“Have you visited the estate before?” Lady Foxworth asked with interest.
He shook his head. “No. I have meant to, but something always seemed to get in the way. This year I am determined to see what all the fuss is about.”
“If you are not too tired from your journey, I am sure that Lady Mary would be happy to show you around,” Lady Foxworth suggested as they started up the front steps. The door, which had been flung wide open, gave way to the towering foyer within.
“I would hate to impose upon His Grace since I am sure that—”
“Oh, it is no imposition at all,” the duke declared as he looked to Mary, the solemnity of his gaze hinting at a man who was burdened by too much duty. “It is a pleasant day, so if you think you can spare the time, I would be very grateful for your company, Lady Mary.”
Lady Foxworth beamed, her eyes like the fireworks Mary had once witnessed at Vauxhall Garden in London. Mary forced a smile, knowing how impossible it would be for her to escape the duke now, not only because it would be unconscionably rude of her to even attempt such a thing, but because she feared that her aunt might have a fit of the vapors if she did.
So she accepted the arm that the duke offered her, said good-bye to her aunt, and allowed Lamont to lead her forward. “The Indian Salon is just up ahead,” Mary said in an effort to break the stilted silence that followed. “Would you like to see it?”
“Certainly,” was his only response, save for the greetings that he offered other guests whom they passed along their way.
“Is it not marvelous?” Mary asked as they stepped inside the room, immediately transported to another world filled with intricately carved wood furniture, shimmering silk cushions in a vast array of colors, and ornate lanterns set in filigree cases.
Lamont’s eyes widened slightly—the only evidence that he might be just a little bit impressed. “Lady Duncaster has done a fine job of creating an authentic space for her guests to enjoy.”
“You speak as though from experience,” Mary said as she watched him inspect every detail.
He looked toward her, a slight twitch stirring the edge of his firmly set mouth. “I traveled to India once, years ago, on business.”
“What a wonderful experience that must have been!” He didn’t elaborate on that point, but moved toward the door where she was standing and offered her his arm once more. Continuing on their way, Mary said, “My parents are there right now.”
“I am aware.” Slanting a look in her direction, he added, “Your father was appointed Governor General a couple of years ago. By all accounts he is doing an excellent job.”
Mary’s lips parted in surprise. “You are well informed.” She instantly flinched in response to her foolish comment. Of course the duke would know who the Governor General of India was. Most people did. They just didn’t seem to have much interest in her.
Turning a corner, they approached the interior courtyard, crossing paths with Spencer and Sarah who were heading in the opposite direction. “Lamont,” Spencer spoke loudly by way of greeting. “I was not aware of your arrival. Good to see you though!”
“Likewise,” Lamont said as he and Mary stopped walking.
“May I present my wife?” Affectionately, Spencer drew Sarah closer to his side.
Lamont inclined his head. “A pleasure, my lady. Felicitations to you both.”
“We were just about to take a tour of the garden, but after that I have plans to meet Chadwick and my new brother-in-law, the Duke of Stonegate, in the smoking room for a game of cards. You are welcome to join us, if you like.”
“Thank you, Spencer,” Lamont said. “I should like to congratulate the duke on his new title—read all about it in the papers. But I was not aware that he had also gotten himself married. As I recall, he never seemed to have much interest in finding a bride.”
Spencer nodded. “My sister, the former Countess of Newbury, made him change his mind.” He looked to Mary, and then to Lamont once more. “So far, Thorncliff has proven itself to be quite an effective matchmaking destination. Don’t be surprised if you leave here with a bride of your own.”
Lamont did not look amused.
“I will see you later then,” Spencer said as he and Sarah continued on their way. “Five o’clock?”
Reaching for his pocket watch, Lamont glanced at the time. “I will be there, Spencer. Thank you once again for the invitation.” Resuming his progress, he pulled Mary along at a quiet pace until they reached the courtyard. “I am glad to see him settled,” Lamont said. “Indeed, he looks happier than I have ever seen him before.”
“You know him well, it seems,” Mary said as they made their way around the periphery of the courtyard while water splashed from the central fountain.
Glancing down at her, Lamont studied her a moment before saying, “We were close friends once—until his brother and I went off to war.”
This brought Mary up short. “You were at Waterloo?”
“I was just a spare then,” he explained. “The title came later.”
He did not elaborate, and he did not have to. Mary knew the story about his father and brother all too well. Everyone did. “I am sorry,” she said, unable to think of anything else—aware that the words fell flat.
“It was a long time ago,” he said stiffly.
“But you knew Mr. Heartly,” Mary pressed, eager to return to the subject of her own interest.
A brief pause followed, their steps tapping in concert against the stone floor. “He was extraordinarily brave. The sort of man who would risk his life for others without thinking twice about it. His death was tragic and . . . when I heard about it, I found it difficult to face Spencer and his family, acutely aware that I was alive and well while he . . .” He shook his head as if tossing the thought aside.
Thinking of Richard, Mary felt an overwhelming urge to seek him out immediately so she could hold him in her arms. Knowing how close he’d been to losing his life was the most unsettling thought in the world. “I cannot even begin to imagine how awful it must have been,” she murmured.
