by Ella Edon
“I wish you would tell me but one thing only,” he said softly.
“And what is that?” Her voice was guarded.
“Why is it that you think always that I will treat you like a fool?”
Raymonde felt as if she was a coach whose wheels were lodged in a mire. She stopped mid-breath. Of all the things he could have asked, that one was the hardest to answer.
“Well…” She sipped her cordial, framing her answer. He had always granted her honesty. She decided to tell him the truth. “Well… Because I am used to it.”
“Nobody would ever think you were a fool,” he said swiftly. His eyes were wide, and they held hers, firm and convinced. “If anybody thought you were, it would be because they were too great a fool to see how wise you are.”
Raymonde swallowed hard. She had not expected such an answer. She looked at his face, reading each line, seeking flattery or mockery. She saw none.
“Mayhap,” she said wearily.
“I mean every word I say,” Cutler said, taking her hands. “I have seen death too many times to find merit in hiding the truth. And I will always give truth to you.”
Raymonde looked down. His hands were resting on hers, the fingers warm and gentle. She looked into his eyes.
“I know,” she said softly.
“Well, then you must know that you can always trust me. I am your friend, Raymonde. And I hold that as a sacred charge to always tell you only the truth, and to always support you.”
Raymonde nodded. She looked down at her fingers, where they lay on the dark wood table under his. She swallowed hard. If she spoke, she would find it impossible to hold back her tears.
“I have never had a friend before,” she said. “I don’t really know how to be one.”
“For somebody who doesn’t know how to,” he said softly, “you are doing remarkably well, being mine.”
She sniffed. “Maybe it’s not that hard, after all.”
He laughed. “Maybe.”
The space between them was suddenly even smaller. His feet were beside hers below the dining table, his hands resting on hers. She could see the dark patches in his eyes, and the moistness of his lips.
He leaned forward, and his lips pressed to hers. She felt the closeness and warmth, and before she had thought about what she was doing, she found herself leaning into his kiss. His tongue pressed into her mouth and she sighed as he held her close. She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him against her. She felt good and right, as if, all her life, she had been seeking this closeness.
He sighed and drew her against him, and his kiss deepened. His tongue explored her mouth, plundering it. He held her close and she felt herself melting into his chest, wanting to feel him close and warm against her.
He crushed her to him, and she sighed and held on tight and then, gasping, he leaned back.
“My Lady, forgive me.” His eyes were round and wild.
She sat up straight, her hands in her lap, breath strained and panting. Then, after a moment, she shook her head. “There is nothing to forgive.”
They sat there, their eyes holding one another’s gaze. She felt his hand move over hers and she squeezed his fingers gently. His smile held understanding, and sweetness, and regret.
She looked away, breaking the contact of their eyes, sighing.
“We should finish dinner soon,” she said softly. “It’s late.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” he agreed.
Neither of them moved. Her hand stayed where it was, beneath his. Her eyes met his.
“We should eat,” he said. “There is much we have to do, tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, there is.”
She lifted her spoon, tasting the soup. It was well-made: the taste of mushrooms delicately balanced with onion. She reached for a piece of bread.
“You had a long ride, today?” she asked, delicately swallowing a mouthful of soup and bread.
“I had a long-enough one, yes,” he said. “I went to Alford Acres.”
“Oh.” She waited for him to say more, but he said nothing, reaching instead for another piece of bread.
“You own Alford Acres?” she asked. She knew that it was, at least nominally, his land. It was just a means of starting conversation.
“I don’t own it – not exactly. It is mine in name, and the rents are meant to be paid to me.”
“I see.”
He looked away, taking another mouthful of his first course. She knew that his worry had something to do with the rents. She waited to see what he would tell her. If he had promised to keep nothing from her, now was a good time to find out what he meant by that.
“The rents are due soon?” she asked.
“The rents were due last week,” he said suddenly. His face was twisted and pained, and she knew why. “I don’t understand what is happening.”
She paused. On the one hand, it was clearly her job to say something. On the other hand, how would he feel if he knew she had been poking around his house, interviewing his servants?
“Your rents have been collected?” she asked.
He breathed out. “Exactly! How the… How did you know that?”
He was staring at her in horror, as if she might be singly responsible for the theft of the rents. She bit her lip, trying not to smile.
“I spoke to the maid. It seems her uncle lives at Alford.”
“What the…” he said again, catching himself before he let out a profanity. “Excuse me. But, how in Perdition did nobody mention this to me? Hanford must have known this.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I intend to find out, and soon,” he assured her. “What else did you hear today?”
