He settled the bottle back into the well, then glanced at Chelsea. "Forgive me, would you care for a glass of sherry? Can be quite good for the nerves, you know."
"Umm . . ." Chelsea wasn't the least accustomed to strong drink, but her nerves could certainly use settling. "Yes, I . . . I believe I will have a drop, thank you."
After retrieving the bottle again, he poured the drink and crossed the room to hand her a glass. "I was pleased when Mother asked me to speak of my home this evening," he said, moving to stand before the fire. "I had already decided that the more you know of Honduras, the less you will be inclined to fear it."
After swirling a sip of the amber liquid around in his mouth, he asked, "What else might I tell you about your future home, my dear?"
Chelsea delayed a response by sampling the drink he'd placed in her hands. She wanted to know everything about Lord Rathbone's home, but she knew full well Alayna wasn't the least bit interested. Yet . . . it was not Alayna who was ensconced here in the castle with her handsome cousin. Downing another small sip of the golden liquid, she allowed herself to enjoy the burning warmth as it seared a path to her belly. Feeling a good deal more relaxed already, she managed a look upward.
But Lord Rathbone's gaze was fixed on the crackling embers. "A night such as this is unheard of in the tropics," he said quietly. "To say truth, I rather miss the cold, the snow in winter and the sparkling gleam of ice crystals in the tree-tops."
Downing the last of her drink, Chelsea set the small goblet aside and rose, as if compelled, to go and position herself near Lord Rathbone. "You sound almost poetic, my lord," she murmured evenly.
He turned, and finding her near him, their gazes locked. Chelsea likened the burn in his eyes to the sting of the sherry in her throat. When he held the gaze for quite a length she finally grew uncomfortable and looked away.
"I admit I have consulted the bard upon occasion," he said, belatedly resuming the conversation. "There is . . . often very little to do of an evening. It will be pleasant," he added, "to have you read to me, as you do now for Mother."
Chelsea watched him move from her side to set his own emptied goblet down on a nearby table.
"I recently acquired a pianoforte," he told her.
"Oh?" Chelsea enjoyed the sight of his graceful, yet completely masculine stride as he returned again to her side. "Is there . . . someone to play the instrument for you? A neighbor, or perhaps the daughter of a servant?"
The gentleman laughed softly. "You have forgotten a great deal about me, Alayna."
Lowering her gaze, Chelsea's eyes squeezed shut. Dear God, how was she to go on? She was forever saying the wrong thing, and now, she had to contend with this . . . this disquieting manner in which Lord Rathbone's very presence affected her. Feeling him inch closer to her, as if on cue, her knees grew wobbly beneath her skirt, and her throat became inordinately dry.
"Alayna," he breathed, so near her she could feel his breath on her cheek.
She didn't dare raise her eyes to meet his now. Yet, when she felt his large, warm hand move to touch her shoulder, she risked a gaze upward. "Yes."
When he turned her to face him, Chelsea was more acutely aware of the warmth from his hand through the soft fabric of her gown than the heat from the fire blazing in the hearth. "You are so very beautiful, Alayna." Both his gaze and his voice were soft and caressing.
Chelsea held her breath.
"You've nothing to fear in Honduras, Alayna. I will always be there to protect you."
Chelsea felt her lower lip begin to tremble. No one, no one, had ever said those words to her before. This man had already saved her life once. Suddenly, it was all she could do not to fling herself into his arms again. Gazing up into his warm golden eyes she did not trust herself to speak. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, Chelsea knew he meant to kiss her.
As if reading her thoughts, Lord Rathbone said, "We are soon to be man and wife, Alayna. You have nothing to fear from me, either."
Chelsea shook herself. Nothing to fear. She had everything to fear! With a gasp of alarm, she jerked from his grasp. "You forget yourself, sir!" she cried.
"Alayna!" His brows snapped together. "You are behaving like an infant. We are to be married in a fortnight, for God's sake. A certain amount of . . . of contact between a man and a woman is to be expected!"
