She hankered for freedom, and when the opportunity to fly free appeared before her, she’d spread her wings and took flight. He drew in the air through flared nostrils. Now it seemed she was stronger than he could ever have imagined. A woman who took on two men as Monica had wasn’t someone who needed guidance or support. She was flying free and wild . . . and would never be happy if the cage door was closed upon her again.
What would she do now she’d been summoned back to Marksville? Did she have any idea of the decisions that lay ahead of her?
His loins stirred as the memory of how beautiful she looked with her dark tresses trailing loose from their pins and her hat askew. Once he’d quashed the clear and present danger of her assailants, Thomas couldn’t think past her beauty.
They had history. History that had moments no one knew of, or either of them had spoken of during the years in between their happening and today. He was no longer a stable lad with burning ambitions for ascension within the Danes’s employment. He was the groom, footman, and valet to the late Mr. Danes. He had been the master’s right-hand man, and the money Thomas earned kept his elderly parents and younger sister in moderate comfort and without financial worry.
Would Monica’s return mean the end to all that?
His gut burned with protective trepidation.
Did she anticipate using her newly acquired city ways and her inflated actress’s ego to strip him of his income and return him to the fields and fodder where he’d once languished, yearning for more?
He scowled as Jake pummeled the miles between him and her. She came back on Miss Jane’s beckoning, and undoubtedly intended to return to the city as soon as possible, having done whatever was in her mind to do about the house and estate.
Well, he would think of nothing more than the needs of his family, not act on the burning desire that soared through his veins upon his first sight of her. He had to push away the powerful need to protect her, to rush into the house just to take her in his arms with the promise nothing would happen to her again as long as she was there.
Adrenaline pumped through him, matching the thundering of Jake’s hooves. How long would she stay this time? A week? A month? If she planned to sell the house and land . . .
He had no idea of the master’s financial affairs, but there was every possibility he had willed the estate to Monica . . . or maybe due to their estrangement, everything had been left to Miss Jane.
If either of them wished to wash their hands of their enforced responsibilities, what would become of his family? His mother and sister relied on his salary as they relied on air to breathe. He had to uncover Monica’s agenda sooner rather than later. Having served her father unreservedly for many years, both before and after Monica disappeared, surely she would not expect him to stand by and let her or her sister take his livelihood away without resistance?
He loved his family. He loved his job.... God, he’d loved Monica once. Not anymore. She’d proved where her heart lies and it wasn’t in the fields and pastures of his beloved countryside. She was a city girl. A damn stage star of all things. What would she ever understand about a man’s need to breathe fresh air, to feel the dirt trodden beneath his feet and revel in washing the muck and oil from his work-worn hands at the end of the day? She’d never understand—and over his dead body would he let her come back from the bright lights and applause of her new life to steal his away.
If she did, he’d have no idea who he was or where to start again.
Chapter 4
The path leading to Marksville House came into view and Thomas cantered up the lengthy avenue. He steered Jake to the back of the house, dismounted, and tied him to the old apple tree before ducking through the entranceway into the kitchen.
Monica sat alone at the pine table and he came to an abrupt halt. She seemed lost in thought as she drew invisible circles on its surface. Her pretty brow was creased and her eyes unblinking. He took this precious moment to watch her. Still dressed in her dark green riding habit, although the buttons about her neck had been loosened, she brought a flash of welcome color against the blackness that now shrouded every inch, mirror, and person in the house. Who was he fooling? It wasn’t the clothes that brought the color, it was her.
He cleared his throat and she immediately leaped to her feet, her hands hastily smoothing the front of her dress. “You’re back.” Her smile was quick and broad, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know if those ruffians would . . .” She laughed. “What am I saying? I should’ve known you’d be all right.”
His gaze darted from her dark blue eyes to her neck, to the revealed and alluring glimpse of her collarbones, lower to her covered breasts.
God, she’s beautiful.
Surprised by her welcome demeanor rather than the loftiness he expected, Thomas stepped farther into the kitchen, forcing his lust into submission. “Why are you sitting alone in here? Where’s that sister of mine? She should have attended you.” He scowled, cursing the tremor in his hands. “Are you hurt?”
He clenched his fists in a bid to stop from touching her. Every fiber in his body urged him to demand she strip so he could tenderly run his fingers over every inch of skin, checking for bruises, lacerations, anything either of those animals might have done to her.
Her smile wavered and wariness leaped into her eyes. Had she seen his thoughts through his eyes? Did she know how much he wanted to hold her just to make sure she was real and here?
She cleared her throat. “Jeannie is busy helping Jane with Mother. I’m perfectly fine, so is Stephanie. I drew her a bath in a bid to calm her. I’ll go upstairs in a while to make sure she’s tucked up in bed. Unfortunately, she’s not as hardened as me.”
“You could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t and neither were you.” Her eyes glowed with playful wickedness. “Whatever you did to them after we left is entirely due if it means they’ll think twice about approaching lone women next time.”
