“That’s Eleanor of Aquitaine,” Randall corrected. “And yes, I remember. How could we ever forget? It was the talk of the town when we left.”
“Terrance says it’s been returned.”
“Really?” Randall glanced to Larissa who gave what he interpreted to be a look of relief.
“Doesn’t say who pinched the thing though, but its return was a bit on the unusual side.”
“How’s that?” Randall prompted.
William drew his finger down the parchment, reading the text. “Says it came by post.”
“That is odd.” Randall exchanged a weighted glance with Larissa, who had the good form not to respond.
“The investigation is called off due to a lack of evidence. Much to the dismay of her grace.” William chucked. “She wants ‘heads to roll’ over this. The duchess was always one for drama, wasn’t she?”
Jenkins, the butler, appeared at the door and announced that dinner was served.
Supper tonight lacked all conversation. The meaningful glances that passed between Randall and Larissa apparently went unnoticed by William, who kept a running monologue from the consommé to the fruit and nuts served for dessert.
Instead of retiring to the drawing room, Larissa crossed the garden to the old castle wall. She strolled the sentry walk in search of a cool place to escape the abnormally warm evening.
A breeze ruffled the treetops and drifted across the crenellated battlements. A three-quarter moon lit the four-century-old walkway. The stars twinkled against the black velvet sky. Looking down the winding road that led to the castle, she tried to imagine what it was like to see a knight stampeding toward the drawbridge after a triumphant slaying of a nearby dragon.
“I can see you as a lady in distress.” It was Sir Randall.
His arrival did not surprise her. “I did not realize I needed saving.”
He inched closer with every word. “Didn’t you know?”
“Who, pray tell, should save me?”
“I had imagined myself to be the knight in shining armor.”
“I had imagined you as the fire-breathing dragon.” She covered her mouth to keep from laughing too hard or too loud.
“And you, dear damsel, have single-handedly struck the mortal blow.” He struck his chest with a fist and stumbled to the side.
“I didn’t know you wanted to be an actor.”
Sir Randall’s recovery was instantaneous. “You know, I’ve always believed I had a natural ability,” he said in a tone that lacked all modesty.
“It would not take much to convince me. Aside from my brief London stay this summer, the only acting I am familiar with is the amateur plays done at the Seminary by the girls.” She realized how unworldly she must have sounded. “My experience is limited.” The instant the words passed her lips she knew it was a mistake.
By the minute change in Sir Randall’s stance and the softening of his voice, she sensed he noticed her unintentional double entendre.
“One can learn to appreciate what one doesn’t understand.”
Larissa’s breath caught for a moment. Was he thinking the same thing she was? Did he want the same thing she did? The warm scent of Sir Randall’s skin mingled with the cool breeze. Larissa said nothing, but placed her hand lightly upon his chest.
Randall moved closer and brushed his fingertips over her cheek. He drew her face toward his and his warm lips pressed against hers, covering her mouth. They moved with a slow deliberateness that melted her insides. Excitement coiled inside her in a place where her resolve, her willpower once dwelt. She feared now it had deserted her.
His kiss was as she remembered. No, it was much, much better. Tentativeness replaced determination, leisure replaced haste, sweetness replaced any trace of false affection.
And it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Randall decided he would gladly accept the reprimand once the deed was done. But longing, necessity, and instinct dictated that he act. He waited no longer.
When their lips parted, she gasped for air. He covered her open mouth with his, deepening their kiss. Randall pulled away and trailed kisses from her face to her neck and showed no signs of slowing his progress downward. His hands move up and down the length of her back, then slid to her waist.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“William!” Neither shock nor surprise was the word to describe Randall’s response. He fairly pushed Larissa away and braced himself against the wall. William came striding forward.
Where the devil had he come from? Randall wondered.
“Not at all,” Randall replied. He closed his eyes and pushed an unsteady hand though his hair, taking slow, deep, even breaths. “We were just looking for a place to find a cool breeze.” There was one consolation. Larissa looked just as disturbed as he felt.
