by Joyce Alec
The urge to know whether or not she had any kind of feelings for him began to rise. In playing the part of Lord Michael, he had to be the second son, the one who would never have the wealth and title that the eldest son would one day inherit.
“You have been nothing but kind to me, Miss Richards,” he began, moving closer to her. “You have made me smile, made me laugh, and surprised me with your lack of willingness to conform to society’s standards.”
“I find them to be ridiculous at times,” she breathed, taking a step away from him as though he were rather an intimidating figure. “But that has never upset you before?”
A harsh laugh escaped him. “No, it has not. I have found it refreshing, to say the least. It has been a light in what I find to be an often-miserable situation.” He looked at her steadily, his lip curling. “And yet I discover that you are more inclined towards the things that most other young ladies seek.”
Her expression grew puzzled, and she let out a long breath, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought you cared for me,” Jonathan whispered, his hands curling into fists. “I thought there might be something between us.”
A slow flush crept up her neck and, for the first time, she looked away from him, dropping her head.
“I have struggled with my own heart,” Jonathan continued, his voice growing hoarse as emotions of every kind coursed through him. “I have tried not to think of you, tried not to seek you out the moment I attend any kind of function, and yet it has all been for naught. When I called on you, it was one of the happiest afternoons I have spent in a long time.”
“Lord Michael,” she whispered, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I did not know the depths of your feelings.”
Jonathan clenched his fists, moving forward so swiftly that Miss Richards was forced to move away, stepping back until she was pressed against the wall.
“Nor did I,” he grated, warring against the urgent desire to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, despite what he had seen. “I did not know the truth of it all until I saw you this evening, dancing with all the other gentlemen.”
She blinked up at him, something like understanding in her gaze. “You were jealous?”
“Tell me you feel nothing for me,” Jonathan replied, not answering her question. “Tell me that there is no kind of affection in your heart. Tell me that you do not think of me in the same way I think of you.”
Planting his hands on either side of her head, Jonathan leaned forward, aware that he was too close to her. If anyone discovered them, the scandal could be disastrous. Yet, the closeness made him feel alive, as if he had been holding back everything he felt for this woman. He had to know what she felt for him before he could challenge her with what he had seen. Somehow, he would get the truth.
“I cannot permit myself to feel anything for you, Lord Michael,” she whispered, her lips trembling, as she tried to keep her gaze steady. “You do not understand.”
He snorted in derision. “You cannot permit yourself?” he questioned, pinning her with his firm gaze.
Miss Richards closed her eyes, a single tear landing on her cheek. She was more vulnerable now than he had ever seen her, and yet the anger in his heart would not allow him to feel any kind of compassion.
“I have longed for your company,” she confessed, surprising him by putting her hands on his chest. “But I cannot have anything more than friendship between us, no matter what I feel.”
“You admit to caring for me then?” he asked, his heart filling with both grief and happiness in the same moment.
Her face tipped towards his, honesty shining from her eyes. “Of course, I do, Michael. I just cannot allow myself to feel it, and yet despite my attempts at resilience, my heart will not let you go.”
Before he knew what he was doing, Jonathan had crushed her against him, his lips finding hers. She responded to him at once, her arms twining around his neck. She was everything he had hoped for, warm and soft and sweet. Yet the saltiness of her tears began to mingle with their kiss, making him starkly aware of what he was doing.
He let her go at once, pushing himself away. Taking in her swollen lips, the tears in her eyes, Jonathan shook his head. “I suppose that if I asked you to marry me, you would turn me down in an instant.”
She crumpled in front of him, her arms hugging her waist as she leaned against the wall. “Michael, please do not—”
“I saw you in the ballroom, dancing with your many, many suitors,” Jonathan interrupted, angry with himself for kissing her when he knew it to be a lost cause, angry that he had taken what his heart had desired in that moment. “I know that you will not so much as look at those who will not meet your standards. You are quite determined to marry a man with a title and a great fortune, is that not so?” His voice was louder now, filling the room. He waited, as she wiped at her eyes, seeing just how much she struggled to look at him.
“I cannot marry a man without a good fortune,” she whispered, her cheeks pink with shame. “But please, Lord Michael, if you would just let me explain—”
“There is nothing to explain,” Jonathan interrupted, his heart breaking into small pieces as he spoke. “You are just like all the rest, desperate to make as good a match for yourself as possible. As much as you say you shun society’s ways, I see that you are still willing to do all you can to gain a husband of both wealth and title. You do not care one jot for matters of the heart or for the character of your chosen gentleman.”
She began to cry in earnest, a shadow of the lively young lady he had first met this evening. “Please, I—”
Unwilling to let her give him her excuses, Jonathan made for the door, flinging it open wide. “To think that I had begun to think of asking to court you,” he said over his shoulder. “How glad I am that Lord Taylor warned me about your ways before I completely lost my heart. Good evening, Miss Richards. I doubt we shall meet again.”
