She had no choice. “I fear you will come to regret attaching a wife who is so plain. I accept my lack, but you would have to look at me every day. And what if I cursed your children with my ugliness?”
“Dear God,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I ought to throttle Cecilia. Damn her selfish hide. Do not let the spiteful prattlings of a conceited fool mold your thinking, Elizabeth.”
“Do not minimize the problem, sir. Everyone in the district recognizes it.”
“What they recognize is that your looks are different from those your mother bestowed on your sister, for you more closely resemble your grandfather – his portrait hangs above your shelves in the library, does it not?”
She nodded.
“You have a strong face that imparts great elegance to your adult form, but which probably overpowered you as a child.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she begged.
“I am not.” His arms slipped around her shoulders to pull her close, setting off explosions from head to toe. She could not remember being held by anyone before. Really held; not just picked up or shoved aside. It was remarkably comforting – and exciting.
“I don’t ever want you to demean yourself again. Cecilia may be beautiful – though personally, I have always considered blonde hair to be insipid – but she exaggerates her countenance. At least a dozen girls with equal beauty appear in London every Season.”
She leaned closer, absorbing his warmth.
He stroked her back. “Forget Cecilia, my dear. I far prefer looking at you, for you are a lovely lady, whose eyes sparkle with wit and humor. And I have wanted to do this since I awoke to find you bending over me in Sadie’s cottage.”
He tilted her head so their mouths met.
Her lips tingled, radiating heat clear to her toes. He moved across them, then settled more firmly, deepening the kiss and pulling her against him.
She slid her hands up his shoulders, feeling the hardness of muscles she had not touched in days. And never like this. The pleasure elicited moans as it drove coherent thought into hiding. She had written of kisses, but never experienced one. It was nothing like her expectations. She wanted more…
So did he. Even an innocent could understand the changes in his body. But he denied them both, easing away to stare into her eyes. His breathing had quickened, proving how much he had been affected by that embrace.
“That is enough for now,” he said, his voice raspy with desire. “I want you, Elizabeth – as my wife, as my lover, as my friend. But I will not coerce you. Have you another question?”
She shook her head. “I will give you my answer in the morning.”
* * * *
Randolph threaded both hands through his hair as he fought to control his breathing. And his feet. They longed to race after her and settle this issue right now.
Dear Lord, he hadn’t expected that. Never had he reacted so powerfully to a simple kiss. Backing away had been the most difficult thing he had ever done. But he’d had to. Continuing even a moment longer would have removed the freedom of choice he’d sworn to give her. The only consolation was that she had been equally reluctant.
He had not realized how vulnerable she was. A good part of her defiant bravado stemmed from fear that no one could accept her. No wonder she avoided any thought of marriage. After years of listening to Cecilia’s taunts – and Lady Fosdale had undoubtedly contributed more than a few well-meaning condolences – she believed herself an antidote. So she never really looked at herself in a mirror. With the right hairstyle and more fashionable gowns, she could stun any gentleman into speechlessness.
Before this was over, he was going to give Cecilia a blistering lecture on conceit and cruelty to others. That chit was begging for a brutal comeuppance. Elizabeth might be right that the girl’s core was sound, but no one would ever discover that until she discarded her selfish façade.
Dinner would be an excellent place to start. Sir Lewis had been conducting estate business with Fosdale when this latest storm broke and had already accepted an invitation to stay the night. Perhaps the baronet should describe some ravishing beauty he had met in Carlisle. One who cast all other females in the shade. If no such woman existed, he could make one up. A little jealousy should enliven things. And it was time to describe Cecilia’s barren future if she pressed this betrothal.
He headed upstairs. One way or another, they must free Sedge tonight so he could deal honestly with Elizabeth when she sought him out in the morning.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Elizabeth frowned as she climbed the stairs. Since her judgment had been unsound in one area, could she trust it for anything? It was a vital question, for her instincts all shouted that Mr. Randolph was an honorable, forthright gentleman who was offering a life she had never considered possible. He might even provide the one thing she had never truly believed in – love. But was it true, or was she merely reacting to that mesmerizing kiss that had ended far too soon?
She did have another source of information at her disposal, though. Symington had known Mr. Randolph all his life. Yet how could she ask personal questions of a man she barely knew?
Biting her lip, she looked at the idea from several sides. Symington was a virtual stranger. Gentlemen rarely revealed personal information about themselves, let alone their friends. Seeking him out was highly improper in the best of times, but even more so today, since he would most likely be found in his bedchamber. Holding a private meeting with him would be worse, for discovery could lead to any number of complications, all bad.
On the other hand, the two men were close friends, so he must want Mr. Randolph’s happiness. And she had no one else she could turn to. Fosdale cared nothing about honesty or integrity. Her mother would support his demands in the hope that loyalty would win that trip to London. Cecilia was too immersed in her own affairs to bother about anything else.
Without wasting more time dithering, she plucked up her courage and went in search of Symington.
He paled alarmingly when he opened the door to her knock. “Has something happened?” Even his voice seemed hesitant.
