A Bouquet of Thorns (33 page)

Having fed and groomed the horses, turned them into the field for the day and mucked out the stables, she had changed into her riding habit and had been about to saddle Honey when the package arrived. She cast an eye over the accompanying letter and put it disparagingly to one side. But it was nagging at the back of her mind, and she cut her ride short.

It was during the third day of sitting at the massive desk in the study, trying to make sense of the columns of figures and other documents, that Rose's head was brought up by a commotion in the hallway. The dogs were barking and voices were raised, and Rose wondered what on earth had broken the peace of the female household. Not Ned come back to cause trouble? Good God . . .

‘Sir, you really cas'n—' she heard Daisy's offended voice just seconds before the door flew open.

Rose's heart reared in her breast. Seth stood on the threshold, snow dusting his shoulders and with the bitter cold outside having put a red spot on each of his cheeks. Rose had unconsciously risen to her feet, and as her eyes locked with his across the room, her pulse almost faded away.

‘I'm so sorry, ma'am, but I couldn't stop 'en. Came bursting in through the kitchen, 'er did, bold as brass . . .'

‘'Tis all right, Daisy,' Rose said, though her white lips hardly moved. ‘Leave us now, if you would.'

‘Yes, ma'am.' And Daisy retreated with a confused curtsy, though not without a glance at the good-looking fellow who had been trying to see the mistress for weeks.

They stared at each other, motionless, and Rose was aware of her heart knocking painfully. The clock ticked, the fire crackled in the grate, and still neither of them moved.

It was Seth who broke the silence. ‘I just wanted to be sure you were all right,' he said quietly and with utter calm.

Rose was numbed, paralysed. To see him again was just too much to bear, and she knew why her tortured soul had wanted to blank him from her life. She was still trapped in a helpless mire of futility, her brain too tired to unravel the tangled threads of her life.

‘I am well, as you see,' she answered, her voice cool and indifferent.

‘Yes. I do indeed.' His words were crisp, tainted with bitterness, and she saw the spasm of hurt flinch across his face. ‘And you are obviously busy with your new life, so I shall intrude no more.'

His shoulders stiffened and he stood to attention, his years of military training providing a stalwart reassurance for a moment before he turned on his heel. Rose gazed at his retreating back, and her knees buckled as panic flooded into her limbs.

‘Seth, please, no! Don't go!' Her heart was tripping furiously as she sprang around the desk and her hand grasped his arm. ‘I'm so sorry. I was just . . . so engrossed in all these papers.' She let go of him, waving her hand flippantly at the chaos on the desk, wanting to apologize though without making a fool of herself. ‘It seems I am a wealthy widow, but I don't understand the half of it. I really don't know where to begin.'

Seth's troubled eyes moved across to the desk, and then slowly and deliberately back to her anxious, tentatively smiling face. ‘Can I help?' he asked gravely.

She shrugged, and her shoulders sagged. ‘I don't know. Can you?'

‘Well, I can't tell unless I have a chance to study them. My family were a little like your . . . your late husband. Made most of their money out of speculating on the stock exchange. I was quite young, but I was brought up with it, so I have a reasonable idea about such things. Even when I was in the army – before I went to India, of course – there were always business matters to discuss when I was on leave.'

‘Oh, would you take a look, please, Seth? I'd be so grateful. 'Twould be such a weight off my mind.' She looked up at him with a searching frown and the relief swept through her as his mouth broke into a wide grin, revealing the strong set of his even teeth.

‘I think I'm going to have my work cut out, mind.'

Rose almost danced about him. ‘Let me take your coat. Warm yourself by the fire. I'll get you a cup of tea. And we'll be having lunch soon. Nothing special, but you will stay, won't you?'

‘By the looks of things, I'll need to.'

‘Oh, thank you, Seth!'

She skipped out of the room, the colour flaming into her face. She had been caught in a mesh of despondency for so long that she couldn't grasp the enormity of her sense of relief. And as she sat by Seth's side all afternoon long, she found it hard to concentrate as she fought against the curious draw of his masculinity. He was still too thin, but there was a healthy colour to his cheeks and he had lost that gaunt, haggard look. His thick fair hair curled pleasingly around the nape of his neck, his firm jawline had been recently shaven and, she noted, the dark shadows had gone from beneath his eyes. He explained so much to her, and they made reams of notes and sorted the papers into neat piles, instilling Rose with confidence.

‘I really should go now. I don't know the moor as well as you do, so I need to be home by dark.'

