She adopted a dramatically haughty manner. “Why, nothing less would serve. That is, after all, what princesses trapped in castles by fire-breathing dragons do.”
“And was Charles the knight riding to the rescue?” His manner was offhand.
“It was as likely to be Kit or Robin then,” she said quickly and turned her gaze back to the lake and the past. Richard was right of course: Charles was, more often than not in their silly games, her knight. And eventually, her love. “I loved them all dearly.”
“But it was Charles who captured the heart of the fair Princess Gillian.”
“Yes, it was Charles.” A touch of sadness lingered in her heart whenever she thought of Charles and probably always would, but she could talk about her husband now without pain or grief. Odd how the years had at last healed the anguish of his loss.
“It must have been very hard,” he hesitated, “when he …”
“Was killed.” She paused, wondering that she could say the words so easily now. “I was devastated. I thought I’d never be able to go on without him. And I didn’t, not really, not for a very long time.” She met his gaze directly. “But the time came when I did.”
“I’m glad,” he said simply, the look in his eyes dark and intense, and her breath caught.
“As am I.”
For a long moment they stared. The air around them sparked with the tension of unsaid words. Silent declarations. Unspoken promises. She could follow her own advice, should follow her own advice, and simply ask him. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Did he love her? Could he love her? But the fear she’d thought she’d conquered swept through her, and she couldn’t form the words. Couldn’t face his answer.
“So,” he said, in a strange, strangled voice, as if he, too, was fighting to keep his wits about him. “Were there other games played here besides princess and knight?”
“All kinds of games.” Relief coursed through her at the abrupt change to a far safer subject. “Let me think.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Horse and rider and hot cockles and hide-and-seek and …” She grinned. “I’ll show you one that was a great favorite for years.” She picked up her hat and gloves and stepped out of the temple, backing away until she could see the top of the dome.
Richard walked after her with a curious half smile. “What kind of game is this?”
“Do you see the finial on the roof?” An ornate brass rod crowned the top of the dome. He nodded. “We used to take a hat, actually they used to take a hat—usually one of mine—and try to toss it onto the spindle.”
“Did any of you ever succeed?” His tone was skeptical.
She laughed. “A couple of times.”
He narrowed his eyes and studied the brass rod glittering in the sun. “How did you get it down?”
Gillian nodded at a nearby oak. “One of us would climb up there, inch out on that thick branch that hangs over the temple, and flip the hat off with a long stick.”
“It looks rather tricky to me.”
“I think the tree is a lot taller than it used to be.” She shook her head. “Silly game, I know, but we’d spend hours trying. It was quite a challenge.”
“Did you ever make it?” he said thoughtfully.
“Kit’s the only one who ever managed it. Twice, if I remember right.”
“Charles never did?”
“No.” She drew out the word slowly and shook her head. “What are you—”
“Give me your hat.” He held out his hand.
“I will not!” She snatched the bonnet out of his reach and hid it behind her back. “Richard, this is the only hat I own that matches my riding dress, and I refuse to let you throw it anywhere, let alone on top of the temple.”
He shrugged and moved toward her. “I doubt if I can manage it at any rate. I haven’t tossed hats for years. It never was a great skill of mine.”
She moved back. “It may well be years before you have an opportunity. You shall not toss this one.”
“Oh, come now, Gillian.” He grinned. “If you didn’t want me to attempt this, you would have left it on the bench where it was safe. You can’t fool me. You want me to try.”
“That’s ridiculous. I want nothing of the sort.” She took another step backward and tried not to laugh. “Was this the kind of nasty little boy you were? I can see you now, trying to steal bonnets from unsuspecting little girls.”
“I was a wicked child, but I never once stole a hat from a girl.” An equally wicked light shone in his eyes, and again he stepped toward her. “A kiss, perhaps, from little girls. Unsuspecting or otherwise.”
“A kiss? Not merely wicked but quite advanced for a mere boy, don’t you think?”
“Some of us grow up faster than others. Now.” He drew closer. “Give me your hat.”
“Absolutely not.” She laughed and pulled it from behind her to clutch it to her chest, its long plume bobbing at him like a floppy sword. “Never.”
“You’re going to back into that tree behind you, and then I’ll have you precisely where I want you.”
“Tree? Hah! I’m not falling for that. I know every—” She smacked into something rough and solid and knew without a doubt exactly what it was. “I did that deliberately, you know,” she said in her loftiest manner.
“Did you?” He rested his forearm on the bark directly over her head and gazed down at her. “To what purpose?”
“Purpose?” Barely the span of a hand separated his body from hers, and at once the familiar, sweet ache of desire throbbed deep within her. “To force a trade perhaps.”
“What do you propose?” His voice was lazy, enticing. His gaze flicked to her mouth, and without thinking she moistened her lips. His gaze drifted back to mesh with hers.
“Well …” She raised her chin in an unspoken challenge. “What did you say you stole as a wicked boy?”
He laughed and bent his mouth to hers. She closed her eyes and wondered if it was at all possible that the exquisite delight that surged through her whenever their lips touched would do so every time they kissed.
