Lady of Scandal Page 5

  She would wait and see how Blake treated her, what his true motives were. Even though she was naïve when it came to men, she sensed a softness in him when he kissed her. Perhaps he harbored kind feelings for her.

  Why else would he agree not to touch her, not to bed her, unless she consented?

  And consent she never would, no matter how many fond childhood memories remained. Victoria considered herself a lady, and even if her reputation was soiled she would still remain a virgin for her husband. Once Blake realized she would never bend, he would surely tire of her and return her to London. Perhaps there would be no need to steal his secrets or eavesdrop.

  The coach turned onto a long, winding driveway. Victoria gazed out the window at the tall trees on both sides of the road and acres of well-tended lawn beyond. She gasped as a huge lake came into view, the water’s surface as calm and clear as fine Italian glass. Pure-white swans sunbathed at the center of the lake, their long, graceful necks curved like ballet dancers. The coach passed boxwood hedges in the formal gardens, where rose bushes and flowering shrubs of every color bloomed and filled the air with their heady fragrance.

  Victoria strained to see up ahead, when suddenly a manor home came into view. Her heart skipped a beat at her first sight of Rosewood’s size and beauty. Blake’s home looked like a castle, with white stone walls and four miniature turrets. A fountain in the courtyard surrounded by marble statues welcomed visitors.

  The coach rolled to a stop. She heard springs squeak as the coachman jumped down from his high perch. The latch clicked and the door swung open wide.

  The coachman extended his hand. “We have arrived at Rosewood, Miss Ashton.”

  Gathering her skirts in one hand, she leaned on his arm as she descended from the vehicle, all the while gazing up at Rosewood’s magnificent architecture.

  “I’m still impressed by its beauty,” the coachman said as he studied her face, “and I’ve been employed here since Lord Ravenspear renovated Rosewood.”

  Victoria nodded and followed the servant up stone steps into a brightly lit entrance hall.

  An enormous chandelier holding at least a hundred candles drew her attention. Sunlight from the open door bounced off the chandelier’s crystal prisms, creating a magnificent image on the marble floor. A lavish floral arrangement of long-stemmed roses in every hue occupied the center of the vestibule.

  Beyond the flowers, a winding staircase led to a second-floor balcony. But before Victoria could observe further, a heavyset woman of about fifty, wearing a black dress with a starched white collar and cuffs, approached.

  The woman smiled at Victoria in welcome. “I’m Mrs. Smith, Lord Ravenspear’s housekeeper. Ever since His Lordship told the household you were visiting, we have been looking forward to your arrival.”

  Victoria wondered precisely what Blake had told his household her ‘visit’ entailed. Or perhaps the staff came to their own conclusions regarding a young, unchaperoned woman’s stay at a bachelor’s home.

  Despite her efforts, Victoria’s face grew hot with humiliation.

  Mrs. Smith gave her a kind look. “Would you like some tea, Miss. Ashton? You must be tired from your travels.”

  Victoria nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Smith. You are most considerate.”

  The robust housekeeper bobbed a curtsey and led Victoria into a spacious salon. A large wire ring of keys at Mrs. Smith’s waist clinked as she walked.

  Victoria’s eyes widened. At least fifty keys hung on the housekeeper’s key ring.

  Just how many rooms were there in this mansion?

  The salon at Rosewood was grandly furnished with cherry furniture and priceless artwork on the walls. Even the ceiling was decorated with a delicate fresco of partially nude goddesses and playful nymphs.

  She sat on a red velvet settee as Mrs. Smith served her tea and scones. Victoria raised her teacup to her lips, savoring the fine English brew.

  The housekeeper placed the silver serving tray on a dainty end table. “I would show you to your room, but Lord Ravenspear gave strict orders that he wanted the duty himself.”

  Victoria set down her cup and saucer with a loud chink.

  The nerve of the man! She wondered if the rogue would escort her directly to his own room.

