Chapter Eight

From the tiny, frosted window in her bedroom, Raine watched the snow descend from the sky. Her thoughts drearier than the sleet dashing against the manor, she turned away from the window and dressed for the day. She'd never put much thought to her future while her parents lived, but now the wretched thought of how she'd carry a child for nine months to give it up, consumed her every thought.

At least her mother and father had passed on together. Although much harder on her to have them both gone from her life, she couldn't imagine what would become of the survivor had one died. Her childhood had passed with unconditional love lavished upon her.

She pulled her shoes over her feet with a sigh. All that is behind me now. I must accept my circumstances.

She closed the door to her room, drew a deep breath and pinched her pale cheeks. It wouldn't do for Crete to question her this morning. Despite her best intentions to hide her troubled thoughts, Crete took on the persona of a bloodhound hot on the trail of a possum when she suspected something amiss. With her emotions in shambles, Raine might collapse into a puddle of tears if Crete questioned her this morning.

Dropping into a chair at the table, cramps tore through her abdomen. "Morning, Crete." glancing to Henry, she smiled.

"Morning." Crete placed a plate of flapjacks smothered in butter and maple syrup in front of her. She stepped back with hands on hips. "What ails you, child, you're whiter than cotton bolls?"

"I didn't sleep well." Not to mention I agreed to bear your employer's child and walk away.

"In my own dear mother's words," she retrieved the tea pot while speaking, "a pillow won't comfort a troubled heart."

Raine rubbed the skin under her eyes, hoping the dark circles would fade, aware of Henry's silent gaze.

"I dreamed of Grandfather and tossed and turned all night."

"It's time you pen that letter, and drink your tea now." Crete settled into a chair next to Henry. "I know you don't want to tell him in a post, but he has a right to know you're safe and sound."

Maybe I should put a postscript in the missive. Incidentally, I signed a contract, agreed to accept ten thousand dollar in exchange for delivering one, living, healthy child to Derek Stafford. "Perhaps you're right."

Finished with his breakfast, Henry rose from the table. "Ah bess check on things in the barn."

Crete nodded and turned her face to the window, clucking like a mother hen. "Mister Derek rode out this morning to check on a heifer about to foal. I hope he isn't caught in the storm."

Raine's stomach churned. She hoped an Arctic blizzard had found him. With a little fortune, the groomsmen would find him frozen to death in the snow.

Crete rose from the table to fetch the tea pot, returned with a palm-full of greenish herbs, and dropped them into Raine's cup. "These will help with the cramps."

Raine dropped her gaze and concentrated on her tea. "You don't miss a thing here, do you?"

"Not after living at Stafford House for years." Crete returned to her chair and patted her hand. "I've got just the thing to cheer you today."

"Oh, do tell," she said, feeling better already.

"We will drag the trunks from the attic and drape the manor for the holiday."

Perked by the suggestion, perhaps from the herbal tea, Raine smiled. "A welcome sight after the black crepe."

"We have two weeks to decorate." She gazed out the window again and Raine knew the woman stewed over Derek. "I'll send Henry to the attic and we'll start on this level, the sitting room, dining room and front hall."

"What about the second level?" Raine asked, her eyes drawn to the window now too.

"We'll ask Mister Derek when he returns."

Moments later, Henry returned from the stables and Crete sent him scurrying to the attic.

The trio spent the morning decorating the rooms in vibrant, hues of gold, silver, and red. Red satin sashes clung to the archways. Gilded runners draped the oak buffets and tables. Planters and pots were emptied of their autumn arrangements and replaced with shiny red apples, pine cones, and fancy lace ribbons. Centerpieces on the mantles and tables were restocked with brilliant crimson candles, sprigs of holly and berries.

Raine stood in the foyer and inspected their handiwork with a pang nostalgia washing over her.

Crete handed her a cluster of mistletoe. "I leave it in your hands while I prepare the noon meal." She glanced out a window again. "Perhaps I should tell Henry to send the men out to look for Derek."

He'll show up soon." Under her breath she added, "In the words of Sir Walter Scott, the bad shilling is sure enough to come back again."

Raine hung the mistletoe under an archway and wandered toward the kitchen. Another cup of spiced tea sounded heavenly. No sooner had she entered Crete's domain when the outside door blew open. A cold blast of air pushed a drift of snowflakes scattering about the floor. The gaiety of Raine's morning evaporated when Derek stepped into the room.