Without warning, he straightened and snatched the hat from her unresisting hands. She snapped her eyes open. “Richard, that wasn’t at all fair.”
“Once again, it’s the way of the world.” He grinned and headed toward the temple.
“You really are wicked, you know.” She hurried after him.
“It is my nature, Gillian. It’s why women find me charming and irresistible.”
“I don’t find you irresistible at all.”
He stopped and turned so suddenly that she nearly stumbled into him. “You don’t?”
“No!”
“Not even a bit?” His tone was hopeful.
“Perhaps a bit.”
“Only a bit?” He flashed a grin.
She laughed in surrender. “Very well, more than a bit. Now give me back my hat.” She gazed at it longingly. It was a pretty little thing, claret colored to match her habit, with a long, full feather dyed a becoming shade of green.
He hefted it in his hand. “It’s not going to be easy. It has no weight to it whatsoever.”
“Then let me have it!” She grabbed for it, but he pulled it out of her reach, turned, and strode toward the temple. She sighed and followed.
He paused, his gaze assessing, then nodded. “I’ll try it from here.”
“Richard, this is ridiculous.”
“No doubt of that,” he said absently.
“You can’t possibly succeed.”
“You’re probably right.”
“If you’re trying to prove a point, I told you Charles never managed to—”
“Charles has nothing to do with this,” he said mildly.
“Then why—”
At once he turned, pulled her close with his free arm, and kissed her hard and long. Then he drew back and smiled down at her. “I never had the pleasure of rescuing the fair Princess Gillian from a fire-breathing dragon.”
“Oh.” It was more a sig
h than a word. How could the blasted man affect her like this?
His smile widened. “The least you can do is allow me the opportunity to toss your hat.” He kissed her quickly. “Just once.”
“Very well.” She huffed, and he released her. “But you get only one try.”
“One is all I’ll need.”
She snorted. “I do hope your ability lives up to your confidence.”
He ignored her, took careful aim, and tossed the hat. It sailed heavenward in a graceful arc, and for a moment she thought he’d actually succeed. Then a gust of wind caught the bonnet and carried it higher, until it snagged in the branches of the tree directly above the temple.
She slanted him a pointed glance.
He stared up at the oak. “Damned close I’d say. Pity.” He brushed off his hands. “Well, that’s that then. Let’s go.”
“Go? What about my hat?”
He looked at her cautiously. “It’s in the tree.”
“I know it’s in the tree.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you plan on getting it down?”
“I don’t.” He nodded and started toward his horse.
“Then I suppose I shall have to.”
He turned and considered her carefully. “You’re going to climb the tree?”
“Granted, it’s been a long time.”
“But you have climbed it before?”
“Perhaps not that particular tree …”
He raised a brow.
“Very well,” she snapped. “Not that tree at all.” He rolled his eyes toward the heavens and took off his jacket. “Find me a rock.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try to knock it out of the tree.” He tossed the jacket onto a nearby bush.
“I do hope your aim is better with rocks than bonnets,” she muttered and searched the ground. It wasn’t an especially rocky area, but within a minute or so she’d found three good-sized stones and held them out.
He selected one, took aim, and let it fly. The rock sailed past the hat. She bit back a laugh.
He glanced at her. “I suppose you can do better?”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged, handed him one stone, and kept the second.
“After you, my lady.” He swept a sarcastic bow. She took careful aim and threw as hard as she could. The rock bounced off the top of the temple.
Richard smirked. “Good try.”
She smirked back. “You will probably need a few more stones.”
He laughed and threw the last rock. It hit the hat squarely. The bonnet tumbled out of the tree, missed the finial by a hairsbreadth, and slid down the dome to fall to the grass at the base of the temple. Richard stepped to it and plucked it from the ground. He turned and presented it to her with a flourish. “Your crown, Princess Gillian.”
She accepted the hat and bobbed a curtsey. “I am in your eternal debt, noble knight.”
“Eternal?” His tone was light, belying the serious look in his eyes. “That’s a very long time.”
Her heart caught in her throat, and she nodded. “It is, isn’t it?”
For a long moment neither spoke. Gillian wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to tell him she thought—she was fairly certain—she loved him. Wanted to hear him say it in return. But the words wouldn’t come. He smiled slowly and picked up his jacket. She exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d held.
“We should probably get back.” He offered his hand, and she didn’t hesitate to take it. Warmth flowed through her. Perhaps the time wasn’t right. Not yet.
They walked in companionable silence to the horses, and he helped her mount, then swung up into his own saddle. He turned and stared back at the temple for a long moment.
“It really is special, isn’t it?” she said softly.
“Indeed it is.” A pensive note colored his voice as if he was thinking of something else altogether. “It lacks only one thing.”
“What would that be?”
He grinned. “A hat.”
Chapter 15
Richard took careful aim, drew back the cue, and tapped the red ball firmly. It rolled across the table, deflected off the right side, and gently smacked a white ball, propelling it into a side pocket.
“I see you haven’t lost your touch,” Thomas said wryly.
