The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1)

by Rachael Anderson

  Lord Drayson shot her a look of concern. “I shall be sure to add a great many logs to the fire once I return you to your home. Perhaps I could toss you in as well, if you enjoy being that toasty.”

  “That sounds q-quite heavenly, actually,” she said as another gust of wind whipped around her.

  The earl removed one of his driving gloves and lifted his bare palm to her cheek. “Good gads, woman, you are cold.” He slid closer and swept his arm around her back, pulling her snug against him. He began rubbing her upper arm to warm her. It was a strange sensation to be so cold and yet on fire at the same time.

  Lucy tried to move away because she ought to, but it was a feeble attempt at best. So she tried words instead. “Collins, I appreciate what you’re t-trying to do, but this isn’t s-seemly. You must r-remove your arm from about my p-person.”

  “I will do no such thing,” he countered. “Not when it feels as though I am holding a block of ice.”

  “I would p-prefer to speak of fire,” she said, deciding she’d rather snuggle closer than move away. He felt so good and smelled so masculine, like earth, hard work, and sandalwood. It reminded her of her father. A gust of wind swept past, going straight through her thin dress, and she huddled nearer to him.

  “How is it you are s-so warm?” she asked. “The wind is so c-cold and you are damp as well.”

  “Only damp—not soaked to the bone like you.” The earl continued to rub her arm with greater intensity and simultaneously flicked the reins repeatedly, encouraging Athena to move faster.

  “I would suggest that you drive and not me,” he said, “but you’d likely run us off the road, and I’m certain you’d prefer to get home.”

  Lucy knew he was attempting to distract her from the cold, and she was grateful for his efforts. “I’ll w-wait until tomorrow,” she said. “I must l-learn as quickly as p-possible so I do not have to w-wear that ghastly hat. R-red is not my color.”

  “I beg to differ,” he said. “I’ve seen a rosy hue on your cheeks rather often, and it is quite fetching.”

  “F-fetch is what a dog does with a s-stick,” said Lucy, not comfortable talking about her appearance, or the fact that he seemed to notice how frequently she blushed around him.

  “Or what a servant does with a cup of tea?” he countered.

  “Tea . . . that sounds h-heavenly too,” she murmured.

  “Perhaps I will fetch you a cup when we get back.”

  The lighthearted banter only served to increase Lucy’s guilt. Lord Drayson would not treat her with such kindness if he knew of her deceit. She didn’t deserve it any more than he deserved to fetch her a cup of tea. It was past time to tell him the truth and accept the consequences of her rash stupidity. But how? When? She didn’t know how to begin such a conversation.

  Lucy felt trapped in the middle of a large, self-made muddle, and she had no one to blame but herself. Perhaps she should blurt it all out right now and be done with it. After he’d left her to freeze in the drizzle, he might go a bit easier on her. More likely, though, he’d dump her on the side of the road and leave her for dead, just as she had once contemplated doing to him.

  Perhaps today was the day she would reap what she’d sown.

  Lucy drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Col—” she cut herself off, realizing she could no longer call him by that name. How she could have ever done so was another testament that she was not nearly as good as he seemed to think her. So she cleared her throat and began again. “There is s-something I need to tell y-you.”

  A long pause followed, and his hand stopped rubbing warmth into her arm. He cast a quick glance her way but said nothing to encourage further conversation, so she forged on. “I have b-behaved very badly. Y-you see, I—”

  “Purchased your seeds?” He nodded toward her bundle. “I noticed the parcel on your lap. What did you get?”

  “Carrots, s-spinach, cauliflower, and p-peas,” she answered. “But that is not what I w-wish to tell you.”

  “Whatever it is can wait until you are cozy and warm,” he said, his hand rubbing her arm once more. “I see the house now. We are almost there.”

  Even through the murky gray skies, the dower house had never looked more beautiful or inviting. It beckoned Lucy the way the clear skies and warm sun had done to her this morning, only now she could not wait to be back indoors.