He looked so suspicious that she had to try not to grin. It was a serious matter, and no cause for amusement. “I heard tell some rumor of who is collecting them.”
“Not…” he paused, and she guessed that perhaps he knew.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Lord Stirling?”
“Yes.”
“Damn him,” he swore. He put down his spoon and laid his napkin on the table beside his place. She thought he might march out of the dining-room and go straight to confront his uncle, but instead, he just shook his head.
“Tomorrow, we can decide what action to take,” Raymonde said gently.
“Yes,” he agreed. “We can. Now, we should eat.”
“Yes,” Raymonde declared. “We should. We need our strength for tomorrow.”
“You sound like a soldier.” He grinned.
She laughed. “I can imagine.” Her cheeks glowed at the words, which from him, were high praise. “I imagine there is high value placed on dinner.”
“You can’t even imagine,” he chuckled. He pushed back his chair and went over to the trolley in the corner. “Look…grilled fish. May I serve you, My Lady?”
She dabbed her lips with her napkin, heart bubbling with joy. “Please do.”
He carried a plate of grilled fish over and placed it in front of her, then carried over a salver of gravy. Last, he brought a plate of fish for himself.
“Have a good dinner,” he said with a smile. “We will be busy tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
As she ate, Raymonde tried, and failed, to forget about that gentle kiss.
Chapter Twenty
Setting in Order
Cutler paused in the hallway, hearing the sound of Lady Raymonde’s feet going up towards the guest-bedchamber. He shut his eyes for a moment, sleepy and amazed.
The memory of the kiss was like fire in his veins. He couldn’t believe he had done that. He had never expected he’d give way to his longing to that extent. He had never meant to give in. He had known that if he did so, he would never be able to get her out of his mind and it seemed that was exactly the case. He couldn’t stop thinking of her.
Her lips had been so soft and parted so tenderly below his tongue! He recalled the way her breasts pressed to his chest, t
he scent of her as he drew her close: an exotic smell of ginger and warmth and briars. His body ached, just thinking of it.
“Perdition should take you, Cutler Wingate,” he sighed to himself.
He walked briskly to his own bedchamber and shut the door behind him. What was he going to do?
First, you have to vow never to do that again.
He sighed. He had no idea if he could promise himself never to kiss Raymonde again. Even thinking of it made him feel a sadness he couldn’t describe. A world in which he couldn’t kiss her would be a desolate, empty world.
He shut his eyes, resting his head against the wall behind him. There were so many things to consider. First and foremost, he had to do something about his uncle.
This is more than preposterous.
His uncle had always been in the background; never outright an aggressor or attacker, but always a man to fear, if only because of the things he suspected he’d done.
Now he had something he knew he’d done for certain.
But how to prove it?
The fact that things had been mismanaged was clear. The money should have been collected while he was away with the army. Hanford should have been doing that. His uncle, if challenged, however, would pin the blame squarely on him. And he would blame the inhabitants themselves and hide his own guilt under their seeming reluctance to pay.
There was only one thing he could do: wait until his uncle’s steward went to bully the rent out of the tenants and then expose him.
He was doubly glad now that Lady Raymonde had thought to start questioning his staff. Miss Seaforth’s uncle was going to be a strong ally in exposing his uncle’s work.
He rolled over, his mind racing.
“Cutler Wingate,” he said to himself firmly. “Go to sleep.”
Lying here worrying was not going to solve anything. He should do that tomorrow morning.
“It’ll all make sense tomorrow morning,” he assured himself.
Raymonde floated through his thoughts as he tried to rest, his body aching for her. He wished he could hold her close and kiss her again.
It took him an age to go to sleep.
Waking the next morning, cramped and cold, he splashed his face in the pitcher of water on the night-stand.
“Damn it,” he sighed. “Time to make decisions.”
He dressed and went downstairs to breakfast. There was one place laid at the table – Raymonde had clearly already eaten, and her plate had been cleaned away, leaving just one.
“Oh,” he murmured to himself, feeling a little hurt. “That’s how it is, then.”
He shook his head, drawing out his chair and taking a seat. He should have realized that she’d want to avoid him. After last night and that kiss, she must be feeling confused and a little scared.
Marvelous. You’ve managed to erode even the little trust she’d gained for you.
