A Night Of Secrets, A Paranormal Romance Page 9

  She didn’t know why she admitted the truth now of all times. Perhaps the words had merely slipped out, or perhaps she was finally able to say the truth because it didn’t matter anymore…at least it didn’t matter as much. Or perhaps any memory would be preferable to the memory of Grayson kissing her.

  “But they wouldn’t receive you?” Mary Ellen guessed. Was Meg the only simpleton who couldn’t see that Mathew had found someone else and that’s why his letters had stopped coming? Meg James, too innocent, too trusting, too bloody sweet for her own good. Not any longer. She doubted she’d trust another male ever again. Even Papa had disappointed her.

  “I sent a note. They never responded.” She didn’t want to discuss it further. The memory was too embarrassing to relive. “I visited their home, but the butler claimed they weren’t in attendance.”

  “They have a butler now?”

  Meg nodded.

  “Well,” Mary Ellen whispered.

  She knew what her sister was thinking, if Mathew had cared for Meg as he’d claimed, she would be that wealthy now, she’d have that butler. She certainly wouldn’t be cutting vegetables until her hands were raw.

  “Meg, my dear.”

  “Yes, Papa?” Meg turned toward the narrow set of stairs that led to their second story.

  “Have you seen my glasses?”

  Mary Ellen slid Meg a glance and she knew exactly what her sister was thinking. The same thing they thought every time Papa acted out of character. Had he been drinking again?

  “They’re atop your head, Papa.”

  He stumbled on the last step and Meg’s heart clenched. Every misstep, every stumble and they assumed he was foxed. Worry mixed with anger, even as she told herself it wasn’t his fault. Papa had started drinking after mother had died. He had only gotten worse after Julia’s death.

  “What’s that?” he lifted his hand to the white fuzz that claimed to be his hair. “Oh, right. And my Bible?”

  “In your pocket, Papa,” Mary Ellen said softly.

  He looked down and chuckled. “Right you are. It’s the work of one of those pixies from the garden. I’m off to fix the gate in the pasture.”

  Meg’s heart skipped a beat. Surely he wasn’t going to the pasture to drink in privacy. After his last public drunken display, he’d learned his lesson, hadn’t he? She set her knife upon the cutting board. They could not afford to have more attention placed upon the family.

  “No, Papa, don’t worry about that now. Mary Ellen was just saying how she wished you would sit outside under the oak tree and read scriptures to her.” She gave him a quick hug and breathed deeply. No noxious odor hovered around him. Perhaps he hadn’t been into the whiskey after all.

  His face beamed. “Really?”

  Mary Ellen gave Meg a smile that was more a snarl from an irate dog.

  “Well then, shall we?”

  Meg rested her fingertips on her sister’s forearm. “Watch him, I’ll fix the fence,” she whispered. Mary Ellen looked hesitant at first, but finally nodded and followed their father out doors.

  There was no relief now that she was alone. No, there was too much to worry about. Meg untied her apron and gazed out the window. On the horizon Pease Manor stood tall and proud like a King keeping watch over his minions. What would it be like to own such an estate? To have servants wait on you and never have to lift a finger?

  A bemused smile played on her lips. “You’ll never know, Meg.”

  She pulled the apron from her waist and put on her pinafore, smoothing her fingers over the small, embroidered daisies Julia had sewed those years ago. But instead of dwelling on her sister, her thoughts remained pinned to her new neighbor. She hadn’t stopped thinking of Grayson Bellamont since the day he had arrived. He was strong, wealthy, and heroic, no doubt. But he was also prying, suspicious and dangerous. Was she the only one to see that he was hiding his true nature? There was something…off about the man and she would do best to keep her distance. Now, if only he’d keep his.

  She sighed and stepped into the yard. The heat struck her, sucking the air from her lungs and making it difficult to breathe. How wonderful a swim sounded, but she could be melting like candle wax and she doubted she’d ever swim again with Bellamont in the area.

  “Meow,” old Tom cried out, arching his back and rubbing against her skirts. Meg reached down and tickled under his chin.

