Day Fourteen
Two weeks until Arabel’s wedding
“Where is he?” Arabel demanded of Jamieson as she charged through the house, not finding Garrick anywhere. The nerve of that man! “Where is Lord Townsend?”
“East wing, miss, top floor,” the butler answered quickly, flattening himself against the wall to let her pass. Wisely so, given the fit she was in. Oh, when she found Garrick, what a piece of her mind she’d give him!
She hurried up the stairs to the second story landing and found the door barring the east wing unlocked. She pushed it open and slipped inside, welcomed by the loud noise of hammers and falling timbers.
With a stunned gasp, she halted in her steps and stared.
The roof was missing. Only the tall trestles of the attic remained, poking up into the sky like the ruins of the old castle on the hill. Blue sky soared where the ceiling had once been, and Arabel’s mouth fell open as she watched two swallows dart past overhead.
What on earth . . . ?
Blinking away her shock, she hurried toward the sound of construction. She reached the nursery and stopped in the doorway to gaze into the room. Rather, into what had once been a room. Now, it was only joists, with the walls knocked down and large pieces of ancient timber marking where the edge of the house had been. Half a dozen men worked at loosening the remaining timbers of the bare frame.
Then she saw Garrick.
He worked with two other men at wrestling a large beam into place. In rough tan breeches and a white work shirt beneath a plain brown waistcoat, his neck scandalously bare, he planted his worn brown boots against the floorboards, bent down, and wedged himself beneath the beam, his shoulder pressed against it. With a groan, he rose up, and his strong thighs shook with exertion as the men levered up the beam, his muscles outlined by the tight breeches. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and revealed sinewy forearms tensed with effort. Arabel stared at his broad shoulders as the muscles rippled across his back, all of her mesmerized at the sight of his hard body straining and flexing.
The beam slid into place. The men released it, slowly relaxing as they moved away from it, then slapping each other on their backs at a job well done. Garrick said something that made the workmen laugh, and he grinned, a wide and bright smile that spun through her, curling her toes inside her shoes.
He looked up and caught her staring.
For a stuttering heartbeat, they froze, staring back at each other. The heat in his gaze sparked a flame low inside her, one which burst into a wildfire when he slowly turned fully toward her to let her look her fill of him. Shamelessly, she did just that. Her eyes trailed over him, taking him in, all sweaty dirty from working and his hair shining in the afternoon sunlight. She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his, and he brazenly returned her stare, his green eyes dark and electric. Even though a knowing grin crooked arrogantly at his lips, she couldn’t make herself look away.
“Welcome, Miss Rowland!”
She startled as one of the men called out to her, breaking Garrick’s spell.
“A pleasant surprise t’ have ye up ’ere wi’ us, miss,” another man said with a polite tug at the brim of his cap.
“Aye,” Garrick agreed. As he sauntered forward to greet her, he teasingly tossed over his shoulder to the men, “Ye ken the lass is here t’ supervise?” His brogue came strong and clear, and he winked at her. “To make certain we men’re doin’ it right?”
“I don’t think you are,” she challenged as he stopped in front of her, then removed his work gloves and slapped them against his thigh to knock off the sawdust. “I remember a roof.”
He glanced up and blinked, as if surprised to find open sky overhead. “Odd. It was there just a moment ago.” His eyes gleamed mischievously, and he fought back another grin threatening to blossom at his sensuous lips. “I don’t suppose you’d like an indoor garden in the nursery.”
She blew out a long breath, having reached the end of her patience. “Lord Townsend—”
“We’re tearing down the wing,” he explained, slipping easily back into that imperial tone of the English earl he’d become. He waved a hand at the mess around them. “It wasn’t safe. The roof was already half-caved in. Something had to be done.”
“But tearing it down . . . Isn’t that a bit drastic?” She couldn’t bear to think of the manor house being destroyed. She wanted it to remain as she remembered from her childhood, every last stone and timber.