Their gazes locked and Thomas’s heart thundered. The tension between them altered to something more dangerous than the previous concern for each other. Attraction burned, her breasts rose and fell.... He turned away and approached a pitcher of drinking water on the dresser.
He took a mug and filled it. He drank, easing the dryness in his throat before facing her. He swiped the back of his hand across his tender mouth. “There is no other woman like you.”
As much as Thomas wanted to retract his spoken admiration, he relished the blush in her cheeks. She shifted her gaze and looked around the room, her hands lifting from her throat to her middle and back again.
“Things are different here.” She trailed her fingers over the tabletop. “Nothing seems coated in Mama’s command, although one would have to be dead themselves not to know a death has occurred.” She met his gaze. “Jane wouldn’t let me see Mama until morning. She said it was better I let her rest for the night. What’s wrong with my mother, Thomas? I want to be prepared before I face her tomorrow.”
Exhaling, he stepped closer to the table, removed his hat, and tossed it onto a vacant chair. “How much did Jane tell you?”
“Only that Mama is no longer of the mind she once was. That everything I fled is little more than a distant memory nowadays. She suggested Mama’s strictness, discipline, aspirations for us . . . for the family, are no more.” She huffed out a laugh. “I find that impossible to believe.”
“I haven’t heard the mistress mention anything of that kind for a while. Of course, it could be she plans to keep Jane close as a companion.”
She flinched. “Forever?”
He shrugged. What did she want him to say? She knew only too well his distaste about the upper middle class and their nonsense matchmaking and money-building. The only thing he was certain of was whatever the master had planned for his youngest daughter would be altered now.
Monica’s blue eyes turned steely. “I won’t allow that to happen. Jane is beautiful. She’s intelligent and amenable. She deserves more than being tied to Mama’s demands for the rest of her life. Despite neither Mama nor Papa deeming it necessary to visit me for the last five Seasons, I can’t imagine for one moment either of them risked missing an opportunity to seek Jane a suitable vehicle of elevation . . . otherwise known as a moneyed man. Do they ever visit the city?”
He pursued his lips. How had it fallen to him to tell her they’d gone to their address in Bath every year, entertained and visited the best dining places, balls, and residences without once venturing to the theater to see their eldest child? How did he tell her that
he
had?
He cleared his throat. “They went, yes.”
Two spots of color darkened her cheeks. “I suspected as much.” Her smile was strained. “Oh, don’t look so guilty, Thomas. You are paid to do as they bid. As for Jane, I doubt she had little choice in the matter even if she wanted to see her strumpet sister.”
“You are not a strumpet.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Thomas waved toward the chair she’d vacated. “Why don’t we sit?” He pulled out a chair and sat, releasing a tired breath. “Much has changed in the five years since you left.” He smiled, wanting to do something to bring the light back into her eyes. “And it seems to me much more than just your mother’s mental state.”
She frowned as she lowered onto the chair. “Meaning?”
He lifted an eyebrow, unable to resist resuming his old ways of tormenting her. “Didn’t you say
you
drew Stephanie a bath?”
Her beautiful eyes immediately flashed fire. “There’s no need to look so shocked. I also know how to boil a kettle and cut some bread and cheese. My newfound skills since I left this house are boundless.”
“Is that so?” The irony in her tone brought a bubble of laughter and admiration to his throat. “I’m intrigued. I never saw you slice as much as an apple when you lived here.”
Silence.
He briefly closed his eyes. Damn it. He’d gone too far. He’d expected her to stretch her claws and scratch him right back. A woman’s silence—Monica’s silence—was infinitely worse than any number of inflicted scratches and hissing. He opened his eyes. “I apologize.”
Triumph briefly lit her gaze . . . and pushed at something in his chest, before her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Your lip is smeared with blood and you have the makings of a nice bruise on your cheekbone. I’ll see what I can find to take care of you.”
He swallowed. How would he bear her touching him? “There’s no need.”
Her gaze wandered over his face and lingered on his split lip. “There’s every need.” The atmosphere charged with unspoken tension once more. She wet her lips before she blinked. “Thank you for coming to our rescue, Thomas. I needed you, and as always, you were there.”
She moved away and he stared at her turned back as she pulled open drawers and cupboards. It was still there. The tension. The care for one another. Nothing . . . yet everything, had changed. He had to protect himself from her beautiful eyes, body, and heart. She was his employer now and held the power to strip him of everything he’d worked for. He lifted his chin and pulled on a coat of invisible armor.
She didn’t want him. Had never wanted him. His yearnings had been futile before, and they would be again if he allowed them to resurface. He must watch her like a falcon watched his prey. They were on opposite sides. There was every chance she’d returned with an agenda and he’d be a damn fool not to come up with one of his own pretty damn quick.