  “Is Lord Ravenspear present?” Victoria asked with a strained voice. “I would like a word with him.”

  “Good afternoon, Victoria. I see you’ve arrived safely,” a masculine voice spoke behind her.

  The tone, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her. Victoria’s head snapped to the doorway.

  Blake stood tall as a towering spruce, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was dressed simply in fawn-colored breeches with polished black Hessians. A stark-white shirt contrasted with the bronze skin at his throat. Even though his clothes were devoid of lace or decoration, the fabric appeared expensive and tailored to perfection for his lean frame.

  He looked every bit the mighty lord of the manor.

  She was struck by the knowledge that the power he wielded in his own domain would be unchallenged. She had effectively relinquished all control by crossing the threshold of Rosewood.

  A wave of apprehension swept through her, and she realized just how vulnerable her new position was in his household.

  At her continued silence, he walked forward, stopping in front of her. “Welcome to Rosewood. I trust your journey was comfortable.”

  Victoria stood, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze straight on. “Yes, but I’m sure my return travel home will be much more enjoyable.”

  Blake grinned. “And how were your parents this morning? Did they send their regards?”

  She smiled sweetly, hoping to wipe the grin from his face. “My mother sends her regards and has confidence in your newly established reputation as a gentleman and lord of the realm. My father and brother both pray that you contract a painful, mortal ailment in the near future.”

  Victoria heard the rattle of fine china on a serving tray behind her. She had forgotten that Mrs. Smith was still in the room.

  The housekeeper curtsied and excused herself from the salon, nearly tripping in her haste to leave.

  Damn. He had made her lose her temper, and she hadn’t been in his house or in his presence more than ten minutes.

  Her father’s instructions rang in her head. How was she supposed to act sweet and docile and gain Blake’s trust?

  A wry but indulgent glint appeared in Blake’s eyes. “Careful, Victoria. It’s in your best interest to be very nice to me.”

  “Why should I? Your offer made no mention of how I should behave, only that I come.”

  “Self-preservation, my dear. You’re not in London anymore. You’re at Rosewood, where I’m the master and my word is law.” He raised her chin with his finger to look into her eyes. “I have the power to make your stay quite enjoyable or wholly unbearable. It’s best if you not forget that fact.”

  Victoria bit her cheek to keep silent, then nodded. Now was not the time to challenge him.

  He took her arm. “I’ll show you to your rooms, my dear.”

  As they walked out of the salon toward the stairs, she was conscious of his hand touching her sleeve. The scent of his cologne reached her nostrils…sandalwood and cloves, distinctly male.

  They reached the top of the stairs and passed one door after another in the long hallway. She wondered which room was his.

  “There are two wings,” he said as they walked. “An east and a west. The west is unoccupied at the present.”

  They stopped in the middle of the paneled hall. He swung open a door and extended his hand. “After you, my dear.”

  Victoria walked forward, her eyes taking in where she was expected to reside for the next year. She need not have worried about Blake leading her to his room.

  The chamber was exceedingly feminine and decorated entirely in rose-colored hues. From the plush pillows and down coverlet to the curtains and carpet, the shade was everywhere.

&nbs
p; “It’s beautiful,” she said honestly. “Did you choose the color rose for Rosewood?”

  “No. I had it decorated especially for you since it’s your favorite color.”

  Stunned, Victoria turned to face him. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I looked into a few matters before you arrived. I want you to be comfortable here.”

  He pointed to a door in the corner. “The dressing room and sitting room are through there. Your trunks have been brought up. Mrs. Smith will help you unpack.”

  She was taken aback at his thoughtfulness. He inquired into what she liked, her favorite color? He had the room furnished to suit her tastes?

  It was a beautiful room, nothing that she had expected. No wonder Mrs. Smith thought she was an honored guest.

  Her mind spun with confusion. His consideration seemed out of character for the bitter, vengeful man he had become.

  Victoria turned to face him. “Where are your rooms?” She couldn’t help herself from asking, then regretted the question immediately.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Are you considering a visit? I’d gladly let you in.”