“It would have been more difficult to repair what was here than to rebuild. And dangerous.” He pulled a roll of paper out from his waistband at his back, unrolled it, and held it up for her to see. “I found the house blueprints in the library. With these, we can rebuild a new wing exactly as it was originally planned.”
She couldn’t argue with that. The east wing was dangerous and needed to be repaired, but this . . . And an earl leading the work crew, no less. “With only six of you working on it, it’ll take weeks to tear down.”
Far past the time they had left in the will’s clause. Her heart thudded. Did he plan on remaining longer, or would he only make a mess of things here and then leave her to clean it up? Or was this a transformation of his revenge, since he wasn’t able to drive her away any other way?
He shook his head. “Two days at most to bring it down. We’ll run ropes around the beams above and the joists below. Two teams of draft horses will pull on the ropes in opposite directions, and it will all fall in upon itself.” He looked at the structure around them with a touch of pride, his stance wide and his hands on his hips. Every inch of him proclaimed a lord surveying his keep. “Then we’ll cart away the rubble and rebuild the wing on the same plan as before, but better.” His eyes found hers, and the earnestness in their depths made her breath hitch. “And stay true to the history of the manor house, just as you want.”
Her chest warmed, but she was too proud to admit how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness. “Ropes and four horses?” She shook her head. “Impossible.”
“This wing wasn’t part of the original house. It was added later and not integrally attached to the main. Now it’s separating.” He slapped one of the nearby beams. “We’ll help it down and make certain no one gets hurt when we do.” He pointed at the row of wooden arches in what was once the attic. “Do you see that odd-shaped wooden beam connecting the top of each arch? Functions as a capstone. We take that beam down at the same time we pull out the side timbers on the ground floor, and we’ll bring it all down, folding in upon itself.”
She eyed him warily. She wanted to believe, and yet . . . “You won’t hurt the rest of the house?”
“Not beyond a layer of dust and a bit of a rumble.” He grinned. “But we’ll clear everyone out first, just in case.”
“Just in case,” she repeated dubiously, gazing up at the beams overhead. She tried to see what he did, but all she saw was a jumble of old timbers and boards. “How do you know it will work?”
“The army. I was assigned to protect the engineers responsible for building bridges, roads, tunnels . . . whatever the army needed to march into France. Those same men were also responsible for blowing up and knocking down the enemy’s structures. I learned a few things about loads, stresses, and counter-stresses while watching them.” He looked up thoughtfully at the beams arching overhead. “Of course, I was responsible for keeping the engineers alive, not becoming one of them.”
“It seems you did anyway,” she acknowledged quietly, remembering what he told her that day in Davidson’s office, how he’d planted and set off the explosives that destroyed the French bridge and won the battle. When his gaze flickered proudly, she cleared her throat and retreated onto safer ground with him—anger. “A bit presumptuous of you to make changes without consulting me.”
“Well, I do own half the house.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “the half you’re currently knocking down.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “You can have the west wing, if you want.”
“What I want is the guest list for my wedding.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “I’d planned to work on the arrangements this afternoon.”
Which had become a bothersome headache since her mother had taken it upon herself to move the ceremony from Edinburgh to the village church in Kincardine without asking her first. Mama had sent out a flurry of notes to all the guests to inform them that the wedding would now be held in the same church where the Rowlands had been married for generations, with the breakfast hosted at Highburn. Arabel had been struck too hard by the pride her mother felt over how the new plans would incorporate all the old traditions to overrule her. Now she had to somehow find accommodations in Kincardine for all the guests.
And Garrick wasn’t helping.
“Imagine my surprise to find the list missing.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Another attempt to drive me away?”
He laughed at that, which only irritated her more. “If knocking down half the house doesn’t drive you way, a missing list certainly won’t.” When she opened her mouth to give him the set-down he deserved, he interjected, “Where was it?”
