Seduced in September Read online

  When she came to the Greek folly, it looked quite forlorn in this wintery landscape. That pure white marble ought to be under a blazing Mediterranean sun, with a hot breeze running through all those open columns.

  This was the farthest point on the lake trail from the house. If she kept on, she’d come out near the stables. If she turned back, she could return to the house without ever seeing the stables. And without anyone in the stables seeing her… should someone be looking.

  Her skin seemed to come to attention, her senses prickling at the mere thought of seeing him.

  A prudent girl, one who’d taken all of Mrs. Fairfield’s lessons to heart, would turn back. A girl who hadn’t eaten an entire loaf of bread all by herself, moaning over every bite like a sybarite, would most certainly turn back.

  Adele wasn’t certain she was that girl any longer, no matter how desperately she needed to be in order to survive. She chided and chided herself, repeated all of the lessons Mrs. Fairfield had drummed into her, almost convinced herself that he was a cad and a seducer… and still she longed for him.

  She set her jaw and kept on toward the stable yard. Thomas would need to be fetched back to the schoolroom at the least. She was so far gone, she almost believed it.

  When she arrived at the stables, Mr. Coyne was nowhere in sight, nor was Joey. She forced her jaw to relax. That was relief moving through her belly, not disappointment. She was certain of it.

  Thomas was in the stall with the puppies, letting them clamber over him and lick him. She watched him for a few moments, while he remained unaware of her presence. He laughed when the puppies licked him and yelped when they tested their sharp teeth on him. A lamp sat in the center of the stall, casting a small circle of yellow to push back against the gloom. It was a heartwarming scene, happy boy and happy puppies gilded in the golden light. A rare moment of utter bliss.

  Adele savored it, since secondhand bliss was still enjoyable.

  After a few moments, she rapped on the stall door. “Are you ready to return? It’s nearly teatime.”

  “Please, only a few more minutes.” He clutched a puppy to his heart, using it as a prop in his begging.

  Even Adele couldn’t resist a puppy. “Very well.” She held up a finger. “One minute.”

  Thomas smiled in agreement and turned back to the puppies.

  After a few moments, her skin went tight, the roots of her hair lifting. Mr. Coyne. He was coming.

  She knew it before she even heard his boots against the floor. And when she did hear his step, coming closer and closer, stopping right next to her… her heart tried to leap from her chest.

  “Miss Vere.”

  The words hit her ear, low and slightly rough, but she felt them all the way to her toes.

  Breathe. You must breathe.

  “Mr. Coyne,” she murmured, never taking her eyes off Thomas.

  But she felt him. Oh, how she felt him.

  He set his hand on the stall door, his arm bracketing her on the side. Her gaze flitted to his hand, palm against the door, strong fingers curling around the edge. Those fingers that she’d thought so much about.

  Those fingers that were tightening on the door, clamping until the knuckles went white, anger writ in the hard grip of them. She went to step away—

  “Thomas!”

  She jumped at the shout from Mr. Coyne. He’d never raised his voice before. Not once. But now his face was flat with anger.

  “How dare you bring a lamp into the stables! Don’t you know what could happen?” His voice burned.

  She stepped forward, put a hand out. “He didn’t know. I should have—”

  But Thomas was already stumbling to his feet, his hands striking out for the lamp.

  Striking out and knocking it over.

  There was a tinkling of glass, a spreading puddle of oil. Then a soft whoosh as the flame caught the puddle and set it alight.

  Adele froze for half a moment, her mind blank. What to do?

  Get Thomas. Put out the fire.

  But Mr. Coyne was moving before Adele could even command her limbs to, snatching a blanket from the stall door and wrenching the door open, calling as he did, “Joey! Bring the sand buckets! Fire!”

  Thomas scuttled backward into the pile of puppies cowering in the corner. The pups yipped as their mother howled at the scent of smoke filling the stall.

  Mr. Coyne began beating at the flames with the blanket, trying to smash the fire into extinction. Sweat beaded his forehead as his arms ceaselessly beat, a desperate, heavy thump thump thump rising from each hit of the blanket.