  “Perhaps I w-will allow you to fetch that cup of t-tea after all,” Lucy’s voice came out as a whisper. “But only this last t-time.”

  The earl said nothing. He merely pulled her body tighter against his and cracked the reins a few more times. Then he called out “Whoa!” and the cart came to an abrupt stop. If it wasn’t for the earl’s arm about her, Lucy would have flown off her seat.

  Once he had steadied her, Lord Drayson jumped from the cart and swept Lucy into his arms. He left Athena and the cart where it was and carried her straight into the house.

  “Georgina!” he called upon entry. “Georgina, where are you?”

  “She likes being c-called Georgy,” said Lucy. “And she isn’t h-here, remember? Her mother is ill and needed her.”

  “And now you’re going to be ill if we don’t get you warm soon.” He deposited Lucy on the sofa and tucked a rug around her before moving to the fireplace to start a fire. Several minutes later, it began to snap and pop, and Lucy felt some of its wonderful warmth. She curled into a ball and rested her head on the arm of the sofa.

  “We need to get you into dry clothes.”

  “We?” Lucy pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her body might be numb but her brain was still very much intact, and there would be no “we” when it came to changing her clothes.

  The earl rolled his eyes. “Tell me where I might find some dry clothes for you to dress yourself.”

  She was too tired and cold to argue. “Top of the s-stairs. Second door on your right. And do t-try to stop commanding me.”

  He hustled up the stairs and returned a moment later, tossing a shift and a blue day dress beside her on the sofa. She would have blushed that he had gone through her unmentionables if they didn’t appear so inviting at the moment. She would save her blushes for another day and simply be grateful.

  “Th-thank you.”

  “I will attend to Athena while you change, then I will try to figure out how to put the kettle on.” He was gone before she could thank him again.

  The moment Lucy relinquished the rug around her, the cold air seemed to blast her. She didn’t waste any time tugging the curtain closed and slipping out of her favorite pink dress. Her damp shift soon followed, and she worked quickly to put on the dry clothes, all the while standing directly in front of the fire. Then she grabbed the quilt and dropped down on the floor, greedily soaking up the warmth.

  As her body began to slow its shivering, Lucy’s thoughts strayed to the earl and how chilled he must be out in the cold stables, tending to her horse when he should be back home in Danbury enjoying his family.

  With great reluctance, Lucy pulled herself away from the fire. Keeping the quilt tight around her body, she walked to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, she returned to the parlor holding two steaming mugs of tea when a knock sounded on the door. It opened a crack, and the earl’s voice called, “Are you decent?”

  “Quite,” answered Lucy. “Do come in and warm yourself up with a cup of tea.” She handed him a mug as he entered the house then returned to her spot on the rug in front of the fire, where she sipped the steaming liquid. It burned as it ran down her throat, but the soothing, warming effects made her sigh.

  “Would you prefer to sit on the sofa?” asked the earl, leaning a shoulder against the doorway as he took a sip of his tea. His hair was damp, his face was beginning to show a day’s worth of growth, and his eyes were a murky blue that sent her heart to racing.

  “I wish to remain exactly where I am,” said Lucy. “You may take the sofa if you’d like.”

  “I am damp and smell of the stables.”


  “That is of no consequence, but perhaps you ought to change as well,” said Lucy. “Dry clothes have made all the difference. I am feeling much better already.”

  The earl took another sip before setting the mug on a side table and excusing himself to presumably do just that. Through the quiet house, Lucy heard his footsteps descend below stairs, and she felt another bout of that dratted guilt. He should not be going down to where the air was even damper and chillier. He should be going up to warmth, coziness, and a valet ready to assist him.

  What was more, Lucy became keenly aware that she should not be alone in the house with him. What had she been thinking giving Georgina the evening off? Yes, her maid had been needed elsewhere, but she was also needed here at this moment. Lucy’s mother would be shocked if she could see her daughter now, huddled in front of the fire, all alone in the house with only the esteemed Earl of Drayson as company.