"I do not expect it!" Chelsea cried, realizing that, for once, she and Alayna were of the same mind in the matter. Her eyes large and round, she darted from the room. Gaining the corridor, she broke into a run and did not stop running until she reached the suite of rooms that had become her home.
Inside her chamber, she flung the door shut and leaned breathlessly against it. She was not safe in this house! Whether pretending to be Alayna, or acting of her own accord, one thing was abundantly clear. She was definitely not safe!
Chapter Seven
“To Quarrel With You is Not My Intent”
Though still in a quandary over Alayna's continued resistance to him, Lord Rathbone made an effort to put the puzzle from his mind for the moment and see to the more pressing needs of the castle. After he and Alayna were married and on their way to Honduras, he'd have plenty of time to deal with his new bride's fears.
Early that next morning, he and a small army of workers, set out with the intention of repairing the rickety wooden bridge that served as the only avenue into the castle grounds. Once there, however, Lord Rathbone was chagrined to discover that during the previous night's downpour, the bridge had completely collapsed and all the moorings washed away.
"Drat and bloody hell!" he exclaimed, trudging back up the muddy road toward the castle, his workers following dutifully at his heels. In the yard, he set the men to work reinforcing the sidewall of the stable, which looked perilously close to surrendering its thatched roof.
"When you've got that wall upright again," he told them, "we'll see to repairing one of the gigs and perhaps a wagon or two. We'll need them to bring back additional supplies from Chester in the next day or so."
With that he turned and headed again for the castle. Indoors he came upon Chelsea on her way toward Lady Rathbone's chamber.
"Bridge is out," he announced without ceremony.
"Oh, my," Chelsea replied. "I expect that means we will not be accompanying Mrs. Stevens on her parish rounds this afternoon."
"Hmm." Lord Rathbone's dark brows drew together. "I admit I had completely forgot the appointment. Good of you to remember, Alayna. I shall get word to Mr. Stevens somehow."
"Perhaps through the forest?" Chelsea suggested, not at all sure there even was a viable way through the dense thicket of trees at the rear of the grounds.
Suddenly, Lord Rathbone's stern face softened into a smile. "I had completely forgotten that, as well, Alayna. Apparently you remember more than I thought you did about being here." A look of fond remembrance in his eyes, his gaze locked with hers and lingered.
Chelsea grimaced. She had no idea what he was thinking about. "I . . . haven't forgotten everything," she lied.
"Well, I expect we shall have plenty of time to renew old memories, now that we are to be cooped up indoors for a spell." He moved a step away from Chelsea. "Will be no point attempting to rebuild the bridge now until the rain completely lets up and the ground is dry enough to support new timber."
"Hmm." Chelsea grimaced again. Cooped up in the castle with Lord Rathbone . . . for how long? she wondered. When he bent another smile upon her, a sickish feeling began in the pit of her stomach and spread upward to her throat. How she was to endure such close proximity to him without breaking down altogether she did not know.
To her immense relief, however, she did not have occasion to see much of the handsome baron for the next several days. She was as aware of him as ever though . . . three times a day at table, often during the day when she'd overhear his deep baritone imparting instructions to one or another of the servants, and always each evening, when the three of them gathered for a last cup of tea, or in
Lord Rathbone's case, a snifter of brandy or sherry, in the sitting room abovestairs.
One evening, as Lady Rathbone sat dozing in her chair, the gentleman said, "Perhaps we might get up a game of chess, or backgammon, Alayna. That's another thing I miss in the tropics, having someone to challenge to a game now and again."
"Oh, well, I . . . " Chelsea racked her brain trying to recall if Alayna was a chess player or not. In the end, she decided it didn't really matter. Nothing that transpired between herself and Lord Rathbone would signify once Alayna returned and the perfidy uncovered. In the meantime, she and the gentleman had to fill the long hours of the evening somehow. At least this way there would be the safe barrier of a game table between them.
Lord Rathbone had crossed the room to a corner cupboard and was rifling through it on a quest for the chess pieces or the backgammon suitcase. "Which shall it be?" he asked, his back to Chelsea as he talked.
"Either," she responded feebly.
