“You just will,” the boy responded. Padding to the window, he turned his back on her and again gave his full and fierce attention to the moon. “Just like all the others.”
“Is that supposed to frighten me?” she asked, with what she hoped was a lighthearted laugh. “I think you rather like to play that game, but you will find that I do not frighten easily.”
The boy shrugged and loosed a high-pitched giggle, but made no response. The sound alone was enough to raise her hackles without any spoken word he might have uttered.
“I was given to understand that once Lottie readied you for bed and tucked you in at night, you were to
remain in it till morning, unless you have need of the chamber pot. Am I mistaken? Being new, you see, I do need to have the way of things clear in my mind.”
The boy nodded, Tessa assumed, in reply to her question. She wasn’t about to probe him.
“Yes, well…that being the case, suppose I tuck you in again, since Lottie has retired for the day.”
“I’m not tired yet,” the boy intoned.
“Still, rules are rules, and we have to do what needs must.” She took a step nearer, reaching to take hold of him. “If you aren’t tired, I could read you a bedtime story. Would you like that?”
As her hand connected with his shoulder, the child spun and lowered his open mouth—canines gleaming—over her wrist. It hovered there, nearly touching her skin, and Tessa quickly pulled her hand back out of harm’s way.
“Here!” she cried. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Do not touch my person,” the boy growled. “No one touches my person except the maid who dresses and bathes me. Uncle found that out. He wears the scar to prove it.”
“H-has your uncle ever harmed you, Master Monty?” Tessa murmured. Why else would the boy act this way? Her heart sank. She had become attracted to Giles Longworth before they ever met, and the image of the man Possibility posed was deeply troubling.
“No,” the boy said, somewhat alleviating her fears. “And he shan’t, because he shan’t get close enough. Neither shall you.”
“I meant you no harm. For pity’s sake, young man, it’s way past your bedtime. I only meant to walk you to bed and tuck you in. You had no call to attack me.”
“I didn’t attack you. I simply let you know what to expect should you touch me again.”
“I will overlook it this time,” Tessa said, in her most authoritative voice. “But if you ever threaten my person again, I will have no choice but to report it to your uncle. Now get into that bed before I change my mind and tell him forthwith.” The line had to be drawn here and now if she was to have any sort of control over the child. Longworth might not keep her on if she couldn’t manage him. “Well? I am waiting,” she said to the boy’s back.
Monty spun around, his arms folded across his chest. “Make me!” he said, a maddening half-smile spreading across his face.
“Oh, I see,” Tessa said. “So you can bite me like you did your uncle? A very clever demonstration, young man, but I think not. You will find that I am not like your past governesses. You aren’t going to drive me out like you did the others, so you may as well give over trying. I would have liked this to be a pleasant relationship. I am sorry if that cannot be. I am still willing, but we can have it either way. That will be up to you. What will it be?”
The child spun back toward the window in a gesture of dismissal. “You are not the boss of me,” he said. “I will get into bed when I am tired.”
“No, I am not your boss,” Tessa said. “But I know who is.”
Without another word, she stalked out of the chamber and shut the door behind her.
Tessa hadn’t reached the third-floor landing when she caught sight of Foster making his descent from the upper regions. “Foster!” she cried, halting him on the step.
“Yes, miss?” he replied, waiting.
“Where might I find the master at this hour?” she asked.
“Well, he would be in his studio now, miss, but he really does not wish to be disturbed when he’s working.”
“I’m afraid that cannot be helped, Foster,” she said, turning back toward the attic stairs.
“Is there anything I can do?” the valet called after her. “You really shouldn’t—”
“Thank you, no,” Tessa called out.
Foster sprinted after her with the agility of a man half his age. “At least let me light the candle sconces,” he said. “The master doesn’t require them lit, as he carries a candle branch to and fro, so the upper region is dark. You could do yourself a mischief.”
Tessa scurried on ahead of the valet. The last thing she wanted was a witness to what she was about to say to Giles Longworth. “That’s all right, Foster,” she called over her shoulder. “You needn’t trouble. I remember the way.”