Drawing her to a halt, Lamont released her arm and turned to face her, his expression grave. “You are a good person, Lady Mary. Your gentle nature and kindness are apparent in the way you speak, the things you say . . . the fact that you agreed to keep my company in spite of your reluctance to do so.”
“I—”
“Please, do not apologize. It is entirely my fault.”
She gaped at him. “Your fault?”
“I have made no effort to speak with you at greater length before, or even to dance with you when we attended the same balls. I am sorry for it, because it is clear to me now that you deserve all the attention in the world.”
Uncomfortable with what he was saying and dreading the possible direction of the conversation, Mary shifted, her eyes darting toward the door. “You are very kind to say so, Your Grace.”
The hint of a smile touched his lips, but it was gone again within a heartbeat. “Perhaps we can become better acquainted while we are here?”
Sucking in a breath, Mary looked up at the man before her, uncertain of how to deal with this predicament. Deciding that direct honesty would serve them both best, she gathered her courage and said, “As happy as I would be to keep your company, you ought to know that my heart is already engaged elsewhere.”
The life seemed to drain out of him. “I see.”
“But if you are truly interested in making a match for yourself, I am happy to make a few suggestions,” Mary said, the words rushing out of her before she could even think.
Offering her his arm once more, he steered her back toward the hallway from which they’d come. “I appreciate that, but I am not in need of a matchmaker, Lady Mary. The fact of the matter is that I have taken great care in studying the qualities of all the young ladies of marriageable age and have found that only two will suit.”
“I am honored that you would even consider me then. Especially since my dowry is rat
her insignificant.”
He frowned. “I suppose there are those who would consider that objectionable. Personally, I can think of other merits that I would rather have in a life partner, but then again, I have no debts and my income is substantial.”
It sounded reasonable enough, Mary supposed. “Might I ask who the other lady might be?”
Reaching the grand staircase, the duke disengaged himself from her and said, “I fear that would be too much information for me to disclose at present. Perhaps when I determine whether or not she is likely to reciprocate my high regard?”
“Of course,” Mary said, sensing that she was being dismissed.
He gave a curt nod. “Perhaps we can continue our tour some other time?”
Mary doubted that such a time would ever present itself, but she dipped her head in agreement anyway and quietly said, “By all means.”
Returning to her bedchamber that evening after dinner, Mary found a note waiting for her from Richard, inviting her to meet him in the usual spot. Changing out of her gown and into a more practical day dress, Mary exchanged her slippers with her walking boots and went in search of the man who’d stolen her heart. He was waiting for her in the antechamber, light flickering across his unmasked face, allowing her to glimpse the change in his expression the moment he saw her.
Warmth captured his eyes and the edge of his mouth drew upward into a smile of absolute appreciation. “I did not expect to see you again so soon,” he said, stepping away from the wall and coming toward her. His hands captured hers, the touch evoking a flurry within the pit of her stomach. “But I understand that Rotridge has left—the threat of him no longer hanging over you.”
“I can scarcely believe it,” Mary confessed. Gazing up, she allowed herself to be captured by his gaze, welcoming the brief caress of his lips against hers—soft, gentle and filled with so much adoration that her heart almost burst from her chest.
“Let us take advantage of it,” he said, not voicing the concerns that Mary knew he surely had. There were questions to be asked. Why had Rotridge left? Where had he gone? And would he be back? All were ignored in favor of savoring the moment. “Come with me. I have a surprise for you.”
Leaving Thorncliff behind, they hurried across the lawn, hand in hand, both short of breath by the time they arrived at the cave.
“The Duke of Lamont arrived today,” Mary said as she entered the cave ahead of Richard. “He invited me to walk with him.”
“And did you?” His tone was cautious.
Looking over her shoulder at him, she gave him her reply. “Yes. In fact, he was very forthcoming.”
“Forthcoming?” Richard’s hand tightened around hers. “Are you saying that he declared an interest in you?”
Fighting her jittery heart, Mary allowed a broad smile. “Indeed he did. Much to my surprise.” Turning away, she focused on the ground beneath her feet, careful not to misstep.
Behind her, Richard muttered something inaudible, then said, “Is it just my imagination or are you attracting the attention of all the eligible gentlemen these days?”
With a laugh, she shook her head. “You need not worry. I told him that he would have to look elsewhere for a bride, which is just as well since I very much doubt that he and I would suit.”
“Why do you say that?”
“For starters, he is nothing like you.” She spoke the words lightly, but deep in her heart she knew that he needed the reassurance—that his appearance made him more insecure than most.
“Go on,” he murmured with genuine interest.
“He seems too grave for my liking. In fact, the most interesting part of our conversation was when he mentioned you.” She paused momentarily before saying, “He spoke very highly of your heroism as a soldier and seemed quite shaken by the fact that you had not survived the war.”
Stayed by the pull of his hand, she turned to face him. “Lamont was supposed to go on that fateful reconnaissance mission in my stead,” he said, “but news of his father’s and brother’s death arrived just moments before he was meant to depart. He was no longer a second son, but a duke, so I told him to return to England right away and that I would handle the mission for him.”