  Adele snatched up another blanket and went to help him. But she wasn’t quite as strong, couldn’t beat as hard as he did. She continued to try, her arms aching with the effort.

  “Thomas,” she called to the boy, who was whimpering, “are you hurt?”

  He shook his head as he stared at the flames.

  Thank goodness for that. Now to get this fire out. She hefted the blanket above her head, swung it toward the fire with all the strength she had.

  “Joey!” Mr. Coyne roared again, smashing at the fire with an almost inhuman fury.

  “Coming,” came the call from behind her, then an odd shuffling noise.

  She turned to find Joey hauling a large bucket of sand, waddling as quickly as he could, his legs bowing with the effort. Adele flattened herself against the opposite wall to give him room.

  “Mr. Coyne,” he warned, giving the man notice before he heaved the contents of the bucket onto the slick of burning oil.

  The sand landed with a deceptively soft plunk, the fire beneath almost immediately dying as a fine cloud of dust rose to mingle with the smoke in the air.

  Lungs burning, Adele drew in a deep breath. It was out. They were safe. But dear God, if it had caught the walls or the beams…

  She passed a clammy hand across her forehead, thankful that the wall was holding her up. It would take some time for her nerves to stop shaking after this. And for her stomach to uncurl from the icy knot it had worked itself into.

  Shaken or no, she had to see to her pupil. Adele pushed off from the wall, her knees wriggling like gelatin.

  Thomas was in the corner, puppies scrambling over him, his arms over his head, knees tucked up tight with fright against his belly. But for all that he seemed utterly terrified, he looked whole and intact. He’d said he was all right. Best to get him to the house to check though.

  Mr. Coyne and Joey appeared unhurt as well. Mr. Coyne’s arms were hanging heavy by his sides, his head bowed, staring at something beyond the scorch marks on the stall floor. A muscle worked in his jaw, a steady tick-tick-tick tapping under his skin.

  She turned back to Thomas, held out her hands. “Are you all right? Were you harmed?”

  The boy peeled his arms from his head and blinked up at her. “I’m… I’m all right. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, so, so sorry.”

  “I know,” she said, because regret was practically seeping from the boy. She kept her hands out, summoning him to her. She needed to get him indoors so she could properly check him for injuries.

  Thomas got to his feet and started toward her, eyes wide and shoulders trembling. Poor thing. She’d have to get him a glass of warm milk as well. He looked quite shaken. Of course, they all were after that.

  “I’m sorry,” Thomas said again, this time directed at Mr. Coyne. But the stable master said nothing.

  “Of course you are,” Adele said. “Now let’s get you back to the house—”

  “Wait.”

  Mr. Coyne continued to look at nothing, but his command had them all freezing. Perhaps he meant to lecture Thomas on having a lamp in the stables. A good thought, but it might be more effective when Thomas was less shocked.

  “Mr. Coyne,” she began, “if you mean to speak with Thomas about the lamp—”

  “Speak to him?” He was angry. For all that he teased her and tweaked her during her lesson, he’d never once been angry. The closest he ever got was annoyed
.

  But now, with the harsh vibrations echoing through his voice—he was furious.

  “Oh yes,” he went on. “I’ll speak to him. Of what happens when a fire races through a stable. Foolish, wicked boy—this entire building could have gone up in a flash.”

  Thomas burst into noisy tears.

  “He said he was sorry.” She took a step toward the door, but Mr. Coyne didn’t move out of her way.

  “Sorry? He needs to be more than sorry.” A savage demand. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”

  Something tore in Adele’s chest at the word lesson. Because she was frightened and frayed and wanted nothing more than to cry herself. But she’d been taught never to cry; crying wasn’t a thing she was allowed to do. Another one of Mrs. Fairfield’s lessons to add to the pile weighing down Adele’s soul.

  “You won’t speak to him like that.” A low, cold growl from her such as she’d never made before.

  “Won’t I? How else is he to learn?” The stable master turned his basilisk’s stare on Thomas. “Do you know how many horses would have died? How they would have screamed as their flesh melted? Well, do you?”

  God, what an image. Thomas didn’t need to hear such things. But he already had, his tears amplifying into shuddering sobs that pummeled her ears.