Rose felt the arrow dart into her side. ‘Oh. Do you have to? I mean, 'twill take days to sort this out.'

‘At least.' He nodded in agreement. ‘Let me talk with Richard. I can't let him down after all they've done for me, but perhaps I can come and stay for a while to get everything straight. There's less to do on the farm this time of year, and Chantal's a great help to him.'

‘Oh, yes! 'Twould be very good of you. And take Tansy. 'Twill be quicker than walking. And how's Beth? Can't be so long till the baby now. Do give her my love.'

‘Of course.'

His voice was dry, perfectly polite, but efficient and businesslike. Nonetheless, for the first time since her return from London, Charles's ghost did not come to haunt her that night.

C
hristmas was only days away. Seth had been staying at Fencott Place, occupying one of the guest rooms along the landing. They were gradually organizing Rose's affairs, the decisions Seth had helped her make meeting with the broker's approval, and she was to keep an eye on the situation regarding the new railway. Seth had remained distant as they worked together, but she didn't mind. It was enough that he was there, his health regained. She barely noticed the quiet contentment creeping into her heart, the inner peace that at last invaded her soul. And now she could retire to bed safe in the knowledge that the cruel, charred spectre would no longer come to curse and haunt her.

Seth was mucking out the stables one day, steam rising from the straw and fresh dung as it collided with the stinging, frosty morning air. Rose had been helping with the ironing as the laundry woman was laid up with a nasty influenza. Then she had retired with Florrie to the drawing-room fireside to discuss their plans for Christmas Day, which she wanted to be extra special. For the first time since her father's accident, she was actually looking forward to it. A sense of blithe anticipation pervaded the house, and that afternoon they were to start making paper chains and other decorations.

Florrie took herself off to perform some task, and Rose stayed for several minutes, gazing, relaxed and at ease, into the flames. It was good to feel like this after so much fear and abuse, and she wouldn't let herself slip back. She still had affairs to deal with. She always would, since Charles's legacy had turned her into a woman of enterprise and business. But, hopefully, help would always be at hand.

She smiled softly to herself. But she couldn't sit there all day. She must put out clean towels in all the rooms – Daisy's job really, but they were all busy in the kitchen, and Rose felt there was more purpose in her life carrying out domestic chores. More like the Rose Maddiford of old. She saw to her own first, and Florrie's, then sauntered into Seth's room, her vision half obscured behind the pile of thick fluffy towels in her arms as she hummed happily to herself.

She snatched in her breath. The limpid winter sun was streaming through the tall windows, its brilliance dazzling her so that the contents of the room were thrown into deep, confusing shadow, and at first she had been unaware of the tall figure by the wash stand pouring steaming water into the bowl. She could see by his dark silhouette that he was stripped to the waist and she gulped hard. But surely the best way to avoid any embarrassment was to act casually.

‘Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were seeing to the horses.'

‘I've finished.' His voice was strange, grating. ‘It's hot work and I . . . well, I needed a wash.'

Rose had bustled forward efficiently, nodding as she placed the towels on the bed and now, as she turned around, the gasp stuck in her throat. Seth had his back to her, and the light from the windows was falling directly on to his bare torso. He clearly knew she had seen, and he held himself rigid, staring blindly at the wall in front of him, his muscles tense beneath the scarred skin. For some seconds, neither of them moved, scarcely breathed, and a wave of horror, of anger and sorrow washed down to the pit of Rose's stomach. The agony he must have suffered, the cruelty and barbarism of his unjust punishment, seared into her heart. She knew he would be marked for life, but . . . to see it for herself, in reality, was a saddening, sickening shock.

But it wasn't something to be brushed under the carpet. It had to be faced. She padded up behind him, each beat of her heart vibrating hard in her chest so that her hands shook. ‘Oh, Seth,' she murmured, her appalled voice no more than a whisper as her trembling finger traced one of the ugly lines that latticed his shoulders and lower ribcage, some no more than faint scratches healed to a healthy white, others deep, the flesh seamed, and even after eighteen months, still purple and angry where the skin had hung in shreds that Dr Power had done his best to stitch back into place.

Seth flinched at her touch, lifting his head further, his lean jaw set like hewn granite. ‘Not a pretty sight, is it?' he said, almost inaudibly.

Rose said nothing for a moment, allowing the grief of it to sink into her heart. ‘Does . . . does it hurt?' she asked lamely, since she was so stunned she couldn't think of anything else to say.

