by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel
“You’ve no idea the power you have over me,” she said softly. The ducks were waddling ashore without sign of fear. The swans had come closer too.
“Since I believe I have none, I must agree.”
She told him the unvarnished truth. “If I were in love with Lord William, with anyone at all, no matter how desperately, I would give him up if you asked me to.”
The barest of hesitations preceded his response. “For what reason?”
“I owe you nothing less.”
“Why?”
“Have you really no idea? Why, for everything you did for me after my husband died. For everything you have done.”
He took a breath. “You say I have the power to destroy your happiness. That may well be, but your power over me is no less brutal.”
“I do not understand you.”
“If you were in love, I would corrupt myself.”
“I’m not in love. I’m not.” He did not wish her to marry Lord William. He meant that if she’d confessed that she did, he would use the power she’d given to him and demand she abandon his brother. “This is so simple, Your Grace. You’ve brought me here for nothing. I admire and respect your brother for his friendship with Hugh and with my sister and me. There are no warmer feelings between us.”
He rubbed a thumb over the pebbles he held. “I don’t believe he agrees with you.”
“I assure you he does.” The man who’d held her when she was devastated by grief did not exist. Perhaps he’d never existed except in her imagination. But, she remembered his arms around her, his soft, Hush, darling.
“You’ve known William half his life. You cannot be blind to his many qualities.”
At that, she had to laugh. “If length of acquaintance is of any importance to such emotions as love then, if you’re right, in ten years I’ll be in love with you.”
“My condolences for such a grim future.”
“Grim indeed, Your Grace. In ten years, you’ll wish I had married your brother.”
“No, Mrs. Lark. I will not.”
She walked to one of the benches and sat, staring at the swans on the still, green water. The left side of his coat went clunk as whatever was in the pocket landed on the bench. She lifted that half of his coat. “What do you have in here?”
“What else but a box?” he said. “For your heart.”
“You’ll just throw my eyes into the trees, then.”
He stood to one side of her, too somber. “Mrs. Lark.”
He’d brought her out her to warn her off Lord William because he’d judged her unworthy of a Besett. She wanted Kitty to have the best possible chance at marriage, to see something of society before she begged Hugh to fund a Season for Kitty. Until then, where but at Teversault would her sister have the chance to meet men of fashion and ton? “You might have saved yourself a deal of trouble” she said, “by asking your brother not to invite us. Did you two never discuss the guest list?”
“You are not unwelcome at Teversault.”
“So long as we know our place.” This was beyond perverse to intend to do whatever he asked and at the same time resent him for not liking her. Those two things were not related. She made the mistake of looking the duke square in the face. Her stomach tightened, and she hated herself for the reaction. So foolish to find him so attractive when he wasn’t. His coat slipped off her shoulders. She ignored it. “You ought to have put us below stairs so we’d know how to behave.”
“There is a servants wing.” He was enigma. She’d joked about reading his expressions, but she couldn’t. Not when he was like this. “Not a below stairs.”
“I—” Her words stuck in her throat. “I don’t know why—” She wiped at the corner of her eye. “You’ve no obligation to like me, but I confess, it seems to me you’ve no reason to dislike me either.”
“I spend far too much time saying that I do not dislike you.”
“Worse.” She gripped the button-side of his coat. “You don’t even care.” She lost the power of speech. He’d been so helpful to her, and all she wanted was to give back something, to make him some repayment. Since Edward had died, she’d got tangled up about him with no way she could see to unravel the mess. She gave in to her tears, turning away from him and folding her arms on the top of the bench to hide her face from him.
“This is unacceptable. Cease immediately.”
George lifted her head long enough to see him standing exactly where he had been. “Go. Go away. Leave me to my abject misery.”
He sat beside her and did something with his coat. If she had any luck at all, he really would put her heart in a box. Instead, he touched her shoulder.
She kept her face away from him. “Leave me be.”
“My handkerchief.”
She moved her head and saw a square of silk inches from her face.
“I cannot abide a woman’s tears.”
“No. No, you wouldn’t.” It was ridiculous for her to feel this way. She took his handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. “Thank you. You needn’t stay.” He did not move from the bench. He wanted her reassurance that she did not intend to lure his brother into an unsuitable marriage. She took several calming breaths and sat back. “I do not want to marry your brother, and I daresay he does not wish to marry me.” She squeezed his handkerchief. “There. You may rest easy now.”
“Thank you.”
She stared at his watch chain and the two fobs dangling from it. The silver lozenge he always wore and the golden apple she’d intended to offer up as treasure. She pointed. “That is mine.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I won your game. Therefore, the prize is mine.”
“The game required a map. You did not have a map. Ergo you did not play; ergo you did not win.”
He leaned over her, stretching an arm across her. “Your pardon.”
Her breath hitched. Whether he noticed, she could not tell. He extracted a folded half sheet of foolscap from his coat pocket. “As you can see, I had the requisite map. Though perhaps it’s not genuine. Examine it and tell me if it is.”
