Rescued from Ruin

by Georgie Lee

  ‘He seems like a pleasant gentleman,’ Cecelia offered and Randall shifted on his feet, his gaze everywhere but on her. ‘I can’t say the same about his wife.’

  ‘It’s as much as I expected from her. She’s ambitious for her son,’ Randall stated, the superior man who regularly appraised others in London sounding in his words. ‘When you see her at the garden party, be sure to mention the size of Theresa’s dowry. It’s sure to overcome any of her objections.’

  On the dance floor, Mr Menton took Theresa’s hand to execute a turn and Cecelia touched the pendant, more than one hope dimming inside her. If Theresa’s happiness came down to money, then all was lost. She had no collateral to secure another loan from Mr Rathbone and no way to repay it even if he advanced her the funds.

  ‘Perhaps I should speak with her again, try to charm her,’ Cecelia suggested and Randall shook his head.

  ‘Wait until the party. Lady Menton will seek you out if only to curry favour with me and my aunt, which is exactly what you want.’

  ‘You’re very good at this game,’ Cecelia stated flatly.

  ‘I’ve been playing a different version of it for longer than I care to recall.’

  ‘Yes, it’s always about the game, whether here or in London,’ she snapped.

  His jaw tightened. ‘If you wish to cease playing, you have only to say so, but I think you’ll find it isn’t an easy one to give up.’

  She didn’t answer, knowing she was caught in her own game, one she’d been playing since the day she’d arrived in London. Now she played another with Randall and the Mentons. How long before she, too, forgot what it was like to live without all the manoeuvring and lies?

  She looked at Randall. He watched the dancers with sharp eyes, his demeanour stiff with all the airs of his title and position. It was so different from the man who’d greeted her a few moments ago, or the one who’d kissed her in the garden. She pressed her lips together, remembering the urgency of his touch near the willow tree. Would he help her with Theresa’s dowry if she asked him? She wasn’t sure. Mr Robson might boast of Randall’s generosity, but he was a poor miller deserving of the rich lord’s charity. She was a woman perpetuating a lie and she couldn’t take advantage of Randall’s affection for her. If she did, then she was just as duplicitous as she had once accused him of being.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, now is my chance to exert more of my influence on Mr Menton.’ Randall bowed and walked away.

  Her heart dropped, sensing he left more to get away from her than to further Theresa’s cause. In private he might hold her as if afraid she would flee, but she saw how the passionate man faltered under the good-natured jibe of a country baronet. A heaviness settled over her and she sought out a small bench along the wall, hidden as much by the backs of the crowd as the shadows. In the privacy of the estate they could enjoy a certain intimacy, but in London she sensed people like Madame de Badeau would kill it faster than a new shoot in a hard frost.

  Over the rising music, she barely heard the rustle of muslin as a young lady stepped in front of her.

  ‘Mrs Thompson?’

  Cecelia looked up at a round-faced girl not much older than Theresa. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m Miss Caufield. I know you must think me impertinent, but you being so close to Lord Falconbridge and his family, I must speak with you.’

  ‘I don’t think you impertinent at all.’ Cecelia motioned to the bench and the girl took the empty seat beside her.

  ‘I’m Lord Westbrook’s fiancée.’ The girl fingered a bow on the skirt of her dress. ‘You know what transpired between Lord Falconbridge and Lord Westbrook?’

  ‘Yes. Do you wish me to speak to Lord Falconbridge about restoring Lord Westbrook’s property so you might wed?’

  The girl’s face scrunched with confusion, then she shook her head. ‘No, not at all, for Lord Falconbridge has already forgiven the debt.’

  It was Cecelia’s turn to be confused. ‘He did? When?’

  ‘In London.’

  ‘On what terms?’

  ‘None, except Lord Westbrook is not to visit London for three years until people have forgotten the incident.’

