Make Me Love You Page 6

  He laughed. “Why? And here I thought you wanted to meet him today.”

  The devil she did. That sick feeling was back, churning in her belly. Dread. She ought to be used to it when she had lived most of her life with it for one reason or another.

  She still couldn’t seem to move and distracted him from noticing by asking, “What exactly is your post here?”

  “I’m a jack-of-all-trades.” He grinned. “I do whatever Dom wants done.”

  She was surprised to hear him speak so familiarly of his lord and to refer to him by a nickname. “You care about him?”

  “Friends usually do.”

  If she hadn’t just met other Biscanes who had claimed Gabriel as a relative, she might have thought he was minor gentry who had latched on to a benefactor. Robert had had one such friend, as hard as it was to believe he had any, who often came home with him and stayed as a guest. Servants, however, didn’t usually consider their employers friends. She’d thought she was unique among the nobility in befriending servants. Her family certainly didn’t. Good grief, did she and Viscount Rothdale have this in common, too?

  “So he’s a likable fellow? I’m so—” Her mouth snapped shut when she saw all humor leave his expression. The knot in her belly tightened. And he didn’t answer her!

  “I don’t mean to rush you, Lady Whitworth, but he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “I’m not moving a step without hearing your answer first.”

  Gabriel sighed. “You must know the reason why you are at Rothdale Manor. The hatred for your brother runs deep here.”

  “You share it?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Robert and I don’t speak. I don’t think even my parents know what he did to cause your lord to challenge him to so many duels. Actually, I think Robert fobbed them off by calling it a ‘trifle.’ ”

  Gabriel looked angry when he muttered, “Despicable blackguard.”

  She wholeheartedly agreed, but she wasn’t going to share that with a servant. Maybe he would tell her what had made the viscount challenge her brother. “What did he do?”

  “That isn’t for me to say. I’m sure Dominic will tell you if you ask—actually, you might not want to broach that subject with him, at least not today.”

  “So I’m to be tarred with the same feather as my brother?” she demanded. “Is that what I can expect from this meeting with Lord Wolfe?”

  “I honestly don’t know what you can expect. But if he sends someone else to find you, neither of us will like the results. Do start walking toward the house, please.”

  She did get her feet moving, though slowly, and tried not to dwell on what was about to happen in that house. She turned to Gabriel for distraction. “You have a lot of family that work here.”

  “Not a lot. A few cousins, an uncle, my mother. The Cotterills and the Jakemans have more. Our ancestors lived in and around Rothdale village. You can see it from the west tower, or could, before the tower almost burned down. No one goes in there now. My father was the butler here before he died. He wanted me to take over his position, tried to groom me for it when I was a child, but I was too busy having fun with Dominic to want to spend time doing that! So a new butler was hired after my father died.”

  “What caused the fire?”

  He followed her gaze up to the tower and said solemnly, “Dominic did.”

  “Quite the nasty accident. What was he doing up there?”

  “Setting the fire.”

  She gasped. “Deliberately?”

  “Yes. It was his sister’s favorite playroom when she was a child. The year she died, she took to going up there again, but not to play. She would just stand in front of the window for hours at a time. She died that fall.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We all are. Everyone here loved her.”

  “Does Lord Wolfe have any other family?”

  “His mother and a few distant female cousins, but he’s the last Wolfe to carry the name—and wants to keep it that way.”

  Chapter Eleven

  BROOKE WAS STILL DRAGGING her feet by the time they got upstairs, desperate now for a delay that would keep her from entering that room at the end of the hall. She stopped for the umpteenth time, asking Gabriel, “Why did you put me in a room that connects with the viscount’s?”

  He glanced back to say, “As I told Dominic, it will save us the trouble of moving your belongings after the marriage. But I assure you the door is locked—now.”

  That would have been a relief if she weren’t so anxious. “Do you know for a fact there’s to be a marriage?”

  He didn’t answer. All he said was “One of these family rooms was his sister’s. It is locked and will always be so. One is his old room—”

  She interrupted hopefully, “Instead of telling me, why don’t you show me?”

  “Perhaps another time. He is waiting.”

  He marched ahead of her and opened the dreaded door. She glanced at the one to her room and wondered if she could barricade herself in there. But did she really want to appear cowardly? She was cowardly! No, she wasn’t, she reminded herself.

  It took courage to live with her family, and cunning, and masterful avoidance and deception skills. But at home she knew all the variables and exactly what she had to deal with. This was different. This was the unknown. Her behavior now might affect the rest of her life. First impressions were important. She didn’t want to be labeled a coward here—if she would be staying. It was time to find that out.

  She stepped into the room, her head bowed respectfully. A movement to her left drew her eyes to a fellow in a chair, wiping sleep from his eyes. He quickly stood up and bowed to her, muttering, “M’lady.”

  In a movement to her right, yet another man, this one middle-aged and dressed more formally like a butler, came around a corner on the east side of the suite.

  He bowed, too, and offered a respectful “m’lady” before a third voice said commandingly, “Leave us.”

