Born for Thorton's Sake Page 5

  He smiled. “Very well. I will try. Shall we take Rebecca riding tomorrow? I do not think I can stand to lie around too long.”

  They had reached the door leading to Maria’s chamber. “Yes. Valerian so misses Stetson when you are away. Perhaps Bay Muffin would do for Rebecca. She’s very calm.”

  He smiled and nodded in agreement. “Sleep well then,” he said.

  “I will. Good night.” She stood on the tips of her toes and made to kiss his cheek as she had done for so many years.

  Brock shook his head at her. “No, no, Maria. Those days are behind us. You have sampled my mouth now. Can you stand on the pretense you honestly prefer my cheek?”

  “What?” Maria exclaimed in a whisper, looking about quickly to ensure their solitude. “What a lecherous thing to say! Do you mean to imply that I—”

  She was silenced then as his mouth seized her own and proceeded to prove itself far more coveted, indeed, than his cheek. He ended the kiss all too quickly and held her lovely face in his hands, smiling triumphantly down at her.

  “You are a beauty, my pet,” he whispered. “And utterly addictive.” He crossed the corridor to his own chamber, turning to look at her once more. “Sweet dreams, pretty peach,” he said with a wink before disappearing into the darkness of his own chamber.

  REVELATION

  As the weeks passed, it was still apparent Rebecca was in love with Brock. However, Maria found she had misjudged the fair woman. Rebecca proved to be a very pleasant companion, and Maria could not condemn her for falling victim to the same fate as she, loving Brockton Thorton. Brock paid Rebecca little heed, and Maria soon fell into an easy sense of comfort in the girl’s company. She did not feel threatened by her existence or presence at Thorton Manor any longer.

  Rebecca’s mother arrived, and she and Lady Thorton spent hours each day in the parlor, giggling as giddy schoolgirls. Maria thought it very reassuring to learn women could retain something of their youthful sensibilities. She found she enjoyed Rebecca’s company as well. They had become friends, if only in slim means.

  Brock continued to taunt Maria. His manner was distinctly different than it had been in the past. Though every ounce of reason and common sense told her she must be mistaken, it seemed his endless teasing had given way to pure flirtation. Much to her disappointment, however, day after day began and ended without his ever intimating he would again kiss her as he had that first day of his return.

  Slowly, Maria attempted to step back into a routine. Business matters took a great deal of Brock’s time, but when he could spare a moment, they went riding or talked or went for walks, as they always had. Much of Maria’s day, however, was spent helping Lady Thorton and Rebecca’s mother, Lady Dellancy, in the preparations for Maria’s coming-out. The impending event consumed so much time she had begun to dread it. She had no desire to make a spectacle of herself or to have swarms of thin, whiskerless young men attempting to receive permission to pay court to her. She only wished it were over and done with or, better yet, that it had never been conceived at all.

  On the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Maria rose before the sun, restless and awash with anxiety. There was an odd, nervous anticipation nagging in the back of her mind, and she sensed it had nothing to do with her coming-out, which was to take place the next day.

  As was her habit when feeling unsettled and Brock was occupied with duties and business, Maria found herself in the stables grooming Valerian. The horse seemed pleased to have her there. Or perhaps it was the long brushing the mare received whenever her mistress was agitated that pleased the animal.

  “Oh, my sweet Valerian. I feel so oddly anxious. As if…it’s so hard to explain. Even to you. I feel as if something…something…very…significant is awaiting at the bend.”

  Maria continued to brush the mare for several minutes. The sun was just rising, and dawn was still crisp, cool, and invigorating. She drew in a deep breath of morning air and reveled in the refreshment it brought to her body. Suddenly, she felt her senses prickling, and a moment later Brock spoke from behind her.

  “You’re up early,” he said.

  She turned to see him standing just inside the stables studying her with a strange, worried sort of expression.

  “Yes. It is such a beautiful morning, and I could not sleep it away,” she answered, smiling at him.