The attic region was dark, but enough light filtered up the stairs from the landing below and kept her from misstepping. A sliver of light coming from under the solarium doorsill was all she needed to guide her the rest of the way, and she didn’t slow her pace until she’d reached it and pounded boldly on the door, startled by the sound her tiny fist made on the ancient wood.
Almost at once, the vibration of heavy footfalls moved the floorboards beneath her feet, and the door came open in Longworth’s hand. Tessa swayed at the sight of him. His eyes, dark and riveting, stared down at her with a strange mix of apprehension and excitement. It was almost a disoriented look, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. His brandy-laced scent drifted toward her, infused with the musk of his maleness. It floated over her, overriding the musty smell of dust and disuse that hovered about the upper regions of the house, and did strange things to her equilibrium, causing her hand to steady her against the doorjamb.
His fine lawn shirt was open nearly to the waist, giving
a glimpse of the muscular chest beneath, and the arrow-straight line of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his breeches. He was a feast for Tessa’s eyes beyond anything suggested by his portrait in the little London gallery. He was flesh and blood and feral magnetism, a living breathing danger to her heart and senses that took her breath away until his deep, sultry voice interrupted the magic that held her spellbound.
“Well, well,” he said. “Have you changed your mind, then?”
It was a moment before Tessa took his meaning, and she bristled. “No, I have not!” she snapped at him—a little too severely, she feared, but lines had to be drawn in all quarters at Longhollow Abbey, and this seemed to be the night to draw them all the way around. “I am sorry to disturb you, but a…situation has arisen with Master Monty that requires your attention.”
“And what might that be? I thought I made it clear that you were to be in complete charge of my ward.”
Tessa hesitated, praying he wouldn’t think her too incompetent to supervise her charge and dismiss her. That the boy was turning out to be a bit more than she could handle didn’t enter into the equation; she didn’t want to leave Longhollow Abbey.
“Y-yes, you did,” she stammered. “But this is something that I am sure I do not have the authority to…correct.”
He pulled the door open wider, his expression dark. His handsome lips were forming that bloodless crimped line she’d seen when first they’d met in the Welsh bluestone drive, and his jaw muscle had begun to twitch.
He stood aside. “Won’t you come in?”
Tessa hesitated. Glancing past him, she saw that he had been working, but she couldn’t see the front of the canvas. The easel had been moved since the night
before. It no longer faced the lounge. “I…I think not,” she said. “What I have to tell you can be said right here, sir.”
“Then out with it!” he said. “As you can see, I am busy.”
“After supper, I looked in on Master Monty,” she began. “It was long past his bedtime, and I attempted to see him to bed. He was argumentative, even threatening, which I thought reasonable enough, since he’s been on his own for so long and suddenly tethered to a governess again. I ignored his behavior and offered to read him a bedtime story. When I reached to turn him toward the bed, he…attacked me, or almost did. He swooped down as if he was about to bite my hand…like he did yours, he pointed out. It was a test staged to frighten me, and it did, though I tried not to show it.”
Giles flung his paintbrush down and seized her forearms, examining them frantically. His touch was like a lightning strike. His warm fingers denting her bare flesh struck a chord deep at the epicenter of her sex, flooding her loins with hot sensation that undermined her balance.
“Don’t!” she cried, trying to pull away, but his grip was firm.
“Where—show me
where
,” he demanded. “Did he break the skin?”
“No,” she cried. “Stop! You’re hurting me! He swooped down and hovered over my wrist with his teeth bared, as if he was going to take a bite out of it, then as much as said if I ever touched him again, he would bite me the way he bit you. This is something I do not have the authority to address. That’s why I’ve come to you.”
He pulled her over the threshold and let her go. “By God, this will not be borne!” he seethed. “Stay here until I return.”
When he tried to move past her, she seized his arm, freezing him in his tracks. His taut biceps rippled beneath her fingers through the thin shirtsleeve. His eyes, gleaming like onyx chips, flashed toward her hand from the shadows beneath the ledge of his brow, then met her gaze relentlessly. The heady scent of brandy drifted toward her. He’d been drinking, but he wasn’t in his cups. To the contrary, he was as sober as she was. The look, the feral scent, the very intensity of the man paralyzed her senses and numbed her tongue, but only for a moment.