  She felt her face grow hot. “You flatter yourself, my lord.”

  He walked to the window and drew aside the pink curtains to gaze at the gardens. “My rooms are directly across the hall.”

  “So close?” she blurted out. “You said the west wing is unoccupied. I’d be perfectly content to occupy a room there.”

  He let the curtain fall and turned to face her. “I’m sure you would, my dear, but I want you close by.”

  Victoria’s hand fluttered to her chest. “You promised not to force me…not to bed me without my consent.”

  “Ah, but I never agreed not to try to seduce you, my dear.”

  Chapter 7

  “Seduce me?” she asked, aghast at the thought.

  “Yes. I’m sure you’re aware that I’m attracted to you. If my instincts are correct, I believe remnants of your childhood infatuation for me remain.”

  Victoria shook her head. “Your instincts are wrong, my lord.”

  He reached out to trace her cheek with a finger. “Are they? No sense claiming you’re frigid again. We both know that’s false.”

  A shiver of excitement ran down her spine at his mere touch. The intensity of his blue eyes captivated her.

  Why did he have to be even more devastatingly handsome than she had remembered?

  Suddenly she recalled a childhood memory when she was about eight years old, and he had taught her how to overcome her fear of horses. He had been so patient and gentle, letting her set the pace at first, and soon she was riding with confidence.

  She could not lose what little power she came here with. Her pride was already bruised, but she had her integrity. She must resist his magnetism.

  “My reaction to your kiss was but a weak moment for me. I won’t respond like that again.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I keep trying?”

  “Suit yourself, my lord. I’m quite immune to your charms,” she said with false bravado.

  “We’ll be spending a significant amount of time together. I’m anxious to see how long you can hold yourself aloof.”

  “I doubt we’ll see each other that often. You have quite the reputation as an innovative businessman after all, my lord. I’m sure your days are kept busy expanding your vast empire.”

  “Ah, so I see you’ve thought of everything, my dear. But I plan on having you with me, even when I work.”

  She contemplated this news. If she was with him during the day, there was a possibility she could watch his private dealings. It assured her easy access to everything her father and Jacob Hobbs desired.

  But at the same time, the more hours she spent with him, the harder she would have to fight herself not to succumb to his planned seduction.

  The irony was not lost on her that if Blake had been as attentive toward her ten years ago, her heart would have burst with joy.

  Victoria turned to face him squarely. “It won’t work, you know.” When he raised an eyebrow as if to ask what she was talking about, she rushed on. “I suspect what you’re planning. You think by forcing me to spend time with you, old feelings will resurface, and I’ll tumble into your waiting, open arms.”

  Her stomach knotted in agitation, and she pointed her finger at his chest. “I’m telling you right now, your efforts will fail. I was a child then, but I’m a woman now, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Blake cocked his head to one side, and his gaze slid lazily down her body. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

  Victoria’s cheeks burned. “What I’m saying, my lord, is that whatever feelings I had for you as a child are long dead.”

  She stomped to the dressing room and jerked open the door. “Now, if you’ll please leave, I want to change.”

  He chuckled behind her. “Of course. Dinner is at seven.”

  She stood still, her back to him, until she heard the door close behind her.

  Hours passed before Victoria gathered the courage to venture out of her bedroom. She took a deep breath and tried to relax as she reached for the doorknob. Her first challenge awaited. She must explore Rosewood and locate the most important chamber in the manor: the library—for most businessmen, including her father and Jacob Hobbs, conducted their business in their library offices.

  She opened the door, half-expecting to be run over by a servant, but found the hallway empty. Passing bedroom after bedroom, she wondered why Blake had purchased a massive estate like Rosewood. His home was more suitable for a large family who frequently entertained than for a bachelor.

  She smiled as a thought occurred to her: he probably acquired the showpiece to feed his already-inflated masculine vanity.

