by Lauren Royal
“I…” Afraid his legs would give out, Rand retreated in search of somewhere to sit. The backs of his calves finally bumped into a hall chair, and he collapsed onto it.
He stared at the black-and-white floor between his limp, spread knees. “I never knew how she died. I just came home and she was…gone.”
The marquess followed him, looking down on him. “No point in telling a boy of six,” he said in clipped tones. “If I was wrong to blame you for her death, at least I wasn’t daft enough to accuse you out loud.”
Rand looked up. “No. Instead you ignored me, mistreated me, drove me from your home—”
“And you managed to survive regardless. And”—the man shifted on his feet—“to make a life for yourself.”
Rand Nesbitt’s many accomplishments meant less than nothing to the Marquess of Hawkridge. “Not a life you’ll ever approve. In the world where I belong, I’m called Professor, not my lord.”
The man’s jaw tightened. “You’re an earl now and will someday be a marquess. That’s another matter we need to discuss. Which we will, just as soon as you wed Margery and set up residence here.”
“I have no intention of living here. I’m not in such a hurry to put myself back in range of your disapproval and abuse.”
“I’ve said I was sorry,” the marquess muttered. He glanced through the open door. “I’ve dogs to attend to.”
“By all means,” Rand said, waving him off.
The man always had valued his dogs over his son.
Fifty-Two
THE RIDE TO Trentingham was awkward.
Rand was subdued, and Lily had difficulty trying to sustain both sides of the conversation. The worst of it was that for the first time since the baptism, she found herself wracking her brain to find anything to discuss. Their ease with each other was gone, their relationship changing already.
It was only two hours between the estates, yet the time passed like the carriage’s wheels were mired in mud. Though Beatrix rode inside, her warm softness on Lily’s lap failed to provide any comfort. When they finally rolled up before the manor, she couldn’t wait to get into the house.
Was it but three days since she’d been home? A day in Oxford and two at Hawkridge. In that short span of time, her entire life had spun upside down.
Just inside the door, Chrystabel met her and wrapped her in a hug. “That was a short visit.”
Lily clung to her mother for a moment, inhaling her familiar floral scent. “It felt like a lifetime.” When she pulled away, she looked around as though seeing her home for the first time. So light and bright, the staircase off the entry fashioned of classical white balustrades instead of heavy, dark carved wood. The atmosphere warm and loving, not cold and full of resentment. “It’s good to be home.”
Concern flooded her mother’s brown eyes. “Do you not like Hawkridge Hall? Will you not want to live there?”
“Oh, Mum, it seems I won’t be living there even if I did want to!” Here, finally, was someone who cared. Lily had felt invisible at Hawkridge Hall—no, worse than invisible. A burden to Rand and persona non grata to everyone else. “Things have changed—”
Spotting Rand standing in the doorway, she broke off.
“Rand.” Though Chrystabel smiled at him, the expression in her eyes said she knew something was wrong. “How very nice to see you again. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you? Or does your father expect you back at Hawkridge this afternoon?”
“No,” he said dully. “I’m going home to Oxford for a few days.”
“The sun sets late this time of year, so you can stay for dinner, then, at least.”
He shrugged as though he didn’t care. “I’m going for a run,” he said to Lily, already struggling out of his surcoat. “I’ll be back in a while.”
“No,” she said. “Oh, no.”
As he turned and walked away, Chrystabel laid a gentle hand on Lily’s arm. “I can see that things didn’t go well with his father. Leave him be, dear.”
“No.” Lily started toward the door. “I’ve let him be quite enough. I’ll be back and explain later.”
“Lily!” Mum called.
But she was already out the door and down the steps.
Fifty-Three
“WAIT!” LILY called.
But Rand didn’t, even though she was sure he’d heard her. To the contrary, he shoved his coat and cravat into the carriage and then began to run, putting more distance between them.
She hurried past blue and yellow flower beds in her high Louis-heeled shoes. Hoping she wouldn’t twist an ankle in the soft grass, she wished she hadn’t dressed so fashionably this morning.
The shoes and the lavender gown with the heavy overskirt had been a final attempt to impress her future father-in-law. If she wasn’t so upset, she’d laugh at herself for her characteristic optimism. The fact was, there was nothing she could do to make the man like her. He wanted his son to marry Margery, and that was that.
He’d probably sent up a cheer when he saw her climb into the carriage and ride away.
Lily had never really disliked anyone in her life, but she disliked Rand’s father immensely. Not for the way he treated her—he didn’t know her, after all—but for the way he treated Rand.
Rand. There he was, crossing the bridge to the other side of the river.
“Rand!”
Thanks to living with her father, Lily knew how to make her voice carry. But although Rand stopped running, he didn’t stop altogether, instead pacing determinedly along the far bank.
Hopping on one foot and then the other, she pulled off her shoes and left them jumbled on the daisy-strewn lawn. Then she picked up her skirts and ran—across the grass, over the bridge, along the path with the river on one side and grazing fields on the other.
Her face heated and her lungs burned. She developed a searing stitch in her side. But she wouldn’t stop running.