  She stepped between her pupil and Mr. Coyne, anger loosening the fear that had held her tight, everything within her coming unstoppered. “He’s already sobbing. And terrified. What do you mean by saying such horrible things? What more do you want? A pound of flesh?”

  That last echoed off the rafters, so loudly did she throw it off her tongue. She wouldn’t let Thomas be battered in this moment. Not like she had all those years, her every emotion subject to the severest discipline.

  “You continue to say such things to this boy,” she threatened, “and I’ll… I’ll strike you.” She curled her hands into fists, read to lash out.

  The stable master didn’t even flinch, his gaze remaining flinty. They stared each other down for a long moment, smoke drifting between them.

  “Mr. Coyne?” A hesitant summons from Joey. “Miss Vere?” Bewildered, as if he no longer recognized them.

  Oh God. Her stomach knotted again. She was screaming at him like a fishwife in front of both the boys. And he was yelling right back. The entire estate could have heard them.

  She ran a shaking hand across her mouth, nausea rising in her as the storm of emotion ebbed away. Then realization hit her, a phantom blow to her midsection—she had been wrong to lower her guard with him.

  Mrs. Fairfield had been right all along. Right to caution Adele to always maintain her distance, to always remember the pretense she must uphold.

  Because when she loosened her control, this was what she did. This was what her basest nature produced—this raw, aching emotion that she’d spilled before him. So messy. So uncouth.

  More dangerous than the spill of the lamp oil had been.

  She unclenched her fists, forced her jaw to relax into more ladylike lines. “Thomas and I would be happy to speak with you about this.” Cold and distant, just as she should be. “Once you have your temper back under control, of course.”

  His gaze flared hot once more, his lip curling in a sneer. “Right. Because a fire is no place to lose one’s temper.” He lifted an arm, pointed to the stable door. “Get out. And don’t come back.”

  She heard Thomas gasp behind her, but she ignored it, reaching back for his hand. “Come along.”

  As soon as the boy placed his fingers in hers, she made for the door, never giving her back to Mr. Coyne, never pulling her gaze from his. She kept her own expression cold, impassive—to show him how little he moved her. How offensive she found his outbursts.

  But even so, as they slid past Mr. Coyne, she squeezed Thomas’s hand a little tighter, taking comfort from it.

  As soon as they were out of sight of the men, she broke into a run, pulling Thomas with her, her lungs burning as her ribs squeezed with the effort of her speed. Only when they reached the kitchen door did she slow. Away—she wanted to simply get away.

  She stopped just before the door and bent double to try to catch her breath. Thomas panted next to her, his face red, his eyes wet and bleary.

  Her eyes burned and her head throbbed. What a terrible incident. She never wanted to see that man again.

  “You were running.” Thomas was breathless from their dash. And from shock. “You never run.”

  No, she didn’t. Someone might have seen. Everyone could have seen. Her fight with Mr. Coyne, her mad escape back to the house… her carefully guarded reputation might already be in ruins.

  She forced herself straight, although the stitch in her side screamed as she did. She must be upright and correct. She must. “I… We’re home now,” she told her pupil. Which explained nothing.

  “Does Mr. Coyne hate me?” A thready, sob-choked question from Thomas.

  Adele swallowed down the sourness in her throat. Hate was remarkably close to the emotion that had transformed Mr. Coyne’s face. But he’d always been so kind, so attentive with Thomas before. There was no one on this estate she would have said had a deeper affection for Thomas, excluding herself.

  “I—I don’t believe he hates you.” She didn’t, not really. But that temper: it was a fearsome thing. She wasn’t certain if she meant his or hers though. “Even so, after tea, once we’ve all recovered our wits, you and I must return to the stables to apologize. Mr. Coyne was right: if a fire had broken out, it would have been terrible.”

  How they would have screamed as their flesh melted.

  Bile rose in her throat. Lord, what an image. She pushed it away. It hadn’t happened. The fire was out; everyone was safe.

  Thomas dropped his head. “I never meant for that to happen.”