  Sometimes Lucy wondered if she would ever acquire the wisdom that was supposed to come with age.

  Colin stared at his reflection in the small mirror above the dresser. Now that he had donned a fresh change of clothes and scrubbed away the grime, he didn’t look any different than he had that morning. But he felt different. Older, much more knowledgeable, and confused by the emotions plaguing him.

  After he’d left the inn, Colin had been ready to demand an explanation the moment he laid eyes on Lucy again. But once he’d helped her into the cart and she began shivering and stuttering in such a pitiful way, his heart had softened, and he found himself unable to demand anything from her.

  She had shivered against his side, fitting perfectly in the crook of his arm and wreaking all sorts of havoc on his emotions. He wanted to kiss and shake her at the same time. Nothing made sense. She didn’t make sense. His intense desire to believe the best in her, even though he knew the worst, didn’t make sense.

  It was at that point that Lucy had said she wished to tell him something. He’d felt the tension in her body, noticed the guilt and worry in her expression, saw the fear in her eyes, and Colin knew exactly what she wanted to say. It was what Colin had thought he wanted from her—what he’d been so ready to demand—but when the time came for confessions, he had panicked and changed the direction of the conversation, putting her off for another time.

  Why?

  The rest of the ride home, the answer had eluded him. It wasn’t until Lucy had handed him the steaming mug of tea and settled herself charmingly in front of the fire, looking up at him with those mesmerizing eyes, that he had finally understood. The moment she confessed or he admitted to knowing his true identity was the moment everything would end. There would be no more riding lessons, no more talks, no more chores to complete together, and no more glances, teasing remarks, or touches. She would stay, he would leave, and nothing would ever be the same.

  Why did that bother him so? Colin had a vast estate in Danbury, several other holdings scattered about, a townhome in London, a wonderful family awaiting his return, and all the comforts a wealthy lord of the realm enjoyed. Yet he wanted to remain here, in this small dower house, sleeping below the ground in a damp and cramped, airless room.

  Perhaps he was going mad. Perhaps he wanted his own chance at revenge. Or perhaps he wanted to continue to hear Lucy’s laughter, tease a smile from her lips, lure a blush to her cheeks, listen to her stories, watch her pick a lock with a hairpin, or allow her to land them in a ditch with her ineptitude at driving.

  Colin did not understand fully what Lucy Beresford had become to him, but he knew it was something more than he had ever felt toward another woman. He simply needed more time to figure everything out.

  Slowly, he walked up the stairs, through the kitchen, and down the hall to where Lucy awaited him in the parlor. She’d finished her tea, and the mug now rested on the wood floor not far from where she sat. The blanket hung loosely around her shoulders like a shawl, and in her hands was a book. With a few locks of hair falling across her forehead and face, she had never looked more endearing.

  Alone. We are all alone.

  The thought clung to Colin’s mind like a warning, telling him to walk back down those stairs and stay away. But he stepped into the room regardless, unable to resist the pull she had on him.

  “Are you certain you would not be more comfortable on the sofa?” he asked.

  She lifted her face to his and smiled. It was a radiant smile, filled with teasing, joy, and perhaps something more. She tilted her head in the most beguiling way. “Would it shock you to learn that this is my favorite place to read?”

  Colin needed to focus on something besides her lips and how kissable they looked at the moment, so he crouched down in front of her and stole the book from her hands.

  “Robinson Crusoe,” he read aloud, balancing on his haunches. “An interesting choice.”

  “Have you read it?” She took the book from him and flipped through some of its pages.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “No,” he answered honestly. “You?”

  She laughed lightly and set the book aside. Then she pulled her knees to her chest, arranged her skirts to keep her ankles covered, and wrapped her arms around her legs. “It was one of my father’s favorite reads. I have always enjoyed a good novel, and I adored him, so I have tried my absolute hardest to finish that book without success. What my father saw in that story I will never understand.”