“Not really.” The sight of the bed looming behind him sapped most of her courage. “I wished to speak with you for a moment – but not here.”
“Of course.” He followed her to a sitting room at the end of the hallway.
“I—” She frowned, framing and reframing her question. “This is more difficult than I had imagined.”
“Then it must concern Randolph.” His eyes were twinkling with humor, which somehow relieved her.
She nodded.
“Has he done something new to annoy you?” He wandered over to watch the rain as if he understood that she would talk easier if she wasn’t facing him.
“Not really. I presume that you understand the situation we face.”
“You need not fear your father’s demands,” he said soothingly. “Randolph knows his own mind quite well and rarely allows others to dictate his actions.”
“I know. He is quite adept at command and at getting his own way.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“What I cannot trust are my impressions of his character. Can I believe him, or is he so accustomed to winning that he will say anything to achieve his objective?”
He turned, unable to hide his surprise at the question. “A gentleman never lies.”
“If we are speaking of gentlemen in the abstract, then they often twist words to serve their own purposes.” She glared, challenging him to contradict her.
“Touché,” he admitted quietly, then sighed. “Randolph is an enigma in many ways, for he holds portions of himself aloof even from his friends. But he is one of the most honorable and loyal men I know. I have never seen him break a vow, or even bend one.”
“Thank you.” Her heart soared at the words. “You grew up together, did you not?”
“Not exactly.” He frowned. “I saw him frequently, but my father lived on another estate. He was quite adventurous as a child
and often led us both into trouble, though I must admit to my own share of bright ideas.” They shared a chuckle. “That changed after he shattered his leg. Perhaps the prolonged bed rest broke his spirit, or maybe he acquired a healthy respect for the dangers we had been running. He never explained, but that was when he turned to books and study, refusing to join me on further adventures. He never acted on impulse again until he jumped into the river last week.”
“For which I must be grateful,” she murmured.
But her mind raced. The accident in the cave had completely changed his life. He had even postponed things as sedate as travel because he wouldn’t face the unknown alone. So perhaps he needed her. Did he hope to broaden his horizons with her at his side? Could she help him find that adventurous boy he had once been? The idea was insidiously enticing.
She was tempted to question Symington further about the young Randolph, but bowed to propriety. The longer she remained, the greater the risk that someone would discover them together.
Thanking him for the information, she slipped away.
* * * *
Elizabeth paused in the drawing room doorway. Her head was beginning to ache. After leaving Symington, she had passed two hours in fruitless contemplation, but she was as confused as when she had started.
Probably more confused. She had decided to avoid marriage ten years earlier after finding her mother in uncontrollable tears for the third time in a week. Nothing had tempted a change of mind – until now.
Fosdale’s dictates had grown increasingly cruel in recent years, and she could not convince herself that they were inadvertent. He was deliberately making his wife miserable, though she had done nothing to deserve such treatment – which made putting herself under the control of another an intolerable idea.
Yet she was faced with a gentleman who not only vowed to eschew such control, but who made her yearn for his company – and more.
His portrayal of a future spent alone had been brutally honest. She had known that her income was unlikely to cover even a rudimentary staff, yet she had never considered the effort it would take to do the work herself. She had known that women had no rights and few opportunities in the world of business, yet she had believed that in time she would earn enough to support herself in style. She had known that setting up her own establishment would sever any ties to her own class, yet she had never considered the gulf that would remain between her and the lower classes.
He had also given her the means to overcome most of those problems. Yet the biggest hurdle of all would never be cleared with money: the fundamental loneliness she would face for the rest of her life. It was a problem she had never even considered until now.
Reality rarely matches expectations. The axiom echoed in her ears. Despite quoting it to Cecilia at frequent intervals, she had never applied it to herself.
Mr. Randolph was right. In her own way, she was as naïve and unrealistic as Cecilia. Her dreams might be very different, but she was no more likely to achieve them. And after just a few days in his company, loneliness loomed as a worse fate than helplessness.
But there was another side to that axiom, she realized suddenly. She had always interpreted it negatively: reality could never live up to expectations. But there was a positive meaning as well.
Sometimes reality exceeded expectations.
How often had a fear of the unknown proven false? Riding had become a joy. Exposing her writing to the critical eye of a publisher had brought great satisfaction. Even that brief kiss had been unlike anything she had ever imagined. Could marriage to Mr. Randolph be another of life’s pleasures?
She shivered, and not in fear.
Yet her growing attachment – she had finally admitted to an attachment during the past two hours – was not as important as Mr. Randolph’s character. She could not quite bring herself to place her future in his hands. He seemed honest, concerned, and caring – traits Symington had confirmed – but she could not shake the conviction that something wasn’t right.
And not just with Mr. Randolph. She had questions about Symington as well. Both gentlemen seemed unusually tense. They stiffened at odd times for no apparent reason. She had attributed it to Fosdale’s pressure, but that was an inadequate excuse. Even innocuous conversation was odd, for they weighed each word as if conducting delicate negotiations with hostile opponents. And they often backtracked, changing their words in mid-sentence.