“Ghastly weather.” William swept a hand over his forehead. “I beg your pardon,” he said, loosening his cravat. “I must have this wretched thing off this instant. Can’t remember when it’s been so blasted hot.” He hopped up to sit on the battlement and stared in the distance before starting his monologue.
Randall heard William drone on and lost the thread of his conversation completely. He could see Larissa paid no more attention to William than he. Larissa arched her neck and gazed at him out of the corner of her eye. She returned his stare with an openness that he would have found quite shocking coming from anyone else.
At this moment, she looked so very beautiful. The simple, desolate setting of the walk, the twinkling background of the stars, somehow knowing her affection equaled his. What did he think he was doing? He was driving himself mad with those kinds of thoughts.
The following afternoon, just before she entered the library, Larissa glimpsed Lord William and Sir Randall at the foot of the stairs. Lord William had not seen her. However, Sir Randall caught sight of her in that precious instant and bestowed upon her the most intimate of smiles, meant for her alone, filled with warmth, longing, and promise. She could feel her heart pound a little stronger. In the privacy of the library she spun with her arms outstretched.
Life was wonderful! To be in love was wonderful! Sir Randall was wonderful!
She replaced the book she had borrowed and removed ‘Volume Two.’ How long would it be before she would see him again? Perhaps he would not wait until tea. Perhaps he would change his clothes and come down to the library straight away, knowing she waited within.
Larissa heard a voice. Was it Sir Randall? She listened more carefully. Lord William?
“Good to be home again.”
It was Lord William’s brother, the Marquess of Melton.
Then she heard a female voice. No, two, but much too soft to make out words.
Curiosity got the better of her and she inched out of the library, gaining speed down the hall only to find herself standing face-to-face with Lady Dorothea Brookhurst.
Chapter Nineteen
The next thing Larissa knew she was running upstairs. She stopped in front of Sir Randall’s room. She thought better of standing in the hall to knock and made straight for her own room to the doors that joined to his accommodations. She unbolted the lock and rapped upon the door.
The door opened, revealing Sir Randall with a wound, untied cravat, trailing from his neck.
“I’m surprised to see you take advantage of this entry,” he said amused. “How nice to see you.” Larissa followed him when he moved back to his glass to continue his task, taking up the trailing linen.
“Lord Melton has returned.”
“Has he?” Sir Randall murmured without much interest and continued to work on his cravat. With a few finishing touches, he held the linen to make a final tug and twist here and there, adjusting the sides.
“And Lady Dorothea is with him.”
At the suddenness of the news, Sir Randall’s hand pulled much too hard, unraveling the intricate pattern, causing the linen to once again hang free.
“Did you hear what I said? Lady Dorothea is here.”
Larissa stared at the blank expression on his face.
“It is of no import,” he responded, fingering his limp linen. “This one’s ruined.” He wrenched it from his neck and retrieved another from the clothespress and began again.
She stared at Sir Randall, not at his deft, moving fingers. What puzzled her was his lack of interest in Lady Dorothea. Larissa’s words came out with great difficulty, but she had to know. “Are you and she not . . ?”
“Yes,” Sir Randall answered in a firm tone. His gaze never wavering from his reflection in the glass. “She and I are not.”
“What if she causes problems? The two of you were at one time close.”
“What has transpired between Dorothea and me was over before our relationship was revealed. I am certain she is not here to make my acquaintance.” Randall gave a tug here and a pull there, the cravat held its shape. “She probably doesn’t know we are here. It’s all pure speculation on our part. I suggest you ignore her and carry on. If she’s on a different floor or in another wing, we need not see her the entire length of our stay.”
Larissa imagined it might be possible, but something told her it was highly improbable.
“We meet again, Lady Trent.” Lady Dorothea and her mother entered the drawing room for tea. “I trust you will not run away this time.”