She would never give up on Rand Nesbitt.
In the woods beyond, she spotted him in the distance and pushed herself to close the gap. “Rand,” she called breathlessly.
He slowed, stopped, and turned, looking defeated. “You’ll cut your feet,” he said in a dead voice.
Panting, she looked down to the forest floor, littered with twigs and leaves. Her silk stockings were torn, which was no surprise, but she hadn’t noticed when it happened.
“I—don’t—care,” she said between gasping attempts to catch her breath. She bent at the waist, hugging the pain in her side. “All I care for, Rand, is you.”
If she’d hoped he’d melt at those words, she was disappointed. “Sometimes,” he said, “I need to be by myself. Can you not leave a body alone?”
“I’ve tried that. It hasn’t worked.”
“I need to think. I cannot think.”
She straightened and met his gaze. She had something she needed to tell him, and she knew he needed to share something, too. A piece of the puzzle was missing—the piece she suspected had made him run. “We can think together. Maybe two heads are better than one.”
His jaw tensed as though he were forcibly holding back words. He crossed his arms, shutting her out. His gaze drifted up to the canopy of leaves overhead.
The solitude he wanted would solve nothing. “I’m staying here, Rand. I won’t leave you. Do you hear me?” She shouted it to the trees. “I won’t leave you, no matter what your father says!”
Slowly he lowered his eyes. “Do you believe in fate?”
“I believe you’re my fate.”
“Oh, Lily.” He shook his head, opening his arms. “Come here.”
His arms felt so good around her, so solid and sure. He kissed her, kissed her until she was more breathless than she’d been from running, until she felt boneless and light-headed. He put one-hundred-percent of himself into the wordless promise of that kiss.
And she knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was that made him run away, time after time, had nothing to do with a lack of love for her. Perhaps he
simply didn’t know how to share. He’d spent so very much of his life on his own.
Well, she’d show him how. Two heads were better than one, two hearts even stronger.
When he finally drew back, she searched his intense gray eyes. “What happened? It’s something else, isn’t it? Besides Margery and your father’s ultimatum?” He tried to look away, but she moved to the side, keeping her gaze locked on his. “What happened?” she repeated. “What new complication has arisen to pile on top of the others?”
He sighed, looking reluctant to confide in her.
But at least he didn’t run.
With both hands, she propelled him toward a stump and pushed down on his shoulders until he sat. “Tell me,” she said.
He gathered her onto his lap. Leaves rustled overhead, and a sparrow fluttered from one branch to another. Lady, found her way back home. Jasper blinked his little squirrel eyes at them, then darted up a tree. Lily rubbed her scarred hand and stared at her stockinged toes, waiting.
“The marquess,” Rand said at last, “has claimed he had an excuse for the way he’s treated me all of these years.”
“You were a child. There was no excuse.”
“He blamed me for the death of my mother.”
“What?” She shifted to face him. “How did she die? You never told me.”
“I never knew. It seems, as a child, I had a habit of running off.” He paused as though waiting for her to agree or to chide him. When she didn’t, he went on. “I was six when it happened. She couldn’t find me and went out looking.”
“And died?”
“A riding mishap. She broke her neck.”
“Oh, Rand.” Sensing his pain, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’d disappeared.”
“You were six. You weren’t responsible for her accident. It could have happened another day, another time—”
“But it didn’t.” The guilt rolled off of him in waves. “It happened when I ran off. I killed her.”
She lifted her head. “No. You’re not to blame.”
“My father thinks I am. I left her, and she died. And look at me. I’m still running off and hurting the people I love.”
She offered him a wan smile. “I believe I just put a stop to that. And Rand, you didn’t kill her. Your father saying so doesn’t make it true. You were six years old. Events happen. This one was tragic, but you cannot believe it’s your fault.”
“My father believes I’m to blame.”
“Not really,” she argued. “Or he’d have voiced that blame aloud long ago. And he never did, did he? Or you would have known how she died before now.”
He appeared to consider that for a moment, and Lily felt a little of the tightness ease from his body. “You won’t convince me the man is good,” he finally said.
“No, and I wouldn’t try. His treatment of you was unpardonable, but perhaps natural, for all that. He was hurting—”
“Hurting?” Rand interrupted in a tone of patent disbelief.
She nodded. “He must have loved her very much to react in such a strong manner, even if it was wrong.”
“Love? I cannot picture that man in love. I doubt he even believes in such a fine emotion.”
She decided to drop that for now. “Regardless, he was wrong to treat you that way. Not only because you were—are—his child, but also because—”
“I was only six,” he finished softly, as though really hearing that for the first time.
“Yes, you were only six.”
An invisible burden seemed to roll off his shoulders, and he sat there a long while, silent, rubbing her back.
“I need time to think,” he said at last.
“About your mother?”
He shook his head, a slow, mournful motion. “About Margery. I cannot marry her, loving you. I cannot. And yet…can I condemn another man to die?”
Of course he couldn’t; he wouldn’t be the man she loved if he could. Lily swallowed hard. “Would it make it any easier if I told you I’m not with child?”