“No!” she cried. “Not like this! Not in a rage. He’s only a boy. He’s crossed the line. He needs to know his limits. Do not make a martyr of that child. Can’t you see that’s what he wants, to cause a rift between us three? If you go storming into that chamber now in a blind rage, I will never be able to control the child. He will hate me for it!”
“I see,” said the master of Longhollow, his nostrils flared, his breathing deep and audible. He looked for all the world like a fire-breathing dragon—so much so, Tessa half-expected flames to shoot out of his nose and smoke to pour out of his ears. “Well, if you possess the sage wisdom to handle the situation, why the devil did you come after me?”
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he interrupted. “I am not a fiend, Miss LaPrelle. I do not go about brutalizing children. But Master Monty is no ordinary child, and he is not the only inmate in this mad house crossing lines. I am still master of Longhollow Abbey. Now I will thank you to stand aside, and stay put while I deal with this!”
Her hand fell away from his arm then. He hesitated, blinked, and streaked through the door, almost knocking down Foster, who had no doubt been listening in the corridor. From the doorway, Tessa watched the pair of them disappear in the shadowy recesses of the landing.
She teetered on the threshold. She didn’t have to enter the chamber—really enter it. She could just wait where she was. What was she thinking? There was no harm in entering his sanctum sanctorum in his absence; the danger lay in his presence. She knew that now if she hadn’t before. Something vital passed between them with physical contact, something that flagged every kind of danger. It drew her like a magnet.
Stepping across the threshold and into the room, Tessa strolled to the window. Only one candle branch was lit on the table where Longworth’s artist’s materials were spread out in a jumble of pots and jars, brushes, trowels, and rags. The moon, dodging scudding clouds, threw a beam at her feet, alive with dust motes. She followed it with her eyes and turned to find that it illuminated the painting. She gasped. “The Bride of Time”! He had been working on the face since she first viewed the canvas. He’d given the woman
her
face. From memory? The likeness was good but not perfect, just as it had been at the gallery, where others remarked upon it but she hadn’t been convinced. She saw now what they’d seen—enough of a likeness to pass—but now she noticed more. She gasped again. The hair! He had only seen it flowing loose briefly, and yet he’d captured it exactly, from the color to the way it waved about her face, complete with the tendrils that always crept out no matter how diligently she tried to tame them. He hadn’t touched the body.
Hot blood surged to her temples. All at once she saw herself back at the little gallery, gazing at the canvas before her now, wishing she could feel the grass of the patchwork hills beneath her feet and smell the heather. How could any of this be possible? How had she even come here? It was a mystery she almost feared to solve.
That he had only just begun to work on the body intrigued her, since it was completed when she’d seen it at
the gallery. She had arrived at Longhollow Abbey before its completion. Did that mean she would remain until it was finished, or something else? There was no way to tell. She was pondering that when Giles Longworth burst through the door.
“The little blighter isn’t in his rooms,” he said. “Come, I’ll see you to your chamber. Foster and I will ferret him out and see he’s well-versed in crossing lines.”
Tessa didn’t reply. They were halfway to the landing before she broke the awkward silence. “What do you mean to do to the boy?”
He stopped mid-step. “Miss LaPrelle,” he said. “You were right to come to me. Now you must let me deal with the problem. Monty is a…difficult child. There are…situations of which you are unaware.”
“Well, since he is to be my charge, don’t you think you ought to make me aware?” she interrupted him.
Longworth stared. A strange parade of emotions flashed across his face. At first he looked contemplative; then the look softened, though that quickly changed to something dark and brooding. He was a complex individual and, she feared, a volatile one. He was livid with rage that seemed excessive, and though she longed to draw him out, she was wise enough to know this was not the time.
“Of course,” he said, “but not to night.”
They continued down the stairs, and Tessa didn’t speak again until they reached her rooms. “You haven’t answered my question,” she said. “What do you mean to do to that boy?”