  ‘Lord Falconbridge returned Lord Westbrook’s fortune.’ It seemed beyond belief for Randall to show compassion to someone in society and ask nothing but their silence in return, but the girl said it with enough heartfelt gratitude for her to know it was true.

  ‘He even suggested a stock to invest in. Because it promises to turn quite a profit, my parents have allowed us to marry, though for the moment I must keep silent, in accordance with Lord Falconbridge’s wishes. I can’t tell you what his generosity has meant to us.’

  ‘I can well imagine.’

  ‘Please don’t tell him I told you, but if you could find a way to thank him for me, I would very much appreciate it. We both would.’

  ‘I will. Of course.’

  An older woman with the same brown eyes and round face as the young lady waved to Miss Caufield. ‘That is my mother. I must go. Thank you, Mrs Thompson.’

  Cecelia nodded, not sure how else to respond or what to think about Randall.

  * * *

  The large clock in the hall chimed the late hour as Randall strode in from the stables, pulled off his riding gloves and tossed them on a table. Sir Walter’s comment about Cecelia still nagged at him and riding behind the carriage from the assembly had done nothing to settle his annoyance at the baronet or himself. He should have ignored Sir Walter’s ill-conceived joke, trusted his better judgement and not allowed London ways to rule him, but the familiar habit proved difficult to break.

  He slapped the dust from his breeches, the dirt of a horse preferable to riding with the ladies and enduring another round of Cecelia’s disapproving looks. In the assembly, when he’d seen the pendant hanging around her neck, he’d thought they’d put an end to such nonsense. He should have known better.

  Upstairs, the ladies’ voices drifted down from the hall. He started up, then paused, tempted to wait for silence. No, he wasn’t about to hide down here in the dark. He grabbed the thick railing and took the stairs two at a time. If Cecelia was still in the hallway when he reached it, then so be it.

  Light flickered in the centre of the hallway as Randall reached the last step. Cecelia stood by her open bedroom door, arms crossed. She was only a short distance from him, but the gap felt wider.

  He strode towards her, expecting to be reprimanded like some schoolboy and determined to ignore it.

  ‘You gave Lord Westbrook his lands back,’ she said, her soft voice breaking the tense quiet.

  He jerked to a stop before her. He hadn’t expected this. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘His very grateful intended approached me at the assembly.’

  He clasped his hands behind his back. ‘She wasn’t supposed to speak of it.’

  ‘She asked me to find a way to thank you.’

  ‘Then she has succeeded.’

  Cecelia studied him, the warm light dancing in the diamonds dangling from her ears. ‘Every time I think I know you, you change. It seems I can never be sure of who I’ll be with whenever we’re together.’

  Her steady voice harried him more than all the anticipated chastisements, but he held his stance, refusing to be brought to heel. ‘I’m the man you spent today with, just as I’ve always been.’

  ‘No, not tonight, you weren’t. I saw your face when Sir Walter commented on our connection. It troubled you.’

  ‘Sir Walter is an affable man, but not all his jokes are welcome, especially when made at your expense.’

  ‘You mean at your expense. I have no doubt Sir Walter is good-natured, but not even he is allowed to tease the imperious Lord Falconbridge.’

  Randall stiffened. ‘I didn’t appreciate him making light of our acquaintance.�
��

  She crossed her arms. ‘Acquaintance?’

  ‘Our friendship.’ Damn, she was rattling him.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And what exactly is it you think you see?’ he challenged, his frustration with the baronet, her, himself rising to break his restraint. ‘A man who’s nothing but a scoundrel waiting to ruin everyone he meets?’

  ‘It’s your past, not mine, which leads me to such conclusions.’

  ‘And you draw them again and again. No matter what I do or whom I help,’ he snarled.

  Her ire rose to meet his. ‘How am I to know your good deeds when you hide them like something to be ashamed of?’