  She got out of the way of the exodus, stepping farther into the room, closer to the alcove, and winced when she heard the door close behind her. She knew vaguely where Lord Wolfe had spoken from, somewhere in front of her, but without looking up, she saw only the foot of a bed in that direction.

  Then a dog ran over to her and sniffed at her shoes. Her instinct was to crouch down to get acquainted, but that would reveal that she liked animals, and she didn’t want to reveal that much about herself yet. The dog stood almost three feet high and had a long snout and a short coat of brown-and-gray hair with light cream on the neck and underbelly. She couldn’t tell what breed it was, but she imagined that with a snout that long, it would sound like a wolf when it howled.

  When the animal sat down beside her, she was bold enough to ask, “What is his name?”

  “Wolf.”

  “He’s not actually . . . ?”

  “No. I found him on the moors a few years back, still a pup, but half-dead from starvation. He thought he could chew on my leg. I liked his determination not to die so I brought him home and fed him.”

  “Does he howl on the moors?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed. So you heard that rumor?”

  “Yes, but I paid it no heed.”

  “Come here.”

  She tensed. Well, there really was no help for this. And they’d just had a somewhat normal conversation. He might not be as cold and vengeful as she’d been expecting him to be. Maybe her brother had lied and he’d been the one demanding the duels, while Lord Wolfe was just an innocent in Robert’s vendetta for some imagined slight. It was possible. She and the viscount might both be victims of Robert’s vicious nature.

  She moved forward some more, but she was still hesitant to look at him. When she did, she would instantly know his nature. She was good at reading people, a side effect of not letting them read her. But she wasn’t seeing his feet in front of her and she’d be reach
ing the wall pretty soon!

  Then she did see them, at the foot of the bed. One was under a sheet, and the other, a big bare foot, lay on top of the sheet. He was receiving her while he was in bed?! That was so inappropriate it boggled the mind. She was mortified and prayed her cheeks weren’t showing it.

  She raised her eyes and took in his face and his whole body. Her red cheeks couldn’t be helped now. He sat propped up in bed against a dozen pillows, one leg entirely exposed! His whole chest was bare as well. The bedsheet was draped over his hips. She didn’t miss the leeches on his left thigh, which explained why his leg was uncovered.

  She saw too much with that first glance so she kept her eyes on his face. She definitely wasn’t expecting this. He was more handsome than her brother, and she’d thought no one could overshadow Robert in looks. But this man did in a wild way. The bare shoulders, the upper chest matted with black hair, the thick neck and arms, were a study in stark masculinity. She’d never before seen this much bare male skin.

  Did he have to be such a big, strapping specimen? Wasn’t she intimidated enough without having to worry about his size, too? She wouldn’t be able to outrun legs as long as his, and she definitely wouldn’t be able to get out of arms that strong. And why was a confrontation with him the only thing that came to mind at the sight of so much brawn and muscle? Because he really did look wild.

  It was the hair, long, black, very, very unkempt. And the feral eyes. They were light brown with many golden flecks. Amber eyes—like those a wolf might have. She had to bite back a hysterical giggle. But who could blame her for being fanciful? Fraught by shredded nerves, fears, rumors of wolf men and curses, of course her imagination was going to run rampant.

  “Brooke Whitworth?”

  She banished the wolf from the bed and focused on the man. “Why aren’t you sure?”

  “You don’t have warts.”

  “No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”

  “Gabe alluded . . .”

  “Did he? Shame on him. Does he often tease you like that?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  She smiled, but only to herself. “You must not mind if he still has his job.”

  “Unfortunately, we’ve been friends since childhood, so he takes advantage of that.”

  “That is an odd way to describe a longtime friend . . . as ‘unfortunate.’ ”

  “He is likely the only one who will cry when I’m gone. I regret that.”

  What a sad thing to say, as if he might want her sympathy. Or was he just testing her to see if she had any? When his expression hardened, she decided it was neither. He probably hadn’t intended to reveal something like that to her, so she quickly said, “You have a wound?”

  “A gift from your brother that refuses to heal.”

  He said “brother” as if speaking of the most reviled thing imaginable. They really did have something in common, but she didn’t want to talk about her feelings for Robert.

  Instead she glanced at the leeches on his thigh and said, “He wasn’t aiming for your heart, was he?”

  “I think it’s obvious what he aimed for.”

  A crude gentleman? No, he was no gentleman at all, or he was attempting to shock her. The latter was more likely, but it didn’t work. The long bare leg shocked her. The bare chest shocked her. That her brother had tried to make sure there would be no more Wolfes didn’t. But that wouldn’t be Robert’s goal. Robert would have aimed to kill.

  So she said, “I disagree. What’s obvious is that he has no more skill in shooting pistols than you do.”

  She realized too late that she’d just insulted him, so she was surprised when he admitted, “I’m not in the habit of dueling.”

  “That’s too bad. With more experience you could have saved us both this . . .” She didn’t finish. Telling him she didn’t want this marriage was revealing too much.

  But he guessed anyway, saying drily, “Unwanted marriage?”