“I apologize for my behavior earlier. Your presence surprised me and ….”
Dorothea shook her head. “Please, there is no need to explain. Our situation may be considered unusual, at best. I am certain we will see our way through.”
“Yes, it is. And we shall,” Larissa answered, growing confident but still apprehensive of Lady Dorothea’s manner.
“You left before the Season was over,” Lady Brookhurst went on while she poured from the teapot. “You missed the Fortescue rout and the Lady Shelby’s ball. That’s where Dorothea met Melton.”
It was obvious to Larissa that Dorothea’s mother was more than pleased with the match. While Dorothea showed no response at the mention of her admirer’s name.
“Well, I must admit I was feeling a bit out of sorts after the news about you and Sir Randall,” Dorothea confessed. “After meeting Melton, I can honestly say it was all for the best.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Dorothea replied and smiled a whimsical smile, raising the cup to her lips. This convinced Larissa there was a possibility of tender feelings in her quarter. “He’s a marquess, you know. Very handsome, charming, and very rich. How could I not be enchanted with him?”
Was that not similar to what Larissa had told herself about Lord Fenton?
“We are to stay in the same house. I hope we will become fast friends. I do not see for the world why not.”
“I suppose you’re right. There are only the three of us ladies about,” Larissa said.
“That’s right, and we shall become very close after a week or two.”
“Why, yes,” Larissa agreed, finally accepting Dorothea’s explanation. “I can see that we might at that.” She picked up her hoop and found her needle.
“What are you working on?” Dorothea asked.
“Just a bit of embroidery.”
“How lovely it is.” Dorothea lifted the edge to admire the pattern. “What are you planning to do with it?”
“Frame it, or perhaps make a pillow. I’ve not yet decided.”
“It would make a lovely cushion, I should think.”
Larissa held it at arm’s length, imagining it as such. “Perhaps you are right.”
“The men have gone coursing,” Dorothea announced. She retired her porcelain set onto the tray and remained standing. By her manner it appeared she did not intend to remain. “It seems we ladies are to fend for ourselves.”
“Why couldn’t they have brought us along?” Larissa complained. Beside the fact that she could not ride, it was the principal of the thing.
“Well, dear, if you are in a delicate condition, you shouldn’t be riding at all,” Lady Brookhurst was quick in answering, giving Larissa a quick glance at her midsection.
“Maman, please,” Dorothea scolded. “Do not listen to her, Lady Trent. You shall see, we ladies shall make due.”
“Well, I’m on my way to see Lady Iversly,” Lady Brookhurst excused herself.
“Maman, you cannot go alone,” Dorothea complained.
“Fustian, my dear, I shall have Regina ride along with me and you two have each other for company.”
Later that afternoon, Dorothea entered the music room just as Larissa finished playing. “You play very well,” she complimented. “I do not believe I have heard anything finer in any London parlor.”
“You are very kind to say so. Do you play?”
“Yes, not the pianoforte, but the violin. It should prove quite diverting to play together while we share this vast, empty house, don’t you think?”
“You and I? Playing duets … together?” Larissa reflected.
“Duets are usually comprised of two playing together.” The smile on Dorothea’s face denoted the remark was made in jest, and with not a hint of malice. “Pity I have not an instrument at my disposal.”
“But there is a violin.” Larissa rose and moved into the far, darkened corner of the room. Opening the glass doors, she took the violin and bow from its case and handed it to Dorothea.
Dorothea plucked the strings to determine the pitch then tightened the strings on the instrument. With Larissa at the keyboard to play the appropriate notes, Dorothea had soon tuned the violin and was ready to play.
After tightening the bow, Dorothea played the scales, limbering her fingers, showing amazing dexterity. The notes resonated clear and strong—she could indeed play well.
“Is there a suitable piece?” Dorothea asked.
“There are several drawers filled with music. I should be very surprised if we could not find one to both our liking,” Larissa replied.
