She crossed to one of the iron treasure chests, set down the baskets, and busied herself combining the remaining sweets into one of them. "They mean well," she said, facing away.
Walking closer, he watched her in the large, rectangular looking glass that hung above the treasure chest. "What do you expect they're hoping will happen?"
Though her cheeks went pink, she met his gaze in the silvery surface and answered in her forthright way. "I expect they think you might kiss me again."
"I won't," he said quietly.
"I know," she said and turned to search his eyes.
They were steely and determined as always. Alexandra supposed she should be grateful for that—it meant at least one of them would keep a clear head.
Since she'd spotted him riding to their door earlier that morning, she'd suffered a riot of emotions: surprise, happiness, annoyance, and confusion. Confusion reigned supreme. She'd been looking forward to the ball, to meeting new—eligible—men. In the past month, she'd thought she'd succeeded in relegating Tris to that role in her life labeled friend.
But a single glimpse of him had cured her of that illusion.
Though she knew it was wrong, her lips fairly ached for the caress of his. Her gaze left his eyes and wandered down to his mouth, which she remembered as being softer than she'd expected. A lock of his hair had flopped over his forehead as usual, and she reached to sweep it away.
He caught her gloved hand. "That won't work this time."
"I know," she repeated.
Their hands dropped together. Slowly his fingers moved up her arm until he was touching bare skin. He grasped her there. "You don't want me to kiss you, do you?"
"Of course not," she said quickly, knowing that was what he wanted to hear.
"Good," he said. "Because I cannot marry you, Alexandra. I cannot marry anyone."
She couldn't marry him, either—not and live with herself when her sisters would pay the price. But surely there were ladies available who didn't have families to consider. She couldn't bear to think of Tris alone all his life. "Do you not wish for an heir?"
His fingers gripped her forearm tighter. "There are other ways a man can leave his mark—perhaps mine will be made in agriculture or mechanics. Marriage and children aren't my fate."
"Fate." He was standing so close, his very scent seemed to surround and overwhelm her. "Do you believe in fate?"
"Absolutely. One cannot be happy until one accepts one's lot in life."
She wondered if she'd ever be happy, then. He certainly didn't look happy. "Is it so wrong to hope for more? To work for more?"
"Of course not." Absently, it seemed, he slipped a thumb beneath the edge of her glove and caressed the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist. "But it's wrong to expect more as your due."
She could scarcely think straight with him touching her like that. But she remembered how, after completing university, he'd felt he had no choice but to work for his uncle. And now, it seemed, he felt he had no choice but to accept loneliness as his lot in life.
That fact made a lump rise in her throat.
"I don't believe in fate," she told him. "Or settling. I believe in striving to make things better." She laid her free hand over his on her arm, and he glanced down, looking startled to find he'd been touching her.
But he didn't pull away.
"Promise me," she said, "as your friend, that you'll search for a way to be happy."
"I am—"
"Promise me."
He didn't. Instead, following a tense silence, he leaned closer and kissed her on the forehead. "You're too sweet for your own good," he said and walked away.
FIFTEEN
RACHAEL CERTAINLY seemed more businesslike than he remembered, Griffin thought, facing her from behind the safety of his heavy desk. Businesslike and beautiful, standing there with one hand firmly on a cocked hip, her silly little reticule dangling from her other wrist.
Why the devil didn't women wear pockets?
He picked up her letter and gazed at it, then back to her. "When I read this, I was picturing you as a twelve-year-old with a plait hanging down your back."
She raised one perfectly arched brow. "I never wore plaits."
He certainly couldn't picture her wearing plaits now. Rachael was half a year younger than Alexandra, which meant she'd been fourteen the last time he laid eyes on her. The transformation from that girl to this woman of almost twenty-two was nothing short of astonishing.
