Chapter 5
John took a long drink of wine from the finely cut crystal goblet, savoring the bold, plum notes of the ruby liquid. Blackest night came early in the Highlands. There wasn’t a city light for miles to dilute it and, soon, the sky would be a scene of stars.
The last fingers of day traced through the sky, a stunning orange, pink and red.
A soft knock pierced his reverie.
Macleish opened the door.
“My lord, there is a young person to see ye,” the older man said in distressed tones.
He lowered his wine. “A young person?”
“The vicar’s niece!” Macleish gasped, clearly horrified. His old hand trembled on the door latch.
John slammed his wine glass down, sending rivulets leaping to the walnut table before the fire. “Send her in. Now.”
Good God was she mad? He had thought she had left her foolishness behind, but coming to visit an unmarried man? Alone? It didn’t bode well for her or the sense he’d been so certain that she’d acquired.
Macleish backed away from the door.
There was a brief exchange of whispers. Then in an entrance of one who is as determined as a race horse at the starting line, Meredith Trent bolted over the stone threshold and into the room.
John stopped. Transfixed.
Glorious.
It really was the only word for her.
Blond hair flew wild about her elfin face. Her cheeks were red from her foray into the cold. Beautiful, blue eyes sparkled with fervor and her breasts were pressed against her bodice in a rapid up and down movement, no doubt, from her clearly brisk walk. Meredith was rapturous.
“Thank you, Macleish.” John dismissed the old man gently. “That will be all.”
Macleish gulped, then backed out of the room, much like a frightened bear.
“What the devil are you doing?” John asked softly.
A forced smile pulled at her lips, before she shoved a lock of hair back from her fate. It immediately tumbled back.
“Taking you up on your offer,” she proclaimed boldly.
A decided dose of excitement lifted his spirits. “Which was?”
She cocked her head, apparently amazed at his obtuse question. “Why, to find a good match, of course.”
“I see. Your mind has changed rather quickly.”
“I’ve no wish to deny it,” she confirmed. She stepped further into the room, the stiff, suitable fabric of her gown rustling. “I thought about my situation and came to the conclusion that it was a ridiculous one.”
He couldn’t hide the hint of admiration that he felt then. Oh, she might be mad, but she was bold. “I don’t blame you at all. I’ve heard some rather unflattering things about your uncle.”
She gaped then laughed. There was little humor in the sound. “I have repented as hard as the worst sort of sinner could.”
“Oh, Miss Meredith,” he tsked. It was appalling that she’d been placed in such a circumstance. “You aren’t the worst sort of sinner. You couldn’t even touch a true sinner’s murky boots.”
The relief that crossed her face was unmistakable. “Yes, that was my conclusion as well.”
“Was it?” he asked softly. He was glad to hear she wasn’t a masochist bent on her own martyrdom.
“Mmm. I can no longer allow my guilt to wrack me. I have done that long enough.”
“Guilt is a pointless emotion,” he agreed.
She arched a blond brow, tensing. “I have strong doubts about taking your advice on points of morality. However, I was not the one who set out to hurt anyone.”
He arched a brow back, enjoying what felt like an imminent sparring match. “Wise and what you say is true. . . I did intend to cause pain. There were. . . Unintended consequences.”
She held his gaze. Then she replied, her voice a soft hum, “There always are.”
Meredith brushed her hands down the front of her cloak. She shook her head then rushed, “Now, the Duke of Huntsdown and his duchess will launch me into society, you say?”
He fought a scowl. Suddenly, he was forced to reflect on said plan which now sounded deeply unpleasant. But he nodded.
A shrewd, determined tone deepened her voice. “And you’re here because you feel as if you owe me some recompense for what you did.”
“What I did?” He hesitated. Should he take the entirety of the blame? He could. But he thought it a mistake. So he cocked his head to the side and said casually, “In which regard? In regards to Emmaline? That poor girl was a complete victim. I merely offered you the forbidden fruit. Which you took..”
She drew up, her spine as straight as ruler. “You are, indeed, a snake.”
“Serpent,” he teased, unable to stop himself. “It was a serpent.”
The fire cast a decided amber tint to her hair as she sniffed and lifted her head with a good deal of disdain. “Fine hairs, sir.”
He lifted a finger and shook it playfully. “My lord, now.”
“Yes, very fortunate for you.”
“So they say,” he agreed without rancor.
“Can you deny why you’re here?” she demanded, her hands stretching out.
“Please elucidate,” he encouraged, purposely dim.
A perplexed look washed over her features and she looked fit to burst. “That you’re here because the events at Emmaline’s wedding do not sit well with you.”
“You are near the truth. I have some regrets, which is not at all typical for me.”
There was a long pause as her stunning gaze narrowed.
He waited for her to storm out.
She did not.
Quite the contrary, she closed most of the distance between them and defiantly squared her shoulders.
“You will agree with me that my judgement in regards to men is poor,” she stated.
He gaped. This was not at all the course he’d assumed she’d take. Yet, he found he was impressed. Something which was foreign to him.
“Are you a cod fish. . . My lord?” she drawled.