While shucking his ice-encrusted greatcoat, scarf and gloves, Crete fussed about him. "I was about to send out a search party."

Derek tossed his coat on a nearby chair and then removed his soggy boots. "I had to mollycoddle that determined heifer to foal in the barn."

Crete pointed to the table. "Please, sit and I will bring you a cup of tea."

"Coffee," he mumbled. "Black and strong."

Tossing his boots aside, Derek's eyes met hers. She showed him her back and spread her hands before the hearth fire. Ignoring his idle banter with Crete, Raine's mind wandered to the handsome man's entrance. Covered in snow, he still looked like the devil incarnate. The man was shameless, egotistical and...and magnificent.

His dark, windblown hair enhanced his powerful magnetism, and words couldn't describe the image of the white shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and muscled chest. Despite the warmth from the fire, a shiver coursed through her. In a few short days that hard body would crush her, the erotic mouth meld with hers, and the large hands….She had to stop thinking of him.

Catching the end of Crete's conversation with him, panic roiled in her gut. Good God, she's asked him to take the noon meal with us.

"Raine," Crete said, "why don't you sit with Mister Derek and I'll bring you a cup of hot tea."

She masked the edgy tone in her voice. "Thank you, Crete, but I believe I'll go to my room and rest. With permission, of course."

Her eyes wide, Crete turned to her. "Of course. I'll keep your plate warm."

Without turning around, Raine fled from the kitchen.

* * *

Raine's sudden announcement didn't surprise Derek. She would do anything to avoid him. Myriad expressions had crossed her lovely features when he entered the kitchen--dismay, confusion, and dare he hope desire?

Crete scratched her head and stared at the doorway. "She's feeling poorly this morning, sir. Nothing serious and I'm certain she'll feel better after a short rest."

He nodded his appreciation for the hot cup of coffee. "What seems to ail her?"

"A female malady," she replied.

Derek cleared his throat, counting the days in his head. "Yes, I understand."

She had been correct about her cycle appearing in four days. The look of disappointment on her face when he walked through the door perturbed him—the frown, the narrowed eyes, and shrinking flesh. Damn, did she find him repugnant?

Lost in thought about Raine the entire morning, he couldn't wait to see her. Once he did, he couldn't drag his eyes from the lush, pink lips parted in surprise. The sharp-tongued spitfire had no idea what a tantalizing picture she presented showing him her back. Images of the lustrous skin, the firm, ripe breasts, and the provocative derriere beneath the drab, gray shift, sent the blood pounding through his brain. How would he stay away from her for nine months once she met the contractual obligations? He wanted her from the moment he saw her. The thought of her beneath him, willing or not, sent his pulse racing.

She had avoided him for days, hadn't played the piano once since their return from Madelina's. He could not dismiss her behavior as happenstance, and it didn't bode well for him. If he entered a room, she fled like he had the pox. A thought struck terror in his heart. Had she changed her mind? Did she have second thoughts about the contract? The hammering in his head increased, incensing him. Would she renounce their arrangement?

The sound of Crete filling his coffee cup broke his reverie. "She's in a quandary about her grandfather. I told her to post a letter but she fears it might do the old gent in. He is not in the best of health.”

Guilt squeezed his heart. "She is very close with him; she would know best."

Crete changed the subject. "Would you like your bedchamber festive for the holiday?"

"I have always enjoyed Yule Tide, still do, despite Cinda's passing. I see no reason to deviate." He rose from the chair. "Fresh boughs and berries on the mantel would suit me, but dispense with the satin and lace in my bedchamber." He walked toward the door and turned to her. "Candles, oodles of candles would be nice."

"Candles, it shall be, sir. Oh, did you remember your parents will be here for dinner tomorrow evening?"

He wondered if she detected his disappointment. With a nod, he quit the room and headed for the stairwell leading to the second level.

Passing the sitting room, the scent of pine needles assailed his senses, a pleasing aroma that returned him to the holidays of his youth. He took the stairs two at a time, aware of a door creaking down the hallway. Raine stood outside her room, her eyes wide; her lips forming a silent oh.

"I want a word with you," he said a little too curt.

She backed up to the closed door. "Sir, how might I help you?"

