There was a flurry of hooves near the stables. Tabitha bucked her head towards the sound, although a mighty rose bush blocked the building.
“Has your father been somewhere?” Tabitha asked.
“No,” Rebecca returned. “He’s in his study going over paperwork.” She placed her plate to the side, the half-eaten tart collecting a tribe of wasps. She lifted her skirts as she rose, then ducked to the side of the garden gate to peer out. With a full view of the stables, she watched in awe as Owen Crauford himself eased off his massive black horse.
It was a shock to see him. Broad-shouldered, regal, his black hair in a wild mess from his ride. He spoke with the stableman, seemingly not noticing Rebecca, and Rebecca shot back into the garden and pressed her hand over her heart and gazed at her friend, lost.
Tabitha furrowed her brow. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Rebecca could hardly form the words. “Owen Crauford has just arrived.”
Tabitha looked as though she wanted to leap from her seat. She blinked enormous eyes and whispered, “What on earth!” and then collected her spider-like hands across her dress and waited, panicked, for Rebecca to decide what to do next.
Of course, what to do next was a bizarre conundrum, indeed. Rebecca could almost feel Owen’s presence as he cut across the front lawn, eased towards the front of the house, and clacked his knuckles against the door.
“Do you suppose he’s only here because his father forced him to make amends with me?” Rebecca asked, arching her brow. “They’re flat broke. Nothing to their name. And we… we have… we have everything you could ever need.”
“There are plenty of other women Owen Crauford could woo,” Tabitha said.
“But why is he here?” Rebecca hissed.
There was the creak from the back door. Molly’s voice, boisterous and mothering, said, “I believe they’re still out here, Mr. Crauford. It’s marvellous to see you again, you know. My Rebecca has spent much of the previous weeks quite alone and… well, you must know, her dear friend is pregnant. Making her own family. A girl is apt to feel…”
“Molly,” Rebecca moaned, dropping her face into her hands. Embarrassment flooded her.
But already Molly and Owen had arrived at the garden gate. Molly creaked it open, her face moon-like and enormous, beaming at Rebecca. She clearly felt she’d said and done all the proper things.
Rebecca’s eyes met Owen’s for the first time in many weeks. She took a small step back, then hated herself for it – yearning only to declare herself entirely capable, too powerful for the likes of him. His black eyes connected with hers immediately. It felt as though someone had wrapped his hand around her neck, disallowing her to breathe.
He was there. He was before her.
He’d arrived in her rose garden.
And before Rebecca could comprehend what she’d done, she uttered, “What on earth are you doing here?”
The words were so rude, so banal, that she half-expected Owen to turn about and rush back home. Both Tabitha and Molly looked stricken with fear that he would do just that. But instead, Owen laughed, his smile widening.
“I hope you’ll always be such a delight,” he said.
This only enraged Rebecca more. She was overwhelmed with the memory of the last time they’d met. He’d told her he’d found another way for his family to move forward. He’d explained that he didn’t necessarily need her and thus insinuated that he didn’t truly want her.
It had all been a game to him.
“I should have known,” she muttered under her breath, her hands stiff along her gown. “I should never have trusted you.”
“Rebecca…” Tabitha said, arching her brow. “He’s come all this way to speak with you. Shouldn’t you give him a brief moment of your time?”
Molly’s look was a motherly reprimand. Rebecca cast her eyes towards the far corner of the garden, pondering what to do next. She felt strangely cornered, yet another selection of individuals who would stop at nothing to ensure she did what they wanted her to do.
Of course, there was the issue, that she yearned to be alone with Owen, that she wanted nothing more than to speak with him alone. She’d dreamed of him nearly every night. And now he stood before her, his eyes dark and alluring and his smile oddly crooked, as though she was a comical relief for him.
“You expect me to just follow along with whatever you will?” Rebecca said, feeling the sides of her mouth twitch upward. “You really believe you can demand whatever you want from the world, don’t you?”
Owen gave a light shrug, but he didn’t drop his eyes from hers. Tabitha moaned again. “Rebecca, don’t be so utterly stubborn.”
Rebecca’s heart leapt into her throat. She blinked at him, enraged, and then said, “All right. Five minutes of my time. That’s all you’re allowed.”
“So generous,” Owen said.
Rebecca lifted her skirts and strode out of the rose garden, past Molly – who reached out, gripped her elbow, and gave her yet another look, one that seemed to say, I know exactly how much this matters to you. Don’t allow yourself to mess it up.
Molly knew her altogether too well.