He left the door ajar as he strode from the room, ignoring the quiet sobs that followed him along the hallway. He was angry with both Miss Richards and himself, struggling to find a way to express what he felt. He should never have kissed her, but he had found himself desperate to know just what she felt for him. And now, given how she had responded, he had no further need to ask.
Miss Richards did care for him. Mayhap she could have come to love him, had she allowed herself to look past the fortune she thought he carried. But the truth of it was, she would never have allowed herself to give in to her feelings because he was not the kind of gentleman she had decided she would wed. As Lord Michael, he did not have the title nor wealth that she required.
“Just like all the others,” Jonathan spat, hurrying down the stairs and making his way directly to the front door.
Calling for his carriage, Jonathan strode up and down the gravel path, trying to contain his anger and upset. There would be no more of London for him, no more of society and all its wonderful occasions. Lord Michael could remain here for as long as he wished, under the guise of being Marquess Rivenhall, whereas he would be able to return to his estate and never again allow Miss Richards to dog his mind.
His heart was still sore as he climbed into the waiting carriage, urging the coachman to get him home as fast as he could. A sensation of grief rippled through him, bringing tears to his eyes.
Rubbing a hand across his face, Jonathan set his jaw, his eyebrows furrowing. Miss Richards meant nothing to him now, not when he had seen her as she truly was. Once he was back in his estate, he would simply throw himself into his responsibilities there, choosing not to think of her again, not even for a single moment. He had been duped into believing that she might care for him, and he was even beginning to think seriously about courting her.
How grateful he was for Lord Taylor’s advice. It just proved to him that all the eligible young ladies amongst the ton were just as he had thought, and as hard as it was to admit, that included Miss Richards.
&nbs
p; 10
The following afternoon Jonathan was in the same clothes as the prior evening, albeit without the jacket and cravat, lying on his bed in a state of melancholy. He had every intention to remain in his bedchamber for most of the day, if not all day, until his head stopped paining him so badly.
It was more than just a simple headache, for the pain spread to his chest and all through his limbs, forcing him to curl into a ball with the sheet pulled over him.
He had yet to make the arrangements to return to his estate, but given that he could barely think of anything other than what had occurred with Miss Richards, Jonathan concluded that he might make such arrangements in a few days’ time. He could drink just as much good brandy here as he could back at his estate, after all. The bed here was just as comfortable, the solitude just as quiet.
According to the maid, who had come with his lunch tray only half an hour ago, Michael had gone out for a walk, possibly around Hyde Park. Not that it mattered. Jonathan was not ready to talk to anyone, least of all his friend. Michael was quite taken up with his life and the lovely Miss Carron. Jonathan was not about to dim such happiness simply because of his own misery.
A knock at the door forced him to rise, stumbling towards the chair by the fire as he called for the butler to enter. The man came in at once, holding a silver tray with a note on it.
“You have a letter, my lord.”
Jonathan saw the slightly confused expression on his butler’s face as he was handed the note, seeing that it was addressed to Lord Michael.
“This is for Lord Michael,” Jonathan replied, making to hand it back to the butler, only for him to shake his head.
“I did try to give it to him before he left the house, my lord, but Lord Michael told me it was for you,” he replied, with a small shrug. “Something about the writer accidentally using the wrong name.”
Quickly realizing what Lord Michael meant, Jonathan nodded and took back the letter, asking the butler to open the drapes so that he might read it.
Light streamed into the room, and as Jonathan turned the letter over, he saw Lord Richards seal on the back.
His heart stopped.
There was no doubt as to who had sent this letter, for it could only be from Miss Richards. Lord Richards would not write to him in such a way, and certainly not with such delicate handwriting.
His fingers slid towards the seal, considering whether or not to break it and read the contents. His heart warred within him. He both wanted to read it and wanted to refuse it. Would she be questioning his actions from the last evening? Would the letter be dripping with her apologies, written out numerous times in an attempt to prove her regret?
“No.”
The word came out a trifle more firmly than Jonathan had intended, making his butler start just a little.
“Have this letter returned at once,” he continued, getting to his feet and handing the butler the letter. “I will not read it.”
His butler, who never questioned a thing, simply nodded and left the room, closing the bedchamber door behind him.
Once the letter had been sent away, Jonathan tried not to consider what her reaction would be on receiving it, remembering how she had cried in front of him last evening. His heart tore just a little, underneath the burden of pain he carried within him. She had admitted that her heart blossomed with affection for him, so he had not been wrong to believe that her warmth towards him had meant more than a simple kinship. But to know that she pushed her own feelings away simply because she thought he did not carry the title and fortune she had decided she required, broke his heart. Her actions were shallow and cruel. She had taken what he had offered her, even as Lord Michael, and had trampled on it as he watched.
“Rivenhall?”
Jonathan jumped at the loud knock on the door. He got up from his chair in order to ask Lord Michael to leave him, only for the man to burst through the door regardless, pulling a rather scared-looking Miss Carron with him.
“Whatever is the meaning of this?” Jonathan exclaimed, as the girl looked up at him, her cheeks pale. “What are you doing with Miss Carron?”
