Tori dreamed of sheep, though these days she loathed the bleating little beggars. She jerked awake, rubbed her eyes, and rolled her head on her neck. She couldn't think. She wasn't a businessperson and demonstrated that fact daily.
But curse it, I have to be. Her brows drawn, she organized everything to begin again. It was in this midnight hour, when her vision blurred, that she saw it.
The most wonderful mistake.
She riffled through the thick pile of contracts, focusing on that line only. Every one had the same error; how had they missed it? For years, McClure had paid her grandfather's farm for cheviot wool. They did not produce cheviot, but something much, much more expensive.
They produced...Anglo-merino.
Thirty-one
Tori called a secret meeting with the Huckabees right at daybreak to tell them about her discovery, but she wrestled confusion and even guilt for not including Grant. Why did she want to share the news with him? Because she wanted him to know that she was shrewd, that she'd found something no one else had?
No, that wasn't it. She just wanted to see him smile at the news. And he would. His breathtaking grins came easier these days. He was becoming integral to the Court. And to her. Yet even when he'd been foxed the night before, he hadn't confessed tender feelings, much less the love that she wanted. Impasse. This new information was her way toward complete ownership, and she'd keep this card close to her chest.
After she'd explained the details to the couple, she said, "I'm going to write McClure and tell him about the mistake. He owes us thousands of pounds in arrears." She gave a sly grin to Mrs. Huckabee. "I learned that term the other day."
They clasped hands, joyous over the discovery. Then Huckabee's expression dimmed. "What if he meant to cheat the earl? Think about it--the farm's wool manager was gone, the earl was sick and didn't handle business anymore, and I was barely holding things together. It seems unlikely to me that this man made an honest mistake over a four-year span, right when the farm was most vulnerable."
Tori sank back in her chair. "You're right. You're absolutely right. So what do we do? Do we go to the authorities?"
"If you go the court route," Mrs. Huckabee began, "you won't see any money for years."
Huckabee slapped his hand on his knee. "I've got it. We could go the 'gentleman's threat' route." When she frowned, he explained, "Make copies of everything and send him the proof, then write 'Govern yourself accordingly.' "
"Gentleman's threat." She tapped her chin. "Let's try it. What do we have to lose?"
So she worked most of the day copying contracts, then sent the package out for delivery. If Huck caught the mail coach, the documents would arrive at McClure's in the morning.
The next day, nervous and tense about the outcome, Tori decided to work herself into oblivion, but a commotion in the drive interrupted her.
She met up with the Huckabees, and the three strode to the entrance. Grant was there, greeting a carriage from Whitestone that brought a laundress, a cook, a maid, as well as a carpenter to work on the roof of the sheep barn. The Huckabees were overjoyed--Mrs. Huckabee nearly swooned with relief--with everyone beaming at Grant.
Tori stomped off, out of sight of the new help and the Huckabees, but Grant followed her to the salon. When she turned around, he was very close, reaching out to gently touch her arm.
"You look done in."
She backed away. "As if I needed you to tell me that."
"You should have a bath drawn for you," he suggested, his voice deep, lulling her. Her mind was so muddled. Heaven forgive her, but a bath in her room's big marble plunge tub did sound divine. Soaking in steaming, scented water up to her chin...Her weakness made her even more furious. "I don't want a bath, and I didn't want servants. I don't even know where to put them."
"They can stay on the third floor of the lower Court."
She put her fingers up to her temples. "We can't heat it."
"Summer is coming."
"Still, their wages--"
"I'm paying for any additional cost."
She stiffened. "I don't want that." He looked so reasonable, and the gesture was so logical, yet she wanted to screech her fury at him. Instead, she said, "Clever Grant, finding another way into the Court. Do you think I don't see what you're doing?"
His face registered disbelief. "You would believe that I brought help here to undermine you, before you would believe I brought them to make your life easier." His voice was hard. "Do you know me at all?"
"I've had to learn that you'll do whatever it takes to get what you want. And now, with this move, everyone will look to you for decisions to be made."
"You must really want me gone," he said, then shook his head. "Damn it, Victoria, deny it."
She said nothing.
"I thought you were beginning to see that we worked well together, that we could make a go of this." Disappointment laced his tone. "I was mistaken."
