Love With a Scandalous Lord (6 page)

“Do you intend to allow Miss Westland to experience a Season here?” Rhys asked quietly, although he doubted any noise would disturb his father’s deep sleep.

Grayson sliced his gaze to Rhys, his brows drawing together. “I had not contemplated doing so. Have you a reason to care?”

“It is only that she seemed to express an interest in doing so. I should think she would not require more than a ball or two to snag herself a man of distinction.”

“She could be no more my daughter had I sired her.”

“That is obvious.”

“It is equally obvious you have an interest in her.”

“I assure you that I view her as nothing more than my guest. Would you have me ignore her?”

“I would have you recognize she is far from being worldly. Fortune is a very small town. Lydia has no experience with the flirtatious games that are played here. I would not have her harmed or her heart bruised.”

“She is exceedingly lovely. But I assure you that I would never exploit her innocence.”

With a heavy sigh, Grayson plowed his hands through his hair. “My apologies. It’s been a long day. Every man should be blessed and burdened with a daughter. It’s difficult to see her as a woman and to know the lurid thoughts that often find purchase in men’s minds.”

Rhys averted his gaze. Grayson would no doubt be appalled to know his exact thoughts. Although he wouldn’t classify them as
lurid
. They leaned more toward the sensual. Erotic. Pleasurable. He was grateful his chambers were in a distant wing far from the one he’d designated for his guests.

“I suppose once you step into Father’s shoes, you’ll need to give serious thought to marriage,” Grayson said speculatively.

Rhys turned his attention back to his brother. “I hadn’t planned to.”

“You’ll need an heir.”

“I’m certain a scrounging of the family tree will uncover a distant cousin somewhere who will suffice for that purpose.”

Grayson leaned forward, planting his elbows on his thighs. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly so.”

“But you have a responsibility—”

“To what?” He lunged out of the chair and began to pace. “To make a woman miserable? My mother has
never known a day of happiness. And Annie, dear, sweet Annie…”

He turned his back on Grayson and wrapped his hand around the bedpost. He thought his chest might cave in on him as the painful memories swamped him.

“Annie was Quentin’s wife, wasn’t she?” Grayson asked quietly.

Swallowing hard, Rhys nodded.

“Father wrote me when she died.”

He faced Grayson. “Did he share the specifics?”

“No.”

Rhys twisted his lips into a cynical smile. “Trust Father to avoid the reality of the situation. Perhaps he was so fascinated with your mother because she lived on the stage in a world so far removed from this one. He no doubt wished to join her in the realm of make-believe.”

“How did Annie die?”

He lowered his gaze, the ache in his chest increasing. “She took her own life.”

“Marriage to Quentin could not have been pleasant.”

No, Rhys was certain it hadn’t been. He’d often caught Annie crying in the garden, and while she’d refused to admit Quentin was the cause, Rhys could think of no other explanation. On occasion in their London town home where his room was adjacent to Quentin’s, he’d thought he’d heard Annie’s muffled cries during the night. But he was also certain that Quentin’s cruelties paled when compared with his.

He shook his head slowly, painfully acknowledging the truth that until this moment had only been shared by the immediate family, by those who had read the words she’d inscribed on Harrington parchment during her last moments.

“Quentin didn’t compel her into doing the unthink
able. I did.”

The confession left a bitter taste in his mouth. He thought he might be ill, as ill as he’d been the night Annie died.

Hating the heavy silence, he glared at Grayson. “Have you nothing to say? No condemnation?”

“Based upon what I’m seeing, I suspect you received enough of that when it happened. What exactly did you do that caused her to take her life?”

His lips twisted into a wry smile. “I loved her.”

U
nable to sleep, Lydia stared at the shadows haunting the corners of her bedroom. Not quite comfortable with the unfamiliar surroundings, Sabrina had asked to share Lydia’s bed tonight. Lydia hadn’t minded. She found comfort in her sister’s soft breathing and her small body curled against Lydia’s back. For Sabrina, dreams no doubt had arrived shortly after she closed her eyes.

Lydia knew she should find solace in dreams as easily, but the day’s excitement had yet to wane, even though disappointment had threaded its way through portions of it. Although their journey had begun as a result of sad news, she’d hoped the trip would give her an opportunity to see a part of the world she’d only heard about.

Now her enthusiasm for traveling to London had lessened. Repeatedly she’d made mistakes throughout the afternoon and evening. Rhys had often dismissed
her. She was certain he was accustomed to wittier, livelier conversation. It had been years since she’d felt like a child trying to peer into the grownups’ world. She would fail miserably in London.

Casting aside the blankets, she eased out of the bed, reached for her night wrapper, and slipped it on. As large as this house was, she suddenly felt it closing in on her.

She padded barefoot to the door. Quietly she opened it and peered into the hallway. No one stirred. But then why would they? It was long past midnight.

Creeping along the hallway, she neared the Duke’s bedchamber. She wondered if Rhys was still visiting with his father. Her stepfather had returned to the library shortly before they’d retired for the evening. He’d looked more haggard than ever.