She glanced at the paper in his hand. “Yes, it’s genuine. Where did you get it?”
“William. Therefore, under the rules, I did participate. In addition, I found the treasure. It wasn’t difficult.” He touched the apple. “Therefore, I won.”
She blinked at him. “Well,” she said slowly, “it’s too late. We awarded a different prize.”
“If you’ve reneged on the original prize, I’ll claim another.” He detached the gold chain from his fob and held it out. She stared at the apple turning slowly in the air. “Has my touch poisoned it?”
“No.” She looked up, and her heart thudded he was so close. She could scarcely think. “You cannot invent prizes to win. What if you decided you’d won a chest of gold or a diamond necklace?”
“I’ve no use for a diamond necklace.”
“Nonsense.” She lifted her chin, afraid to look at the apple he still held. “They make excellent gifts for one’s mistress.”
“What gifts I give to a lover is my choice to make. Not yours.” He took her hand and dropped the apple onto her upturned palm.
“I was pointing out that you do have a use for a diamond necklace.”
“Point conceded.”
She regarded the apple with some dismay. If she weren’t wearing gloves, she’d feel the warmth of the metal. He’d said it wasn’t poisoned, and of course it was not, but she could not shake the conviction that just holding it meant more of him was twisting its way into her, never to be capable of removal.
“If you haven’t a chest of gold or a diamond necklace, you’ll have to think of something else.”
She held out the apple. “It’s yours.”
He wrapped his hand around hers so that they were both holding the apple. He braced his other hand on the back of the bench and loomed over her. For one soaring, pulse-pounding moment, she was sure he meant to kiss her. Worse, even worse than that, she moved toward him while
her world tilted out of balance, with Stoke Teversault the only man who could put it right. They were too close. Then not close enough, and he did not kiss her.
She turned away. Humiliated.
“This is not the time or place,” he said.
She held out the apple again. “You won it fairly.”
He leaned against the bench, one leg outstretched, and regarded her with his impenetrable gaze. “Keep it.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Why? It’s a pretty bauble.”
“It was a gift from Edward’s father.” Stoke’s eyebrows shot up, and she hastened to explain. “He gave it to me as a reminder of woman’s original sin. I’ve long thought of giving it to someone who would have pleasant associations with receiving it. Now I’ve tried, and I can’t even do that. It’s too awful.”
He sat up enough to take it from her. “Did I say it was a pretty bauble? I see the poison now. I’m sorry I wore it.”
“You can’t believe how I despise that apple.”
“I can imagine.” Stoke closed his fist and, then, in one explosive movement toward the pond, he hurled the apple over the water. It arced in the air and plunged down, down, down, sunlight glinting off the metal.
She stared at the water and the ripples spreading out where it had landed. “Will I offend you if I say I shall be in love with you in a considerably shorter time than ten years?”
“Not in the least.”
Chapter Eight
‡
George tensed when she saw Stoke Teversault walking the path to the pond. She wished she hadn’t decided to come here, but she had and now it was too late to hide. She could be as cool as he could be. She would be.
It was her plan to pretend she’d not seen him, and then, when he saw her, he could decide to walk away. He would return to the house, and no one need admit that there was no repairing the break between them that had existed since the day she’d told him she was not in love with his brother.
She was prepared to have him avoid her as he had these past two days. He continued walking. Why? Why hadn’t he taken the chance when he’d had it? He was a clever man. He would know he could turn away. It wasn’t too late yet. She kept her eyes forward, but she could hear him coming nearer. Now, she thought. Now, he must realize he was at the very limit of where he could retreat with their pretense of ignorance intact.
“Mrs. Lark.”
She did not love Lord William but that had not been enough to fix whatever had gone wrong. She would rather go back to his disdain of her than endure knowing she had made this painful for him. She hid the rest of the bread she’d cadged from the duke’s chef in her reticule. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
He stood on the path, unmoving.
She steeled herself, but the words she’d rehearsed a dozen times flew out of her head. “I wish I could fly or turn invisible. Or could travel back in time to never make a fool of myself.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“But I have. Made myself foolish to you, I mean. We shouldn’t have come. Kitty and I.” She sank into the drama that had overwhelmed her these past days. “I should never have let Lord William convince us to come here. I did so want Kitty to have a chance to meet fashionable people. With Hugh away, we don’t see many gentlemen worthy of her. I was selfish for I so wanted to see Teversault for myself. I ought to have known you would prefer we not come here.” She drew breath. “Therefore, I’ve decided that we shall leave.”
“Mrs. Lark. There is no reason for you to leave. You have not troubled me in the least.”
She stared across the water, then looked at him, determined to make things right between them. “Except when you feared I meant to marry your brother.”
He held her gaze, and her stomach swooped. “I am a difficult man to know and more difficult to befriend, I’m told.”
“I can’t think who’d dare tell you something like that.” The birds had stopped singing, as well they must. What creature would risk displeasing Stoke Teversault?