Grant strode out to the stable to ready his horse. He spotted her at the window, biting her lip and nervously fingering the edge of some ancient curtains, and he wondered if she thought he was leaving for good. What he'd said was true--he had thought she was coming around. He'd stormed out, furious and full of regret, but he was more angry with himself. He must have hurt her deeply for her to have this continued animosity. The idea that he'd hurt her made him crazed.
No, he wasn't leaving her. Not today, not ever. He hitched up a cart of supplies and rode to work on another line of fence. This one wasn't downed, but it could be soon, and he needed the work.
By the time he got Victoria to marry him, she'd have the best bloody fences in the county.
When he ran out of materials near sundown, he ambled to the stream to wash off. He skipped stones, finding himself staring after them long after they'd sunk to the bottom.
When night fell, he lay on a rock by the bank looking up at the stars. Their placement was what he was accustomed to; he was in England, listening to the countryside prepare for sleep, his body weary from work. His heart should be glad, but he knew as long as he was away from and unmarried to the only woman he'd ever loved, nothing would be right.
Damn it, he missed her.
He stood and stretched his sore back, wondering if she could possibly miss him too. He wondered if she was so strong and self-assured that she'd cast what was between them into the past, never to be retrieved.
He turned in the direction of the Court, as if to see her. What he saw out of the corner of his eye made him suck in a breath. He turned to the eerie light, scrubbing a hand over his face, unbelieving.
Fire lit up the valley.
Thirty-two
Tori lay in bed, staring at the peeling wallpaper. She was like this old room, worn and neglected. After Grant had left, she wondered each hour if she could feel emptier, and each hour she did. Her sadness was escalating, and she feared where it would end.
Had he left her? For good? She hadn't given him any reason to stay. Curse it! He couldn't give up--not when he'd shown her what she couldn't live without.
Him.
That utter, utter bastard.
Realizing she'd never get him off her mind, she rose and walked into his room, pilfering his pillow. She lay down again, bringing it up to her chest and hugging it. It wasn't as if his scent would bring more dreams throughout the night. There couldn't be more dreams about him.
She heard noises downstairs and jumped out of bed once more, hoping he'd come home. But when she lifted the window sash and surveyed the drive, a light in the distance caught her eyes.
Panic clogged her throat. The sheep barn was ablaze.
Sprinting down the stairs, screaming for help the whole way down, Tori ran for the barn. They had sick ewes in there mending, pregnant ones needing extra food and care.
When she'd charged breathless into the valley, several villagers were already working a fire line, although everyone had to know the fire was too intense and spreading too rapidly for anything to be done. Her knees
threatened to buckle. Yet she forced herself closer to the fire to see if she could help, then blinked her eyes in incomprehension.
Looking past the flames inside, she spied Grant on the other end of the barn. She cried his name--he couldn't hear her. She ran for him, but the heat drove her back. He had his coat off, swatting at the few ewes left, forcing the confused animals to escape. As if having received a blow, she watched him drop down and vanish behind a wall of flame. Then he stood again--only to disappear once more.
Hiking up her gown, she ran around the entire length of the barn, through high wet grasses, slipping as she went. When she reached the south opening, she peered in, but couldn't see him at all. The air left her lungs as though she'd been hit. She sucked in a smoke-filled gasp and screamed his name, yet received no answer. No, she couldn't panic. Find him and drag him back.
Determined, she walked into the flaming entrance.
An arm like steel wrapped around her waist and hurled her outward, her body pushed far from the barn and shoved to the ground. She landed, wheezing, Grant falling on top of her just as the roof gave in with a shuddering boom and a shower of sparks floated up to the sky.
When she reclaimed her wits, she rolled on top of him, sitting up to straddle him, wondering where to hit him first. How dare he risk himself like that! Didn't he know she couldn't live without him?
"Christ, Victoria," he bit out as his hands flew to her hips. "If I'd known this would be the outcome, then I'd have set the fire myself--"
"You stupid, stupid man," she said with a slap. "Obstinate! That's what you are." Punch. "I ought to kill you myself." She beat at his chest like a drum.
When she pinched him--hard--he rolled her over, pinning her arms above her head.