The lavender dress she wore clung to her body, made of some thin fabric that did nothing to disguise her feminine curves. Her eyes were large and the color of a cloudless sky—a hue Corinna would describe as cerulean—and beneath that startling blue gaze, her lips looked like she'd just licked them. Her chestnut hair was done up in a ladylike style, but the loose tendrils around her face weren't tightly curled as was fashionable, instead falling in long, soft waves that hinted at tresses he imagined were heavy and luxuriant.
His fingers itched to unpin the mass so he could see if he was right.
He had never seen a woman in a day dress manage to look so…sultry.
"Did you bother reading that letter?" she asked in a voice much huskier than Griffin remembered.
He swallowed hard. "Of course I read the letter. I invited Lord Hawkridge here as a result. He's assisting me in rectifying the problem."
"In what way?"
"We're diverting the water back to the river by means of pipes and a pump. The new system should be in place by Thursday."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Why?" He frowned. "Because I'm flooding your brother's land."
"I meant, why did you begin irrigating in the first place? Have we not enough rain on this blessed island?"
"I'm attempting to save my brother's vines."
When her forehead crinkled, even that looked charming. "Vines?"
"Grapevines, to be precise. I'm raising grapes, with an eye to starting a winery. Or perhaps I should say Charles was raising grapes, and as his successor, I'm doing my best not to kill them."
"Oh." She sobered. "I was sorry to learn of Charles's passing."
"So was I," he said dryly.
She moistened her lips, watching him speculatively. "You don't fancy being the marquess?"
"I wasn't trained for it. Given the trouble I have sustaining the lives of mere grapes, you may pity the unfortunate tenants and villagers who rely on me for their keeping. Sit, please," he added, indicating one of the leather wing chairs.
She did, setting her reticule on the small table beside it. He sat, too, with some relief, as he'd begun wondering if his knees might give out.
He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers, watching her over them, his jaw tense. If she dared to lick her lips just one more time, he might be tempted to leap over the desk and kiss away that delicious sheen.
But he couldn't, because she was his cousin. And cousins were offered marriage proposals—not indecent proposals. One didn't kiss one's cousin unless one were prepared to ask for her hand.
Which was completely out of the question. He had no intention of marrying anyone until after all of his sisters were settled.
Years after they were settled.
"I'm sorry about your parents," he said.
"It's been six years."
"That doesn't mean it cannot hurt."
Rachael felt tears spring to her eyes and ruthlessly blinked them back. "I haven't cried in forever," she said. "Damn you for making me start now."
If Griffin was shocked at her language, he didn't show it. He just kept gazing at her—no, she decided, devouring her with his eyes. It was infuriating. He was an irresponsible scapegrace, and she wasn't sure whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him.
She couldn't remember ever being so attracted to someone who made her so spitting mad. She couldn't order her thoughts. Her mind kept bouncing back and forth, one second thinking about how unreliable he was and the next second noticing he was as handsom
e as sin personified.
The reckless, gangly youth she remembered had grown tall, dark, and sleekly muscled. His eyes were a pure leaf green; his jaw was strong and square; his smile was slightly crooked and entirely too engaging.
And he was her cousin.
"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I didn't intend to bring up old feelings."
"It's time for me to deal with them," she admitted. "None of us have, if you want to know the truth. We lost Mama and Papa so quickly—a carriage accident is such an unexpected shock. Even the staff seems loath to believe they're gone. A chambermaid cleans their rooms every day just the same as if they still lived there. Nothing of theirs has been touched."
"If keeping part of them with you makes you feel better—"
"No. It doesn't, not truly. It just keeps us from facing the truth." She drew a deep breath. "I've decided to empty their suite before Noah comes home in September. He was so young at the time—only fourteen—that it never occurred to us to move him into their rooms. It was too early for him to accept the responsibilities of an earl."
"You were only fifteen," Griffin pointed out.
"But I felt much older than Noah. It seemed natural for me to take over for him while he finished growing up. Now, though, he's twenty, and it's past time for him to come into his own. The master suite should rightfully be his. It's time to let go of the illusion. They're only things, anyway, yes? Not so significant."
