ran his thumb across her cheek and her heart lurched.
“Why do you cry? I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice was gentle and was her complete undoing.
“If you don’t mind,” she began unsteadily, still fighting the urge to weep, “I’d like to return to the ballroom.”
“No, please. I’m sorry. I’ve upset you. I wish that you would stay here longer. I feel that I must learn more about you. And there’s much you don’t know about me. In fact, you may prefer not to know too much.”
She sensed he was teasing and the mood lightened. But even so, she had to get away. “Please, I need to go.”
A silence fell between them, broken when he released a deep sigh. “I prefer to remain here. There’s nothing within that beckons me. I believe you can find your way on your own.” He released her, bowed stiffly, and then quickly walked away opposite the way they had come.
She stood there listening to the sound of steps upon the path until they faded. Uttering a frustrated groan, Ceressa sat down upon a stone bench, silently railing her contribution to an emotional upheaval that had spiraled into a waking nightmare. She’d accomplished nothing. Latimer’s return to Virginia couldn’t happen soon enough.