A Scandalous Situation. Patricia Frances Rowell
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not object?”
A slightly impish smile brightened her serious face. Charming. “I did not say they do not object. But they understand….” She sobered. “There are times when Isimply must be by myself. And I cannot bear to stay inside for long periods. So I take my paints and come into the fells and find something spacious and uplifting to paint. I had been driving for about an hour when the mishap occurred. I intended to paint the Eyrie in the snow.”
“Ah. Now I understand the paint case. So painting is your favorite pastime?”
“Yes. And I sometimes write a bit of poetry…and other things.”
At that moment Burnside appeared with a large tray. He set it carefully on the sideboard and began awkwardly to place dishes on the table. “You’ll have to excuse me, miss. I ain’t no dab hand at this. We’ve been eating in the kitchen till the butler shows his front.”
“Oh, my. I am sorry to be putting you to so much trouble. I would have been happy to eat in the kitchen.”
“No lady is going to eat in the kitchen in my house,” Rob interjected firmly. “It is well enough for a rough fellow such as myself, but for you… No.”
“Rough? Not at all. In fact, you have been the epitome of a gentleman.” Blushing a little, the lady laughed. A quiet, pleasant laugh. “In spite of a rather inauspicious meeting.”
“I must admit I have never before been introduced to a lady at pistol point. A novel experience.” He grinned. “The experience has induced me to be on my best behavior, but that is bound to wear off.”
But not too rapidly, considering the second pistol she probably still wore under her petticoats. The pistol notwithstanding, he saw something sad in the lady’s twilight eyes. Something that made him want to gather her into his strong arms and comfort her. To shelter her.
But not tonight.
Considering the pistol.
He lifted the cover from a platter, revealing large rolls stuffed with sausage. “May I serve you some of Burnside’s excellent fare? And some stewed apples?”
“Yes, thank you. What is that in the tureen? It smells very interesting.” She leaned forward and took a deep breath.
“Lamb curry.” He lifted the cover. The aroma of meat and spices filled the room. “I am not sure you will care for it. It is very highly seasoned, I warn you.” He spooned some rice onto her plate and added a very small dollop of the curry. “I suggest you approach it carefully.” He ladled a large serving onto his own plate.
She picked up her fork and took an appropriately dainty nibble. “Mmm. It is very good… Oh, my.” She gasped and reached for her wine.
Rob hastily clasped her hand, stopping her from sipping. “The wine will only increase the effect of the peppers. Better you should have a bit of roll.”
She nodded and quickly followed this advice. “My goodness.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I have never tasted peppers so hot. But the dish has a delightful flavor. Perhaps it is an acquired taste.”
“One must certainly become accustomed to it.” Rob laughed. “Are you all right now?” He took a large bite of his own serving.
“Oh, yes. I was just taken by surprise.” She tried another minute morsel. A brave lady.
“Perhaps Burnside can mix some curry powder for you with less pepper. I don’t want my first guest to go away with a blistered mouth.”
“Nor do I.” She quickly took another bite of bread and very precisely blotted her lips with her napkin. “I believe that is enough for now, but I would like to try it again sometime—perhaps with less pepper.”
“You seem surprisingly adventurous. You look so…so fragile.”
She stared pensively at the fire. “Perhaps I would like adventure. Fragility can become very tiresome.”
Rob pondered that response for a moment. The lady was definitely involved in an adventure now, one from which she would not emerge unscathed. “Miss Kethley, I am afraid that this particular adventure is going to be very damaging to your reputation. I think we should discuss—”
She turned her clear violet gaze on him. “Lord Duncan, I assure you that damage to my reputation is not a problem at all.”
And try as he might, he could not persuade her to say one more word on the subject.
The storm rampaged through the night and into the morning, and although Iantha had a pleasant conversation with Lord Duncan over breakfast and spent some time with him in the library examining his books, she became aware of a growing tension in herself. The need to get away. To get out of the place.
To put some distance between herself and his lordship’s overwhelmingly masculine presence.
He had done nothing—nothing at all—to cause her alarm. He observed every courtesy. He took pains to provide her every comfort. He did not touch her. Yet he seemed to fill up the room with his big body and his big voice. And…and with something else. A robust energy emanated from him, taking form in his ready grin and his hearty laughter. His enthusiasm for his library. His wholehearted enjoyment of life.
Try as she might, she could not shut his lordship out.
She did so very successfully with most people. Her barriers, built of intellectual conversation and control of her emotions, were well constructed and well maintained. She kept even people whom she liked outside of them. But with Lord Duncan… Even while discussing old Hindu manuscripts and his study of the various languages in which he engaged with Vijaya, she found herself more aware of the man than of the subject.
She needed to go home.
Shortly after they had eaten a light nuncheon, the wind died and the clouds rolled themselves up behind the mountains, leaving a blinding brightness in their wake. Iantha peered out a window.
“At last! Now I can return to my parents and relieve you of an unwanted guest, Lord Duncan.”
His lordship strolled to join her at the casement. “Never unwanted, Miss Kethley.”
Iantha smiled. “You are very gallant, my lord, but at the very best, I am an uninvited guest. Will you provide me with a horse? I fear I cannot leave the same way I arrived.”
“I fear you cannot leave at all, Miss Kethley. At least, not for a while. Nay, wait.” When she would have protested, he held up a restraining hand. “Just because the storm has abated does not mean the roads are open.”
“But I must get home. My poor parents—”
“I am sure they are extremely worried. But that will not clear the drifts. After a blizzard of this magnitude, they will be frozen in place.”
Iantha’s heart dropped to her slippers. She must go. He couldn’t make her stay. He wouldn’t. She drew herself up and bestowed a frosty glance on his lordship. “Nonetheless, I must attempt it. May I make use of a horse or not?”
His lordship snorted. “Something tells me that if I refuse, you will set out walking. Very well, Miss Kethley. Please get your coat and meet me in the entrance hall.”
Iantha raced up the stairs and struggled back into her own clothes and fur coat. In a very few minutes she rejoined Lord Duncan in the hall. He had donned his greatcoat and hat. Without a word he led her back into the old part of the castle.
But instead of continuing down to the stables, he turned and started up a spiral staircase of worn stone. Iantha stopped, scowling, and gazed up the aged steps. “My lord, where are you going?”
He returned her scowl. “To the battlements, Miss Kethley.”
Panic began in Iantha’s breast. “No! I am not going to the battlements. I am going home. With you or without you!”
Before she could dart through the old