Page 20 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

M eredith hurried down the grand staircase. “Verity!”

The portly butler appeared in an instant. “My lady?”

“Where did you stash His Grace?”

“The library, my lady. But—”

Ignoring the butler, she didn’t hesitate, and rushed in. “Papa, I had no notion you were coming for a visit. What are you thinking, traveling to the wilds of Cornwall in such weather?”

Her father, the Duke of Rathbourne sat at the desk, holding a stack of papers she didn’t remember being there. As she’d told Pender, she hadn’t seen her father since her wedding day.

Though he was in his mid-to-late fifties, the arrogance and self-assurance surrounded him like an impenetrable fog. His face was marked by the passing of the last three years, shocking her, though rather than softening as one might expect, his features had grown more severe.

He waved a few pages in the air, his piercing gaze spearing her from across the chamber with a judgment that had her wanting to tear out of the library and take refuge in her chamber.

“What the devil is—” He rose from the desk, and though he was not particularly tall, his presence filled the room in a towering effect—similar to the crumbling ramshackle she’d vacated this very evening.

Her father’s bearing of rigid dignity showed he was not a man to cross.

How well she knew as she’d grown up under his pressing thumb.

He raked a narrowed, critical look over her.

“Is this how you greet your guests? Dressed as the wife of one of those vile miners? And what the devil is that in your hair?” he demanded in that deliberate, measured cadence that dripped with condescension, iced with the familiar sense of superiority.

Meredith put a hand to her hair, feeling bits of plaster then glanced down at her dress that had apparently acted as a magnet to every dust particle that had flown up in rebellion at being disturbed in that forgotten room. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “Sorry, Papa. I… we…”

“I have no interest in what misadventures you participate in.” He dropped the pages on the desk and moved around it, his shoulders squared, his chest puffed out.

His lips curled into a smug smirk. “Where is that libertine husband of yours? He should be here to greet me. I would have a word with him.”

To Papa, others existed merely to serve his ambitions and entertain his whims. But she understood him like no other and squared her own shoulders, steeled her spine.

She returned his gaze with a fiery one of her own.

“How interesting you know he’s in Cornwall, Papa, when I hadn’t heard one word from you in over three years. ”

His ears turned a particularly harsh shade of scarlet. The sight had her stomach curling but to relent now—no matter the consequences—could not be borne, and she held her stance, her ground, her head up.

Insufferable as he was, there was no denying the weight of his influence or the sharpness of his mind—qualities that made him both a formidable foe and a dangerous man.

But she was his only child, a product of a personality so strong and unyielding in its force that it seemed to bend fate to its will.

His fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t move any closer. “I would speak with your husband.”

Meredith’s lips curled in an imitation of his though not as smug. “He was injured and is unavailable tonight. Is there some way I might be of service?”

He scowled and she knew for the moment she’d scored a small victory. “I’ll speak with your husband tomorrow then.”

With a sharp nod, she moved across the chamber to the bell cord and pulled. “Have you eaten?”

“I could use a bite.”

Again, Verity’s appearance was instantaneous. “The duke requires a meal. Also, please have Mrs. Verity ready the Rose Room for His Grace.” It was the farthest one from her side of the Keep she could think of.

“Very good, my lady.” Verity left and Meredith meandered to the desk to see what had had her father so enthralled.

To her astonishment, she caught the title page of the legal document and stifled a gasp. She glanced quickly at her father.

He watched her with keen eyes that missed nothing. “What are you mixed up in, Meredith?”

She straightened the papers then saw the ledger. “Um, nothing, Papa. Pender must have been working in here. I hadn’t realized…” It was the truth, leastways. “I’ll just remove these for him to his study.” And, that was not the truth.

“Avail yourself of the brandy, Papa. I’m a mess as you can see, and I’d like to see how my husband is faring.”

“I asked you a question, child.” He spoke mildly but the underlying threat was there and it infuriated her.

Meredith gathered the papers to her chest avoiding his eyes.

It never took much to ignite her father’s temper.

Her body trembled—fear or anger—she couldn’t say.

“I’m not certain what he was looking for, Papa.

I’ll let him know of your interest in the matter.

” With that she managed her escape, dashing up the stairs, wondering why she was so frightened.

*

Meredith reached her chamber, the papers still clutched to her chest, her insides quavering, and fell back against the door.

She took a moment to gather her wits, moved through her sitting room to the bathing chamber.

She tapped lightly on the adjourning door.

Bother that. Without awaiting a response, she entered.

Graham looked up from where he stood at the side of the bed, holding a brown jar. “He’s sleeping,”

She wrinkled her nose. “The odor is… strong.”

“It’s a liniment I create. One of lavender and arnica.”

“It smells more than lavender and arnica. But it’s not horrible,” she hedged.

“You’ve a keen sense of smell,” he said, smiling. “It contains rosemary and witch hazel as well.”

“What is it supposed to do?”

“I’ve known it to be effective in reducing bruising and inflammation.” Her gaze fell to his patient. “His lordship will be uncomfortable for several days.”

“Yes, I imagine he will.” She glanced about the chamber, cringing at the condition. “If you haven’t supped, I can remain with him for a time.”

Graham inclined his perfectly coiffured head. “Thank you, my lady.”

After his departure, Meredith crept to the bedside and studied this man she’d been married to for over three years yet hadn’t laid eyes on since before the past week.

He lay on his stomach with his head resting on his folded arms. The firelight bathed his bared back in a golden hue that beckoned her touch, but she clenched her fingers into a fist. A candle burned on a scarred table near the windows and she moved there—away from temptation.

The curtains’ frayed edges sent a ripple of guilt through her, but she squelched the feeling.

If the blasted man had let her know of his plans for coming to Cornwall, she would have been happy in having his suite prepared in proper order for him.

