Wanted: Lawyer (Silverpines Book 8) Page 8

  Chapter Eight

  Victoria ignored Luther as he ambled clumsily into the kitchen, still holding on to the walls for support. She was standing at the sink, scrubbing their lunch dishes with a brutality that suggested that each delicate china piece had done her a great personal wrong.

  “Will you speak with me?” he murmured.

  She ignored this too. What good would it do to attempt to explain herself? The whole of Silverpines thought that she had gone mad and she could not see how Luther’s reaction to discovering that she had not left her home for months on end would be any different than anyone else’s.

  “Victoria?” His voice was low and warm. It did not sound accusatory. It was full of a concern that she did not feel she deserved. How many other women had lost their husbands in the Silverpines disasters? Not only their husbands but their fathers and brothers as well. What right did she have to shut herself away from the world when they had to force themselves to go on living in it?

  “I do not wish to discuss the matter any further,” she stated. She tugged a fresh towel from the kitchen drawer and reached for the dripping plates. But his hand came down on top of hers. He had stood and reached across the counter to halt her jerking movements.

  “Will you please explain to me,” he said slowly, his blue eyes searching for hers. “Why the matter of visiting the bank is so very distressing to you? Do you not wish to discover who is behind all of this?”

  “It is not—I cannot simply—” her eyes were darting all around the room, carefully avoiding Luther’s piercing gaze. “It is not a matter of—”

  “Victoria,” Luther stepped around the counter and grasped her shoulders once more. “Tell me what is wrong.”

  She felt shame coloring her tone as she whispered. “I cannot make it to the bank. I have not been able to travel more than a few steps outside my home since the disasters. The world shakes… My vision blurs… I cannot breathe…” she trailed off, remembering the sick panic that had filled her each time she had attempted to leave her home. She was staring at the floor, afraid to look up into Luther’s face. Terrified that his eyes would confirm what she had suspected all along, that she had slipped into a state of utter madness that could not be undone.

  When he placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his, she closed her eyes briefly before meeting his gaze. She bit her lower lip, and then looked at him.

  He was smiling at her. It was not a mocking smile, nor was it sarcastic. His lips had pulled up in the corner in a characteristically kind expression.

  “It is all right to be afraid,” he said. “But the world is not such a terrifying place, Victoria. There is no reason to shut yourself away from it.”

  He was very close to her now. She could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. He was much too close… She could see every tangle in his unkempt beard. They were flowing towards one another, and some kind of excitement had filtered into her chest. What if Luther wanted her just as much as she wanted him? What if he craved her presence the way she had craved his? Why was she trying to fight this?

  Then suddenly, he pulled away from her. The cold air that slid in between them left Victoria feeling bereft. But Luther was peering out of the window behind her, staring up at the sky, which was growing dark as the sun sank below the mountainous horizon. “Come,” he said, holding out his good arm to her. “Let me show you something.”

  She hesitated a moment, and then she reached for him. As his fingers wrapped around hers, a wonderful jolt of electricity seemed to shoot up her arm. She took a deep breath, seized her coat from a hook by the back door, and allowed Luther to lead her outside.

  The night was quiet. Crickets chirped noisily all around them. A few yards away, she could see the lights of the apothecary flashing as Hattie, the town doctor, moved passed the windows.

  She was breathing hard through her nose. The air seemed to be taking a long while to reach her lungs. Luther’s grip tightened on her hand. He directed her into a shadowy corner of the back porch and sat carefully down on the wooden planks, grimacing as he did so.

  “Sit with me,” he said simply, and Victoria felt her knees trembling slightly as she obeyed him. The night was cool, and a fine breeze twisted her hair around her shoulders. When had it come loose from its pins? The darkness had settled around them now. There was no sound apart from the wind in the trees. A dog barked suddenly in the distance, and Victoria held her breath.

  “Listen,” murmured Luther in her ear, still holding tight to her hand. “There is not a day that goes by when something bad does not occur somewhere in this big ‘ole world. But the thing is, Victoria…” he squeezed her hand, and then gestured to the stars that were twinkling down on them. “There are a whole lot of good things that happen as well. It’s a balance, you see?”

  Victoria flinched as a nearby shop door slammed shut, but she was looking up at the stars, and her heart was fluttering in her chest. How long had it been since she had acknowledged the glitter of the stars?

  “One good thing,” Luther continued, glancing at her in the shadows. “Just one good thing, blots out one hundred of the bad.”

  Victoria shivered in the cold, and he tugged her closer to his side. They sat there like that for a long time, gazing up at the stars, until Victoria’s breathing calmed.

  At last Luther whispered, “I cannot tell you that there is nothing to be afraid of in this world,” he bent his head and pressed it against hers. “But there is a heck of a lot more good in it than there is bad.”

  Victoria smiled. Sitting there in the darkness with the sounds of the night’s silence loud in her ears and Luther’s warm hand in hers, she felt truly calm for the first time in months.

  She went to sleep in the sitting room with a smile on her face, having helped Luther hobble back up the stairs. He had over-exerted himself today. His face was pale and drained by the time they managed to maneuver him back onto the bed.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, feeling the scratch of his whiskery cheek against her forehead, “A shave, I think. If you feel up for it.”

