The Vicar's Frozen Heart (11 page)

Jon slapped him on the back. “There you go, wasn’t hard at all, was it?”

* * * *

Drew escorted her to every room--forty of them, he declared--for he’d explored every one. The child was bright for his age, and handsome, with thick blond locks and clear blue eyes. A nursery had not been set up since he was long past playing with most toys, he informed her proudly. The schoolroom was bright and airy, with a chalkboard, bookcases stuffed with tomes, and a desk for her as well as one for Drew. A large globe sat by the window and on the long table by the left wall, pencils, mathematical instruments, and notebooks. Everything she could need for her governess duties as the viscount apparently spared no expense.

The more time they spent together, the more Drew warmed up. It must be overwhelming for him: his mother’s passing, coming to live in this place, such changes in a short span of time. Well, she could certainly relate. “Together, we will manage it.”

He smiled and nodded. “Can we start lessons right now, Miss Winston?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at the watch fob pinned to her blouse. “The maid informed me we are to join Mr. Dibley and Mr. Colson for dinner. So until then, yes. We do have time. Where would you like to begin?”

“History!”

Eliza laughed at his enthusiasm.

Three hours later, the maid arrived to escort them to the dining room. Eliza admired afresh the simple elegance of the estate house. The decorations and trimmings were not from another age, but reflected the times they lived in with the paneled ceilings, moldings, and cornices. No dark wood, but rather brightly painted walls or gold wallpaper. Her own room took her breath away. Not servants quarters at all, and much fancier than the room she occupied at the Bowater’s. She could speak up and request a smaller living area befitting her position, but she adored the blue-and cream-colored room with the white French provincial furnishings.

When they entered the dining room, both men stood. Goodness, she wasn’t used to that either. Drew’s brows furrowed as he clutched her hand tightly. Good to know she wasn’t the only one nervous about this meal. But relief covered her when she noticed the table was simply set, no formal arrangement with six forks and seven spoons. No one sat at the head of the table, Tremain and Mr. Dibley sat side-by-side, so Eliza steered Drew to the opposite, with Eliza directly across from Tremain.

The footman and maid served the meal, no first and second courses, straight to the meat and potatoes. Drew stared at his plate, either amazed at the amount of food or overwhelmed by the whole situation.

She was about to react when Tremain said, “Do you not like roast beef and potatoes, Drew?”

“I’ve never had them, not like this, Vicar.”

“Well then, enjoy. But first, since it is Sunday, let us bow our heads and give thanks. Bless us O Father, for thy gifts before us. Amen.”

Tremain lifted his head and gave her a searing look that was far from penitent. A roll of molten heat trickled down her spine. Only he could make a simple prayer of grace sound sensual.

The meal tasted delicious and the conversation was informal and friendly. From what she gathered, Mr. Dibley and Tremain had known each other a long time, but when she inquired how and from where, they were both suspiciously vague. At nine years of age, Drew, considering his previous circumstances, was more than able to look after himself. No assistance required to cut his meat, though Eliza observed his table manners needed polishing and instruction on polite conversation would also be prudent since he interrupted the men twice. But already she liked the boy; though quiet, overall he did join in and even smiled once. With the meal at an end, she stood, as did the men.

“I think Drew is able to find his way back to his room. Would you remain here a moment, Miss Winston?”

“Join me in the study before you leave, Vicar.” Mr. Dibley said, then followed Drew into the hallway.

“I would suggest a walk outside, but it is still too cold. Perhaps you will join me as I walk about? I need to stretch my leg.”

“Of course.” Taking his arm, they left the room and headed down the long hallway at a slow, leisurely pace.

“Do you like the house?” he asked.

“I do indeed. For an estate it’s very cozy and livable, a comfortable place to rusticate during the winter months. I am surprised the viscount does not use it as such.”

“The viscount travels a great deal. In fact, he is out of the country taking in warmer climes. I am gratified you like it. Drew seems to as well.”

“Will you wish him to attend Sunday services?”

“Hmm. I will have to write the viscount and inquire, but until I receive a response, let’s start him at once a month. I already know your views on religion. Will it be a hardship for you to accompany the boy?”

She laughed. “None at all. All part of my duties. But do not be surprised if I seem preoccupied. Perhaps I will just stare at you.”