  He quickly strode to her, taking hold of her shoulders. Frowning as he searched her face, he asked, “You do…you do care for me…do you not, Maria?”

  It seemed a ridiculous question. Of course he knew she cared for him. Though she tried not to nest on the thought, she feared he suspected how deeply she cared for him as well. Her unsettled senses were quieted quickly, however, when she then realized he was, as always, in jest.

  “Of course!” she told him. “That is the silliest question you’ve ever asked me, Brock. And well you know it.” She giggled and turned her attention to Valerian again. “I’ll not tumble to your silly bait for a compliment.”

  Yet the prickling sensation at the back of her neck had not subsided and, in fact, intensified when he spoke again.

  “You’re sixteen today,” he stated as if it were as yet unknown to anyone in the world.

  “Profound, Brock. Very profound,” Maria giggled. Yet her nervousness lingered.

  Suddenly, he took hold of her shoulders once more and spun her to face him. She stared at him in awe, for never had she seen such an expression of determination on his face. At least not since the night he had come and taken her away from her uncle’s home years before.

  “I need to know, Maria…before Peterson arrives this afternoon. You…you do care for me?”

  She paused in answering, stunned again by the seemingly ridiculous question. “Of course, Brock. How can you even stand before me and doubt it?”

  He released his hold on her shoulders and ran one hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “No, no, no. I know you feel indebted to me, to all of us…for taking you from those people. That is not what I mean to ask you. I’m asking…I mean to say, you do care for me…not just a feeling of…obligation toward me?”

  Maria turned away, unable to face him as understanding began to wash over her. He was trying to draw her out, to coax her into openly admitting her love, her passion for him.

  “You know I care for you,” she admitted. “And even though you are going through this ridiculous charade of asking…I…I have no doubt you at least suspect how tremendous my caring is for you.”

  She heard him exhale a heavy sigh, as if he had been holding his breath. “I’ve something for you, Maria,” he said then. “I hope you do not think it vain or shallow of me to give this to you.”

  She turned to see he held a small box in one hand. He held it out toward her in a gesture that she should take it from him. He looked so profoundly anxious, so thoroughly worried, and it concerned her. She smiled at him and took the box form his hand.

  “May I open it now? Or must I wait until breakfast?” she asked, curious at what lay within. What could he be afraid to give her?

  Brock smiled, and the sight of his boyish dimple sent her stomach tumbling with delight. “You must open it now, of course,” he said. “Do you think I’ve come out here before the sun in order that you might wait until breakfast, chit?”

  Maria giggled as she opened the tiny box. Inside, on a bed of red velvet, lay an exquisitely crafted locket—a lovely golden oval locket, hanging from a dainty gold chain.

  “Oh, Brock!” Maria breathed. “How…how exquisite!” She was truly enchanted. The locket was ornate with delicate engravings of a floral nature on the face. It was beautiful! Maria held it up to better see it in the morning sunlight, and as she did she noticed an engraving on the locket’s backside.

  “Maria, Born For My Sake,” she whispered as she read the engraving on the locket. “Forever Yours, Brock.”

  Tears filled Maria’s eyes as her fingertips gently caressed the beloved words engraved in gold. “Thank you,�
�� she whispered, continuing to gaze down at the locket, not wanting to look up and reveal the tears in her eyes.

  “Are not you anxious to open it?” Brock asked unexpectedly.

  “Open it?” Maria whispered to herself as she used her thumbnail to test the tiny latch. As the locket opened, Maria could not believe what rested within. A small likeness of him…of Brock! It was somewhat brownish, not a color painting as the miniatures she’d seen before. This was him! An actual likeness of his face!

  “It’s new. It’s called a daguerreotype or some such word. Remarkable, is it not? They actually capture your very image somehow.”

  “It’s you,” Maria whispered.

  “Well, of course it’s me! Who do you think I would put in a locket I intended to give to you? Do you like it, or don’t you?”

  “It is…your very image,” she whispered in dismay again as she let a finger carefully touch the small likeness.