Finding it difficult to control his unexpected anger, he drew a breath. "Stop it, Raine, cease this master-servant charade! If we are to have a child together, there must be a semblance of civility between us. He paused, her nearness overwhelming him. "Unless you have decided to cut and run."

Her eyes darted about the hallway.

"Have you? Are you willing to forfeit the money I deposited, at your request, into the bank?"

Her bosom heaved.

"If that's what you're about, tell me now." He advanced, the heady scent of jasmine invading every pore in his body. "I have little time, and even less patience for your games of hide and seek."

She stretched her arm between them. "Don't seek me out then, and don't come any closer."

He ignored her request and shoved her arm aside, his mouth inches from hers. "Behind your mask of acceptance what lurks?" He searched her face, struggling with his own raging emotions. "Tell me," he whispered, drowning in her beauty. "Perhaps I was wrong."

"Wrong about-about what?" she stammered.

"I thought you possessed the emotional maturity and physical stamina to follow through with our agreement."

His words had the desired effect. Her chin rose and she squared her shoulders. "I have no intention of reneging on our agreement. What's more, I assure you, I have the emotional and physical strength to see this charade through."

Damnation! Breathtaking, utterly breathtaking. He adjusted the collar of his shirt to relieve the throbbing pulse in his neck. Now, if he could adjust his trousers. If he didn't take his eyes from hers, he couldn't be responsible for what he might do next. His loin ached and hot desire coursed through his blood. After all the years he'd been married to Lucinda, not once had she been able to rouse this shocking, primitive need to mate. Coherent thought fled. He yanked Raine to his chest and covered her mouth with his. When she tried to push away, he held her firm, one hand in the small of her back, one hand holding the back of her head. She whimpered and he drew her deeper into the kiss.

His hand slid from her back to her breast and wandered over the soft swell. He tweaked a hard nipple with his thumb. Her arm came up, her small hand digging into his shoulder. His tongue searched the depths of her mouth, eliciting a series of moans from the back of her throat.

Horrified at the monstrous betrayal of need his body hungered for, he broke from the kiss. Christ, in another minute he'd be taking her here on the floor in the hallway, shoving his cock deep inside her and be damned with anyone who happened across them. What in the hell was wrong with him? He never lost control. Despite his wild lust for her, he couldn't take her on the floor like a common whore.

Her green eyes glazed over with desire, she whispered the words, "Truce, please."

He studied with the realization he wanted her still, more than before. "Have you been avoiding me?"

"No," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Little liar."

"I'm not feeling well today, and I--I couldn't eat."

He forced his mind to shut off from carnal thoughts about her and softened his voice. "Are you taking the herbs Madelina sent?"

She nodded.

"You're to take the false unicorn and black cohosh when your menses is done."

A blush rose in her cheeks.

"Crete mentioned you fell ill due to..."

She seemed incapable of speech and stared at him, her bottom lip quivering.

He had all he could do refrain from claiming her lips again. How he wanted to kiss her again, suck the tongue from her mouth. The guilt returned, wrenching his heart. She was so childlike, so vulnerable. "If you need a refresher, I have it written down--"

"That won't be necessary." Like a chameleon, she had changed again, returned to her prior chagrin. "I have committed her instructions to memory, have followed her wishes."

He realized how difficult it must be for her to discuss such delicate topics with a man, albeit a stranger. He stepped back from her lest he act on impulse. "Very well."

Cocking his head to the side, he grabbed her elbow. "What do you have behind your back?"

Her face paled.

"What is it? Pray tell, not another Bible?"

She shook her head, brought her arms out and held it before him.

The room swirled around him. "Baby?" He withdrew his hand, as if burned by a hot branding iron. "Where? When? How?"

"The doll was on my pillow when I returned to my room."

"What madness is this?" He paced the hallway. "Someone is up to no good." When he stopped to look at her, she reminded him of a frightened child. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes ringed with dark circles. "I'll get to the bottom of this. The Bible and Baby cannot walk from that trunk in the attic," he looked toward the ceiling," and materialize in your bedchamber."

"Poor man. The master has met a problem he doesn't understand and doesn't possess the ability to control."

"What is that supposed to mean? I tell you, someone in the manor dupes you, Raine."

"No, Derek. A spirit placed the objects in my room, a tormented, passed spirit."

"You drag the ghost into the conversation again. Tell me, what are you insinuating? You mean to say Cinda's―?"

