Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

She took a step toward him, reached out her hand, then dropped it again at her side. “We’re going to have to live together, Jason. I can’t live with you freezing me like this, like you’re still angry, perhaps still disgusted with me. Oh, very well, I’ll spit it out like you want. No more excuses. What I said was mean, it was petty, I’m a horrible person. Are you content now?”

“Hmm,” he said, turned on his heel, opened the door to the estate room and disappeared inside. She stared after him, angry that he’d walked away and wanting to fall to her knees and beg him to forgive her.

Jason turned back to see her still standing where he’d left her, her face pale in the moonlight. He called out, “If I were a man who wished to marry, something I will never wish to do again in this lifetime, I would be strongly inclined toward Eliza Dickers. She is warm and kind and very funny.” He didn’t look back again.

And she wasn’t.

Well, all right, so perhaps she wasn’t warm and kind and funny all the time. She doubted strongly that Eliza Dickers was either. How could one be all those good things all the time? Surely even Mrs. Dickers had moments of pettiness. A pity her husband was dead, or he could be consulted. Surely she’d occasionally called him a bonehead or a fleabrain.

Hallie turned and walked back to the east gardens. It took her a while to find the entrance even though she’d already been in there. She supposed it made sense to keep these awesome statues well hidden. She wondered at what age James and Jason had found them. She stood in front of the married woman’s favorite statue—if the husband wasn’t a clod—whatever that meant.

The fact was, she was a jealous bitch. She shook her head. No, she wasn’t jealous, that was ridiculous, she was simply a bitch, no jealousy involved. She had imagined he’d bedded every woman he’d wanted to in Baltimore, that Eliza Dickers had been one of many. But maybe there hadn’t been a long line of women, and that he, like a sultan, had to merely crook a finger to the one he wanted for the night. Maybe she’d been wrong about him, and he only shared himself with Eliza Dickers. He was certainly fond of her. But the fact of it was, he was so beautiful, so finely fashioned, she couldn’t imagine him not taking what was offered. After all, he was a man, and her stepmother, Genny, had told her candidly that every man Hallie met would think of little else other than bedding her, that it was simply the way of the species, and that they couldn’t help themselves. But Jason, he’d never shown any lecherous tendencies around her, and how could that be? Surely she was pretty enough to warrant at least one interested look, wasn’t she? Perhaps he was simply very good at hiding what apparently all men wanted.

“You’re a fool, my girl,” she said, looking up at the woman lying on her back, her mouth open on some sort of scream. Why was she screaming? Was the man hurting her? A woman would willingly allow her husband to embarrass and hurt her?

She continued to study the statue. The man’s mouth was where she couldn’t imagine a man’s mouth being anywhere near, particularly not all settled in like he appeared to be.

Well, no matter. Jason Sherbrooke never wanted to marry. That was good. That was fine with her because she didn’t want to marry either, ever.

She ran back to the Hall, aware that she was feeling warm, but not all over. No, not all over at all.

She found Martha curled up in her chair, sound asleep. She’d told her to go to bed, but naturally she hadn’t. Hallie led Martha into the dressing room where she slept, took off her shoes and covered her. She’d worked as hard as any of the women, jumping around, exclaiming over this and that, happy as a lark.

Hallie wondered, as she lay in bed that night, exactly what had happened to Jason five years before.

CHAPTER 17

Two mornings later, all the male workers moved the furniture from the very clean stables into the house. They grunted and carped, stretched and sweated, but were stoic and nicely silent when Hallie asked them to move a piece more than once. Hallie seemed to be enjoying herself, so Jason didn’t say a word until he walked into the room as she directed the men to move the main sofa in front of the windows. He stared. Hallie called out, all delighted, “Yes, that is perfect, simply perfect. Thank you. Now, I’m thinking a chair should sit in front of the fireplace, perhaps that lovely brocade wing chair that Master Jason likes so very much. No reason to be cold, is there? Of course it’s very warm now since it’s summer. Oh, hello, Jason. What do you think, should the chair still be in front of the fireplace so visitors will know that they’ll be warm when the cold hits?”

He was amazed and disbelieving, at what she had wrought, but he said in a straightforward voice, “There is something to be said for reassuring visitors, but I’m thinking the sofa and chair should be together, don’t you?”

“But there isn’t enough room in front of the windows for both.”

“Well then, why don’t we try the sofa and chair somewhere else. Perhaps to the left side of the fireplace.”

Hallie heard one of the men say to another, “It’s about time the master got involved. The next thing she’d want us to do is block the doorway with a hassock.”

“Of course I wouldn’t want a hassock in the doorway. A hassock can’t be separated from its chair. Everyone knows that.”

The men shuffled their feet. They didn’t notice the twinkle in her eye.

“They didn’t mean anything, Hallie,” Jason said. “However, you do have some rather curious notions about furniture placement.”

Hallie sighed deeply. “The truth is, my father and Genny quite despaired of me six years ago when I tried to redecorate my own bedchamber. I selected lovely colors and furniture, but when it came to placement, I put my bed with its back to the one big window. At least I sometimes recognize when the furniture is placed correctly.” She sighed and stood in the doorway.

After Jason had finished with the downstairs furniture, the men grinning, he said to Hallie, “Should we let Cousin Angela make decisions about her own bedchamber and sitting room?”

“After she sees what you’ve done, she’ll probably beg you to do it for her.”

“All right, I’ll arrange her furniture. If she doesn’t like it, I’ll change it myself. Now, don’t whine and act pathetic. Everyone has things they can do and things they can’t do.”

“Oh yes? What can’t you do?”

He stroked his fingertips over his chin. After a very long march of moments, he said, “Do you know, I’ll have to keep thinking about that.”

She said something under her breath and stomped away.

“What did you say?”