“On the drawing room tea table. I put them there last night when—”
He held up his hand and stopped her midsentence, then took a pace to the right where several sheets of paper lay across the floor. He sorted through them. With a grin that Arabel thought was more smug than triumphant, he held up the list. “Must have gotten mixed in with the architectural plans this morning when I met in there with the men.”
She snatched the list from his hand. “How convenient,” she muttered.
“An accident, Arabel. Why do you assume more?”
“From the man who swore revenge against my family?” she countered wryly, keeping her voice low so that the workmen couldn’t overhear as they continued to tear down the walls. “I cannot fathom why I wouldn’t trust you.”
The amusement faded from his face. “You can trust me. That hasn’t changed.”
Her breath hitched at the sudden tension flaring between them. “Then leave Highburn,” she whispered, “and let me have it.”
“No,” he replied in a masculine purr that trickled through her and left a blaze of heat in its wake. “I have plans that require me to be right here.”
She arched a suspicious brow. “Only two days, you said.”
“To bring down the wing,” he clarified, his eyes not leaving her. “My most important plans require much longer than that.”
Her belly tightened. Did he mean that he was staying in the highlands?
Oh, he wouldn’t do that! His life was in England now. He had no reason to linger here . . . although a foolish part of her wished he would.
His eyes flickered with an emotion she couldn’t decipher. “Don’t you want to know what those plans are?”
“No.” Because whatever they were, she was certain they would only cause her trouble.
The flicker turned into a sparkling gleam, as if he were debating telling her anyway. Instead, he turned sideways, his shoulder close enough to hers that she could feel the heat of his body, and murmured, “Lady Rowland said you’d moved the wedding to Kincardine.”
“Yes.” Was he expecting an invitation? The very last person she wanted at her wedding . . . when once he was the only man she’d wanted to marry. The only man, even now, that she ever truly wanted. “Mama decided that the wedding should be here, for tradition’s sake.” When she sensed him tense, knowing full well what he thought of her bowing to her family’s wishes, she added quickly, “Truly, it was the only way to keep both the wedding date and my residency here.”
“And the only way to mollify Murray.”
Her back stiffened. Garrick was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. “What’s wrong with being considerate of my future husband?”
“Considerate?” A low laugh rumbled from him. “Of all the things I want in a bride, being considerate isn’t one of them.”
She swallowed hard at that innuendo. “Ewan isn’t you.”
“Most definitely not.” He kept his eyes straight ahead, pretending to focus his attention on the workmen. “I would never have left you alone in a house with another man.”
She ignored the pulse of heat low in her belly. “We’re not alone. We’re with Aunt Matilda and all the servants.”
“But I was once your lover,” he provoked in a low voice, this time wickedly sending the throbbing heat lower.
Their conversation was wholly inappropriate. Yet speaking intimately like this, while the men carried on their work only a few feet away, sent her heart racing with a wanton deliciousness she couldn’t make stop.
Garrick pressed, “He doesn’t know that, does he?”
“He knows I’m not innocent,” she dodged. “And he doesn’t care.”
“Then he’s either a liar or a fool, because it would drive me mad to know that some other man had possessed your body, your passion . . . the most secret parts of you,” he confessed quietly, although Arabel heard a hard edge to his voice. Was that jealousy? “Has Murray made love to you yet?”
She caught her breath at the boldness of his question. And at the realization that he truly was jealous. Now her heart raced for an entirely different reason.
Unable to find her voice, she whispered, “Of course not.” Only you . . . There’s only ever been you.
“Then he’s a fool.”
The insult rankled, because she’d been the one who had refused intimacies. Not Ewan. “Garrick—”
“If you were mine, Arabel, I sure as hell wouldn’t be in Edinburgh.” He didn’t dare to look at her, his gaze fixed on the workmen. “I’d be right here, making love to you as often as you’d permit me. Worshiping your body the way you deserve to be worshipped . . . with soft poetry, those bold caresses you crave, and lingering kisses over every inch of you.” Then he slid a sideways glance at her, catching her stunned gaze and holding it for only a heartbeat before looking away. “Every inch of you.”