She straightened and fisted her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed. “You’d think I would know where Mrs. Seton kept her gauze and the like, wouldn’t you? Then again, considering it’s been five years since I stepped inside this house—”
“Why did you leave?” Thomas gritted his teeth. He’d regained his voice and the first thing he asked her sounded as accusatory as if he’d pointed his finger in her face. As much as he wanted to expose her plans, he had to tread carefully. “I mean, why didn’t you ever come back? For a visit, at least. Your father would never have said it, but he missed you.”
Her gaze darkened with passion. “He would never have said it because as much as my father drove me mad with frustration, he never lied. The man wouldn’t utter a falsehood even if meant saving someone he loved from being hurt. He didn’t miss me. I wrote to him time and again, and not once did he reply. If my father had wanted to see me, he would have. You and I both know Noel Danes did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it. Seeing me was never an option once I failed to marry the man he and Mama deemed to be a perfect match.”
“What happened to him? To Baxter?”
The skin at her neck shifted as she swallowed. “Nothing. We . . . went our separate ways.”
“You loved him.”
She lifted her chin. “Love blinds. That’s all you need to know.”
Thomas ran his gaze over her exquisite face. Love blinds. Never was a truer sentiment spoken, and one he’d do well to heed. “Your father is laid out in the parlor. The funeral is set for Thursday.”
She nodded, her shoulders dropping. “In two days.”
He held out his hand, wanting to see whether or not she’d take it. “Leave your nursing. Sit. Please.”
Hesitation flickered over her face before she slid her palm into his. The touch ran through his nerves and knotted his stomach. The girl who dreamed of escape, who spoke of forging her own life with her own rules, had come home . . . albeit for a matter of days. The fact filled him with trepidation rather than hope; loss instead of gain.
She lowered onto the seat beside him and slid her hand from his to clasp her fingers together in her lap. “Tell me about Mama.”
He curled the hand she briefly touched into a fist as though wanting to retain the feel of her skin. God, how did he tell her that whether she stayed or went, sold or leased the estate, her life would never be the same? There would be no chance of her returning to Bath the same woman she was when she’d left. He swiped his hand over his face before looking deep into her eyes. “The woman your mother was has gone and will never come back. Jane needs you. She has my support, Mrs. Seton’s, and Jeannie’s, but we’re not enough. She needs her kin. You’re all she has left to help her.” He smiled softly. “Just like Stephanie, Jane isn’t as hardened as you. She needs you to tell her what to do.”
Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears and unmistakable fear. “What do you—”
“What Jane implied is true. Your mother is losing her mind, which means it’s up to you what happens next. It’s up to you what happens with the estate, and it’s up to you whether I continue to work here. Everything now falls to you to decide.” His dread of losing what he’d worked so hard for and the fight to keep it simmered on a low heat deep in his gut. “So what happens next? What do you plan to happen to the house, the estate . . . and to me?”
Monica turned from his intense gaze and stared at the table. “No matter what you might think of me, I didn’t come here with a plan.”
“You always had plans.”
She snapped her head up. “Do you have to sound so accusatory? What’s wrong with having plans? I wanted more than to stay here and play the dutiful daughter. Is that so wrong?”
“No, but the way you never came back from time to time to make sure things were all right with your parents isn’t right either.”
“You have your own life away from this house. I was within these walls twenty-four hours a day whether I wanted to be here or not. You have no idea what that was like. No idea at all.” She glared at him, her body trembling from his insult. “Well? Have you nothing to else to say? No other words of unfounded condemnation to throw at me?”
He remained silent, and his accusation continued to burn in her soul beneath the intensity of his blue-green stare. Rugged and handsome, strong and reliable, Monica realized Thomas was her most dangerous adversary at Marksville. Her mother and father were hostile enemies, lingering on the opposite side of the battle line. Thomas leaned closer to her side, yet they would always be separated by upbringing and circumstances. Their lives were wholly different, despite the similarities that had always bound them.
The tense atmosphere pressed down on her and frustration stung Monica’s eyes. She snatched her gaze from his and glared across the kitchen at the huge open fireplace. “You hurt me by not understanding why I escaped when I could.”
“I understood. I wasn’t even surprised by it, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed.”
She snapped her head around. “Disappointed? Why should you be disappointed? Did I ever hide my unhappiness from you? Tell you I longed to run the house like mistress of the manor when Mama and Papa had passed? No, I did not.”
“I’m sorry if my reaction to your return causes you hurt.” He clenched his jaw. “I don’t wish that any more than I want us to argue.”
“Good. Then stop judging me and help me go forward with what needs to be done.” She squeezed her eyes shut. It was clear in the years she’d been gone she wasn’t the only person who had changed . . . or
been
changed.
She opened her eyes and forced her gaze to his. “Please, Thomas, just tell me you don’t believe everything has turned out this way because of me? Surely you don’t believe my actions killed Papa and sent Mama into some mental state neither you nor Jane are willing to talk about?” Her heart ached with the need for his comradeship. “I didn’t run away into the night without a backward glance or ever contacting Mama and Papa again. I tried to come back, but the door was succinctly slammed in my face via pen and ink.”