Once outside the garden, Rebecca kept her distance from Owen. They walked along the stone path between the lawns, listening to the soft trickle of the fountain on the other side of the high garden gate. Neither spoke.
Finally, they erupted out on the other side of the garden, in full view of the moors as they swept up and down, their hills channelling a variety of green shades. The sun glowed across the tops of each, seeming to christen them. To the right was the thick, dark green forest, its thick trunks shielding any view of the river that raced just beyond.
Rebecca felt Owen’s eyes on her shoulders, her back, as he stood directly behind her. He seemed to want to wait for her initial greeting. Rebecca hadn’t a clue how to begin. And, in times like these, her mind ordinarily reached for something wretched.
“I heard my father wrote to yours,” she said, her voice firm and low. She wanted to evoke strength.
“Yes. He did.”
“I was grateful that he wrapped it up as quickly as he did,” Rebecca continued. “It simply couldn’t go on the way it had.”
“He freed you.”
“And you, I suppose,” Rebecca said. She whipped around, making eye contact. “It was what we spoke of endlessly. I’m terribly sorry that I had to be the one to do it. I know you wanted that victory. Wanted to be the one to prove yourself. But as you’ve heard throughout our very brief, very comical engagement – I’m rather well-suited to such things. As a matter of fact, yours wasn’t even the shortest engagement I’ve ever had. Once, I managed to back out of a potential marriage in less than three days.”
“Quite impressive,” Owen said. “I daresay I am jealous of such skill.”
Rebecca’s nostrils flared. She felt the sarcasm in his voice. “You mock me. And I know precisely why. You think it’s ill-advised for a woman like me to be alone. But I’m only twenty-three years old. Not the youngest woman in the world, by no standards, but I believe I have at least a few seasons left in me.”
“This time next year, you’ll be the beauty at all the balls in London itself,” Owen said. “A pity that you couldn’t make it this year. I suppose it’s because your father insisted you marry me.”
“I won’t put the blame on you,” Rebecca said. “And there was a unique pleasure in it. All that drama. All that gossip. I wanted to stay around. See what might happen next.”
“And now, I suppose, the story’s over,” Owen replied.
Rebecca was perturbed. Why was Owen going along with whatever she spewed? She felt herself spinning in language circles, unable to know fully where she would land next. She bit her lower lip, waiting for some sort of illumination to fall over her. The sunlight glittered a bit too brightly, and she felt tiny beads of sweat form at the base of her neck.
“Yes, well. The story’s over for us. But not for us as individuals,” Rebecca
continued. “I suppose you must have had your share of stories in the past few weeks. A single man, in the middle of summer.”
“Oh yes. It’s been quite a celebration,” Owen said, his voice taking up that similar sarcastic pattern once more. “Me, in that big empty house, just waiting for my next conquest.”
Rebecca’s smile faltered for a moment. Her memory fogged with images of the previous time she’d been at Owen’s, stripped bare on his bed, her legs opening for him, her nails cutting into the muscles on his back as she cried out with pleasure. The house had been an empty, echoing monster around them – but they’d needed nothing but one another.
All of that was past now.
And yet, why was he here?
Chapter 28
Owen seemed to study her face, his eyes scanning her breasts for only a moment before running back up, furrowing. Rebecca positioned her hands on her waist and lifted her chin. A light breeze fluttered through his curls. She felt frozen, with only the vaguest concept that both Tabitha and Molly awaited them in the garden. How much time had passed? And when would Owen fully reveal himself?
“It’s good you came,” Rebecca said suddenly, never one to allow too much silence to pass. “Perhaps we can find a way to be friends with one another.”
“Friends,” Owen returned, arching his brow. “I suppose that’s an idea.”
“One that many seem to use to get through the banality of existence,” Rebecca said.
“Such a poetic way to speak of the hours and days and seasons you’ve been given,” Owen said. He took a slight step towards her and tilted his head.
“I don’t suppose God himself can control the way I speak of this mighty life he’s given me,” Rebecca said, feeling her cheeks cloud with heat.
Owen chuckled, then dropped his eyes for the first time. After a strained pause, he said, “Nobody on the planet speaks like you, you know. You use conversation like both a weapon and a toy.”
“I don’t suppose that’s a compliment.”
“Perhaps it is,” Owen said, with a slight shrug. “I come out of such conversations feeling as though I’ve just run many miles through the forest. Gasping, yet full of adrenaline.”
“I leave you requiring more air?” Rebecca asked. “Perhaps it’s a method of murder.”
