The Dutiful Daughter. Jo Ann Brown
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was fascinated by how her expression emphasized each facet of it. Without the grief that too often shadowed her face, she was even more beguiling.
He started to reach out his hand to put it over hers. He drew it back quickly. Hadn’t Bradby’s interruption this afternoon taught him anything? He could not risk her reputation by giving in to the yearning to touch her.
“The ships did come to Sanctuary Bay, but the crews never found any signs of their stolen cargos in the village.”
“Tell me, where in this house did they hide their loot?”
“There is supposedly a deep cellar, more like a cave actually, beneath, but we have never found any sign of it.” Her laugh caressed him like a spring breeze. “How did you guess? Nobody outside the village ever knew of it.”
“Mr. Fenwick’s reluctance to speak of your father’s theory was a good clue.”
“There are rumors that my ancestors played a large part in the crimes.”
“That did not disturb your father?”
“Quite to the contrary. He thought it great fun to have pirates in our family line, but he was also glad that we live in a far more civilized time.”
Charles sighed deeply. “I would not say we are more civilized. We simply prey on each other in different ways now.”
“I read the dispatches in the newspaper about the battles against the French,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I cannot imagine how much more horrendous it must have been on the battlefield.”
“No, you cannot. Not unless you were there.”
“I would be glad to listen if you wish to speak of it. Mr. Fenwick has often reminded us that a problem shared is a lessened burden.”
He recoiled, shocked by her words. “Why would I wish to relive that?”
“I have no idea, but—”
“Miss Meriweather, I do not wish to speak it.” He clenched his teeth as he felt the all-too-familiar surge of heated anger rising from his gut. He struggled to dampen it, but his temper seemed to have a will of its own, wanting to lash out in every direction.
Sophia stared at him in shock. The so-very-brief connection between them was now completely broken. He told himself that it was for the best. She should be getting better acquainted with her cousin, not with him. That thought stabbed him. What did it matter? If she knew the truth about him, she would run in the opposite direction.
He stood when she rose and gestured at the bookshelves.
Her voice was polite and nothing more. “Please feel free to read any book that appeals to you.” She faltered, then said, “Some of the volumes are old and fragile. If you wish to read in your room tonight—”
“Michael and Gemma have been taught to respect other people’s possessions,” he replied crisply at the implied insult. Telling himself that she had not meant her words that way, he tried to push his anger deep within him again. It was like trying to squeeze a cannon into a snuffbox.
“As I said, I am done here.” She did not look at him. “You are welcome to stay. I hope you feel free to run tame through the house.”
“You have made us feel comfortable in your home.” He raised a hand to halt her answer when her gaze slid toward him. “I know it is Herriott’s estate, but it is your home. I daresay I would not show such equanimity if a stranger came to Northbridge Castle and laid claim to it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We have had time to adjust because we have been awaiting Cousin Edmund’s arrival for more than ten months.”
“But to hand over your home without a protest...”
“We are fortunate he is a kind gentleman, who already is making efforts to put us at ease.”
He found her trite answer vexing. Before he could halt himself, he fired back, “Really? Are you as at ease with the idea of wedding your family to his?”
She flinched at the word wedding. “That is too intimate a question,” she said in a frigid tone, “but you would be wise to remember that I shall do what I must for my family. And I ask you, my lord, would you wed your family to another if it was for the benefit of your children?” She pushed past him to go to the door.
His fingers closed into fists. How dare she use such an officious tone that suggested she was a better person, more willing to sacrifice than he was! She sounded like Lydia. His late wife had delighted in looking down her nose at him whenever she had had the chance. Now Miss Meriweather was doing exactly the same. Had she no idea how much he was fighting to control his temper that she seemed determined to incite with her verbal attack? Cold fury pumped through him. If she wanted a battle, he would oblige.
“Odd,” he said to her back. “I may not know you well, Miss Meriweather, but I have learned to trust my first impressions.”
She spun to face him. “Which means?”
“I don’t see you as a woman willing to settle for a neat solution.”
“A neat solution?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “Is that what you are looking for in your life and your children’s lives? A nice, neat, boring solution? May I suggest, Lord Northbridge, that you deal with your family’s problems and allow me to deal with mine?”
She was gone before he could reply, but not before he saw tears bubbling out of her eyes.
He gripped his hands on the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Was using cutting words to find a woman’s most vulnerable spot the only thing he had learned during his marriage? He thought of Bradby’s teasing about the fairy tale of “Beauty and the Beast.” Was his friend closer to the truth than he guessed?
He slammed his left fist into the oak door. It crashed against the wall as pain surged up his arm. Cradling his hand, he edged away from the door that was now stained with the blood from his scraped knuckles.
Charles turned away from the door. He hated how his temper had become a vicious monster, ready to shed any hint of humanity and leap into battle at the least provocation. He did not want to lose himself again and again to his temper, but he feared he no longer knew how to prevent it.
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