"How would I know?" She hissed the words and wrung her hands. "You can't expect me to know what evil machinations occurred before I arrived."

"Evil?" He felt his forehead wrinkle. "Nothing evil transpired. Lucinda lost her mind, took her life." Despite the facts surrounding his wife's death, a niggling fear crept up his spine. "If evil played a part, I swear I wasn't aware of it."

"Listen to me, Derek. A ghost finds it necessary to deliver a message to me." She leaned forward, her voice a whisper. "Someone marked a passage in the Bible, whether living or dead, I don't know. The Bible was opened to a certain passage."

"What passage, tell me?"

"Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me."

Derek shivered, had never felt so cold in his life.

"What does it mean? Who harmed your wife?"

"No one, I swear. If you mean to insinuate that I harmed her, it is a falsehood. I did everything within my power to help Cinda."

She paused and studied him, a most anxious moment. "The ghost feels someone close betrayed her, did her harm. She's unsettled as Grandfather says." She handed him the doll, her voice shaking. "You are lord of the manor and so very good at managing affairs, I suggest you get to the bottom of this."

The defiant chin perked up before she swept past him and headed for the stairs.

He called out to her. "Raine?"

Pivoting, she turned and faced him. "Sir?"

"Remember my warning about hide and seek?"

"How could I forget?" She shook her head. "The master has spoken."

Their eyes met and Derek was aware of his pulse racing again. "You might get caught in your own tangled web running from me."

Bristling, she turned and fled down the stairs.

* * *

Her eyes brimming with tears, Raine descended the stairs. She had all she could do to garner a smile upon entering the kitchen.

Crete's calm presence soothed her. "I kept the food warm, child. Feeling better?"

She accepted the plate, but pushed the food around with her fork. Derek's kiss moments ago had undone her. The pleasant scents of tobacco and the fresh outdoors clung to her senses. She couldn't decide if she wanted to bite him or kiss him again by the time he had finished wringing her out.

She couldn't fall into this trap, no matter how handsome, no matter how she longed to touch his face, run her hands over those hard, ridged muscles. She had agreed to bear his child, nothing more. Yet every time he entered a room, her legs turned to marmalade.

She had avoided him since their return from Madelina's. Inner turmoil ran rampant when he entered a room, sending her already raging emotions into a tailspin. She intended to stay clear of him until it became necessary for her to enter his bedchamber, but every day was sheer torture.

Remembering his touch, the kiss, she rubbed her lips. Good Lord, what would happen the first night she shared his bed, much less for three nights? If she felt dizzy after one kiss she was doomed, run aground Grandfather would say.

Crete pulled her from her musings. "How about a cup of tea?"

Laced with arsenic, please. "Yes, thank you."

She returned to her sullen thoughts and focused on his warning, Be very careful you don't get caught in your own tangled web. The conceited cad. He thought her a silly school girl did he; one who had no idea what she was about? She would show him! She would call forth every wile known to woman, lead him into her seductive web, and leave the man with his heart in her hands. Derek might think he had the upper hand, but he best think again.

"You haven't touched a bite," Crete chided, setting the tea down before her.

She picked up the cup and took a sip. "Thinking about important decisions."

Crete smiled, pleased she had talked sense into her. "I'll fetch the paper and quill so you can send a letter to your grandfather."

"Very well."

* * *

After the evening meal, Raine lowered herself to the piano bench. Her desire to scatter the gloom and doom overpowered her concern Derek would find enjoyment from her playing.

He could go to the devil. In any event, she wouldn't be playing for him. The compositions tumbling through her head all day would resound from the keys for her enjoyment alone. She closed her eyes and became one with the piano, pounding out the notes with a fervor she'd never felt before.

The manor devoured the mournful sonatas, Beethoven, Chopin and Haydn. She chose nothing light and uplifting from her repertoire. No, they would never do tonight. She played from her soul, melodies intrinsic to her entire being, haunting, lilting arrangements, designed for those who had suffered great loss and pain. When the last notes fled from the room, she lifted her head and met Derek's cool, blue eyes.

He leaned over the piano, his voice soft. "You're amazingly gifted, missed your calling in life."

"There are many things I've yet to accomplish," she said. "However rest assured; I succeed at everything I set out to attain."

Raine slipped from the bench and walked from the room.