Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(54)

Efficiently the footmen loaded the bags into the gleaming laquered carriage and helped her inside. “Thank you,” Tasia murmured, flinching as the door clicked into place. She stuck her head out the window for another look at Seymour.

The butler's lips parted in a restrained smile. “Farewell, Miss Billings, and good luck.” For Seymour, it was a rare burst of emotion.

“The same to you,” Tasia said brightly, and then withdrew into the carriage, fighting back tears as the wheels rolled away from Southgate Hall.

Several minutes passed before Tasia realized they were traveling in the wrong direction. It began as a vague suspicion, which she tried to reason away. After all, she was hardly familiar with the landscape of England, and her only knowledge of Amersham was that it was located somewhere to the west of Southgate. But then the carriage turned off the main road, onto a narrow, heavily wooded path studded with a few ancient bits of gravel. Unless they were taking a shortcut through a forest, they were definitely not going to Amersham. Anxiously Tasia knocked on the roof for the driver's attention. Whistling cheerfully, he ignored her. They went deeper into the woods, passing a small unplowed meadow and a pond. Finally they came to a stop at a two-story cottage that was half-buried in ivy.

Stunned, Tasia emerged from the carriage, while the driver unloaded her belongings. “What are we doing here?” she asked. The driver gave her an impudent smile and gestured to the doorway, where a tall, dark form had appeared.

Luke's smiling blue eyes met hers, and he spoke in a gently chiding tone. “You didn't really think I'd let you go, did you?”

Six

Tasia clamped her mouth shut, while rage flooded her. Whatever else she had lost, she still had the power to make decisions for herself. No one was going to take it from her. Did he think he could trick her, manipulate her, and she would fall into his arms with a grateful sigh? It was beyond arrogance.

The carriage rolled away down the wooded lane, leaving her stranded with Stokehurst. Most women would probably consider it extremely good fortune. Stokehurst looked particularly dashing that morning, dressed in fawn trousers and a loose white shirt, his black hair disheveled. He was quiet, staring at her with apparent fascination. and something else she couldn't quite understand.

Finally Tasia thought of what to say. She made her tone as cold and calm as possible. “This is how it will be when Nikolas Angelovsky finds me. He'll allow me no choice, and he'll justify himself however he wishes. You are just like him. Neither of you lets anything stand in the way of what you want.”

To her satisfaction, a scowl appeared on Stokehurst's face. He folded his arms across his chest, watching as Tasia approached the front of the cottage.

The dwelling was decorated with terra-cotta panels and bricks molded with the same hawk-and-rose motif she had seen at Southgate Hall. The initial “W” was woven into the pattern at regular intervals. Over two centuries of weathering had caused the designs to fade, but they were still distinguishable. The house had been lovingly cared for. Sections of ancient timber had been replaced with new wood, and the clay filling was freshly whitewashed. Had she not been so confused and angry, Tasia would have taken pleasure in the fairy-tale cottage, whose touches of crumbling age gave it an air of romantic decay.

“William, Lord Stokehurst,” Luke said, watching her trace the faded initials by the door. “An ancestor of mine. He had the cottage built for his mistress in the sixteenth century, to keep her close to Southgate Hall.”

“Why bring me here?” Tasia asked stonily. “Are you planning to keep me as your mistress?”

He seemed to give the matter great attention. Tasia realized he was considering the best way to handle her, which stirred her wrath even more. She didn't want to be handled or pacified. She wanted him to leave her alone.

“I want some time with you,” he said bluntly. “With all that's happened in the last few days, we haven't really talked.”

“We've never really talked.”

He inclined his head in agreement. “Now we can.”

Tasia made an infuriated sound and strode away from the door as if it were the gate to hell. She went to the side of the cottage, to a shaded paddock where a black stallion nibbled on a clump of hay. The horse's ears pricked, and he turned his head to the side, eyeing her with interest. Hearing Stokehurst's footsteps behind her, Tasia whirled to face him with her fists clenched. “Take me to the village!”

“No,” he said softly, holding her gaze.

“Then I'll walk.”

“Tasia.” He came closer and wrapped his hand over her fist. “Stay here with me, just for a day or two.” His fingers tightened as she tried to pull away. “I won't make any demands on you. I won't touch you at all, if you don't want me to. Just talk to me. You're in no immediate danger of Angelovsky finding you, certainly not here. Tasia…there's no need for you to go on running for the rest of your life. We can find another way, a better one, if you'll trust me.”

“Why?” she asked, her anger fading a little. The softness of his tone affected her oddly. He had never spoken to her like this before, with quiet, intense appeal. “Why should I trust you?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then appeared to think better of it and kept silent. Staring at her, he brought her fist to his chest. His heart was beating very fast. Slowly Tasia's fingers unfurled, pressing over the driving thump.