  “Sorry, Tommy, don’t have time to cuddle today. You’ll have to find Miss Kitty.”

  He jumped onto a barrel that stood beside the shed and hissed.

  “Now, now. Perhaps tonight after the children are in bed, it will be just me and you.” She grinned and gave the cat a wink.

  From the shed she took a hammer and the few nails left, slipping them into her pocket. They weighed down her skirt, thumping against her leg. It’d been a few days since they’d had rain and the dust puffed up around her feet as she made her way down the trail leading to the west field. Fortunately, the dark clouds above promised relief from the drought. Tom pounded into the weeds alongside the stone fence, searching for a tasty morsel. Meg shook her head and sighed. Already he’d forgotten about her. Just like most males.

  “Meg.” Sally came trudging up the path, a book clasped in her hands. Tendrils had come lose from her braid and clung to her sweaty neck. She looked so much like Meg had looked as a child, that she couldn’t help but pause and think back to another time, a better time.

  “Where are you going?” Sally asked.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. “To mend the gate.”

  “Can I come with?”

  “Of course, but we must hurry, rain is coming.”

  “Is Hanna still abed?”

  Meg frowned. “Yes, I’m afraid.” She didn’t know what was wrong with the child, constantly sleeping like she did. Surely it wasn’t normal.

  Sally fell into place beside Meg, her gaze focused on the ground, her mood as heavy as the heat. Meg was just about to ask her what was wrong when she spoke. “The town is talking about us.”

  Meg’s steps faltered. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged, popping a purple thistle from its stem. “They said we’re a charity case, Meg. That Lady Young shouldn’t have to feed us anymore. Will we have to move?”

  Meg’s chest tightened in anger. How dare they! How dare they try and take away what little they had left.

  “Meg, are we destitute?”

  Meg couldn’t look Sally in the eyes. “Of course not. We’re fine.” Meg hurried her steps, hoping to outrun the child’s questions.

  “But,” Sally panted, lifting her skirt to keep pace with Meg. “They said that the town only wants one Vicar and Vicar Young should be living in our home, not us.”

  Meg stopped next to the entrance that led into the sheep pasture. An empty wasted space as all but two of their sheep had been sold long ago. Her hands trembled and she dropped a nail into a patch of Cock’s foot. “Blast.” She knelt down, shifting through the weed.

  “Annabel said they are going to make us leave the house because we can go live with our relatives in London.”

  “Annabel talks too much.” The hammer fell from Meg’s fingers, landing on the ground with a thud. The house? Gone? They couldn’t go back to London. Surely in London Hanna would be recognized. Panic welled in her throat, choking the breath from her lungs. Ireland, yes, they’d head to Ireland and beg mercy from her late sister’s remaining family.

  “Look what I borrowed.” Sally shoved a book under Meg’s nose. “Oh, Meg, tis wonderful!” The gold embossed title bright, even in the dull light. “I borrowed it from the Innkeeper’s daughter.”

  “Beast Lore,” Meg muttered, frowning. “Seems rather dark and dour.” She wrapped her hands around the gate, pulling it forward and testing the hinges.

  “It’s him!”

  Meg stiffened, her gaze jerking upward to the field below.

  “In the book!” Sally flipped through the pages, pausing near the middle. “Lord Bellamont.
They only come out a night and….” She looked up at Meg, her gaze flashing with excitement. “They feed on blood!”

  Meg swiped at her forehead with the back of her hand. “Darling, what are you talking about?”

  “They call them Vampires, Meg.”

  A shiver of unease caressed her skin. Of course she’d heard of vampires, monstrous beasts that fed off humans. “Sally, you’re being ridiculous.” The stories had been brought over from the Continent, but no one took them seriously in England. “It’s just a myth. A tale.”

  “Good day,” a deep, familiar male voice rang out, caressing her back like warm fingers.

  Sally’s face went pale and she slammed the book shut, looking as guilty as Hanna when she’d sneak rolls from the bread basket. Dear God, not now. She couldn’t handle more questions, more accusations from the man. Mostly, she couldn’t handle her body’s reaction. She didn’t want to turn; she couldn’t turn with the way her legs trembled. How was it he always seemed to appear when she was at her most vulnerable? Did he have spies watching her every move? She wouldn’t put it past him.