He snapped his shocked mouth shut. Clearing his throat, he replied, “Indeed, no. Merely surprised that you’d admit it.”
“Why? I bedded a cad. That can’t be denied.”
He drew in a sharp breath. There was no getting around it. So, he replied, “You did. It’s true”
“Your friend,” she added, her voice slightly more defeated then before.
“Not my friend,” he countered. As he thought back, he wondered now how he ever could have been so. . . Cruel. Truly. Pain. That’s how. Years and years of bloody agony and drowning in loneliness. It had made him cold to the situation of others.
“That makes your role worse, does it not?” she challenged without fear.
“My role is dark enough,” he admitted. “I had reasons.”
“I’m sure. Don’t we all?” she mocked.
Mocking was a bridge too far. He could agree with her on the blackness of his nature, but denigrating the path which had led him to it? That he couldn’t tolerate.
“Dear Miss Trent, you shall never know nor understand the depth of my reasons. They were neither frivolous nor fun. Nor do I wish my reasons upon my worst enemy. Not even on my brothers. Because, quite frankly, even with my vengeance my family has not begun to suffer as I have done.”
The words, he realized were dangerously close to self-pitying. But they were also fact.
The passion of his words seemed to give her pause. “Do you deem what happened worth your actions?”
How to answer such a thing? Did he deem the public ruination of Emmaline Trent and the distress caused to Miss Meredith worth the result? His brothers had been forced to see how shallow they were. They’d been forced to understand John’s true circumstances.
To understand the consequences of their father’s actions.
Had the pain been worth it?
He cocked a brow and let out a rough breath. “Yes.”
She studied him carefully before whispering, “My goodness you are something.”
“I am, indeed,” he said lightly, though he imbued the words with warning. “I beg you not to forget it.”
“I won’t.” She blinked, swaying slightly as if she might back away from him. She appeared as if she did, indeed, feel the danger. “Of that, I promise.”
“Good. Now, you could have sent me a note. So, why are you actually here,” he demanded, hating that her fierce pride was stirring a hot admiration deep within him. Admiration was not something he felt for ladies. Women? Yes. Ladies? No. They were almost all fools. But Meredith was slowly proving herself different now.
Not that she’d welcome his admiration. Not that he was one to judge her.
She sucked in a breath which caused her breasts to press against her plain bodice. The simple gesture was shockingly erotic. For there was something about her. Something wild and passionate. ’Twas as if Meredith had been meant for a very different world than the prim, proper one she’d been born into. She’d been born for his world. . . The mad one. The wild one. The take, not be taken world.
No. He couldn’t think such a thing. Taking or being taken by Meredith Trent was not in his stars.
“I’m going to accept the Duke of Huntsdown’s offer.”
“I’m glad.”
She whipped up a hand. “On one condition.”
He lifted his long forgotten wine goblet, desiring a fortifying drink. “Indeed?”
“Indeed,” she mocked.
“May I ask what it is?” he questioned before taking a deep swallow.
“You must.” She licked her beautiful, pink lips out of a clear case of nervousness. “You’re an integral part of it.”
His stomach twisted with dread and anticipation. “Out with it then.”
A look of outrage flashed in her stormy eyes. “You’re going to tutor me on men,” she declared.
He’d been about to take another swallow of wine and he choked. “I beg your pardon.”
“I am apparently susceptible to seduction,” she defended without apology. “I want you to teach me the art of flirtation without. . . Well, without giving in.”
“Dear girl, I always give in,” he said with a flourish of his hand.
With a remarkable and ruthless disdain, she eyed him up and down. “No you don’t, John Forthryte. You never give in. Not a bit of you does. I would wager you’ve never given in to anything your whole life long.”
Everything in the room went still then. Even his wine glass was held perfectly aloft. Nothing and no one in his life had ever spotted him so clearly beneath his grandiose demeanor.
Good God, she had a good handle on him. That, in and of itself, was disconcerting.
“Miss Meredith,” he at last whispered. “I do not think you need me to—”
“I do,” she cut in. “I want to be armed against lechers.”
He lowered his wine and sighed. Armed against lechers. If he had his way, all women would be. Men were untrustworthy libertines. Their pleasure was frequently more important to them than any consequence. Well, men didn’t experience consequences. Oh no. They allowed those for the ladies.
“What if you’re susceptible to me?” he decided to test.
A slow, wicked smile curled her lips. “Oh, my lord, you needn’t concern yourself.”
“Why?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t you think I can seduce you?”
She smiled and replied, “I hate you.”
A dark laugh rolled from him.
She stiffened. “Why are you laughing?”
He lowered his gaze back to her indignant face. As he allowed his mirth to die, he studied her mouth. “Because clearly, even now, you know nothing of lust or seduction.”
“Yes, I do,” she snapped. “I’ve been seduced. I wish to prevent it again.”
“Ah,” he slowly crossed to her, wine glass in hand. “But dearest Miss Merry, then here’s your very first lesson.”
She gazed up at him through half-closed eyes as he took a deep sip of his wine.
Slowly, he licked his lower lip then whispered, “Hate and pleasure go hand in hand.”