Her body flashed hot at that wicked image, and she trembled.
“You’re the most alluring woman I’ve ever known. Your spirit, your laugh, the way your hair shines in the sun like flames, the scent of heather that surrounds you like a cloud . . . A man who didn’t want you would be a fool.” He nonchalantly brushed at a speck of plaster dust on his shirtsleeve. Anyone watching them would never have suspected the scandalous conversation they were having, or how he crossed the line when he murmured, “And I’m no fool.”
With a soft gasp, she parted her lips, stunned and confused. In moments like this, she could almost imagine that the last ten years hadn’t passed, that they had the rest of their lives stretching out before them, together. Hearing his sultry voice purr in her ear like this felt like . . .
Home.
But she wasn’t enough of a goose to believe that he felt the same confusion, that the same lingering desire that gripped her also flamed inside him. Not the man who had decided that he needed to leave the highlands in order to be as far away from her as possible. Not the man who had only returned to seek revenge.
“You don’t mean that,” she accused. She clenched her hands into fists as her chest rose and fell with tumultuous breaths. “You’re only saying that to make me leave.”
“Did you ever stop to think, Arabel, that you leaving is the last thing I want?” He shifted closer, barely perceptible, but enough that his fingers grazed against hers as her hand hung at her side.
“No.” She jerked her hand away as if he’d burned her, and she tangled her fingers in her skirt to make the ache go away. “You want Highburn all for yourself, and you won’t let anything stop you from getting your revenge.”
“Yes.”
She flinched at the single word, spoken with such resolve that it pierced her. “Why?”
“Why do you insist on letting your family control you?” he challenged.
Her head swam at the sudden turn of conversation. “They don’t.”
“You’ve once again become engaged to a man your family chose for you, rather than the man you want for yourself.”
His words slammed through her, setting a riot of emotions churning inside her. “That’s not true.”
“Then prove it.”
“I don’t have to prove—”
“Come to my room tonight.”
Her mouth fell open, and she stared at him wide-eyed. For several painful heartbeats, she couldn’t find the words—“You’re mad!”
“Mad for you, Arabel. Always have been.” He lowered his voice to a sultry drawl that soaked through her like liquid fire. “Come to my room, and you can prove that you’re not under your family’s control. That you are living your life as you want to live it.”
She clutched the list of names to her chest as if it were a shield. While every beat of her heart left her even more flustered and breathless than before, Garrick stood there perfectly calm and collected, as if he’d been suggesting nothing more wanton than having tea. Only the fiery gleam in his eyes gave him away.
He lowered his mouth as close to her ear as he dared. “And I can prove how much I still want you.”
A hot shiver raced through her. The rest of the world fell away around her until she hung suspended in space, and only the gleaming light in his green eyes anchored her in place.
He waited for her answer, as if he were the devil himself tempting her with all her wildest wishes come true. All she had to do was whisper . . . Yes.
But at what cost to her soul?
“No,” she breathed, barely any sound trickling from her lips.
She spun on her heel and hurried toward the stairs before he could stop her by saying something else darkly wicked and wholly enticing. But the words he’d already spoken swirled inside her like a whirlwind, and all of her pulsed hot and aching with the wanton images he’d given her. Images she knew she should force from her mind, yet longed to make real.
The temptation he dangled in front of her shook her to her core. Ten years couldn’t dull the memories of how wonderful it had been to be in his arms, to experience the tender passion he’d given her and the joy that had filled her.
A night with him would be exquisite, but would the morning after be unbearable?
When she reached the door, she paused to throw him a determined stare. “You cannot torment me into leaving, Townsend,” she called out boldly, purposefully using his title to goad him and not caring if the workmen heard. Resolve flared through her, just as intense as the heat he stirred inside her. “I am not going anywhere!”
His gaze turned predatory, a dark smile pulling at his lips. “Good.”