She couldn't believe she was asking for his opinion, his approval. Griffin, of all people.
But something loosened in her chest when he gave her one of his gentle, lopsided smiles. "Yes, they're only things. You won't forget your parents, Rachael. You can keep some of their more special items…and regardless, they'll always live in your heart."
Damn if the tears weren't threatening again. "When did you get so wise?"
"Oh…" He pulled out a very old gold and sapphire pocket watch that she remembered had belonged to his father. "About two minutes ago."
He'd always been able to make her laugh.
Damn him.
SIXTEEN
"RACHAEL!" Alexandra and her sisters rushed across the drawing room to welcome their cousin.
"Whatever did you want with Griffin?" Juliana asked after they'd hugged.
"It's not important." Graceful as always, Rachael slid onto a sofa. "He's already solving the problem."
"We've been wondering when you'd return." Alexandra sat beside her. "How was the season?"
Rachael shrugged. "I'm still unmarried. Not for lack of offers, mind you," she added with a grin.
Sitting next to Juliana on the opposite sofa, Corinna frowned. "Were none of the men suitable?"
"Indeed, there were an earl and a baron among them. Worry not, dear, you'll find no shortage of adoring gentlemen when you head for London next year. It's only that none of them seemed right…for me."
All four of them released heartfelt sighs.
Juliana poured tea and handed Rachael a cup. "Is Noah getting frustrated?"
"Noah?" Rachael laughed. "If Noah had his way, I'd never marry at all. Who would run his household while he's out playing the rake? Not Claire or Elizabeth, I can assure you!" She turned to Alexandra. "Who will run your brother's household when you marry?"
"Juliana and Corinna." Alexandra looked to her sisters. "Mama trained us all in the housewifely arts."
Corinna paled; evidently she hadn't considered the ramifications of Alexandra marrying. "But we haven't the aptitude that you—"
"We shall do whatever's necessary," Juliana interrupted. "Besides, we won't have to concern ourselves if we find a wife for Griffin."
"As usual, Juliana knows what's best." Rachael's eyes danced with good humor. "If she wasn't here telling everyone what to do, the entire world would go to hell."
"Rachael." Juliana heaved an ever-suffering sigh. "It's not the thing for a lady to talk like that."
Rachael sipped, looking every inch the lady despite her language. "For all intents and purposes, I've been an earl for the past six years—with all the aggravations and frustrations thereof. I'm entitled to curse should I care to."
Juliana never allowed anyone the last word. "A potential husband may not think so."
"I'd have no respect for a man who couldn't look beyond a spot of unconventional language."
Alexandra hid a smile behind her own teacup. "Griffin wouldn't care about that."
"Pardon me?" Rachael's lovely sky-blue eyes widened. "Whatever compelled you to say such a thing?"
"Tris. Lord Hawkridge. He told us you and Griffin seemed quite taken with each other."
"Well, Tris—Lord Hawkridge—is wrong!" A telltale flush stained Rachael's cheeks. "Why, Griffin might as well be my brother. We grew up together."
Corinna passed her a plate of sweets. "You haven't seen each other for years, though, have you? I'd say you finished growing up apart."
"He's my cousin."
"There's nothing in the marriage laws to prohibit the union of cousins," Juliana said quite reasonably. "Cousins wed quite often."
"I would never marry a cousin."
The words were stated with such vehemence, Alexandra's teacup rattled as she set it back on her saucer. "Whyever not?"
"Do you remember my cousin Edmund?"
"The monster?" Corinna asked.
"Don't call him that!" Rachael closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and sighed. "Edmund was a very sweet child. He just…didn't look right."
"He didn't think right, either," Corinna said. "He couldn't even really talk. He only…"
"Grunted," Rachael finished for her. "Yes."
Alexandra poured more tea. "Edmund died when we were young."