  “Crusoe found God while stranded on an island. Perhaps that is the reason?”

  “Perhaps.” She nodded. “Still, I wish Crusoe would encounter a lion or make friends with a chimpanzee or something more exciting than drying grapes to make raisins. He is just so . . . dull.”

  The earl laughed and twisted around to sit next to her on the rug, draping an arm across one knee. “One could never accuse you of being dull, Miss Beresford.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment,” she said.

  “As you should.”

  Their gazes locked, and Colin noticed gold flecks embedded in the dark browns. They made her eyes look richer, deeper, more mesmerizing. Before Colin could question his motives or remember the events that had brought them to this point, his hand lifted to lightly stroke her cheek. Her smile froze in its place, and her body went rigid. But she did not pull away.

  “You’re no longer cold,” he said.

  “No,” she whispered. “I’m quite warm now. Maybe even a bit too warm. Perhaps I should move to the sofa.”

  “Perhaps you should,” he said, though she stayed exactly where she was. With the exception of the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she sat still, her eyes round with uncertainty, fear, and even desire.

  Colin shifted positions and lifted his other hand to her face. She trembled beneath his touch but remained on the rug next to him. It wasn’t until he whispered, “I think I might kiss you,” that she blinked and tore her face from his hand, turning away.

  Colin wanted to groan in frustration but at the same time felt a certain relief. Any woman trying to trap him into marriage would have never pulled away. It gave him hope that her reasons for lying to him were not as nefarious as he’d feared.

  She wrung her hands for a few moments before looking up at him. “Do you think there is ever a good enough reason to tell a lie?” she asked softly, surprising him from his thoughts.

  Before today, Colin would have answered “no” immediately, for he had no respect for a liar. But wasn’t he living a lie now? His memory had finally returned and he had made a conscious decision to keep it from her.

  The world, he realized, was not simply truth or lies, right or wrong. There was a precarious in-between area where one could teeter back and forth, not exactly right and not exactly wrong. It reminded him of the rope he and his brother used to stretch between two trees and try to walk across without falling, though more often than not, they would fall to one side or the other. Where would he and Lucy fall when this was all over?

  Rather than answer her question, Co
lin turned it back to her. “Do you?”

  She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before dragging them to meet his. “No. No, I do not. There is something I must tell you.”

  Colin lifted her hand and ran his thumb across the tips of her fingers. “Will it change things between us?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, closing her eyes.

  He touched her chin, gently turning her face to his. “I do not wish for things to change,” he murmured.

  “Nor I,” she whispered. “But—”

  Before she could say anything more, Colin leaned in and kissed her. A small gasp escaped her lips and her body went rigid, but his mouth remained on hers, moving gently but with purpose, teaching her what it felt like to be kissed. Gradually, she began to respond, first with her lips and then with her hands sliding up his arms and around his neck. Colin’s skin ignited with every touch. Kissing Lucy was like racing the wind on the back of Darling or leaping from the tallest tree to dive beneath the surface of a cool lake on a hot summer’s day. It felt exhilarating, refreshing, and incredible.

  With great strength of will, Colin finally released her. Lucy was as innocent as she was refreshing, and he should not be taking advantage of her in this way. She stared at him wide-eyed, her faced flushed and her hair half undone. Colin had to pry his eyes away or come undone himself.

  What the devil had gotten into him? “I forget myself yet again, Miss Beresford.”

  She said nothing for a moment, and then murmured, “At least you have an excuse for forgetting yourself. What is mine?”

  She sounded lost and anxious, as though not sure what to make of it all. Colin understood, for he felt the same. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, offering his hand to her, along with an excuse. “You were rudely left in the rain and became thoroughly frozen. It obviously numbed your mind.”

  “Yes.” She placed her fingers in his and offered him a timid smile. “That is an excellent excuse. I’ll take it.”