  Luther frowned at her, but she grinned and doused the light before he could protest.

  She had made up a makeshift bed for herself on the settee. Her back was rather sore from having slept there the past few days, but it was easier to have Luther in the guest room, out of sight of the foyer. She lay there, staring through a gap in the curtains at the street outside, wondering about Jaxsom, Luther, Mr. Foswick, and a number of other irritating things that stole her smile and kept her awake long after Luther’s soft snores had floated down the stairs.

  She had a very strange dream. She was sitting outside on the front porch, watching carts and horses roll by and waving at the townsfolk that passed. In her hands she held a bouquet of roses, and she knew they were a gift from Jaxsom. She got to her feet, and her skirts swirled around her ankles as though she were sinking. The porch had turned into the ocean, and she was swimming with all her strength, but only sinking farther into the water. She was beneath it, looking up at the surface as the light disappeared. And then the water turned to dirt. She choked. And awoke lying in her bed. Jaxsom was sitting there, smiling at her and talking to her. The windows were thrown open, and the curtains were dancing in the breeze… she pressed her lips against his, and his mouth roved over hers in that familiar, wonderful way that made her heart ache. She pulled away, wanting to see his face. She wanted to tell him she forgave him for something bad that he had done. But when she looked up at her husband, she saw Luther’s face.

  He was grinning in that charming, easy way he had, and his blue eyes were like pools of fresh rainwater. She wanted to sink into them. He kissed her. Took possession of her, and Victoria fell into his arms with abandon.

  ∞∞∞

  Luther awoke in the night, dizzy and confused. It took him several moments to remember where he was and what had happened to him. He finally recalled his predicament when his shoulder gave a sharp jab. He had fallen asleep on his side,
but had evidently rolled onto his back as he slept. He groped for the light on the bedside table. A flame burst into life, and he blinked in the brightness. Then he glanced down at the white sheets around him and saw that they were dotted with spots of blood. He cursed softly as he flung the sheets back and stepped onto the cold floor. He was still wearing the Mayor’s too-short trousers. He tugged at them irritably as he made his way to the washroom. The mirror above the sink showed him a pale, scraggly, bearded individual with sleep in his eyes. He splashed cold water onto his face and looked around for the bandages Victoria had used on him a few days before, although he had no idea how he might manage to tend to his injury without her.

  He could feel the blood trickling down his back now. He had to do something. Gripping the wall, he stumbled back out onto the landing and to the door at the end of the hall. He knocked softly and mumbled her name to the crack in the door.

  There was no reply. He knocked again and then listened for a response. Nothing.

  He turned the knob. “Victoria,” he whispered into the room. But the moonlight fell onto an empty bed covered in a patterned quilt. “Victoria?”

  He cocked his head to the side in confusion, taking another step into the room and looking around. She wasn’t here. Where had she gone?

  A sudden, sick fear gripped him. What if Mace had come for her? What if he had taken her while Luther slept?

  He shuffled hurriedly back down the hall, slipped down the first two steps and gripped the banister for support.

  “Victoria?” his voice was growing louder as panic flooded his gut.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  A sweet, warm wave of relief hit him at the sound of her voice.

  She sat up on the sofa as Luther slid to a halt in the foyer, his heart hammering in his throat. She was wearing a lace, silken night gown. The sleeve had slipped from her shoulder. Her hair was tied back in a long braid. “What is it?” she repeated sleepily, staring at him with bleary eyes.

  He gulped. He could just see her in the dim moonlight seeping through the curtains, and she was beautiful. He had never seen another woman that called to his blood like this. Her pale skin was shining through the darkness, and her full lips were beckoning to him, even as her brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Luther?” the sudden sharpness in her voice pulled him back to himself. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the sheets and bedding on the sofa cushions.

  “What are you doing?” he asked her.

  Her frown grew more pronounced. “Until a few moments ago, I was sleeping,” she grouched. “What do you want?”

  “But why are you sleeping here?” he asked bemusedly.

  “Does it matter? You’re bleeding on the carpet.”

  Luther looked around. “Errr— yes. I am.”

  “Well, let us not stand here like a pair of stuffed hogs,” she instructed. “Turn your back. I haven’t brought down my robe.” Luther did as he was bid, noticing as he did so, that there was a large gilded mirror on the wall before him. He looked away as Victoria climbed to her feet and rounded the sofa, but his eyes flew back to her reflection as though drawn by some otherworldly force.

  She wrapped a blanket about herself, her back to him. As she turned about, he redirected his gaze, pretending he hadn’t looked at all, as though he was unaffected by the sight of her covered in lace and silk, her form illuminated in the moonlight. He blessed the shadows around them, thankful that she couldn’t see the red flush dotting his neck and chest.

  “Come here.” She led him into the kitchen. It was slow going. He had likely done himself further harm rushing downstairs to find her, and his shoulder was throbbing fiercely. She vanished and returned a moment later with the box full of bandages. “You best sit still,” she said as she reached for his wrappings, and if he hadn’t been in so much pain, he might have noticed that her cheeks were flaming the same brilliant shade of scarlet as his.