He helped himself to toast and tea, feeling more than a little upset. He’d been so excited to see her, and now he had to face the fact that he’d been a selfish fool, and she didn’t want to see him.
He finished a hurried breakfast and pushed back his chair. He would go for a walk. That was what he needed. Time to clear his head.
Raymonde was already there before him, out in the garden by the hedge. She turned around as he approached. Her eyes were wide as they studied him, her face smooth and pale. She looked well-rested, her eyes lit with a sparkle, her skin fresh. He swore inwardly, knowing that he looked quite horrible.
“Good morning, Lady Raymonde.” He inclined his head in a small bow, his feet crunching on the wet grass as he walked to join her.
“Good morning, sir. A fine morning.”
“Yes.”
They were arm’s length from each other, being rigidly polite. Cutler cleared his throat, trying to keep up the distance. Inside, he felt as if his body was on fire. She looked up at him with her brown eyes.
In that moment, lost in her gaze, he could hold out no more. He reached forward, and her hands were in his, the grip of his fingers tight and firm. The touch was like electricity. He flushed, realizing what he was doing, and dropped her hand.
“Forgive me.”
“Of course,” she said mildly. She started walking again, and he did likewise. He looked away from her, surveying the landscape and trying to forget about her body and her warm presence, just an inch away. His heart was still thudding, his being aching with longing.
“Did you have a good rest?” she asked politely, making conversation. They were both so terribly polite and awkward!
“Not too good,” he admitted. He wondered if she knew how he’d lain there, tossing and turning with thoughts of her.
She frowned. “Oh. A pity.”
He couldn’t believe how polite she was being. Walking two inches away from him, keeping up conversation, looking at the flowers and bushes with mild interest. He swallowed hard, dragging his eyes off her where she’d stopped to inspect a rose-bush, and making himself look out over the landscape. She was a master at hiding her feelings. He was a complete beginner in comparison.
He studied the distant hills, trying to think of something to say. “We need to discuss this problem with the rents,” she said, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” Cutler managed, clearing his throat again. He had no idea how she could be so practical, when his whole body was on fire, aching to touch her, to be close.
“It seems a clear day for riding,” Raymonde commented, coming to stand beside him, and reaching out to pick a flower from a tall rosemary bush. He watched her, amazed by every little gesture that she made, from the way her fingers held the stalk, to the deft strokes she made with her wrist. “We can talk then.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “That’s a good idea.” He stepped back a little, wheeling his arms as he almost slipped on a stone paver. She raised a brow, and he stepped aside self-consciously.
“Slippery jolly flagstones,” he said.
She grinned. “It rained last night.”
“It did.”
They stood quietly for a while and he felt his fingers twitch at his sides, feeling awkward. He felt a fool for almost falling, but it seemed that it had broken the tension somewhat, because she came to stand closer to him.
She smiled. “I wonder if it would be safe to ride to Alford together today? I don’t suppose the path is impassable because of the rain.”
“I would welcome your company,” he said swiftly. “But… My Lady, I think that it might be dangerous for you to come with me. What if my uncle sees us?”
“Then it is even more imperative that I come with you,” she said. “Think what might happen if you rode out with nobody to accompany you?”
“It has been years, since someone has offered to guard my back,” he admitted, feeling touched. It didn’t occur to him that she was one woman, skilled in horsemanship, but in no other way suited to the task of protecting them. She was Raymonde, and he had seen enough of her to know that he would trust her to do anything that was needed.
“Well, then,” Raymonde nodded briskly. “I will accompany you. Maybe we should take…? It would be useful to have somebody with you who had some skill at arms.” She gave him a somewhat wry grin.
Cutler shook his head. “I would love to agree with you. But I don’t want to advertise my plans to Lewis. I don’t know whom in this house – besides you – I may trust.”
“I understand. I…” she stopped mid-sentence. “You trust me?”
He chuckled. “If I could not trust you, I would have to be a fool. You know more about me than anyone, and you have never betrayed any of it. I trust you with my life.”
Raymonde’s brown eyes reminded him of a wild creature. They regarded him warily, but also with hope. He felt his heart thump even as she frowned.
“It is strange,” she responded, “that you say that. Because, of all people, I trust you too.”
It took him a moment to be able to speak, the shock of that was so great. “My Lady,” he
murmured. “I am honored.”
She smiled.
The distance between them really wasn’t that great, he noticed. Her hand was, really, very close to his. It was hard to say whether she moved first, or whether he had lifted his hand to grip hers. He squeezed her fingers gently.