She heard him swallow. ‘No. Not now. It doesn't hurt exactly. But sometimes it does feel tight. Beth's been rubbing something on to it. Some lotion made with honey and other things. It does help it feel more comfortable. And she says it'll help it fade over the years. But the scars will never . . . they'll never . . .'

His voice cracked, and his chin drooped on to his chest, his eyes closed, and Rose felt his pain tear into her. It was instinctive and she leant forward, her lips brushing the disfiguring scars.

She felt him shudder. ‘Rose,
don't
. Please.' He turned round abruptly, his hazel eyes dark and scowling. ‘I must leave. This afternoon. Go back to Rosebank Hall.'

Rose took a staggering step backwards. ‘Go back?' Her tiny voice faltered.

‘Yes. I must. Richard needs my help. Poor sod's got to keep up with all the debt repayments his father saddled him with. He's got to have the farm running at full capacity, and it's impossible for just one man. He can't afford to employ anyone properly, but I'm happy just to have a roof over my head. I've one of their attic rooms now, but a farm labourer would need a tied cottage and since, well . . .'

Rose stared at his cold, hard face, and her chest clenched with panic, the peace that had been seeping into her soul draining away again to a bottomless chasm of desperation. ‘I have money! I'll pay for the cottage to be rebuilt. 'Tis only fair as 'twas my fault it were destroyed. I should do it anyway. But . . . please don't go, Seth! I need you!'

Her voice had risen in a howl of anguish, but Seth threw up his head with a bitter laugh, harsh lines suddenly forming about his mouth. ‘No, you don't. You're a woman of substance now. You can pick and choose who you want.'

‘But I only want you!'

She was clinging to him, his biting words slashing into her as he pushed her aside.

‘Then why did you refuse to see me for so long?' he protested acidly. ‘Going to London to bury your husband where he belonged, yes, that I can understand. But turning me away for two whole months! That . . .' He broke off, his eyes glinting savagely and his hands clenched into fists, and Rose recoiled, battling to hold on to her shattered emotions.

‘But . . . but we were running away together. I was giving up everything for you—'

‘No, Rose.' He took her hands calmly now, his steady gaze boring earnestly into her tear-streaked face. ‘Everything's changed. We were equal then. I was a penniless wretch and you needed to escape from a brute of a husband. But
now
. . . You're a rich widow. You have a respected position in local society. And I'm nothing more than an ex-convict with the scars on my back to prove it.'

Rose slowly lowered her eyes, her white lips trembling. Dear God, he was hurting. Hurting more than she had ever realized. Not just the physical pain he had suffered, but a mental torture that had gone deep into his soul. But no one understood that better than she. And since when did Rose Maddiford give up so easily?

She flicked up her head. ‘Do you think that matters to me? To someone who knows the shame of being abused by her husband for over two long years? I'm sorry I turned you away. 'Twas just that . . . Charles, he . . . It took some getting over. But I feel free of him now. With you here. What they did to you, in the prison, 'twas dreadful. You were innocent and yet they . . . But 'twill be with you for ever, and you
must
accept that. Just as I must accept that I was once married to a man who . . .' She straightened her shoulders, her chin lifted haughtily. ‘I love you, Seth Warrington, and a few scars can never change that!'

He had shied away, biting his lip, but now, as he turned back to her, his haunted eyes were glistening with moisture. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came from his throat and, reaching up on tiptoe, Rose brought her lips against his, smothering any words in a kiss so deft and fervent, it sent a shiver down his spine. It took but that one second of overwhelming love, of intense harmony of two broken spirits, for his taut nerves to snap, and a moment later, his hand reached into her hair, his entwining fingers loosening the pins so that it fell about her shoulders in a froth of ebony silk. Their bodies clung, reverently, hungrily, and he tucked her head beneath his chin as he absorbed the very closeness, the soft sweetness of her to his tortured breast. Her cheek was warm against his bare chest, and she turned her head, kissing the lightly haired skin, drawing her moist tongue across his flesh in a natural, fluid movement that had never even occurred to her with Charles. This was something she had never known before, a deep passion, a need borne of understanding, respect, devotion, that plunged down to her loins, and when Seth lifted her head to kiss her nose, her closed eyes, her slender throat, and his hand moved tentatively to her breast, she welcomed it with a deep, heaving sigh, lost in a world of desire, of something so powerful it would not be denied, everything falling away from her but her love for this sorely tried man.