“I need you to hide her,” Michael replied simply. “Her father might very well come looking, and I will need to be out of sight. Out of the house, even.”
“Michael, no!” Miss Carron exclaimed, clutching his arm. “Do not leave me!”
“I must,” Lord Michael replied, turning around and taking her hand in his. “I must be seen all about town, to ensure that your father does not suspect me.”
Miss Carron shook her head. “He will suspect you. This is the first place he will look.”
Jonathan held out his hands, silencing them both. “Will one of you please explain what on earth is going on?” Growing rather aware of his rumpled state, he shook his head and drew in a calming breath. This was not what he needed.
“Can I ask that you both return to the drawing room? I will make myself a little more presentable and join you there.”
Much to Jonathan’s surprise, Michael shook his head firmly. “We are trying to keep her presence here a secret. Only the butler saw us enter, and I know he is a trusted servant.”
Realizing that his friend was concerned that Jonathan’s staff would make Miss Carron’s presence here known through their usual gossiping, Jonathan smiled tightly. “I will ensure that the staff does not breathe a word of it, I promise you. In fact, I shall speak to them now. Please go to the drawing room, and I will be with you in a few minutes.” He folded his arms across his chest, keeping Michael’s gaze with a firm eye.
He watched as Miss Carron’s hand slowly loosened its grip on Michael’s arm, her cheeks now a little less pale.
“Very good,” Michael replied eventually, reaching out to shake Jonathan’s hand firmly. “Thank you, old chap. You have not let me down.”
Jonathan smiled and nodded, waiting desperately for them both to exit his bedchamber before throwing himself into a chair and groaning aloud. Whatever it was Michael intended to do with Miss Carron, Jonathan knew it would not be easy. To hide a lady from a father desperately searching for her—whatever his intentions were—was somewhat difficult.
Another groan escaped from his lips as Jonathan leaned forward and pressed his head into his hands, his elbows on his knees. He had not wanted this. All he had hoped for was a few days of solitude, a few days for his heart to stop paining him so terribly, before returning to his country estate. And now, here he was, caught up in whatever Lord Michael and Miss Carron intended.
Not that he could blame Michael for wanting to look out for the lady. She did have something of a tyrant for a father, and that in itself must be rather trying. Frowning, Jonathan got to his feet and went to wash and change his clothes, thinking that he ought to at least attempt to look presentable.
As he dressed, Jonathan caught sight of himself in the mirror, and he was forced to pause as he drew in a sharp breath. When had he become so haggard? It was as though all the happiness had been pulled from him, leaving him with nothing more than an empty shell. It was rather sobering.
“All Miss Richards fault, of course,” he muttered aloud, turning away from his reflection.
In a way, he was rather jealous of what Lord Michael had found in Miss Carron. There had been an instant attraction between them both—that was clear to see—and Michael had clearly never struggled to find a way to share those feelings with the lady.
Jonathan had never truly believed that such a deep connection could be formed between two individuals. Yet, the evidence was now directly before him in the form of Lord Michael Astor and Miss Carron. The way she had clung to him, trusting him to care for her, had spoken to Jonathan’s heart. Lord Michael had been tender, yet firm in his speech, reassuring her that all would be well and that he would be by her side throughout. Was it so wrong to desire such a thing for himself? To have a touch of envy over what Michael had so easily found, whilst Jonathan had been left floundering?
A rueful smile touched his li
ps as he finished buttoning his shirt, wondering what Miss Richards would say were she to discover that he was, in fact, the sort of man she had set her sights on. She would probably have accepted his marriage proposal without any kind of hesitation, giving the appearance of a true affection. He would have never known whether she truly cared for him or whether her affection was for his title and fortune.
“And now I must forget her,” he murmured to himself, glad that he now appeared much less rumpled than when Lord Michael had appeared in his bedchamber. Making his way from the bedchamber, he marched down the stairs, only to come face to face with his rather astonished-looking butler.
“Gather as many staff as you can,” Jonathan declared, ignoring the shock on the butler’s face as he continued below stairs. “I must speak to you all.”
“Of course, of course,” the butler said at once, hurrying to do Jonathan’s bidding.
It was a rather strange affair, warning his staff not to gossip about the lady who was currently alone with Lord Michael in the drawing room. By the looks on their faces, there were well aware of the consequences that would come if they were to do so. Jonathan made it more than clear that there would be no references given to anyone who disobeyed his orders. That in itself was enough to keep even the chattiest of maids silent.
His job done, and the tea trays ordered, Jonathan returned back up the stairs, slowly making his way towards the drawing room. Whatever had happened with Michael and Miss Carron, Jonathan recognized that he was going to have to put his own feelings and his own difficulties to the side for the moment. He would do all he could to help his friend. After all Michael had done for him—both in the army and over the last few weeks in town—it was the least Jonathan could do.
11
“Now,” Jonathan said, the moment the maid set out the tea trays for them. “I have spoken to my staff, and I can promise you both that nothing shall be said about your presence here, Miss Carron. Although, given that it is the late afternoon, I do not think that many people would be surprised that you are calling.”