  “Good day,” Sally said, jumping from the fence and dropping into a curtsey.

  Slowly, Meg turned. He looked as if he’d been dropped from the heavens, a god dressed in English riding clothes, plopped down in the middle of her field. Thank God the fence provided some sort of buffer, as pathetic as it was. A vampire? Of course not. Vampires were disgusting beasts who murdered. But a Roman God? Now that she could believe.

  “You are on our land, this time, Mr. Bellamont.” It wasn’t exactly true. The land belonged to Lady Young, but he didn’t need to know.

  Old Tom jumped upon the fence, arched his back and hissed, showing his displeasure in much the same way Meg wished she could.

  Grayson lifted a brow, his lips quirking, but his green eyes held no amusement. They were cold, always cold. Except for that brief moment right before he’d kissed her. “Pardon me, but I thought it polite to greet a neighbor.”

  Meg snorted and moved through the gate, even though the action brought her on Bellamont’s side. She would not be intimidated by the man. To prove her point, she turned her back to him. “Well, you have, so now you can leave.” Trying to ignore him, she lifted a fallen plank of wood, struggling under the weight. She’d show him just how independent she was. Instantly, dampness broke out on her forehead, heat warring with exertion and nerves.

  “What exactly are you doing?”

  Tom hissed once more than jumped to the ground and raced through the grass as if a dog was after him. Odd cat. How she wished she could run away too.

  Sally backed up a few steps, her book clasped to her chest. Her sister had gone strangely silent. “I…umm…hear father calling me.” The child turned and much like Tom, bolted across the garden. How very odd everyone was acting!

  “I’m fixing the fence, obviously,” Meg snapped.

  “Move.”

  “What?” Meg glanced over her shoulder.

  Grayson looked annoyed. “Move. I’ll fix it.”

  Meg dropped the plank and spun around in shock. “Certainly not.”

  “Your...” he turned to look at the two, sad wooly sheep in the pasture. Clare and Bessie had scampered toward the far end of the field and were watching them through wary eyes. “Your sheep will get out.”

  The only valuable things they actually owned and he had the audacity to mock them?

  “Move aside.” Grayson shrugged the dark blue jacket from his broad shoulders and hung the garment on a post.

  “Mr. Bellamont, what is your agenda?”

  He stepped up close to her, so close she had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. There was a hardness there, a coldness that made her want to take a step back. Who was this man? He certainly couldn’t be the person who had kissed her with such passion, she thought she’d drown in emotion. Just being near him sent her heart fluttering.

  “My agenda?” The coldness fled, replaced with amusement and she wanted to do nothing more than kick him. How dare he laugh at her.

  “Do not pretend you are here to help merely because you are a kind man.”

  “You do not believe I am capable of kindness?” A warm breeze swept across the field, brushing her skirts forward so they twisted around his legs, binding them together.

  “This from the man who accused me of murder? No, sir, I do not.”

  “I did not accuse you of murder.” He wrapped his hand around her wrist. He wore no gloves this time and his touch was oddly cold. Always cold. His thumb pressed lightly to the sensitive skin. Tingles shot up her arm, then down, centering in the pit of her belly. Slowly, he uncurled her fingers and took the hammer from her grasp. He was gentle, but she didn’t miss the strength in his hold and it frightened her as much as it thrilled.

  “Mr. Bellamont,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper. “I can do this on my own. I will not accept your offer—”

  He stepped ever closer, his chest pressed to hers and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. No man but Mathew had ever dared to get this close. Meg’s nipples instantly hardened, her breasts heavy, an unfamiliar sensation she didn’t want to contemplate. But it was more, so much more than it had been with Mathew, this odd need within her. She’d been nervous, almost frightened with Mathew, but not Grayson. No, with Grayson, there was only this desire for more.