  ‘Even if I told you, it wouldn’t make a difference.’ She opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going, a hurt deeper and older than she knew driving him on. ‘You curse me for hanging on to my London ways, yet you cling to my past, constantly conjuring it up to keep me at a distance. You’re determined to see me as a rake unworthy of you.’

  ‘And you’re determined to keep me dangling between friend and something more.’ Her hands balled at her sides. ‘What is it you want from me, or do you even know?’

  Love. The word almost escaped before he bit it back. Not even he would believe it once uttered, yet there it sat in his mind, as clear as the mill pond on a calm day.

  He raked one hand through his hair. ‘You keep urging me to be a better man, but I can’t change in a matter of days, not even for you.’

  She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, the gold pendant glowing against her fair skin in the low light. She was so beautiful and he hated the feel of her drawing away.

  ‘It’s more than recent days, Randall.’

  ‘I know and I’m sorry,’ he roared, frustration tearing the truth from the dark place inside him. ‘I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I’m sorry today and I was sorry then, for weeks, months, years afterwards. I was sorry every time Aunt Ella read me one of your letters and I knew every chance I ever had to win you back was gone.’

  He took a deep breath and waited for her to laugh in triumph, to wound him the way he’d once so callously wounded her.

  She raised her hand and he braced himself for the slap. He deserved it for everything he’d ever done to her, his father and so many others.

  ‘No, Randall.’ She laid her warm palm against his cheek. ‘Not gone. Not any more.’

  Forgiveness followed the light sweep of her fingers across his face and he took her in his arms, pressing her hard against him. Relief slid through him, every wrenching ache their separation had caused soothed by the warmth of her body against his. She rose up on her toes, meeting his lips as he brought his down to cover hers, the taste of her sweeter than any delicacy he’d ever known.

  She tangled her hands in his hair and he inhaled the magnolia perfume lingering on her wrists. Slowly he drew her back into her room and kicked the door closed, unwilling to let go or break the kiss for fear she might slip away.

  His tongue slid between her teeth, caressing hers as his fingers worked open the tiny dress buttons following the arch of her spine. She didn’t pull away, but matched his movements, opening the buttons of his coat and then his waistcoat. With reluctance he let go of her waist and broke free of her lips, lowering his hands to his sides as she slid the wool down over his arms to fall to the floor. Her hands slipped beneath his waistcoat, her touch hot through his shirt as they swept across his chest and pushed the silk over his shoulders. He shrugged free of the garment, dropping it on the floor with the coat.

  Reaching out, he caressed the silken skin of her shoulders, pushing the dress from her body until it slid free of her arms, catching on the roundness of her hips. He laid his hands above the draping fabric and brushed the curve of her until the silk pooled around her feet.

  Turning her with a light pressure, his fingers traced the line of her back to the neat bow of her stays and he pulled the long ties until the bow came loose. His manhood stiffened with each slip of the ribbon through the small holes until the stays opened and he tossed them aside. He laid a gentle kiss on first one shoulder and then the other before grasping the sides of the chemise and drawing it up over her head.

  Reaching around in front of her, he looked down at her naked body and the pendant hanging between her full breasts, glittering in the candlelight. He cupped the mounds, the heaviness in his hands worth more than any jewellery he could ever purchase for her. With his thumb, he stroked the pink nipples and she sighed, the quiet noise tightening his manhood to the point of pain. She laid her head back against his chest, her eyes closed and trusting, surrendering to him in a way no woman ever had before. Laying a kiss on her temple, he pressed his hardness against her soft buttocks, eager to be free of his breeches and know the pleasure of her full embrace.

  She turned in his arms, no shame gracing her face as her ample breasts rose and fell with each short breath. Instead her heated eyes met his, travelling quickly over his bare chest before she reached for the front of his breeches. His whole body tightened as her fingers moved so close to his hardness, the air cool against him when the buttons were undone and the wool fell to the floor. Through her lashes she pinned him with a hungry look, her desire free of all greed of what this pleasure might gain her.

