Page 45 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

Noelle hurried to the refuge of her room and closed the door behind her, leaning back against it, as if to block out everything else. Why in the world did passion have to come bursting out of her with this man?

He, of course, had been sensible. Logical. Cool and rational. He hadn’t been swept away by passion. Carlisle Thorne would never let his emotions or desires impel him to do something impulsive and irresponsible. It was silly for her to feel a sting of hurt, as if he had rejected her. He had been right, and she should be glad that one of them, at least, had enough sense to pull back.

An affair with him would be the worst kind of folly. They lived in the same house. It would impose a terrible strain on them both to hide their secret from everyone. And what happened if—no, when, for she must be realistic—the affair turned sour or Carlisle decided to marry someone suitable? That was the way of the aristocracy—one must marry someone of equal lineage and produce an heir. How would she be able to bear living there? Seeing him with another woman?

Noelle had to be sensible. She could not let down her guard again. Carlisle would keep his passion in check—he was, above all, a man who believed in control—and she must do the same. It would be difficult, but she had done far more difficult things, surely.

On these sensible thoughts, Noelle undressed and went to bed. But she could not sleep, only lay awake, listening to the sounds of the house and the faint noises from the street outside. It was late when she heard Carlisle’s footsteps on the stairs and in the corridor. His steps did not pause as he walked past her door; she wondered if he even glanced in that direction, and what was in his head if he did.

She thought of the long journey to Dorset ahead of them. They would have to break the journey at an inn tomorrow night. Surely the situation there would be less fraught with the tension that had permeated the air this evening. They would be in a public place; there wouldn’t be the enforced intimacy of this evening. And she would be able to ignore these wayward feelings for the last man on earth she should desire.

WHEN THEY SETTLED in at the inn that night, Noelle found, to her dismay, that being alone with Carlisle among strangers made for an even more intimate situation than had existed at the London house. There, the servants had been a constant, inhibiting presence, a reminder of the gossip that would so easily spread. But here Noelle and Carlisle would be gone in the morning, never to see any of the guests or servants again.

Noelle had envisioned having dinner with him in the public room of the inn, realizing too late that aristocrats did not dine with the public. She and Carlisle ate in a private room, the food brought in by the inn’s servants and left on the table, with no hovering footman to serve them. They were truly alone in a way they never were at home.

Noelle was all too aware of Carlisle sitting beside her, just as she had been all day long in the carriage. She watched his lean, supple fingers as he carved the roast, and she couldn’t help but think of those fingers on her body the day before. The play of muscles beneath his jacket spoke of the strength of his arms pulling her into him. Even his perfect folded neck cloth—and how did he manage to look so tidy and correct after riding in the carriage all day?—made her remember the night in the library, when his throat was bare and she could see the hollow of his throat, somehow vulnerable and enticing.

Noelle tried to concentrate on the food, which was plain but plentiful and good, but she kept glancing over at him. Remembering. Imagining. The moment she finished, she claimed weariness and fled to the safety of her room.

But even there, she could not escape Carlisle’s presence. Unlike the Rutherford homes, where their sleeping quarters were separated by several other bedrooms, here Carlisle’s room lay next to hers, separated by only a thin wall. She could hear him pacing about and knew when he left the room. From her window, she could see him strolling aimlessly about the yard. She wondered if he, too, was thinking how near she was, how easy it would be to slip into her room, with no one the wiser. And tonight, when she heard his footsteps in the hallway, he paused outside her door for one long, aching moment before he continued to his room.

It was not a situation that was conducive to sleep.

They left early the next morning. Carlisle looked as if he had spent as restless a night as she had, which gave Noelle at least some small measure of satisfaction. She was tired enough that she fell asleep, her head resting against the wall of the carriage, but she came back awake with a start when the vehicle bounced in and out of a rut.

She glanced across the carriage at Carlisle, who was watching her with a faintly amused expression. “I warned you it was a poor road.”

“I wonder what Lady Lockwood would have to say about it,” Noelle muttered, and he laughed.

The roads grew progressively worse until finally they turned onto a narrow dirt lane that took them rather alarmingly along the edge of a cliff. The stormy gray sea crashed on the rocks below. It seemed a desolate spot, with little vegetation other than a few scraggly bushes and tufts of wild grass. Finally, the carriage pulled to a stop, and Noelle had her first view of Sloane Rutherford’s home.

She leaned forward, staring unabashedly. “Oh, my...it really is a great moldering ruin.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SITTING ON A cliff above the sea, the house was long and tall and stark, built of blocks of gray stone darkened by lichen and time into a shade just this side of charcoal. It had obviously once been a grand castle, but while the nearest section of the building was still intact, the opposite end of the house was a tumbled mass of stone, the ceiling having caved in to leave partial walls still standing here and there. The remains of a turret thrust up like a jagged spire.

“Why did he buy this?” It was compelling in a bleak way, but Noelle could not imagine wanting to actually live in it.

Carlisle let out a short laugh. “Sloane is known to have a peculiar sense of humor.”

“He bought it as a jest?”

Carlisle half shrugged. “I think it was more of a rude gesture. His reputation is dark and ruined, and the house looks like the lair of a wicked count. It’s a poke in the ton’s eye, so to speak.”

“So outrageous it’s a kind of defiance.” Noelle studied it again. “I can understand that. He’s embarrassed, and he wants to show the world that rejects him that he doesn’t care...which only proves how much he does care.”

“Embarrassed?” Carlisle looked amused. “I’m not sure Sloane has ever experienced a moment of shame. If he did, he wouldn’t have subjected his family to such scandal.”

Except for a few wind-shaped trees and scrubby bushes, there was no greenery around the house. Noelle could understand why when she stepped out of the carriage and her bonnet was knocked back by the wind. It was not a setting for growing anything so tender as flowers or vines.

When a servant admitted them into the house, however, they found an interior as elegantly luxurious as the exterior was rough and grim. The entry hall was laid in marble, and an intricately carved Jacobean staircase of dark walnut led upstairs. Matching velvet benches stood on either side of the front door, and a few graceful statues and a narrow table containing more objects of art were scattered about the rest of the area.

The footman led them into the large room that opened off the entry. They were not kept waiting long before a middle-aged man hurried into the room, saying cheerfully, “Carlisle, my boy, it’s been an age since I’ve seen you. What brings you all the way out here?” He leaned in confidingly as he shook Carlisle’s hand. “I don’t suppose you happened to bring any whiskey with you, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“Pity. Ah, well, happy to see you anyway. And who, may I ask, is this lovely woman you’ve brought with you?” He smiled at Noelle.