She was almost to the stairs when she heard a low moan come from the Duke’s bedchamber. Was someone with the man now? Surely they hadn’t left him alone in his weakened state.

She wondered if she should fetch her stepfather to check on him. But she couldn’t bring herself to disturb her stepfather if the slightest chance existed that he was already asleep. She didn’t think he’d slept well since he’d received the news of his father’s failing health.

Surely no one would fault her for looking in on the Duke. If a problem existed, she was sure she could find a servant somewhere in the house. And if not, she could wake her stepfather then.

Placing her hand on the cold knob, she turned it slowly, quietly. Pushing open the door, she was greeted with the overpowering fragrance of far too many flowers. She would have opened a window to allow in some fresh air, but the scene beyond the shadows riveted her.

With the low flame in the lamp on the table beside the bed casting a halo around his bowed head, Rhys held his father’s hand. A heart-wrenching pose, a son with his father in the final hours.

She felt like an intruder, and yet she couldn’t leave.

Several times during her encounters with Rhys, she’d thought he appeared to be a solitary figure, alone within his own family. He seemed even more so now.

She wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. They’d come here to offer their support and their strength. As a family, they would endure these troubling times. They would make it through.

She stepped silently into the room, intending to approach and offer him comfort, but the sight of the withered and frail man lying on the bed stopped her. This man was her stepfather’s father.

He looked nothing like her stepfather, nothing like the great nobleman he must have been at one time.

“Father?” Rhys prodded in a low voice.

She thought she detected the Duke moving his head almost imperceptibly. Was he awake or simply reacting to the baritone of his son’s voice?

“Father, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I beg of you, do not leave this world without telling Mother that you love her. Even if the words are false, I implore you to give them to her. She has served you faithfully these many years. And despite her faults—of which I know there are many—she has great feelings for you.

“If you will but do this, I swear to you that I shall ensure Grayson receives whatever property is not entailed. I shall give to him all things the Crown has not expressly forbidden. All you hold dear, I shall bestow upon him. He will always be welcomed here and shall want for nothing.”

“He wants for nothing now,” Lydia said quietly.

Rhys snapped his head around to glare at her, standing at the foot of the bed, her hand wrapped around the post supporting the heavy canopy. She didn’t remember crossing to the bed. She only knew Rhys’s pleading voice had drawn her toward him.

He came up out of the chair like a man possessed. Without a word, he grabbed her arm and hauled her from the room. His grip was firm, but not painful. Fury shimmered off him.

She fully expected him to release her as soon as he entered the hallway. To yell at her and wake her stepfather. Instead he proceeded down the stairs, taking her with him. Her toes dancing over the steps, she struggled to keep up with his rapid strides.

Across the foyer. Through the front door. Down the stone steps to the cobbled path.

It finally occurred to her that he had no intention of stopping until he’d escorted her out of the country. She wrenched free.

“What in God’s name did you think you were doing?” he demanded, turning on her like a cornered animal. “What right did you have to intrude on my private moment with my father?”

Before she could answer, he’d again wrapped his hand around her arm and was tugging her away from the house, away from prying eyes or ears, away from any witnesses who might see his outburst as undignified. He struck her as an extremely private man, a man who needed distance to rebuild the walls he’d lowered in his father’s bedchamber. He certainly seemed intent on achieving distance.

“My lord?”

Her feet skittered over the cobblestones and onto the
cool grass, velvet beneath her soles. So much like home, even if it was considerably chillier. Home, where she understood all the rules. Home, where her strength resided.

“Blackhurst?”

She saw they were nearing the pond. Lamps on either side of the bridge provided a faint glow that reflected off the inky water.

“Rhys?”

She dug in her heels and jerked back. His hold loosened. Flailing her arms, she lost her balance and landed on the ground with a thud.

He spun around. “You had no right.”

His voice was calm, calm enough to be frightening in its intensity. As though he’d harnessed all his anger, but at any moment he’d give it freedom. Like the calm before the storm. She’d experienced enough hurricanes to know the most frightening moments came just before the fury was unleashed.

Lying on her back, appearing weak when she wasn’t, was hardly where she wanted to be. She scrambled to her feet, acutely aware of her disheveled state and her nightclothes shifting over her body in the breeze.

“I was concerned. I heard a noise—”

He took a step toward her. “You had no right to poke your nose into my affairs.”

“Well, pardon me all to hell for giving a damn about your father!”

He looked momentarily startled. As though she’d tossed a bucket of cold water on him. He turned on his heel, took two steps, and then faced her again. “Pardon you all to hell? What the devil does that mean?”

He sounded truly baffled. More importantly, his voice no longer carried the hard edge of rage.

That she had used profanity embarrassed her no end. She hated reverting to her roots, not appearing to be the refined young lady she dearly wanted to be.

“It means I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I heard a moan and thought maybe your father needed something,” she rushed to explain.

“He needs to set matters to right.”

“By telling your mother he loves her?” she dared ask.

“That would be a fine place to start.” Releasing a deep sigh, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Are you not wearing slippers?”