  Clasping her wrists, he drew them up and around his neck, then slid his arms beneath her back and legs and lifted her up and carried her to the bed.

  She lay back against the fine sheets, watching him like the beautiful goddess she’d portrayed in Sir Thomas’s studio. Only tonight there were no stern looks or chiding remarks, only acceptance and want.

  He stretched out above her, dipping down over her body to nip and suck at the firm flesh of her breasts, taking one tender bud in his mouth and circling it with his tongue. She clung to him as he continued to tease her, his fingers tracing the length of her flat stomach to the sable curls between her thighs. She gasped when he found the tender pebble of her pleasure, her breath fast in his ear as he teased and stroked, sliding one finger, then another into her need. The feel of her around him, vulnerable and wanting, asking nothing of him but this coming together made his being ache.

  Sensing the crest of her pleasure rising in the firm embrace of her body, he withdrew, wanting to feel the first waves of her release caress his member. She sighed in frustration, then reached up and drew him down to cover her. The soft curls of her womanhood teased his aching rod as he settled between her sweet thighs, the tip of his member resting light against her centre.

  The gentle pressure of her hands on his buttocks urged him forward and he slid into her warmth. Taking her mouth with his, he forced himself still for a moment, as much to savour her as to regain control. Then her hips began to move against him and he met her steady pace. Deeper and deeper he led her into pleasure, one with her, his thrusts building as she tightened around him, their bodies moving together until his groans matched her cries and release tore through them both. He shuddered within her, arms hard around her as he pressed his forehead to hers and she trembled beneath him.

  When their bodies stilled and their hard breaths softened, he rolled to one side and pulled her into the crook of his arm. Her cheek rested against his collar as her fingers brushed his chest. The candles burned low, the wax sputtering until one by one the flames died out.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered, waiting in the darkness for her answer.

  ‘I love you, too, Randall.’

  He dropped a light kiss on her forehead, holding her close until her hand rested on his chest and her body grew heavy against his. Then he closed his eyes and joined her in sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sharp explosion of a pistol split the morning still and acrid gunsmoke filled the air. A neat hole near the centre marred the target on a bale of hay a few yards away.

  ‘Well done.’ Cecelia clapped as Randall handed his pi
stol to a footman and then accepted another.

  ‘I can do better.’ He took aim at the red circle and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked back in his hand, the smoke hovering and blocking their view before it cleared, revealing a clean hole in the centre of the target.

  ‘Very good.’ Cecelia came forward from the edge of the range. ‘Now let me try.’

  He moved aside, allowing her to take a smaller pistol from the footman.

  She stepped up to the line and levelled the barrel at the target. Despite the pleasures of last night and the early hour she’d awoken to watch him leave before the maid arrived to light the fire, she felt no exhaustion. Her body hummed with energy, excitement and anticipation. The apology she’d waited so long to hear had finally come and with it a new belief in Randall and their future. He loved her and everything would be all right.

  ‘Would you like some pointers?’ he asked, mistaking her silence for difficulty with her aim.

  ‘No, thank you.’ She pulled the trigger, the small explosion reverberating up through her arm.

  They stared down the range at the target. It was a respectable shot, hitting the outermost edge of the rings.

  ‘Quite commendable for a lady.’

  ‘A skill I learned, but did not master, in Virginia.’

  ‘Then allow me to continue your education.’ He took her gun, exchanging it with the footman for a new one and handing it to her.

  ‘Now, ready yourself.’ He laid his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face the hay. ‘Hold up the pistol.’

  She obeyed and he slid one hand around her waist to rest on her stomach. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his heat mixed with the earthy scent of the hay. She opened her eyes, struggling to keep her hand steady and not set off the gun.

  ‘To fire correctly, you must know your weapon.’ He pressed his desire against her back as he wrapped his hand over hers to help hold the pistol. ‘This one errs to the left, therefore, if you wish to strike the middle, you must aim further to the right.’