  “Move aside, Miss James. I have work to do.” His breath was a cool caress that whispered across her lips. She had the insane desire to lean forward and taste his mouth. Heat rushed to her cheeks. No! A kiss? What in the world was she thinking? She couldn’t kiss him, wouldn’t kiss him…again.

  She stumbled back, her mind a muddle of confusing thoughts. She was not attracted to Grayson, the emotions were merely left over from Mathew. He moved to the fence as if her nearness had not, in the least, affected him. And even as she wanted to curse, her gaze slipped to his back, noting the way his white shirt stretched across his torso.

  “Nail.” He turned and looked up at her, his hand outstretched.

  She reached into her pocket and placed the nail on his palm. Did he have a fiancé or intended in London? What sort of woman would Bellamont be attracted to? What would it be like to be caressed by the man? To be loved? Had he ever loved? The thud of the hammer broke her from her thoughts. He held out his hand moments later and silently she dropped another nail onto his palm, making sure not to touch his skin.

  “It looks like rain, you should probably head home,” she said.

  He didn’t react to her words, merely continued to hammer, his shoulders flexing with the movement. Meg sighed and leaned against the rock wall. A stone toppled over and fell to the ground with a thud. She was too tired to be embarrassed. Another year or two and the entire fence would need repaired.

  He held out his hand and she dropped another nail onto his palm. But he didn’t immediately turn to work as he had previously.

  “I’m having a gathering in two days time. You’ll receive the invitation shortly.”

  He said the words as if he expected she’d attend. Meg frowned. “I’ll have to check with Papa.”

  He stood, staring at her for one long, intimidating moment. “Tell me, Miss James, how much of a cad was Lord Brockwell?”

  Meg shrugged, shifting. “I do not miss him, I do not pray for his soul, if that tells you anything.”

  He leaned his hip against the wall, only feet from her, close enough that she had to tilt her head annoyingly. “Isn’t that awfully harsh for a Vicar’s daughter?”

  She pushed away from the fence and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling oddly cold. “What? I can’t possibly know good from bad?”

  He didn’t respond, merely knelt again, but not before she saw his grin. His amusement annoyed her, mostly because she wasn’t sure what he found so amusing.

  “There are people, Mr. Bellamont, who are evil and there is nothing anyone can do about it.”

  He stilled, as if her words had some odd effect o
n him. “Some people are merely born evil?” He didn’t lift his gaze and she couldn’t read his face.

  “Perhaps,” she said softly.

  Still he didn’t move. “Are you speaking of Lord Brockwell, or another?”

  The question stunned her. Immediately, her mind went to London and those two years back. She looked away, fearful her thoughts and past were mirrored in her eyes. Did he know the truth? Was this all some game he was playing? Toying with her like a cat with a mouse?

  “Do you have children?” she blurted out.

  “Not that I’m aware of.” He lifted the hammer and pounded the nail one more time. “I’m surprised, really,” he said. “That you have so much bitterness inside.”

  She stiffened at his words, confused by the audacity. Was she bitter? If she was, she hadn’t been until two years ago, when Mathew had left her broken hearted and she’d had a peek into the window that had been Hanna’s terrible childhood. “Not bitterness. Honesty. I’ve seen what people are truly capable of.”

  “For instance, your kind neighbors?”

  She didn’t respond, but watched as he pounded the head of the hammer against a nail. Did he know what the town said about the James family? Was he privy to their gossip? She didn’t think she could bear that, this man knowing their deep secrets, judging them against his high morals. Although why she cared about his opinion, she wasn’t sure.

  Grayson stood and settled the hammer on a post all the while, his gaze on her. A heated gaze that spoke of secrets, of knowledge, of things she couldn’t possibly understand. Damp tendrils stuck to the side of her face. Meg knew she looked a disaster. Yet Grayson was still here, not run off by her rumpled state. For some reason, at the moment, she wished she had a new bonnet, a new dress, even a hair ribbon. When had she become as silly as Mary Ellen?

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Pardon, my lord,” she mocked.

  Those green eyes hardened. He was angry, about something. She found his reaction odd. “You’re cross? Why? Did I not jump to your bidding quickly enough?”