Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

He swung away, was off again, his long legs carrying him swiftly around the gallery. “I’ll come and find you in an hour.”

“Very well. But your room’s not that way.”

He halted. Once again stood facing away for the space of three heartbeats, then, slowly, he turned.

Again she felt the dark weight of his gaze, this time pinning her more definitely. This time, rather than converse over the yawning gap that once again separated them, a gap she now would have preferred to maintain, he walked, stalked, slowly back to her.

He kept walking until no more than a foot remained between them, which left him towering over her. Physical intimidation was second nature to male Variseys; they learned it from the cradle. She would have liked to say the ploy had no effect, and in truth it didn’t have the effect he intended. The effect was something quite other, and more intense and powerful than she’d ever dreamed. Inside she quaked, trembled; outwardly she held his gaze and calmly waited.

First round.

He lowered his head slightly so he could look directly into her face. “The keep hasn’t rotated in all the centuries since it was built.” His voice had lowered, too, but his diction had lost nothing of its lethal edge. If anything that had sharpened. “Which means the west tower lies around the gallery.”

She met his dark gaze, knew better than to nod. With Variseys one never conceded the slightest point; they were the sort that, if one surrendered an inch, took the whole county. “The west tower lies that way, but your room is no longer there.”

Tension rippled through him; the muscle in the side of his jaw tightened. His voice, when he spoke, had lowered to a warning growl. “Where are my things?”

“In the ducal apartments.” In the central part of the keep, facing south; she didn’t bother telling him what he already knew.

She stepped back, just far enough to wave him to join her as, greatly daring, she turned her back on him and started strolling farther into the keep. “You’re the duke now, and those are your rooms. The staff have slaved to have everything in readiness there, and the west tower room has been converted into a guest chamber. And before you ask”—she heard him reluctantly follow her, his longer legs closing the distance in a few strides—“everything that was in the west tower room is now in the duke’s rooms—including, I might add, all your armillary spheres. I had to move every single one myself—the maids and even the footmen refuse to touch them for fear they’ll fall apart in their hands.”

He’d amassed an exquisite collection of the astrological spheres within spheres; she hoped mention of them would encourage him to accept the necessary relocation.

After a moment of pacing silently beside her, he said, “My sisters?”

“Your father passed away on Sunday, a little before noon. I dispatched the messenger to you immediately, but I wasn’t sure what you wished, so I held back from informing your sisters for twenty-four hours.” She glanced at him. “You were the farthest away, but we needed you here first. I expect they’ll arrive tomorrow.”

He glanced at her, met her eyes. “Thank you. I appreciate the chance to find my feet before having to deal with them.”

Which, of course, was why she’d done it. “I sent a letter with the messenger to you for Collier, Collier, and Whitticombe.”

“I sent it on with a covering letter from me, asking them to attend me here, with the will, at the earliest opportunity.”

“Which means they’ll arrive tomorrow, too. Late afternoon, most likely.”

“Indeed.”

They turned a corner into a short hall just as a footman closed the massive oak door at the end. The footman saw them, bowed low, then retreated.

“Jeffers will have brought up your bags. If you need anything else—”

“I’ll ring. Who’s the butler here these days?”

She’d always wondered if he’d had anyone in the household feeding him information; obviously not. “Retford the younger—old Retford’s nephew. He was the underbutler before.”

He nodded. “I remember him.”

The door to the duke’s apartments neared. Clinging to her chatelaine’s glamour, she halted beside it. “I’ll join you in the study in an hour.”

He looked at her. “Is the study in the same place?”

“It hasn’t moved.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

She inclined her head, was about t

o turn away when she noticed that, although his hand had closed about the doorknob, he hadn’t turned it.