The part of the estate that had once been the abbey erupted out of the ground just outside the study window. A series of wide gothic arches stretched up toward the sky, like the skeleton of some huge, forgotten creature whose bones had been picked clean. Roses were everywhere, crawling up the house as if to tear the stone apart. The bushes sprung from the ruins in wild disarray. Crimson blooms sprouted from the sprawling bramble of thorns. Not a hint of pink, white, or any other color. It gave the illusion Rose Abbey was dripping blood.
Most disturbing and not the least welcoming.
The wind flung an untrimmed mass of twisting, torn buds against the window, the thorns scratching along the glass with an eerie sound, making Edwina’s teeth rattle. The house shuddered as rain lashed against the panes.
“I won’t send you back to Hampshire tonight,” Bascomb said in a grim tone. “Not in this weather.”
“How very kind of you.” Edwina turned back from the window to observe him once more. Her skin tingled, the earlier warmth from his regard still lingering over her skin. The moment she’d been ushered into the study and caught sight of the large male sitting behind the desk, a shiver had cascaded down the length of her arms. At first, Edwina had thought it only the chill of the day, of the horrible rasping from the rosebushes as they clawed at the house.
But it was Bascomb.
The last time Edwina’s body had hummed in the presence of a man was years ago. Just before her family had fallen into genteel poverty and her hopes of wedding without a dowry had disappeared. Now, at the age of twenty-nine, Edwina was an avowed spinster. Such feelings as Bascomb now aroused had been firmly pushed to the back of her mind. Locked away. Examined only late at night when Edwina was alone in her bed.
Such instant…arousalfor Bascomb was frankly more unsettling than Rose Abbey itself.
He wasn’t even handsome, at least in the conventional sense. His features were savagely hewn. Those glowing green-gray eyes, far too beautiful to belong to a man, were set atop bold slashes of cheekbones. Inky black hair, straight and thick, fell to brush the tops of his broad shoulders. No cravat. No coat. Waistcoat hanging open. His shirt unbuttoned enough to give a glimpse of lightly tanned skin at his throat.
Edwina shivered again.
His entire appearance, including the wicked scar stretching down the left side of his face, gave Bascomb the look of a pirate. All he was lacking was an eye patch and a parrot perched on his shoulder.
She looked down at her poor, battered half boots. Bascomb possessed a potent, striking masculinity. Few women would be immune to him. Edwina certainly wasn’t. Resolutely, she pushed such thoughts aside and lifted her gaze to his once more.
Lightning flashed outside the window, throwing the ruins of the abbey and abandoned church with its collection of gravestones into stark relief. Thunder shook the windowpanes once more.
Bascomb muttered a string of curses under his breath. Most had to do with Edwina. None were the least polite, and the last few caused her cheeks to pink slightly. She was no prude. She hadn’t been a maid in many years, but…well,good Lord.
“My lord.” She gave him an unflinching look, determined to brave this out despite her attraction to Bascomb, and his attempts to intimidate her. “Did you not state your need for a secretary? Someone who could organize your affairs, handle the ledgers, and reply to correspondence? Despite my—” Edwina searched for the proper word.
“Femaleness?”
“Yes. That.” She clasped her fingers tighter. “The polite thing to do would be to at least allow me the opportunity to show you how I can be of assistance.” There was a plea hidden in her words, the desperation seeping through her show of bravery no matter how hard she struggled to keep it at bay. If Bascomb turned her away, Edwina wasn’t sure what she would do.
“What about me,Collins, strikes you as the least polite?” Massive fingers drummed atop the desk. Thick. Blunt. How would they feel tugging at the buttons of her dress? Or possibly searching beneath her skirts?
Good Lord. Something is terribly wrong with me.
“Did anyone mention to you,” Bascomb grumbled, “why I’ve run through almost every earnestmalesecretary in England? Why I’ve had so much difficulty,Collins?” There was a tiny, almost invisible tug at his lips. The puckered skin bisecting his left cheek danced.
Wretch. He’s enjoying my discomfort.
Edwina straightened her shoulders. “I assume their rapid departures have something to do with your charming personality, my lord,” she snapped. The impolite response was the result of her wet clothes, growling stomach, and unexpected attraction to Bascomb. It was certainly not the load of tripe that McDeaver, the owner of the pony cart that had transported her here, had filled her ears with during their blessedly brief acquaintance.
Something like approval gleamed in Bascomb’s eyes at her sharp retort. “I’m sure McDeaver took great pleasure informing you of what to expect upon your arrival.”
“From you, my lord? Or Rose Abbey?”
McDeaverhadtaken morbid delight in relaying the gruesome tale of Rose Abbey. As had the wife of the tavern owner who’d brought Edwina tea while she’d waited for McDeaver to be located. And one of the laborers at the table next to Edwina had seen fit to embellish the tale and give his opinion. The denizens of Portsmith had eyed Edwina with pity while she’d bitten into the stale biscuits served with her tea, whispering about the terrors that awaited her at Rose Abbey.
Haunted. Cursed. Someone may have even said the abbey stood at the gates to hell.
Bascomb’s beautiful eyes roved over Edwina once more. It appeared his interest was not solely related to whether she could organize his correspondence properly.
Another burst of heat stretched out across her limbs.
“You’ve got spine, Collins. I grant you that.”
“So I’ve been told.” The trait, while useful when dealing with a rude gentleman she must compel to keep her on as his secretary, made Edwina an unsuitable candidate for marriage. Her lack of a proper dowry didn’t help. Passably pretty looks combined with a sharp tongue weren’t enough to sway any gentleman to wed her without something more for their trouble.