"Good." Carrying a small box in his hands, he headed for a circular loo table and after tilting the top into position, began to remove the contents from the box. "How about cribbage?" he asked, with a laugh. "It was all I could find."
Chelsea smiled agreeably. "Cribbage is fine. I used to play with my grandfath . . . " Abruptly she stopped. She had played the card game with her Grandpapa Andover many, many times but whether Alayna had played the game or not, she had no idea.
Lord Rathbone was busy dragging a pair of chairs to the table. He glanced up. "You were saying?"
Chelsea swallowed tightly. "I-I haven't played since I was a child. I hope I haven't forgotten the rules."
Lord Rathbone held a chair out for her. "We shall refresh our memories together, Alayna. As I recall, even as a child, you were a fairly apt pupil when it came to games." He positioned the wooden board between them and divided up the small markers, then reached for the deck of cards and began to shuffle them. "The last letter I received from Aunt Hermione said you had taken up whist, or was it faro? I'm not much on gambling, myself," he continued conversationally. "Now, then, let me see . . ." He began to deal the cards.
Chelsea recalled perfectly how to play cribbage, but decided to let him take the lead in explaining it to her. Afterward, they played silently for several minutes, then out of a clear blue, Lord Rathbone said, "I've been thinking about the few letters you wrote to me, Alayna . . . "
Fear clutched Chelsea's middle. What was he going to ask her now?
"Several of your letters last summer," he went on, "were chock fall of the goings-on during your London Season."
Anxiety churned within Chelsea. She knew next to nothing about Alayna's come-out.
As Lord Rathbone continued, his tone grew more serious. "The thing is, Alayna, I do not recall you mentioning the names of any of your suitors, that is, any of the more persistent ones. And with your stunning looks, my dear, there must have been several."
Chelsea ventured nothing on the subject, though his comment on her looks did not escape her notice.
"Well, Alayna? At the risk of sounding inordinately forward, were there any?"
Suddenly Chelsea experienced great difficulty drawing breath. Alayna, she knew, had had several suitors. One in particular. But, as it turned out, the gentleman chose to pursue and finally marry a wealthy heiress from Ramsgate. Nonetheless, Chelsea did not feel obliged to tell Lord Rathbone about it. Especially since Alayna had not.
Affecting one of Alayna's familiar put-upon poses, she said, "I hardly see where that is any concern of yours, Rutherford." Without looking at him, she settled her peg into the next hole in the board with an astonishingly steady hand.
When a reply from him seemed overlong in coming, however, she risked a sidelong gaze across the table at him and caught a frightening glimpse of his jaw clenching.
"To quarrel with you this evening is not my intent, Alayna, I am merely trying to ascertain why you . . ." He paused, then sat back in his chair, completely ignoring the fact that it was his turn to play.
Wondering what was the trouble now, Chelsea's heart leapt to her throat as she gazed full at him.
"I am trying to understand why you persist in refusing to comply with my wishes in regard to living in Honduras, Alayna. Your insubordination in the matter is quite troubling. If you must know, I am unaccustomed to disobedience."
Chelsea felt an unwelcome surge of heat color her cheeks. She did not even have to think before replying to the gentleman this time. "I am hardly one of your slaves, Rutherford," she said in a breathless rush. "And what exactly do my former suitors have to say to anything?"
"So," his eyes snapped, "you admit to other suitors?"
Chelsea's lips tightened. "I admit to nothing."
"Dammit, Alayna!" He slammed his cards onto the table. Apparently the volume of his tone, and the sudden action, awoke Lady Rathbone, for across the room, she sat up with a start.
"Beginning to thunder again?" she mumbled from her chair.
Chelsea rose to her feet and moved swiftly to the old lady's side. "No, Aunt Millie, Rutherford was just . . ." She cast an accusing look at him. "Overset," she concluded. "We are playing a game and I expect he drew a bad hand."
Lady Rathbone twisted about in her chair. "Mustn't take on so, Rutherford, it is only a game."
In spite of the gnawing guilt she felt for inciting Lord Rathbone's intense anger Chelsea silently voiced her agreement to that.