“Hmm. Maybe you should not attend. You would distract me from
my
duties.”

Eliza stopped and stared up at him. She wasn’t exactly short for a woman, at least six or seven inches above five feet, but Tremain towered over her, well over six feet by more than a few inches. “Would I? Truly? That is one of the nicest things you have ever said to me. Feel free to compliment me again. Soon.”

A brief smile curved about his lips. “Are you teasing me?”

“There, a smile. I have waited close to two weeks to see it. My, Vicar. You are a stunningly handsome man and the smile merely the icing on a particularly enticing cake.”

They started walking again. “Not only a tease, but a flirt.”

She squeezed his arm. “And you like it.”

Tremain grasped her elbow and pulled her into the nearby room, kicking the door shut with his boot behind them. He leaned her against the wall, standing barely an inch or two apart from her. “I do like it. I like you. But the flirting cannot happen, and going forward we should not be alone.”

Oh, her heart fluttered like the wings of a bird trying to escape a closed room. “Like we are now? Why?”

“Because I will want to do this…” He leaned in and captured her lips with his. His cane clattered to the floor as he placed his hands flat against the door on either side of her head. Then he did something that seized her breath: he pressed his body against hers. Eliza instinctively spread her legs under her wool skirt, allowing him to rock his hips forward.
There.
Tremain’s erection slid against her feminine core, stirring the flames. Though layers of clothes lay between them, the movements created a vibrant heat, mimicking the thrusts of sex.
Yes.
Shamelessly she rubbed against him, soft moans escaping from the corner of her mouth. His kiss deepened, grew more savage and demanding, his hips moving faster as they both panted.

But Tremain pushed away from her, and the loss of his hard, muscular body made an ache settle between her legs. She wanted him to lift her petticoats and take her. Against the door. Hard. Fast. With a grumble, he picked up his cane and leaned on it.

“Don’t stop…” she whispered huskily.

“This is why we cannot be alone. It won’t happen again.” In obvious frustration, he ran his hand through his hair and turned from her.

She could not understand why this infuriating man fought the attraction pulsating between them. But if she pushed him into more at this particular moment she had the feeling he would withdraw further.
Another time, another place.
She could be patient. “Shall we continue on our walk?” Eliza asked sweetly.

Tremain gave her an incredulous look. “Not as yet. For reasons you can well guess.”

Since he made the invite, she allowed her gaze to slide below his waist. His arousal was plain to see, straining against his trousers. The sight of it was enough to stir the flames to an almighty heat. She had the distinct feeling their passion would be well matched.

“Eliza…”

She looked up and batted her eyelashes at him. “Yes?”

“Tease,” he murmured, his voice husky and sensual.

“Shall we talk about you and your church?”

Tremain blinked, seemingly confused at the sudden shift in mood and conversation. “Why?”

“Well, if anything will take your mind off…you know….”

“Very well. Though a priest in the Anglican Church, I am not of an Evangelical bent. However, I’m aware it is the current fashion. I am not severe in my faith nor do I hold a puritanical zeal with regard to my religion. My sermons are short and to the point, as I try to avoid overt preaching. Though I believe in God, my belief does not rule my life.”

“You are quite different from anyone in the clergy I’ve ever met. Though my experience consisted of dour, disciplined nuns and arrogant, judgmental Catholic priests.”

Tremain leaned against the back of the sofa, resting his hips on it. Eliza noticed he kept his right leg outstretched. “Not all in the Catholic Church are as you describe.”

She smiled. “I know. There were a rare few who truly believed in helping those less fortunate. However, they were outnumbered by those wielding a thrashing stick.”

Tremain slowly rubbed his leg. Poor man must be in pain. “Unfortunately, you find that in every institution and orphanage regardless of who runs it. It is why Drew’s mother remained adamant he not wind up there. I gave her my word. Ruth experienced much as you did, but judging by her stories, decidedly worse.”

Eliza’s cheeks flushed in shame. Actually, her experience could have been much worse. Petty of her to complain. “That poor woman.”

“She did not have an easy life. Being a priest, people tell me many things, especially when they’re dying. Drew is the result of a rather brutal rape. The usual story of the son of the house dragging the maid out to the stables and having his way with her as he believed was his right. When her pregnancy was discovered, they turned her out into the streets. A story I am sure you are familiar with, since you worked for an earl.”