  She could have lied, but she chose not to answer. She’d meant she wished his aim, not Robert’s, had been true, but there was no point in clarifying that. He was going to think the worst of her simply by association. She was a Whitworth, the sister of the man he’d thrice tried to kill.

  But she couldn’t hold back her curiosity. “Why didn’t you practice? Wouldn’t that be the logical course of action, practice first then issue your challenge?”

  “Rage doesn’t acknowledge logic.”

  Well, for some people such as him it might not, but—oh, very well, he had a point.

  “Are you even old enough to marry?”

  The question, out of context, drew her eyes back to his. The anger appeared to be under control for the moment, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t getting a sense of the man yet, other than that he was quick to anger, quick to blunder, and was not giving her a welcoming smile. Perhaps he never smiled. But if he was going to be civil again, she could be as well.

  “I don’t think anyone cares if I am or I am not—certainly not the Prince Regent, who is demanding that our families be joined in marriage—but as it happens, I will be eighteen in a few weeks.”

  “And what would a spoiled earl’s daughter as young as you know about marriage?”

  She stiffened only a little. “I understand what’s expected of me.”

  “Do you? I highly doubt it. Your mind is more likely filled with misconceptions, but how could it not be, when half the ton beget their children without ever taking off their nightclothes?”

  Her mouth dropped open. She quickly closed it.

  “Come closer.”

  She didn’t. With two feet between her and the bed, she was close enough to a naked wolf. They weren’t married yet. He was not getting any samples. . . .

  “Already you show that you don’t know the first thing about marriage, or did your mother fail to mention that above all else, you will obey your husband?”

  She knew that rule, but she also knew that without some sort of mutual respect and devotion a marriage could end up being quite odious—for her. But what the deuce was he doing? Just making sure that she would be a dutiful wife? Or making sure that she knew that being his dutiful wife wasn’t going to be pleasant?

  She took a step forward before he made the demand again. But when he just stared at her, waiting, she knew he wanted more. Decide! Call his bluff? Be compliant? Remind him . . . no, she had to marry him or else her family would lose their lands and title. He had to marry her for the same reasons. They might as well already be joined.

  She took the step that brought her upper thighs to the edge of his mattress. His arm closest to her slipped around her waist and up her back as he drew her closer. It was so sudden she almost sprawled across his chest, but caught herself in time, placing one hand on the bed’s headboard above his shoulder. But he was still pressing her closer, and his arm had too much strength for her to resist. Her mouth got captured by his, and the heavy arm around her back kept her there.

  He kissed her. His anger made it seem passionate. It was passionate. It was illuminating, a promise of what could be had in his bed if he accepted her. A promise that there would be no clothes between them if he did, that he was a lusty man who would take what he wanted when he wanted it. Her heart pounded erratically, loudly. Her senses were assailed with the rasp of a persistent tongue, the scrape of stubble on his upper lip against her skin, fingers at the back of her neck that caused her to shiver, the smell of whiskey on his breath. She was in no way repulsed, rather she was lured to the forbidden.

  But she quickly stepped back when his arm left her back, his tongue left her mouth. She imagined he’d just gotten bored with the lesson, and she didn’t doubt that was all it was.

  He verified that when he said, “That’s what you can expect.”

  She wanted to bolt from the room, but she stood her ground. She knew what her father would do to her if she refused to marry Lord Wolfe. Tucking an errant wisp of hair back into her coiffure as she took a deep breath to calm
herself, she noticed the glass and the bottle of Scotch whiskey on his bedside table. The wolf drank during the day? That didn’t bode well. Or was he taking the whiskey as medicine for his wound?

  “Are you in pain?”

  “Why are you still here?” he grumbled. His golden brown-eyes narrowed on her. “Does it matter?”

  “If you are a drunkard, then, yes, it would.”

  “Then, yes, I am a drunkard.”

  She tsked. Was no part of this meeting going to go well? They’d almost had a normal conversation when he’d asked her age. She tried to get back to that.

  “I told you when my birthday is. When is yours?”

  “It was last week.”

  “So you just turned twenty-five and expect to die at some point during the next twelve months?”

  “Or, thanks to your brother, in the next few days from this wound. But how do you know of the curse?”

  “Last night at the inn near here we heard more’n one rumor.”

  “And that didn’t scare you off?”

  “I don’t believe in such things, so it wouldn’t.”

  “Too bad.”

  She stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You are sister to the man responsible for my sister’s death. You will never find welcome here.”

  Good God, what had Robert done? It took a moment for her to absorb how much this man hated her. Of course he did, if Robert had harmed his sister.

  “What did he do?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know!”

  Brooke wasn’t sure what to do in the face of such rage. If she wasn’t going to be welcome here, did that mean he had no intention of marrying her? So why had he agreed to see her? And why had he tried to shock her with that kiss?

  “Should I leave Rothdale?”

  “Yes.”

  She gasped and turned, about to head straight for the door. If she’d done so more quickly, she would have missed his adding, “If that is your choice.”

  She paused to say bitterly, “You know very well that choice isn’t mine.”

  “Nor mine!” he growled behind her.