  “Maria!” Brock sighed with exasperation. His frown softened, however, when she looked up, and he saw tears streaming over her cheeks.

  “Oh, Brock!” Maria could only whisper as she threw her arms around his neck.

  “It pleases you then?” he asked tenderly.

  She was silent, clinging to him as tears rolled freely down her face. A kind of frenzied panic was fighting to seize control of her. The knowledge of something about to happen was upon her again. She tightened her embrace and buried her face in his shoulder. Never! Never would she let him go again! He was hers. Somehow, he must be. He must belong to her! To be hers alone, and she his.

  “You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” she sobbed.

  Brock’s arms suddenly tightened about her small form, pulling her snuggly against him. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I always come back, don’t I?”

  “It’s different this time. There’s something you’re not telling me, Brock.” Maria looked up into the worried countenance of his face, pleading an answer. “Please, Brock. I can sense it.”

  Brock forced a smile and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re just overly anxious about the gala event tomorrow. That’s it, is it not?”

  She was angry. She pushed at him hard enough so he was caught off guard, stumbling backward and into a pile of straw, landing hard on his backside.

  Maria gasped as his eyes closed, his body having gone limp and unmoving.

  “Brock! Brock! I’m so sorry! It’s simply that…” She ran to him, kneeling beside him. Still he did not move. “Brock, please!” she cried.

  Then his eyes opened, and he grinned mischievously. “Maria! Such violence in a young woman. And on the eve of her coming-out, to boot!”

  Maria hit him hard in the stomach. “It was not amusing, Brock! I was truly concerned for your well-being!”

  He lingered in the hay, chuckling to himself for a moment. When he sat up, resting on one elbow, he smiled at her. But Maria’s frustration caused her anger to ignite once again.

  “Can you never be serious?” she cried, pushing at him repeatedly.

  “Maria.”

  “I mean it. I’m very upset, and there you sit, playing cruel pranks!” She stood and kicked at his legs with one foot.

  He chuckled and caught her ankle in his grip. “Maria. Settle yourself. I was only taunting you,” he said, smiling as she struggled to free her ankle. “Did I give you these boots? They do not look at all familiar.” He chuckled, studying the foot he held firmly in hand.

  Completely exasperated, Maria resigned herself to sitting down beside him. “No, Brock. Your mother and I bought these together.” It was no use. He was obviously avoiding telling her what she felt he knew.

  “Give me the trifle,” he said. Without sitting up, she held her hand open toward him.

  He took the locket, and she lifted her hair so he could fasten the chain’s clasp at the back of her neck. Then she rested her head on the stable floor and lifted the locket, opening it to study the likeness within.

  “Mother would up and entirely expire if she were to witness this,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Maria asked, not heeding his remark, so mesmerized was she by the miracle of his likeness in her hand.

  “Properly brought-up ladies and gentlemen do not romp about in the stable straw, Maria,” Brock said, standing up and brushing himself off. He offered his hand to her, and she accepted, letting him pull her to her feet. “Happy birthday,” he said, grinning as he made ready to leave.

  “Brock,” Maria began softly, “I cannot express to you how…what a perfect gift this is for you to gift me.”

  “Well, it is your sixteenth. I wanted you to have at least one pleasant memory of it.” He smiled down at her, and she fancied he was wistful. The expression of profound uncertainty again crossed his features.

  “Sweetest at sixteen when—”he mumbled.

  “I know. I know,” she interrupted, clamping one hand over his mouth. “When will you ever quit teasing me about it?” She removed her hand immediately from his mouth when she felt the moistness of his tongue against her palm. The gesture rendered her light-headed.

  Brock chuckled. “That is not what I was going to say. But now that you’ve brought the fact to light again…yes, you have already been kissed…and by me.” He smiled at her and added, “It was perfect, was it not?”

  Maria felt indignant. “Was it? I do not clearly remember. It must have been very common, or I would certainly remember it more distinctly.” She curtsied mockingly and took several steps toward the stable doors to leave.