"Yes. Yes, he did." Rachael moistened her lips. "Perhaps you never knew that he was my aunt's child. My mother took Edmund when her sister died. Aunt Alice's husband didn't want his son."
"How dreadful," Juliana said.
"Yes. Everything concerning Edmund was sad. Aunt Alice lost many children before having him, and the doctors told her that the miscarriages, and poor Edmund's condition, were most likely because her husband was also her cousin."
The sisters were silent a moment. "Her first cousin, I'd wager," Juliana finally said. "Griffin isn't nearly so close a relation."
"That doesn't signify." Rachael bit into a lemon cake and changed the subject. "What does your family cookbook claim these are supposed to do?"
"Cure melancholy," Corinna said. "But to look at Alexandra, they aren't working."
Rachael turned to Alexandra. "Are you melancholy, dear?" She seemed relieved to have the attention focused elsewhere. "According to the last letter I received from you in London, you were expecting to soon be engaged. Has Lord Shelton failed to propose?"
Juliana took a cake for herself. "He'd propose in an instant if she'd let him within speaking range. But one look at Tristan, and she banished Lord Shelton forever."
"Tristan?" Rachael echoed, looking shocked. "You cannot be seriously interested in him."
"Why not?" Alexandra asked cautiously, afraid she knew the answer.
"He's tainted with scandal! Everyone knows he's been accused of murdering his uncle."
"I didn't," Alexandra pointed out. "How is it we never discussed this?"
"I don't know." Rachael reached for another cake. "It happened years ago, didn't it? It must have been one of those seasons when I was in town and you were stuck here…but that doesn't signify, does it? Whether we discussed the scandal or not, it did happen—and in light of that, you cannot consider Lord Hawkridge's suit."
"There's no suit." Alexandra clenched her hands in her lap. "Tris refuses to even entertain the thought of marriage."
"Good for him. He's retained some honor, at least."
Alexandra's eyes widened at her cousin's tone. "You cannot think he committed murder? He wasn't convicted."
"Not in the House of Lords. But in the hearts and minds of the people who matter—"
"Rachael! Yo
u know Tris. He cannot have done something so heinous."
"I don't know him. Not anymore. It's been years—"
"He hasn't changed," Alexandra insisted. "Not that much."
Rachael's lips curved in a faint smile. "You always have been the most loyal person I know."
"My loyalty isn't misplaced. Not in this case, anyway."
Rachael considered, then nodded. "Very well. But that still doesn't make him marriageable."
"My sisters don't seem to agree." Alexandra turned to Juliana. "You left us alone again. You're trying to push us together, and don't try to deny it."
Juliana didn't. "Is it working?" she asked instead.
"Yes," Alexandra admitted miserably. "But he hasn't kissed me again."
"He kissed you?" Rachael breathed. "And you allowed it with no intention of marriage?"
Alexandra measured her cousin for a long moment. "You've had four seasons. Have you never been kissed?"
"Well…" Rachael's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, then deepened when Alexandra looked pointedly at the fourth finger of her left hand. "No, I didn't marry any of them."
"Any?" Corinna burst out. "How many men have you kissed?"
Rachael fisted the hand with the ringless finger. "They were only kisses!"
"Exactly," Alexandra said with not a little satisfaction.
Corinna snatched another lemon cake. "I must be the only unkissed girl in all of England."
"Not the only," Juliana disagreed with a sigh.
Alexandra sighed in sympathy. "You'll both have your seasons. But only if I don't marry Tris. So it's in your best interests to let him finish what he came here to do and leave…without being caught in a compromising position with me, thanks to you."
"But what about your interests?" Juliana insisted. "You don't care so much for society—you'll be happier married—"
"I won't be happy if you're not. And how many times do I have to tell you that Tris has no intention of marrying me regardless of your plans?" She took a lemon cake, too. "Perhaps at the ball I'll dance with someone who will sweep me off my feet."
Rachael smiled. "Waltzing always makes me fall halfway in love."
Lost in Temptation (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 1) Page 10