“Rebecca. Please. Just stop for a moment,” Owen said. “Not all of us can keep up with you every step of the way.”
“Then tell me why you’re here,” Rebecca churned back. “Or leave my property immediately.” She felt her eyes snap with a sudden onslaught of rage.
Owen’s voice grew terribly quiet. “I’ve missed you.”
Rebecca stepped back, her nostrils flaring still more. This time she felt all the words she’d ever uttered slip away from her. She couldn’t possibly catch them. What was this man saying to her? Why did it matter if he missed her? Their engagement was over. He’d used her and tossed her away.
“I see I’ve done the very thing I didn’t expect to,” Owen said. “I’ve made you speechless.”
“Don’t honour such action,” Rebecca murmured, hardly loud enough for him to hear.
“No. No. I couldn’t.” Owen pressed his lips together, giving her a curious look. “Have you any response?”
“To your missing me?” Rebecca whispered. “Hardly.”
“You haven’t missed me at all, then. That’s what I’m meant to take from this.”
“Perhaps. Take whatever you will. You’ve already taken enough from me. And then explained to me just how much you don’t require me in your life. You…”
Owen interrupted her, his voice booming. “You ran out of my house without giving me time to explain. One minute we were in the midst of wicked banter – and the next, you’d taken issue with something and ripped off in a carriage. I was dumbfounded. Angry. Sad. I couldn’t comprehend why on earth you’d done it. If you had stayed just a few moments more, you could have heard that, in truth, all I meant was that Theo offered to help my family get back on our feet. Theo. That raucous best friend of mine who seems to not have a moral to his name. He understood how it bothered me – and you, if you’d admit it once more – to marry for the good of my family, rather than to honour my own happiness.
“His funds would have allowed us to rectify our situation. It would have allowed us to marry without the overarching shadow of our family’s decisions and problems,” he continued.
Rebecca’s legs wavered beneath her. Her thoughts raced, inarticulate and strange. When she spoke, her words were hardly clear.
“Did you… did you take Theo’s money?”
Owen shook his head. “The act of taking that amount of money from a friend seemed ill-advised. Just as marrying you for your title and money alone seemed wretched. I didn’t want anything to shift between Theo and me. Although he’s a rascal, he’s my dearest friend. I cannot imagine living under him in that manner.”
“Such strict guidelines you have for your life,” Rebecca whispered, although her heart surged with admiration. She took a slight step towards him, seemingly guided by an unseen force.
“I find it best if you can look at all the decisions of your life, every step of the way, and still recognise yourself regardless,” Owen replied. “I don’t wish to have any regrets. I don’t wish for anyone to make any decisions for me. I don’t think I even mind a life without much money. In the wake of our things being sold – and my mother’s impenetrable sadness – I’ve discovered how much I enjoy the hard labour in the stables. How little I miss the strange little trinkets that lined the fireplace. Why do large estates and big, fancy rooms please us so greatly? I’ve derived more pleasure from this painful conversation than I might have done, seated in an antique chair.”
“I should hope that my words are better than some chair,” Rebecca said.
“That’s it, then,” Owen said. “I wanted to explain myself. To tell you precisely what’s been on my mind the past few weeks –”
“These weeks that have been nothing more than you recklessly gallivanting off with Theo,” she said.
Owen rolled his eyes. “Look at us here. Both of us. Single creatures. Individuals. No longer engaged. And yet oddly unchaperoned. Here beneath God’s enormous blue sky, we’re breaking every societal rule in the book.”
“I’m sure if you make any inappropriate moves, my cries will alert both Molly and Tabitha.”
“Your saviours,” Owen said, arching his brow.
“I don’t know what you assume. But I’m a proper lady. Societal rules are my bread and butter.”
Owen tutted. His eyes glowed, seeming to transmit the images of the previous time they’d been together. He knew what bunkum she spewed. She knew she’d said it only to ignite this memory.
“Suppose I only wish to marry you,” Owen said then.
The words felt like a powerful wind. Rebecca kept her eyes wide open, her hands at her sides. She wouldn’t give in to the societal norm – a woman fainting, keeling over in shock.
“Whatever do you mean?” she finally uttered.
A declaration, in his own way. One with attitude, from his unique and strange and exciting mind. Finally, after all these weeks, he stood before her, lending the full portrait of his chaotic mind.
“What do you suppose I mean?” Owen asked.
“Must you be so opaque?”
“Must you be so argumentative?”
A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 26