Side by side, they rummaged through the sheaves of sheet music and found several that would do nicely. After choosing an agreed upon appropriate selection, Larissa and Dorothea practiced during the remaining hours of the afternoon.
The next morning, Randall managed a few minutes alone with Larissa at the breakfast table. The afternoon walks and shared evenings they had enjoyed had dwindled away with Dorothea’s arrival. His discomfort with her presence did not compare to that of her newfound friendship with Larissa.
“Don’t you find it odd?” he asked Larissa.
“I thought as much at first, but as of late, I am under the opinion she is only being friendly. She is ever so nice to me.”
“I would advise you to watch yourself.”
She gave him a hard stare. “I believe you’re envious of our association.”
He choked on his coffee. “I beg your pardon? Nothing could be further from the truth.” Randall had resented Dorothea’s interference. He and Larissa had spent such a glorious time together before the other guests arrived.
But he wasn’t as selfish as all that. He was only speaking out for Larissa’s good. “I have heard it said Lady Dorothea is not exactly the trustworthy sort.”
Larissa’s eyes shot open. “Now I know you’re jealous.” She pointed an accusing finger at him.
He took the hand she had proffered in anger and held it. The look in her eyes softened, thawing into the customary warm glow with which she gazed at him for the duration of their conversations when they sat together in the library.
Randall wished he could hear the soothing caress of her voice instead of the harsh tones of reproach. Staring into her eyes, he saw her mirroring his own feelings.
Larissa’s gaze swept to the door and she pulled her hand from Randall’s. “Dorothea!”
His pleasant memory was lost. With Dorothea’s presence, Larissa resumed her distant and cool manner. Randall did not know if he would see the compassionate side of Larissa he so loved ever again.
“Only passing through,” Lord Firth said to all, explaining his unexpected pre
sence. He had arrived just in time for that evening’s supper and sat down with Melton and the other guests. The gentlemen did not tarry in the dining room long and soon roamed into the parlor with their glasses of port in hand.
Melton paced in front of the empty hearth. He shifted the glass from hand to hand, swirling its contents. “Tell us, Firth, you seem in high dudgeon this evening. What’s bothering you?”
“I don’t find fault with a fat goose for nothing, Melton,” Firth grumbled. “A fortnight ago, I was waylaid by a highwayman.”
Lady Brookhurst gave a gasp. Dorothea moved to her mother’s side and took her hand for comfort. Apparently, Lady Brookhurst was of a delicate constitution.
“Dastardly deed, it was. Can’t seem to shake it. He dressed all in black and wore a black tricorn, shading the mask that covered his eyes.”
Lady Brookhurst clasped the pearl strand around her neck and gave a horrific gasp.
In an ominous tone, the marquess continued, “That’s what I’ve heard from Lord and Lady Greenleigh, held up last week. Coming up to town, you understand. Stopped them just outside London. Black waistcoat, black shirt, black breeches, black greatcoat and Hessians. The only bit of color on him was an unusual stick pin. Gold with engraved initials, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Initials? What initials?” Firth demanded.
“I believe Greenleigh said it was T. R. F. if I’m not mistaken.”
“T. R. F.? That’s my bloody stickpin,” Firth roared. “By gad, I want to see that scoundrel swing.”
Lady Brookhurst gave a great caterwaul, slumping into the back of the sofa.
“Maman, are you all right? Do get some sherry, please,” Dorothea asked William. She held the proffered sherry to her mother’s lips. “Here Maman, just take a sip.” This seemed to restore Lady Brookhurst for she looked quite recovered.
“That’s not the half of it,” Melton added, his eyes bugging out of his head as he worked his disastrous tale. “He beckoned Greenleigh’s daughter near for a kiss.”
“So after he’s taken the riches he wants, he’s after the girls?” Firth was outraged. He downed his port in one swallow.
“Ravaging the ladies!” Lady Brookhurst cried in fright. Again, Dorothea raised the sherry to her mother’s lips for a medicinal dose.
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