“Yes. Luckily, I am not with child nor was I raped. But the story is very familiar all the same. Did she ever reveal who the father is?”

Tremain gave a brisk nod. “She did. I’ll keep her confidence on that score. A member of the peerage. A very prominent one at that.”

“Shouldn’t he be made to at least support Drew financially?” she asked.

“We do not want to travel that path. The man is an absolute reprobate and Drew should not be subjected to his acquaintance in any form. Let the boy believe his father long dead. Better that than a bastard son of the aristocracy. You will not tell Drew any of this?”

Eliza shook her head vigorously. “No. Never. I agree with everything you’ve said.”

Tremain winced as he stood. “Well, I think I am ready to show myself. Let us continue on our walk.”

After she opened the door, Eliza slipped her arm through Tremain’s, pulling herself closer than she should. Pleased he didn’t step away from her nearness, they continued on their walk in silence. In that moment of quiet contemplation, Eliza tumbled a little in love with her frozen vicar.

Before the battle broke out, he remembered hearing that two lieutenants--one from the Royal Engineers, for bloody’s sake--were in charge and leading the defense of the mission station. How successful they would turn out to be was another question.

All around him, chaos. Though his head swam in a fever fog and his eyesight was blurry, he’d be damned if he’d go down without a fight. Thrusting his rifle forward, he stabbed madly with its bayonet, hoping to bury it in an enemy warrior. He did, judging from the yells and the coppery odor of blood that filled his nostrils. Some even sprayed on his cheeks in the melee. The fight quickened his pulse and cleared his senses some. He parried a Zulu spear thrust and countered with a rifle butt to the man’s jaw, sending splinters of bone, teeth, and blood in all directions. The fire was spreading. He could smell burning straw and wood, and, sickeningly, human flesh. Rifle shots. War cries. The gurgling breath of dying men. Screams of burning men. A horrifying cacophony of sound and images jolted through his conscious like some devastating and intermittent electric shock.

Though he was a captain, he remained unable to lead due to his festering leg injury and high fever. He did have several moments of incredible clarity. A lucidity to be aware they all were in danger and enough to kill the enemy. Through the smoke and haze, “It’s Private Williams, sir. Best come with me. I hacked a hole in the wall. In you go!”

Tremain was shoved through and tumbled into the next room. He couldn’t tell how many men were there, but the room was as chaotic as the one he just left.

Two men pulled him to his feet and pushed him onto an empty cot. Between the yells and rifle shots, he heard a steady thumping. Williams digging another hole? Sweat rolled down his face, things became hazier. The sounds all blended together as the room spun madly about. Where was his rifle? Frantically he reached all around him until he felt the stock. There. As he pulled it toward him, he realized he must fight back. Twisting to make a grab for it, a rush of air brushed his cheek. He barely missed a spear thrust. Too close. In a fever rage, he dropped his rifle, clasped his hands around the neck of the Zulu who tried to kill him, and squeezed with all his strength and fear could muster. Something in the Zulu’s throat popped. With a sudden burst of energy, he then began to pummel the face of his enemy, until he heard bone crack and blood ran down his closed fists. He absently picked a tooth from one of his knuckles…

Tremain awoke. Naked and on his knees, he was beating his pillow as he yelled at the top of his lungs. The pillow battered so fiercely he’d punched a hole in it and feathers floated in the air all around him. Sweat ran into his eyes and mixed with angry, frustrated tears. His skin raised in cold and clammy gooseflesh.

Jesus
. What if there had been a woman in his bed? A worse horror, what if it had been Eliza? He would have beaten her bloody without even being aware of it. His stomach lurched and he hung his head over the side of the bed and vomited.

Wiping his mouth, he flopped back on a mass of tangled, sweaty sheets. Wonderful, he had ripped those as well. Though the nightmares had lessened during the past two years, they were as intense and real as ever. Would he ever manage to get past this? Once he recovered from his leg wound, he bought out his commission and took a solemn vow. To banish the horrors of war, to pay penance for the men he’d killed, he would embrace the career he turned his back on years before and become a member of the clergy.