Mary scarcely knew what to say, her eyes holding his—absorbing the strain of his soul. “He blames himself for the death of a man who is still very much alive.” She could not stop the words—the truth in them shifting the air around them.
Richard nodded. “It never occurred to me that he might. But now . . . I will have to seek Lamont out. He needs to know that I am still alive and that he is not to blame for what happened to me.”
The hard tone of his voice made her wary. “You speak as though someone else might have been.”
He shook his head. “It was a long time ago—an ordeal I prefer not to speak of.”
“Of course,” she whispered, aware of how difficult it must be for him to reflect on such painful memories. So she tugged on his hand and said, “Shall we continue our exploration?”
Nodding, he raised his lantern to light the way forward. “Watch your step,” he cautioned as he helped Mary down the descending slope leading past the river and toward the tunnel. “You need not worry,” he added, “The bats have gone. I made sure of that when I came down here earlier this evening.”
Mary paused to look at him. “I thought you said that you would not explore the cave or the Roman villa without me.”
“And I have not,” he assured her as he tugged on her hand, urging her to resume walking, “but I did mention that I had a surprise for you.”
Curious, Mary found herself increasing her pace, allowing Richard to lead her forward. Exiting the tunnel, they arrived in the foyer. Unlike the last time when Mary had been there, however, she was now able to see every corner clearly, thanks to the numerous candles illuminating the space in soft golden tones. A gasp was torn from between her lips. “This must have taken you forever,” she murmured.
Beside her, his hand wound comfortably around hers, Richard grinned. “I will admit that it may have taken a few minutes.”
“A few?”
His grin widened into an overjoyed smile. “Just wait until you see the rest of it.”
Stepping forward, he led her through the doorway in front of them and into the hallway beyond. It too was illuminated by candles, torches and lanterns so Mary could fully appreciate the rich display of color in the mosaic floor beneath her feet. “This is incredible,” she said as she released his hand and went toward the same room that she’d visited before. Here too the smothering darkness had been pushed back, accentuating the details of the architecture as well as the furnishings. Venturing inside, Mary went toward the desk, her fingertips carefully tracing the edge of it before sliding toward the notebook. It was just as they’d left it.
Raising her gaze, Mary found Richard watching her from the doorway. “As you can see, I kept my promise,” he said.
“You waited for us to continue reading it together?”
With a small shrug of one shoulder, he came toward her. “It seemed like the right thing to do, and besides, I think it will be more fun unraveling the mystery behind this secret lair as a team.”
“But you said yourself that you recognized your grandfather’s handwriting.” She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for him to resist the temptation that the notebook offered.
“I said that it bore a startling resemblance,” he reminded her. “Whether or not it actually is his writing, is yet to be determined.”
Picking up the notebook, Mary rounded the desk and offered it to Richard. “There is only one way to find out.”
Accepting the book, Richard motioned toward the doorway. “There is a sitting room across the hallway.”
Mary arched her eyebrows. “I thought you said that you had not done any more investigating.”
“That is true. I have not, but . . .” Reaching in front of her, he pushed open the door, affording her a view of the room beyond. “Serving t
ea on a desk seemed wrong. I decided that this room was far better suited.”
Mary blinked, her lips parting as she took in the scene before her. “And I thought the lights were the surprise.”
“They are just part of it.”
Speechless, Mary just nodded as she stepped further into the room. Architecturally, it wasn’t so different from the study. Marble columns guarded each corner with two supporting a beam in the center. Up under the ceiling on one side, arched alcoves had been decorated with murals.
The furniture, consisting of two armchairs, a sofa, and a low table, had been pushed apart, freeing up the space at the center of the room where what appeared to be a picnic had been set up. A green blanket was spread out there, on top of which cups and saucers had been neatly arranged. Next to them, was a plate filled with petits fours, each one prettily decorated with icing and marzipan flowers.
“The teapot is still in the basket, wrapped in dishtowels in order to keep it warm.”
Richard’s voice, so warm and soothing, carried her forward. Mary could barely believe the amount of trouble that he’d gone to in order to prepare everything. As far as romantic settings were concerned, this topped the list.
“Have a seat,” Richard whispered close to her ear.
A delicious shiver raced down her spine, her heart skipping a little at the feel of his hand against her lower back. He did wondrous things to her, this man who’d been shrouded in mystery when they’d first met, and for quite some time thereafter. Knowing what he’d been through and discovering how good and kind he was . . . it was remarkable. He bore no signs of anger or resentment—just fear of acceptance. “I . . .” She stopped herself from continuing.
“You what?”
Swallowing, she shook her head and crossed to the blanket, lowering herself onto it and adding distance. She had to be completely sure of what she wanted before committing herself with words. And with her brother’s predicament in mind, abandoning the opera was less of an option than ever before. So she indicated the artwork in the alcoves instead. “Those paintings were not done by Romans.”
He gave her a funny look before sitting down across from her. “You are right. I suspect that there may originally have been windows there and that they were eventually sealed up before the entire villa was buried in dirt.”
His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 Page 17