  “You didn’t, but it happened all the same.” She put some sternness into her voice. “Intentions won’t protect you from consequences. That’s an important lesson.”

  Mr. Coyne might have intended for her to drop her facade, to become the woman he suspected lurked behind her armor of demeanor. But his good intentions wouldn’t protect her from the harsh consequences of that.

  Yes, a very important lesson indeed.

  “Yes, Miss Vere.” Fresh tears dripped from the corners of Thomas’s eyes.

  She patted his shoulder. “You’ll apologize and offer to do work in the stables to make it up to Mr. Coyne.” She didn’t want to see him again, but Thomas must apologize. And these riding lessons of hers… well, that knotty problem could wait. “You’ve learned a valuable lesson today. Don’t forget that.” She sounded remarkably like Mrs. Fairfield there.

  He nodded jerkily.

  “Come.” She opened the kitchen door, gestured him forward. “Some cold water on your face will have you right as rain soon enough. And it’s time for tea.”

  Thomas brightened, already looking better.

  Adele feared it would be a very long time before she felt the same.

  Chapter Six

  Adele and Thomas had their tea in an achy kind of silence.

  Thomas brought his fork hesitantly to his mouth, as if he were as bruised as Adele felt. Her arms ached from beating out the fire, and she’d somehow twisted her ankle on the flight back to the house, which she hadn’t noticed in her agitation. Pain thrummed in her shoulder, her ankle—and her spirit. Truthfully, she didn’t even want to eat—her appetite was as battered as her mood. But she kept pushing the food past her lips, wanting to put on a good show for Thomas. Pretend long enough that everything was fine, and soon enough it almost seemed like it was.

  Another of Mrs. Fairfield’s lessons.

  “I didn’t mean to do it.” Thomas muttered that to his last few bites of beef stew. His bread sat untouched by his bowl.

  “I know you didn’t, and I’m certain Mr. Coyne does as well since he’s had time to think on it.” Unruffled assurance filled her voice even as her stomach hollowed out in a guttering rush. She too had to face
the stable master again. Oh, she wasn’t terrified of the man himself—once her nerves had steadied, she realized Mr. Coyne hadn’t physically threatened Thomas, for all his anger. The excess of emotion had decidedly been on her side of the confrontation. Especially when she’d promised to strike him.

  No, she feared the knowing look in his eyes, the contempt in his gaze, now that he knew that for all her airs, she was no better than he.

  Carefully, she folded her napkin and set it beside her plate, her hands never betraying the slightest tremor. All those lessons from Mrs. Fairfield might have been to prepare her for this very moment, when she faced down the consequences of her lapses with a cool head and calm assurance. Or at least the appearance of it.

  “If you’re finished, Thomas?”

  The boy hadn’t her training—his hand trembled as he pushed aside his plate. But his nod was firm, his bottom lip stiff as he rose.

  Excellent. He was learning.

  “I’m ready.” Thomas didn’t lift his gaze from the floor, but he went to the door readily enough.

  They went through the hall to the stairs and then down to the kitchens, each of them walking slower than they usually did. But still moving forward, which was all that mattered. When they reached the door leading outside, Adele paused. She took one last look at Thomas’s eyes—dry and clear—then clasped his hand. She squeezed it, half to comfort him and half to steel herself. “Remember the apology that we practiced?”

  He nodded, his expression a study in youthful solemnity.

  “I doubt that Mr. Coyne is angry any longer,” she said. “And once you’ve apologized and explained that you’ve learned your lesson, he’ll have no reason to be angry.”

  Please let that be true.

  “Will he still want to teach me horsemanship?” Such naked hurt in Thomas’s expression—it threatened to crack her resolve.

  She put on a tight smile. “Of course.” Mr. Coyne had to. Whether he wanted to or not. “Let’s be off.”

  The sun was low in the sky, a fat red ball barely burning through the sullen haze that never seemed to truly clear. Last week at market, a man in the village square had been ranting about the end of times and the signs of it written in the weather. Adele had shrugged his words off, his wild eyes and unkempt hair making it easy to do so. And the decided lack of frogs and rains of blood. Any decent apocalypse would have those, and Adele had seen none.