His hand stilled on her back. “What do you mean?”
“I…I awakened this morning, and…” She felt her cheeks flood with color. She’d never discussed anything like this with a man, but she’d known since this morning that she had to. She’d run all the way out here to tell him. “My courses are upon me,” she said quietly. “I’m not with child.”
“Oh,” he said; then his arms wrapped around her and held her close. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you? Truly?” Her first feelings this morning had been of sorrow, although she knew she should have been relieved. And truthfully, a large part of her was relieved. “Your father, you know—it would have made no difference. We had no hope of using it to our favor.”
“I know. But…well, I was picturing her already. She looked like you. I’d be the first to admit that mere days ago I’d have quailed at the thought of fatherhood, but now that I’ve had time to get used to the idea, damn if I wasn’t looking forward to it.”
“I was picturing a boy. A gray-eyed boy with long, dark gold hair.”
His lips curved in a half smile. “Twins. They run in your family, don’t they?”
Despite everything, she had to laugh. “If you’d seen my sister heavy with twins, you wouldn’t wish that on me. Besides, it’s Ford’s family that runs to twins. Surely you know he’s a twin himself.”
“Ah, yes. Kendra.” For a moment, Rand looked far away, lost in the past. Then the faint smile faded from his face and he hugged her even tighter. “One child, twins, triplets—I don’t care, so long as they’re ours. More than anything, Lily, I want you to have my children.”
“Oh, Rand, I want your baby, too.” She laid a hand over her empty womb, thinking about what might have been, what might never be. “There must be another way,” she said, using his words. “You’re right—we both need to think.”
He put his bigger hand over hers. “Not now. I’m sorry, but I must go to Oxford. I need more clothes, and other—”
“I didn’t mean you’re never allowed to go off alone. You’ll think in Oxford, and I’ll think here.”
By unspoken agreement, they rose and began walking in the direction of Trentingham. Rand took her hand. “After Oxford, I must go back to Hawkridge. It’s my only hope of finding any evidence to free Bennett. He said he was hunting with a party; one of the other men might have seen something. Or someone else. If need be, I will interview every soul in a ten-mile radius.”
Leaves crunched beneath Lily’s stockinged feet, and when a twig snapped with a loud crack, Rand swept her up into his arms. She linked her hands behind his neck. “I shall come and help you.”
She saw the telltale hesitation, felt the slight tightening of his arms before he decided to come out with it. “Let me talk to my father first. You’ll be but two hours away, and I’ll come for you, I promise, once I ascertain you’ll be accepted.”
His gray eyes pleaded for her to understand, and she did, but it was frustrating to feel so helpless.
“Trust me on this, sweetheart,” he said softly.
“If I think of anything that could help, anything at all, I’ll come to you,” she warned him as they emerged from the woods.
In the soft grass that lined the banks of the river, he set her on her feet and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he murmured, the words a damp promise against her skin. “We’re in this together. Never doubt that, my love.”
Fifty-Four
DINNER WAS A subdued affair.
Bacon tart was usually one of Lily’s favorites, its flaky crust and sweet almonds contrasting with the salty meat, but today she only picked at it while she listened to Rose grill Rand about the latest developments. For once, Rose didn’t seem jealous about Lily’s betrothal—in fact, Lily would wager her sister was glad she wasn’t the one in this predicament.
Mum looked very sor
ry that she’d insisted Lily go along to Hawkridge, although as Lily pointed out, her absence wouldn’t have changed anything.
“It would have spared you some discomfort, dear,” Mum said.
But that didn’t matter to Lily. The reward for that discomfort had been more time with Rand—precious time that could turn out to be their last.
Afterward, Lily saw him out to his carriage. “If you think of anything,” she told him, “anything at all—I want to know. And if I think of anything, I’ll send word to you at Oxford.”
“I may not be there long enough for word to reach me. Fewer than six days remain until the wedding. I need to get back to Hawkridge well before that if I’m to find evidence enough to prevent it.”
“Then stop here on the way. Please. It won’t cost you but half an hour, and I may have an idea—”
She broke off when his lips descended on hers.
The kiss was wild, desperate. It made her mouth burn with fire and her senses reel dangerously. She knew, without a doubt, that she would never find this with another man—and the truth cracked her heart.
When he finally broke the kiss, he crushed his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. “God, Lily, this cannot be the end for us. It just cannot.”
“It won’t be.” She kissed him again, softly, before drawing back. “You’ll stop by on your way to Hawkridge?”
He opened his eyes and nodded.
“Then I’ll see you in a few days,” she said, suspecting those days would be the longest of her life.
Rose, however, wasn’t going to let her mope around.
“I think tonight we should have our sleeping party,” she said when Lily reentered the house.
Lily rubbed her face. “Whatever are you talking about?” She wasn’t interested in any sort of party, especially tonight. Tonight she just wanted to crawl into her bed, curl up, and think hard about how Bennett’s innocence could possibly be proved.
If he even was innocent…but she had to believe he was. It was the only chance she and Rand had.