Honestly, three years? The same went for her father’s sudden appearance, only double, she thought scowling, a small snort escaping.

Meredith glanced down at the stack of papers she held then took a chair at the table and spread them out.

She began with the employment contract she learned belonged to Basil Thornfield.

The entire agreement was all of two and a half pages.

There were a few scratched notations next to Articles II and III, regarding the modest profit clause and termination policy, but those proved illegible.

Her gaze darted to the slumbering figure.

Was Pender considering kicking the man to the curb?

Thornfield was an abomination, and he deserved it in her opinion.

Setting the contract aside, she pulled the ledger in front of her and attempted to decipher a table of numbers that made no sense.

Not to her. But what was it her husband had seen when he looked at these columns?

Meredith found it ironic that had Papa not brought it up, she likely wouldn’t have given the documents a second thought. But his questions had not only been pointed but had been directed to her in an accusing manner that raised the hairs on her nape.

“What are you doing?” Pender’s voice, groggy and gravelly, startled her from her contemplations and her eyes flew to the bed.

“Reading,” she said, guarded and unsure of the approach to take. “How do you feel?”

“As if my horse dragged me from the village up the hill to the Keep with a rope tied about my waist.” He slowly rolled from his stomach to his back. “Reading what?”

“Mr. Thornfield’s employment agreement for one. It’s dated over ten years ago and is signed by Thornfield and both our fathers. Do you require help?”

“I’d like to sit up.”

Meredith admired the lack of hesitation on his part when it came to requiring assistance.

She rose from the table and went to the bed and slipped her arm around his shoulders and was instantly inundated with a masculine scent that nearly felled her to her knees.

His skin was smooth and warm to her touch.

It had to have hurt but his only response was a quick, sharp intake in his otherwise stoic demeanor as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

At which point she hurried to stuff a few pillows at his back.

“Thank you.” The husky words came out in a warm breath, grazing her cheek. “Tell me you didn’t greet your father dressed like that.” There was a smile in his voice that shifted her off axis.

“Like what?” she said, masking her confusion with irritation. She looked down at her gown and couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to clean up before seeing to Pender. “Oh.” Doubly vexed. “I’d forgotten.” Again.

“I’m flattered.”

“Flattered?”

“I cannot think of a single woman of my acquaintance who has not given thought to her appearance before wishing to see me.”

“You flatter yourself.” Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “You left some papers on the desk in the library. Papa was reading through them when I arrived. He only stopped when he caught sight of my, er, dust-covered frock.”

“It’s not just your frock, my dear.” His hand came up and he brushed his fingers over her cheek and held them out for her to see. A futile measure since all rational thought seemed to have fled along with her ability to breathe.

She lifted her gaze to his. Gray eyes turned black with swirling emotions she couldn’t—refused to—decipher.

This was the closest they’d been except for that moment in her hidden library when he’d quite literally saved her life earlier that evening.

“He was quite appalled.” Her voice was a mere whisper.

“You read them as well… and what is your take, Lady Pender?” His eyes locked on her lips and her stomach took a dangerous dive.

Meredith touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip shocked by his interest in her opinion.

“I… I believe he is up to something vile. And his contract by our fathers has offered him a way to accomplish that deed, whatever it is.” By the time she’d uttered this statement, her heart was pounding.

Fueled by anger? Or compelled by wanton urges?

“I-I suspect it is a matter of degree.” She straightened her spine before she did something ridiculous like cup his chin and touch his lips with hers.

“Yes. I thought the same.”

An initial jolt of pleasure infused Meredith, and she smoothed the coverlets next to him. She squelched the sudden joy. He’d not secured her trust of him… yet.

“What of the ledger?”

She let out a sigh and went to move away, but he snatched her wrist, staying her. She looked down at the connection then raised her eyes to his.

An impish grin on his face in the shadows was but a mere flash of white teeth. He tugged and she stumbled to sitting on the mattress. He lifted her hand and touched the gold band on her finger. An instant heat seemed to burn her skin from that circlet of gold.

“My lord?”

“Say my name,” he demanded.

It was if her face caught fire, and no amount of water could douse it. Her eyes shot to his. “I don’t wish to say your name.”

“Why not?”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “Say my name,” she retorted.

A laugh burst from him, booming against the walls. Then he winced. “At the moment, I not only cannot remember your name, I can barely recall my own.”

The words floated over her, landing softly on her shoulders. Similar to that of an ermine wrap on a cold night, easing her discomfort, drawing her own laughter. “I, um, can’t remember yours either,” she confessed.

“It’s Lucius,” he said with an incline of his head.

“My pleasure meeting you… Lucius. I’m… Meredith.” The chamber seemed to shrink as if they were the only two in the world. He still held her wrist within one warm hand.

It felt like a new beginning.

He traced her knuckles with his thumb in a motion that held her enthralled.

Meredith shook her head and tugged at her hand, but his hold tightened. Not enough to hurt her, but his power was evident. “What happened to your request for an annulment?” she said softly.

“Perhaps I’m no longer thinking along those lines.”

“I see.” She cleared her throat. “Perhaps once you decide we’ll talk.”

“Perhaps we’ll do more than talk.” His hold loosened and she pulled her hand away.

Casually. She didn’t wish to let him know his effect on her. Thank heavens for just the one candle and the dying fire. She rose from beside him and strolled to the table and blew out the single flame. “Get some rest, my lord. Based on those documents you’ve acquired, you’re going to need it.”

She made it back to the door, had her hand on the handle, turned it.

“Meredith.” Her name was a growl that filled the room.

She glanced over her shoulder to the shadows that hid him.

“It’s—” There was a long pause. “—It’s a nice name.”

Not a whisper could escape her constricted throat. Shaking her head, again, she stole away.