“It’s all in the wrist, old man.” Richard straightened and grinned. “Another game?”
“Why not?” Thomas gathered the balls, arranged them on the green cloth surface, then took his position at the end of the table. “Grandmother’s party doesn’t begin for another hour yet.” He positioned a ball, struck it firmly with the cue, and watched it rebound from the end cushion.
There were far worse ways to pass the time, and the billiards room at Effington Hall was as opulent as the rest of the grand house. Richard hadn’t fully appreciated the difference between Gillian’s family background and his own until he’d come face to face with it. While Shelbrooke Manor and Effington Hall were comparable in design, the similarities ended there. Effington Hall was twice the size of the manor, beautifully furnished, and well maintained with a staff of servants to see to its occupants’ every need. Shelbrooke Manor was very much a poor relation in comparison.
It chafed a bit, knowing he could not provide this kind of luxury for Gillian without the inheritance that was by rights hers alone. He could take some comfort in knowing she could not acquire it without him—still, the knowledge nagged at him.
“Now then, Richard.” Thomas cleared his throat. Regardless of his comments yesterday, Richard had the distinct impression his friend had no idea where to begin this query into Richard’s intentions toward his sister.
“Spit it out, Thomas.”
“Very well. What precisely is going on between you and Gillian?”
Richard strolled around the table to Thomas’s side, studying the position of his opponent’s ball. He chose a shot. “Precisely?”
“Yes,” Thomas huffed. “Precisely.”
“Well.” Richard leaned over the table and positioned his cue. “I rather expect I’ll marry her.” He hit the ball. It rebounded from the far end and rolled back to beat Thomas’s attempt by a good two inches. “Is that precisely enough for you?”
“Nice shot.” Thomas stared at the table.
Richard raised a brow.
“Oh, about Gillian, you mean.” Thomas shrugged. “Yes, I suppose that answers my question, but I must say I’m rather confused. As far as I knew, other than that salon she invited you to, I was under the impression you were scarcely so much as acquainted.”
“At that point we were. Now, however, we know each other much better.” Much, much better. He stifled a smile. “You don’t seem terribly surprised, or concerned by my announcement.”
“I’m not. For Gillian to invite you here in the first place says a great deal about the serious nature of your relationship, though most of us expect that she’ll never remarry at all.”
“And never someone like me.”
“Frankly, when it comes to Gillian’s preferences in gentlemen, we had no expectations whatsoever. As far as the family knows, Charles is the only man she’s ever been involved with. Her name hasn’t been linked with anyone since his death. You know as well as I, it’s impossible to keep any kind of affair secret from the ton. But there’s never been a hint of gossip or rumor about her and any man until recently.”
“Until me.” Richard considered his next shot.
“As for any concern on my part,” Thomas grinned, “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as a brother.” He studied Richard thoughtfully. “However, I am still a bit perplexed about one aspect of all this.”
“Yes?” Richard said absently, positioning his cue.
“I can understand why Gillian might wish to marry you, but, well, I don’t understand why you would wish to marry her.”
Richard’s cue slipped and his ball veered away from its intended target. “Oh?”
Thomas grinned, leaned
his cue against the table, and stepped to a nearby sideboard bearing a decanter of brandy and several glasses. He poured two snifters and offered one to Richard. “Here. You’ll find this much more palatable than the swill you’re used to drinking.”
Richard accepted the fine crystal glass and pulled a long, bracing swallow. “Nectar of the gods.”
“There’s nothing better than good brandy.” Thomas took an appreciative sip. “When you married, in spite of your reluctance to do so, I’d always assumed it would be to alleviate your financial troubles. I know how frustrated you’ve been by the speed at which you’ve been able to pay off your father’s debts.”
“Or rather the lack of speed,” Richard muttered.
“With your title and your now respectable reputation, you’ve had no end of opportunities to select a bride with excellent prospects or a substantial dowry. So,” he paused, “why have you settled on Gillian?”
Richard laughed. “Have you so little faith in your sister’s charms?”
“Of course not.” Thomas had the good grace to look abashed. “It’s simply that this liaison was not anything I would have foreseen.” He swirled the brandy in his glass. “Now, answer the question: why Gillian?”
“It’s really quite simple, Thomas.” Richard kept his tone casual. “She asked me.”
“What?” Thomas’s brow furrowed with confusion. “She asked you? Why on earth would she do that?”
“I see you have no faith in my charms either.”
“Faith has nothing to do with it.” Suspicion sounded in Thomas’s voice. “What is going on here, Richard?”
“Precisely?” he said with a smile.
“Precisely.” Thomas’s eyes narrowed.
Richard stared at the brandy in his glass and considered his options. Eventually, Gillian’s entire family would learn of the inheritance. His own financial standing was known well enough that no one would imagine that their newfound wealth after their marriage was his doing, and the truth would come out. Thomas already knew all his secrets and had kept them well. Gillian’s brother was perhaps the only person in the world Richard truly trusted.
“Will you give me your word you will not repeat this?”
Thomas’s brows pulled together, and his tone was cautious. “Certainly.”
The Husband List Page 20