  She confined him to his bed the next day. Though it irked him that she had forbade him to leave the guest room, Luther understood her reasoning. He was dizzier than he had been in days.

  It was afternoon when she re-entered his room with a set of shears and a straight razor in hand and fixed him with a ‘no-nonsense’ sort of glare.

  With a sigh, Luther carefully negotiated his way out from beneath the sheets and sat up. She helped him onto the stool before the vanity.

  “How long has it been since you had a proper shave?” she asked irritably. She seemed especially cross with him today, and Luther wondered if it was because he had woken her in the dead of the night, or if she was simply frustrated that he had worn himself out the day before.

  “Couple of months?” he guessed, staring up at her reflection in the mirror. “Maybe more.”

  She snorted.

  He grinned.

  “What?” she barked, on catching sight of his face.

  “It is just… that you are never so improper as you are when you disapprove of another’s impropriety,” he said, still grinning at her. He mimicked her snort of disgust and she slapped him lightly on the shoulder. But her frown had turned into a smirk.

  Luther watched interestedly as bits and pieces of his hair and beard floated to the floor around them. Slowly, the face of a much younger man emerged from beneath the tangled beard.

  “Lie your head back,” she instructed, working the shaving brush into a lather in a small tin bowl. A moment later, she painted his face with soap and carefully began to work the blade against the surface of his skin. She moved slowly, pausing at the end of each stroke to wipe the razor blade on a fresh towel she had draped over her shoulder.

  Luther, for his part, was captivated by the nearness of her. He could smell the sweetness of her skin, and he quite wanted to wrap his hands around her trim waist and tug her onto his lap. His pulse was thrumming madly in his ears. Could she see it beating there against the skin of his throat? Could she tell how she affected him?

  He was trying so hard to hide it. He shouldn’t feel these things for her. He couldn’t. But he did. This lovely, viral, snark of a woman… she was stirring feelings within him that he had never before experienced or anticipated. She made him want to be better, to be worthy of her.

  He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and chase away her demons. He wanted to erase his past with her touch. He wanted to possess her, to claim her, to make her his.

  He sighed.

  “We’re nearly finished,” she said, smiling, and clearly misinterpreting his sigh. “Be patient with me. Jaxsom was always a stickler for those stray hairs. I had time to hone my skill.”

  “My Dear Vicky, I would not dream of displaying signs of impatience while you hold a blade to my throat.”

  She raised it from his skin then and pointed it at him. “If you call me ‘Vicky’ one more time Luther Garrison…” but she ruined the effect of her threat with a crooked twitch of her lips.

  “There,” she said at last, scrubbing a stray bit of foam from his upper lip with her thumb, “That’s much better then, isn’t it?”

  Luther wasn’t aware of deciding to touch her then, he only knew that he wanted her hand to linger just a little longer against the new smoothness of his cheek. As she made to pull her hand away, his left hand caught it. He held it there, closing his eyes and pressing his face into her palm, inhaling the sweet, warm heat of her skin.

  When he opened his eyes, she was breathing very slowly, inches away. There was a look of tenderness in her eyes that he had never seen there before. Abandoning all reason, Luther drew her closer to him, and she came, willingly, as if she were drawn to him by a thread.

  “We should not…” but her protests were very feeble. “Truly, we should not,” she whispered.

  He reached for the back of her head and wove his hands into the roots of her hair.

  “Stop,” she whispered without heat. Her voice was a sweet, low purr.

  He shook his head forcefully from side
to side. Her lips were inches away from his. “Ask me to stop as though you truly mean it,” he hissed. “Tell me that I must…”

  She inhaled sharply as his hand left her hair and stroked down her spine.

  “You must,” she repeated, and then her lips came down against his.

  His breath caught. She was kissing him fiercely. Passionately. Her arms wound around his neck, and Luther was kissing her back, and there was blissful oblivion in her touch. She was everything all around him. She was all that he could feel.

  Her lips were softer and warmer than he’d dreamed, like pressing his face into a beam of morning sunlight, and they roved over his insistently, claiming him as much as he wanted to claim her. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that she would not be kissing him if she truly knew what he was, but he shut it out. He silenced it and shoved it into a locked trunk in the corner of his brain. She was here, now, in his arms, pressing her body against his…

  A loud pounding sounded downstairs, and Victoria leapt from his embrace as though she had been scorched. She backed into the dressing table and the bowl of shaving soap went clattering across the floor, splattering the wood with foam.

  “I—” she was flushed. His hand had tangled her hair.

  The knocking rang once more through the house.

  “Leave it,” he murmured, reaching for her.

  But her eyes had blurred with panic. “I cannot very well act as though I am not home!” she squeaked. “The entire town knows that I have not yet managed to leave my house.” She bent forward to peer at herself in the dressing table mirror. “Heavens, I look affright.” She straightened her curls, brushed a hand across her forehead, and flew out the bedroom door, raising her finger to her lips as she slid it closed behind her.

  Luther sat there, with nothing but cool, empty space where her warmth had been, feeling as though something wonderful had just cascaded over a cliff-top, where he could never again reach it.