* * * *
Dammit! What was it going to take to uncover the truth behind her refusal to obey him, Lord Rathbone demanded of himself, as he stalked toward his chamber that night. And worse, what did it really matter? Despite her objections to living with him in Honduras, she would acquiesce in the end. She would become his wife and that's all there was to say for it.
Flinging his coat and waistcoat to a chair, he fumbled with the stiff linen he'd so carefully wrapped about his neck before dinner. He thought he had unearthed the reason for her obstinacy when he'd decided she was simply afraid to remove to an unknown clime. But, apparently he'd been wrong. Then, when she'd refused to kiss him the other evening, he thought perhaps her reticence was due to her youth and innocence; that perhaps she had never been kissed before. Now, he was beginning to think otherwise. That she had fallen in love with someone and was, therefore, reluctant to leave the gentleman behind in England made more sense. Anger roiled within him as he unbuttoned his trousers. Guilt had been as evident on her face tonight as puzzlement was on his!
Alayna had had a Season, after all, and with her beauty, it was hard to imagine that she had attracted no notice whatever amongst London's eager young bucks. In fact, it was hard to believe that she had not been snapped up after first being introduced to society at her come-out ball.
He tossed his trousers aside and reached for his dressing gown. Wrapping it about himself, he crossed the room to pour himself a stiff draught of spirits. But downing the drink did not push thoughts of Alayna from his mind. Carrying the bottle with him to the comfortable wing chair positioned before the fire, he continued on in the same vein.
So far as he could see, apart from her extraordinary looks, Alayna had nothing of value to offer a man. The orphaned daughter of an impoverished peer who had had the good fortune to marry a Campbell, she had no funds of her own and no connections to speak of. Which is one of the reasons Rutherford had agreed so readily to the match. Being the only surviving male in the family, he felt a compelling duty to look out for his female counterparts. By marrying Alayna, he was solving two problems at once. She needed a means of support and he needed a wife. Of course, he had not counted on . . . Dammit, he was not falling in love with her!
Beyond the insignificant little tarradiddle he was attempting to unravel at odd moments of the day, it did not signify in the least that his future bride had once fancied herself in love with another. Did not signify in the least! Still, he would like to know if . . . dammit! He slung the half-full bottle of whiskey against the gray stone hearth before him and did not
move when the glass shattered, and the amber liquid pooled at his feet. There was a reason behind her stubbornness and he would uncover the truth if it killed him!
* * * *
The following afternoon, as the three of them partook of an early tea in the drawing room, he looked for a way to broach the subject with her once again. A heavy mist had been falling all day out of doors, consequently he had been forced once again to spend the entire day inside. But, as usual, thoughts of Alayna did not permit full concentration upon the tasks he'd set before him. He feared his patience, which even on a good day was in short supply, was fast running out.
Throughout the small meal, he had been unusually silent, his dark gaze resting fitfully on the blonde beauty, who reposed on a silk sofa opposite him. Just being in her presence these days made thinking difficult. She had the creamiest ivory skin he'd ever seen on a woman, with exactly the right amount of natural flush to her cheeks and lips. That she used no paint to enhance her features was evident.
Today her bright golden hair hung loose down her back, the ends of it a riot of soft yellow curls. Thoughts of pressing those silken tresses to his cheek and tasting the sweet nectar of her lips had driven any appetite he may have had for cold watercress sandwiches and pickled nasturtiums from his mind.
Watching her take a delicate bite from the slice of cake in her hands now made him swallow convulsively. Feeling a sudden tightness in his chest, he rose to his feet and was about to exit the room when the sound of his mother's voice stopped him.
"I have been thinking, Rutherford," Lady Rathbone began, "that I should like to give you children a proper send-off."
Lord Rathbone paused in his tracks. "A send-off, Mother?"
The older woman nodded, her grey eyes twinkling merrily. "I have decided to host a ball. In honor of your wedding. It's been simply ages since we had a soiree here. What do you say, Alayna? Would be quite lovely, don't you agree?"
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