Page 49 of Never Kiss a Scot
It had become a lovely tomb, missing only their mother’s body lying nobly on the bed in a state of eternal repose. The wide windows allowed moonlight to fill the room, washing the soft colors of the robin’s-egg blue walls almost white. The birch carved four-poster bed was still there, and motes of dust swirled in eddies in the moonlight. He trod lightly and respectfully into the room. It felt almost as though his mother were still there, a hint of her perfume, the echo of a lighthearted laugh, as though she had merely stepped out of the chamber for but a moment and would soon return.
Brock swallowed thickly as he approached her tall wardrobe in the corner, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he reached up on tiptoe and ran his hand over the edges of its top. His fingers trailed through a thick layer of dust before bumping against a small wooden box.
He grasped it carefully and brought it down to inspect. The box was carved with vines that had been painted green. The craftsmanship of the box was so well done that he half expected the vines to curl up and twist around his fingers. He had seen it often as a boy when his mother had been preparing for a fine night out at a ball or a dinner with guests here at the castle.
He set the box down on his mother’s vanity and opened the lid. The inside of the box held a dozen pieces of jewelry. He sifted through the various bits inside. A strand of pearls, each one gleaming like a drop of condensed moonlight, the intense glittering diamond ring she’d so often worn, the pair of sapphire earrings, and finally, the piece he’d been searching for. A simple gold band with a turquoise gem.
It was his mother’s engagement ring. The turquoise was supposed to bring good luck; the pharaohs of Egypt had believed that and had filled their tombs with it. His father had actually been to Egypt when he was younger, which was where he’d acquired the ring. Brock wouldn’t ordinarily want to touch anything his father had acquired, but this ring carried his mother’s spirit. When she had fallen ill, she’d instructed Brock to collect her jewelry and place the pieces in this box and hide it on the top of the wardrobe. Thankfully, his father had never found it.
Brock wanted Joanna to have something of his mother’s. The turquoise almost matched her eyes. It would look beautiful upon her finger. He closed the box and set it safely back on top of the wardrobe. Then he looked over the room once more and left, keeping the door open. The room, like any other part of the castle, needed to breathe. It would take a long time for him to learn to trust that the castle was safe from his father, but this was a start. No more locked doors, no more treasures hidden.
Joanna returnedto Brock’s study before dinner and found Mr. Tate thankfully absent. She’d sensed he was not at all pleased that she was here. Perhaps he didn’t like that she was English, or maybe he feared that she was going to reduce some of his responsibilities in the castle. Many men would have jumped at the option to be paid the same for less work, but perhaps it was a matter of pride. Or maybe he saw his duties going to a woman as an insult. She would endeavor to do her best to put him at ease and let him know he was not going to be replaced.
I want to help, that is all, and a good lady knows how to run a large household.
Her mother had trained her to run a household, and her brother had taught her how to run a business, how to analyze investments, and other important financial matters. Brock’s sister, Rosalind, had become a banker, which was rare, though not unheard of. Joanna rather hoped she might do the same once she and Brock had settled into married life.
She examined the study, the large oak desk littered with papers and the fireplace with a cozy-looking overstuffed chair nearby. Joanna smiled and stroked fingertips over the faded fabric of the chair, as she imagined nights where she would come in here and bring Brock hot tea and she would curl up with a book and read while he reviewed her work on the household accounts. Then he could sit here in the chair, and she might…
Joanna blushed at the wicked thought. She imagined herself sitting upon his lap, and after a lively discussion, Brock would silence her with a kiss, or she would silence him—whoever needed it most. Lord knew she wanted him as much as he did her, and she felt brazen enough to show him her desire.
Yes, spending the evenings here with her husband would be a delight. Joanna approached the desk and sat down in the chair. The papers rustled as she began to sort the documents. She couldn’t find the account books, but these papers were at least a start.
Most of them were statements from banks, letters from creditors, along with the occasional document regarding payments to the tenants for their work and their animal husbandry efforts. It seemed quite normal, only it wasn’t. The amounts paid to tenants were smaller than expected, and the creditor debt was substantial but by no means enough to put Brock’s estate in such dire straits. Had he lied to her?
No. She refused to believe that. She puzzled over the statements for almost half an hour before her eyes were tired and she had to go change for dinner. Perhaps Mr. Tate was not talented with accounting. If that was the case, then she would be happy to take over that duty.
She was adept at mathematics—Ashton had seen to that. He had told Joanna long ago that a woman could dress prettily all she liked, but if she truly wished to be noticed and respected, then she would do well to educate herself in matters of business, politics, and literature. When she was thirteen, she hadn’t wanted to sit in a dusty old schoolroom while her governess droned on, but she had done it, and now it would pay off.
Brock had chosen well in a wife—he simply had no idea yet. She smiled to herself, thinking of how pleased he would be once she made his estate profitable, not only through her funds, but through her management.
Joanna arranged the papers on the desk, making the chaos more organized. Tomorrow she would find Mr. Tate, and they would sort out her duties. She would ask him where he had placed the account books, since she hadn’t seen them among the stacks of papers.
When she felt the study was in decent shape, she blew out the candles by the desk and headed for her bedchamber. But as she left the room she froze. The unsettling feeling of being watched raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. She studied the corridor and saw no one, yet the feeling of being watched followed her all the way back to her rooms.
Brock headedfor his chambers and washed his face. He tried on one of his more colorful waistcoats, a burgundy one embroidered with a pattern of gold diamonds. Then he carefully folded his cravat. He had learned to do it himself years ago when their father had sent away most of the staff. He had to admit, though, he liked having a valet to help him, even though it went against his nature to rely upon others for anything. The castle needed more servants, and he needed help. Mr. Tate was juggling responsibilities both as steward and butler since their previous butler had left along with most of the staff long ago.
He finished dressing and picked up the ring, feeling a little foolish for hoping that Joanna would like it, as though he were trying to impress a maid for the very first time. He waited at the base of the stairs and turned when he heard steps. Joanna stood at the top, her evening gown a striking bishop’s blue. It was the only evening gown her maid had put into her leather traveling bag. The light from the wall sconces gave it a slight purple tint when she moved. It was almost iridescent, and it highlighted the cornflower blue of her eyes.
She stared at him with longing as she came down the stairs, and he felt that same pull toward her. She paused on the bottom step, which brought her almost level with his face. Her breath raised her breasts up and down in her tight bodice, and he couldn’t resist peeking at the low neckline, praying for a glimpse of a rosy nipple. But the gown was just modest enough to leave him wanting.
“I have a gift for you,” he said. “I wish I could have given it to you on our wedding day.” He removed the ring from his pocket and held it up to her.
She blinked, startled, and extended her hand to him as he slipped the ring onto her finger. It rested against the simple silver band that he had given her at the blacksmith’s shop, a perfect fit.
“It belonged to my mother. Her engagement ring.” He held on to her hand for a little longer, not wanting to let go. Something intense and powerful flared between them.
Joanna looked to him, her eyes soft as a caress. “It’s beautiful, Brock. I shall treasure it always.”
He brushed his fingers along her wrist, needing to touch her, to connect with her. “They say turquoise brings good luck.”
“Then I hope it brings me the kind of luck I’m thinking of.” The smile she gave him left little doubt as to what that was.
He wasn’t blind to his desires. He had wanted and craved Joanna from the moment he’d stolen that first kiss more than a month ago, but he wrestled now with the problem of how to make love to his wife withoutfallingin love.
“I wish I had something to give you in return.” She bit her bottom lip, and his body burned with arousal.
He cupped her cheek. “You have, lass. You’ve given meyou.”