Then there were the facts they had not revealed. Who was Mr. Randolph? Why did his connection to Whitfield shift so often? Could she tie herself to a man even Symington had described as an enigma?
She didn’t know. Her heart demanded that she accept him, her body frankly wanted him, but her head remained skeptical.
So she had come downstairs, hoping that inconsequential chatter would ease her tension. A break might offer a different perspective when she returned to the decision she must make. She had promised an answer by morning.
“There you are, Elizabeth,” said Lady Fosdale unnecessarily. “Do join us. Lord Symington is telling the drollest story.”
She met his gaze in surprise. Why was he entertaining the ladies instead of trying to disgust Cecilia?
“So what happened next?” demanded Cecilia. “Society would forgive the Season’s diamond anything, so she must now be a duchess.”
“Of course not.” He paused for a bored yawn. “Having destroyed her reputation by galloping through the park at the height of the fashionable hour, she had to retire to the country. Someone claimed that she later married a squire’s son, but I have reason to doubt it.”
“But everyone loved her!” Cecilia protested.
“Hardly. She was merely the fashion of the moment, replaced within hours by a new Incomparable. The rules are far more important than one silly girl. The duke was appalled at her behavior. Continuing to court her after she had embarrassed him in public would have diminished his own standing.”
“But you are not like that, are you?”
“Not a bit. I detest Town and go there only when business demands it. And while I play the game when necessary, I do it only to humor my grandfather. Once he passes on, I need please only myself. Society’s opinion doesn’t matter, because I have no use for any of them.”
Elizabeth coughed to hide a smile at the way Cecilia blanched. It was Symington’s strongest statement yet, and Cecilia was finally realizing that she had backed herself into an untenable corner.
A commotion echoed from the hallway. Lady Fosdale rang for the butler.
“What is going on, Wendell?”
“There has been a minor accident near the gates, my lady. Lord Fosdale has invited the gentleman to stay the night while he assesses the damage.”
“Show him in so we may welcome him to Ravenswood,” she ordered.
Elizabeth’s attention shifted to Symington, who had noticeably stiffened – again. What was the man’s problem? He seemed on the verge of rising when Wendell returned.
“Lord Crossbridge, my lady.”
Symington’s shoulders sagged. Crossbridge was already bent over Lady Fosdale’s hand as he murmured greetings and flowery compliments. Symington’s eyes darted toward the door, but he was too far away to leave without drawing notice.
Fear clogged Elizabeth’s throat as all her uncertainties flooded back. Something was very wrong.
“Was anyone injured?” Lady Fosdale asked.
“One of the horses pulled up lame. Morning will reveal how serious it is.”
“May I present my daughters, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Cecilia, and another house guest, Lord Symington,” she said, indicating the others.
Crossbridge turned, his genial smile changing to fury when he spotted Symington. “Well, well, my lord, how interesting to meet you in Cumberland.” He straightened, radiating haughty condemnation. “What kind of rig are you running this time, Sedgewick? The town tabbies may forgive you everything short of murder, but country sensibilities are sterner. Haven’t your escapades harmed enough pe
ople already?”
Cecilia gasped.
Elizabeth stared, her heart dropping through the floor.
“May I present Lord Sedgewick Wylie, prankster extraordinaire and bane of many a gentleman,” Crossbridge said coldly. “He tricked Lord Oaksford into parting with his prized team of bays for less than half their value.”
“That is not what—”
But Cecilia interrupted him. “He came here to buy a rare book from Papa.”
“You’d best count the silver. The man is a pariah,” swore Crossbridge.
The glare he aimed at Lord Sedgewick contained a hint of triumph.
“You’ve wreaked your revenge for that minor contretemps two years ago,” drawled Sedge before he glared in turn. “Now suppose you drop the dramatics before you say something you’ll regret.”
Shrieking, Cecilia leaped up to slap Sedge’s face. “You are no duke and never will be.”
“Quite true, alas.”
“And you would never take me to London?”
“I would see you in hell first.”
“But why this charade?” demanded Elizabeth.
“It wasn’t my ide—” Sedge snapped his mouth closed.
Fury flared in Elizabeth’s breast, replacing the pain. “How dare he claim to be honorable when he lied from the beginning?”
Cecilia stared. “Do you mean that insignificant little man is—?”
Sedge grabbed her arm as she whirled to leave. “Oh, no you don’t,” he growled as his temper snapped. “You will leave him alone. Even if he were not pledged to your sister, I will never allow a conniving little witch to bother my closest friend.”
“You can consider our betrothal broken,” she swore, drawing herself up in hauteur.
He actually laughed. “Dear Lord, you are incredibly stupid. I never agreed to a betrothal. I would leave the country before tying myself to someone as dishonorable as you. Yes, you have a rather ordinary prettiness of face, but it will never make up for your questionable breeding, minimal dowry, and mean-spirited character. Perhaps we can pass this off as a childish prank, but if you ever attempt such a thing again, I will spread this tale throughout Society. You would never be welcome in London after that.”
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