  “Common?” he exclaimed, catching her arm. “Maria, there is nothing common about me.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Really? Do not you find that a rather smug opinion of yourself—”

  She was in his arms at once. “If you want me to kiss you again, Maria…all you have to do is request it of me,” he whispered.

  She watched Brock’s enticing mouth as he spoke. The roguish grin he wore sent her heart to hammering.

  “I did not say I…” she began, but as his lips brushed hers lightly, the words caught in her throat. He drew away a little and grinned again. The emotions being restrained within caused her to tremble in his embrace.

  “Please, do not tease me, Brock. You do not understand,” she pleaded.

  He was serious then and whispered, “Very well. I will not tease.” And his mouth seized her own, raining exhilaration on every shred in her body. Heated, moist, and driven, his kiss ravaged her sanity it seemed. She wanted nothing but to taste his mouth mingled with her own.

  For an instant, her mind pictured him as the towering lord’s son who had rescued her. It was simply inconceivable she was now in his arms receiving the blissful rain of his impassioned affections. Oh, how she did love him! How she basked in the feel of his touch and taste of his kisses!

  She wondered if he still perceived her as the small, neglected child he had found so long ago. Surely not. And when he broke from her and their eyes met, she was certain he had taken notice of her having grown up.

  “Now,” he said, pressing his mouth to hers one last time, “off to breakfast or Mother will think I’m corrupting her little darling.” Taking her hand, he led her to the house in silence as she followed, Maria wondering all the time if her weakened knees could continue to carry her.

  

  Shortly after midday meal, Brock entered the parlor, gravely somber. His lordship had entered the parlor, and Maria desperately missed the lighthearted man who had played at seducing her in the stables earlier that morning. Rebecca, her mother, and Lady Thorton looked up as he entered as well. Brock glanced to Maria, and she fancied the color had completely abandoned his face.

  Turning his attention to his mother, he said, “Jacob Peterson has arrived and is awaiting us in my study.”

  The smile faded from Lady Thorton’s face. She reached over, taking Maria’s hand firmly in her own. “Come along, darling,” was all she said.

  “Excuse us for a time, will
you, ladies?” Lady Thorton said as she left Rebecca and her mother in the parlor.

  The prickle returned once more to Maria’s neck. She stood and followed Brock and his mother across the entryway and into the study that had once belonged to Lord Richard Thorton and now held the secrets of his son, Lord Brockton Thorton.

  As they entered the room, Jacob Peterson cleared his throat and returned his spectacles to the bridge of his nose, having finished their polishing.

  “Let us all sit,” he said, motioning to the chairs situated before Brock’s writing table.

  Maria and Lady Thorton obeyed, but Maria watched as Brock strode to the window behind his writing table and stood as a tree, tall, unmoving, and stiff. “Get on with the task, Jacob,” he growled, folding his powerful arms across his broad chest.

  “Well, yes…of course. Well, then…Miss Holt…this concerns instructions given in your father’s will,” Jacob began.

  Maria nodded. Lady Thorton fidgeted with a handkerchief in her lap.

  “Yes. Well,” Jacob continued. “You see…as you well know, your father and the late Lord Thorton, being such close friends as they were…well…perhaps it would be best if I simply read the information directly from the will.”

  “Perhaps,” Brock grumbled.

  Jacob nervously cleared his throat and read, “‘…feel it would be in the best interest of my daughter that, at the age of eighteen, she be wed to Brockton Richard Thorton, son of Richard Benton Thorton. It is my wish that at the age of sixteen she be told of her betrothal, thus allowing her sufficient time to accept this arrangement. In my personal documents, I have included a letter to my daughter, Maria, further explaining the reasons for my agreeing to her betrothal to the younger Thorton when she was but three years of age.’”

  Jacob paused and handed a sealed envelope to Maria. He then said, “Miss Holt, I leave you now to consider this revelation.” He looked back at Brock, who still stood stiffly before the window.