  After discovering there was nothing on the floor other than bedrooms, two linen closets, and a cleaning closet complete with mops, buckets and rags, Victoria decided to search the main floor.

  Her footsteps were silent on the carpet runner as she descended the stairs. She expected to encounter many servants here but was surprised to see only a few. She poked her head into a music room, a dining room and a grand ballroom before finally finding the library.

  It was a grand library, with an impressive collection. Row after row of mahogany shelves stacked with books from floor to ceiling covered each wall of the enormous room. Two tall wheeled ladders hung on runners, which could be pushed back and forth, assuring access to all the high shelves. The comforting smell of books and well-oiled leather furniture lingered.

  A massive desk in front of the window caught her eye. Neat stacks of paper beneath polished stone paperweights covered the surface of the desk.

  Victoria’s breath quickened. Good. He did conduct his business here, and it looked like he kept many documents out in the open. How convenient.

  Despite her earlier decision to wait and see how Blake behaved, she had an overwhelming urge to rummage through the papers. Clenching her fists at her sides, she turned away from the desk and temptation. There was no time now. She couldn’t risk getting caught on her first day at Rosewood. Where would that get her?

  Her father would be furious at her failure, and he would still be in debt to Blake.

  Walking briskly from the library, she entered a long corridor. The passage was empty. Several portraits hung on the papered walls. She was certain they were paintings of past Ravenspear earls, their wives, children, horses and dogs. She assumed Blake had acquired the paintings after his return to England, since his father had sold every last possession before the family was condemned to the poorhouse.

  The thought made her steps falter, and she braced her arm against the wall. No sense thinking about the past. She was paying for other people’s sins right now, and she had to keep her mind focused more on the future.

  She continued on, suspecting the passage led to the unoccupied west wing that Blake had mentioned. As she walked, the sound of voices began to drift down the hallway.

  At first th
e voices were distant, but as she progressed, they became more audible.

  Male voices. Yelling. Guttural sounds.

  Strange animal sounds.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Reaching the end of the corridor, she peered around the corner to see a large empty room, the hardwood floors gleaming from a recent polish. She tiptoed past numerous chambers, finding each barren.

  The west wing was indeed unoccupied, and except for the male voices she continued to hear, she would have turned around and headed back to the main part of the house.

  The noise grew louder, and she swore she heard a fight. The dull thud of a fist hitting flesh.

  The noise was distinct; she had heard it before, when Spencer started a fight at the tables after a rival accused him of cheating at cards. Her stomach churned with anxiety, just as it did the second before Spencer’s opponent had smashed his fist in her brother’s face.

  Even though the hair on her nape stood on end, her curiosity would not allow her to retreat. She pushed forward, searching for the source of the disruption.

  Blake had been quick to quash her suggestion that she reside in the unoccupied west wing. His message had been clear: he didn’t want her to wander here.

  Why? Was he hiding something? Something she could use against him?

  She came to a doorway and pressed herself flat against the wall. They were inside. More specifically, Blake was inside. She recognized the deep timbre of his voice. At least two other men were present; one was issuing words of encouragement as the beating continued.

  Half in anticipation, half in dread, she pushed away from the wall and stepped into the doorway. The sight that met her eyes was quite unexpected.

  They were fighting, all right. But not brawling as she had suspected. Bare-knuckle boxing instead.

  She froze in stunned tableau.

  Dominating the large room was a square ring roped off with stakes at each corner that were anchored to the floor. In the center of the ring, Blake and an opponent circled each other, rocking back and forth, their nimble footwork catching her eye.

  Each man was bare-chested and bare-fisted. Both combatants were slightly bent over, head and shoulders pressed forward, knees slightly bent, and with their fists balled up. They jabbed and punched as they moved around the ring in a well-practiced athletic dance. They appeared well-matched, and the scraping of their shoes on the hardwood floor echoed off the walls as they fought. A third man, presumably the trainer, stood outside the arena, his arm resting on the rope, his voice shouting instructions to the combatants.