His smile was pained. “You needn’t leave on my account, unless what you mean to say is that you cannot tolerate me.”
She dug her toe into the gravel then realized she oughtn’t. “I did not say that.”
“If you leave, I will think you believe it.”
She stared at him, perplexed. He was serious. She narrowed her eyes at him and then smiled and extended her hand to him. “Good morning, Your Grace. How delightful that you should decide to walk here at the same time I did.”
For the space of two heartbeats, he did not react. Then, he took her hand and bent over it. “A happy coincidence, indeed.”
“Lovely morning, don’t you agree?” she said when he’d released her hand.
“Yes.” He stood beside her and watched the water with her. The swans and several of the ducks had swum away one she’d stopped throwing them treats. “Not too warm.”
“Not yet. Perhaps later, though.” She was going to learn how to behave with the duke if it killed her, and she thought it would. “I do prefer cooler weather. Don’t you?”
His arrival brought the birds to the edge of the pool, with the ducks being quite vocal.
“Yes.” He drew a hunk of bread from his pocket. The noise from the birds increased. “Better for the nerves, one hears.”
“Yes. Nerves.” She didn’t want to look at him but she did. He looked especially fashionable today, with his beaver hat and a greatcoat of chocolate wool. “One does wish to avoid a case of the nerves.”
He tore off bits of bread and tossed them onto the water. The swans floated close, necks arched gracefully. He turned his head to her, and she froze, and then hated herself for being caught in his gaze. His nose was too long and too boney, his cheeks too sharp, and his mouth was as hard as his heart. “Greedy beggars.”
“Yes, they are.” She forced herself to reply when she’d rather stare at his face and ponder why she found him so attractive. “Beautiful, greedy beggars.”
He tore off more bits of bread and extended a handful to her. “Would you like to feed them?”
George opened her reticule and took out the bread she’d shoved inside. She held it up. “I came prepared.”
“Chef muttered something about nice fat ducks this morning.” He laughed and tossed his handful of crumbs onto the water. “When I am in residence, I cannot bear to think of not bringing them something in the morning.”
“Why don’t you instruct the staff to make sure they get something?”
He hesitated, then said, “I do.” His features returned to hard nonchalance, while she took her turn tossing bits of bread. “I believe you’re wrong about my brother.”
“What do you mean?”
“He is fond of you.”
“As I am fond of him.”
“More than he is of any other.”
“You’ve no cause for worry.” She put a hand on his upper arm, and he glanced at her, one eyebrow arched. “It’s very odd to me, but nevertheless true, that though Lord William is handsome, unfairly so, I should say, I feel no spark of…” How frank should she be? Enough, she understood, to put his fears to rest. “There is no attraction between us. I believe I ought to feel something in that nature, for what woman would not find in him much to admire?” She lifted her hands in a gesture of her helplessness in the face of such facts. “Yet…”
“Why aren’t you in love with him?” His question was sharp and too fast.
She looked down her nose at him, after a fashion, given he was so much taller than she. “Two days ago you were terrified I might lead your brother into an unsuitable marriage. Today you demand to know why I haven’t? Do make up your mind.”
“Is there no one for you besides Mr. Lark?”
Goodness, but he’d echoed her own half-hearted explanation to Lord William. Or his brother had told him that was her excuse. She scraped more bread from the crusts to which she was now reduced and threw the last of it to the ducks. “People remarry all the time, and ha
ppily too.”
“That is no answer to my question.”
“No.” She sighed. “I do not know the answer. I loved my husband with all my heart, that’s true. I still mourn him, but does that mean I will never fall in love again? Does it mean others who remarry did not love the first time, or that they love less the second? I think not.”
He went still again, proof against the ducks calling for more food. “I’ve no notion.”
“We agree then. I do not know if I will love a second time.” There. Now she wasn’t lying to him. “Perhaps I will. I know it won’t be Lord William. Much to your relief, I’m sure.”
“You’ve no idea.”
She shot him a sideways look. Lord, she might yet lose her head over him. She toed a pebble by the rock-lined border of the pond, and they took turns tossing the remains of his bread onto the water, comfortable in the silence. At last, though, she showed her empty hands to the swans and the ducks. “No more, my greedy, beautiful beggars.”
Stoke Teversault tossed the last of what was in his hand, and she, anticipating that he would walk back to the path collided with him because instead he faced her.
“Oof.”
He grabbed her by the upper arms, and she tilted her chin up and found his gaze fixed on her mouth, and she had been married, so she knew. She knew. Her entire body clenched. She understood men and what they did with women in private, and she was stunned to see that his thoughts had turned there.
She ought to move. Say something. Her stomach was a mass of butterflies, because her thoughts had turned there too, to darkened rooms and whispered endearments, and all the lovely things one could do with hands and mouths and private parts.
Time stopped. Stretched out. She was convinced he meant to kiss her, but that was impossible. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. The Duke of Stoke Teversault would never.
He did, though. With a finesse that unmoored her.
