Once and Always (Sequels 1)

It worked.

Jason appointed a competent man to handle his business in Delhi and moved his family to England. With every intention of building a “kingdom” for his little boy, Jason voluntarily spent enormous sums of money restoring the rundown Atherton estates to a splendor far beyond any they had ever possessed.

While Jason was busily supervising the restoration work, Melissa rushed off to London to take her rightful place in society as the new Marchioness of Wakefield. Within a year, gossip about her amorous affairs was raging through London like wildfire. A few months later, she and the child were dead....

Charles shook himself from his sad reverie and glanced up as the covers were being removed from the table. “Shall we depart from custom tonight?” he suggested to Victoria. “Instead of the men remaining at the table for port and cigars, would you object if we had them with you in the drawing room? I’m loathe to give up your company.”

Victoria was unaware of the custom, but in any case she was perfectly happy to break it and said so. When she was about to enter the rose and gold drawing room, however, Charles drew her back and said in a low voice, “I notice you’ve put off mourning early, my dear. If that was your decision, I applaud it—your mother hated black; she told me that when she was a little girl and was forced to wear it for her own parents.” Charles’s penetrating gaze held hers. “Was it your decision, Victoria?”

“No,” Victoria admitted. “Mr. Fielding had my clothes removed and replaced with these today.”

He nodded sagely. “Jason has an aversion to symbols of mourning, and judging from the dagger-glances you threw his way at supper, you aren’t happy about what he’s done. You should tell him so,” he said. “Don’t let him intimidate you, child; he can’t abide cowards.”

“But I don’t want to upset you,” Victoria said worriedly. “You said your heart isn’t strong.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, chuckling. “My heart is a little weak, but not so weak it can’t take some excitement. In fact, it would probably do me a world of good. Life was incredibly dull before you arrived.”

When Jason was seated and enjoying his port and cigar, Victoria tried several times to do as Charles had bidden her, but each time she looked at Jason and tried to bring up the matter of her clothing, her courage deserted her. He had dressed for dinner tonight in beautifully tailored charcoal gray trousers and matching coat, with a dark blue waistcoat and a pearl gray silk shirt. Despite his elegant attire and the casual way he had stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles, he seemed to radiate barely leashed, ruthless power. There was something primitive and dangerous about him, and she had the uneasy feeling that his elegant clothing and indolent stance were nothing but disguises meant to lull the unwary into believing he was civilized, when he wasn’t civilized at all.

He shifted slightly and Victoria stole another glance at him. His dark head was tilted back, his thin cigar clamped between his even white teeth, his hands resting on the arms of his wing chair, his tanned features cast into shadow. A chill crept up her spine as she wondered what dark secrets lay hidden in his past. Surely there must be many to have made him so cynical and unapproachable. He looked like the sort of man who had seen and done all sorts of terrible, forbidden things—things that had hardened him and made him cold. Yet he was handsome—wickedly, dangerously handsome with his panther-black hair, green eyes, and superb build. Victoria couldn’t deny that, and if she weren’t half-afraid of him most of the time, she would have liked to talk to him. How tempting it would be to try to befriend him—as tempting as sin, she admitted to herself—as foolish as trying to befriend the devil. And probably just as dangerous.

Victoria drew a careful breath, preparing to politely but firmly insist that her mourning clothes be returned, just as Northrup appeared and announced the arrival of Lady Kirby and Miss Kirby.

Victoria saw Jason stiffen and shoot a sardonic glance at Charles, who responded with a bewildered shrug and turned to Northrup. “Send them away—” he began, but he was too late.

“No need to announce us, Northrup,” said a firm voice, and a stout woman sailed into the salon, trailed by puce satin skirts, heavy perfume, and a lovely brunette about Victoria’s age. “Charles!” Lady Kirby said, beaming at him. “I heard you were in the village today with a young lady named Miss Seaton, and naturally I had to see her for myself.”

Scarcely taking time to draw a breath, she turned to Victoria and said brightly, “You must be Miss Seaton.” She paused, her narrowed eyes scrutinizing every feature on Victoria’s face in a way that gave Victoria the feeling she was looking for flaws. She found one. “What an intriguing dent in your chin, my dear. However did it happen? An accident?”

“Of birth,” Victoria averred, smiling, much too fascinated by the peculiar woman to be offended. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if England was filled with intriguing, ill-mannered, blunt people whose eccentricities were either encouraged or overlooked because of their titles and excessive wealth.

“How sad,” said Lady Kirby. “Does it bother you—or hurt?”

Victoria’s lips trembled with laughter. “Only when I look in the mirror, ma’am,” she replied.

Dissatisfied, Lady Kirby swung away and confronted Jason, who had arisen and was standing at the fireplace, his elbow propped on the mantel. “So, Wakefield,” she said, “from the looks of things here, the announcement in the paper would seem to be correct. I’ll tell you the truth—I never believed it. Well, was it?”

Jason lifted his brows. “Was it what?”

Charles’s voice boomed out, drowning Lady Kirby’s words. “Northrup, bring the ladies some refreshment!” Everyone sat down, Miss Kirby taking the chair beside Jason, while Charles swiftly embarked on an animated discussion of the weather. Lady Kirby listened impatiently until Charles ran out of monologue; then she turned abruptly to Jason and said pointedly, “Wakefield, is your engagement on or off?”

Jason raised his glass to his lips, his eyes cold. “Off.”

Victoria saw the varying reactions to that one word on the faces around her. Lady Kirby looked satisfied, her daughter looked delighted, Charles looked miserable, and Jason’s face was inscrutable. Victoria’s sympathetic heart instantly went out to him. No wonder Jason seemed so grim and callous—the woman he loved must have broken their engagement. It struck her as odd, however, when the Kirby ladies turned to her as if they expected her to say something.