She suddenly became aware of exactly how cold the air and ground were. She supposed she should have put on her shoes, but she hadn’t expected to find herself outside. She’d only wanted to get away for a little while. An odd notion when she was already thousands of miles from home.

“I didn’t expect to be run out of the house.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t. Back to the house with you now. And I trust you to keep what you heard to yourself.”

He walked toward the pond, dismissing her as he had for most of the day and evening. “Back to the house with you now,” she repeated beneath her breath. Not unless she wished to head back to the house.

She hurried after him. “Is that the pond your brother drowned in?”

“Quite so, but you need not worry. As tempting as the notion is, I have no plans to drown myself.”

“Why would you even consider it?” she asked as she
caught up to him.

He came to an abrupt halt. “Can you not fathom that I seek solitude?”

“I don’t think you have to seek it. You wear it like a shroud.”

She walked over to the curved bridge and sat on the sloping surface. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around herself to capture as much warmth as possible. She finally had him all to herself. She wasn’t about to rush back to the house.

She felt a measure of satisfaction, as she saw him approach from the shadows. The lamp on either side of the bridge cast a pale glow around him as he removed his jacket.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” he said, as he draped his jacket around her shoulders.

She welcomed the warmth and scent of him that permeated the cloth as she drew the jacket close around her. Kneeling before her, he placed his hands over her feet.

“Your feet are like ice,” he murmured. “You should go back indoors.”

But she had no desire to return to the house, to her bed. It was a moonlit night, and she was finally alone with a man who intrigued her. Her stepfather wasn’t here to distract Rhys. Her mother wasn’t here to question anything she said.

“Why would you be willing to give up so much just to have your father tell your mother he loves her?” she asked.

“Do you know what curiosity did to the cat?” he asked.

“I’m not a cat,” she assured him.

“Indeed you’re not.”

Twisting, he sat with his back against the wall of the bridge and placed her feet on his thighs. Firm thighs. Warm enough that their heat penetrated through his trousers to remove the chill from her soles. He ran his palms from her toes to her ankles, enveloping her skin with more delicious heat.

“What are you doing out and about at midnight, my little dreamer?” he asked quietly.

My little dreamer
. Not exactly
my sweetheart
,
my darling
, or
dearest
, but for now she had the attention of an English marquess, and she wasn’t going to squander it by wishing for more.

“Why do you call me a dreamer?” she asked.

“It’s simply an impression I have of you. Now answer my question.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I suppose it’s late afternoon back home in Texas. Would you just be coming in from the fields, then?” he asked.

“No, I would have come in earlier. I’d be helping Mama prepare supper,” she admitted.

“You resent that chore?”

“It’s not exactly how a lady wants to spend her time.”

“And how does she like to spend it? Primping and pampering?”

She thought she detected disapproval in his voice. Wasn’t the aristocracy known for its idleness? In her letters, Lauren had certainly indicated they preferred fun to work.

“I’m really terribly boring,” she admitted. “I’d rather talk about you.”

His hands stilled. “Indeed? I’ve never known a woman who thought beyond herself.”

“I suppose, with your father being a duke, you know a lot of women.”

“I’ve known a fair share.”

“Mary mentioned she was always tidying their hair after they visited—”

“What?” His fingers dug into her soles. “What exactly did she say?”

“Only that she often put their hair to rights. Or something close to that. I assumed after you take them for a ride in the park or on a walk through a garden. The wind always messes my hair.”

“Ah, yes, quite so. I shall have to speak with Mary about keeping her master’s indiscretions to herself.”

“I didn’t mean to get her into trouble.”

“I have no intention of punishing her, if that’s your fear. She’s only been in service for a short time. She has yet to learn the value of silence.”

“Your mother doesn’t think much of your servants.”

“Yes, well, there is much about me of which she has a low opinion.” He began rubbing her feet again. “We all have our crosses to bear, and I would ask that you not repeat what you heard in my father’s bedchamber.”

“It never occurred to me to tell anyone.”

“I thought gossip was a lady’s favorite pastime.”

She remembered how it had hurt to overhear women in town gossiping about her mother and Grayson—even after they were married. “I despise gossip and don’t participate in the practicing of it.”

“Then you are a rare lady, indeed.”

She wasn’t certain if he’d truly complimented her or was mocking her. She wasn’t quite comfortable flirting with him, and yet she so wanted to master the art of flirtation before she traveled to London. She certainly couldn’t practice with Colton.

“I don’t think I’m rare at all.”

“Then you are unfamiliar with what is common.” He eased up until her knees rested against his thighs. “Do Texas ladies think nothing of being alone with a man at midnight?” he asked in a voice so provocatively low that it fairly purred with unspoken promises.

“I wonder about it all the time,” she admitted candidly.

For the first time since her arrival, she saw a true smile cross his face, a smile that washed away the cynicism that seemed such a part of him. She’d thought him handsome when she first set eyes on him. But when wearing a smile, he was devastatingly gorgeous.

“And what do you wonder?” he asked softly.

“I wonder if a man will find me lacking.”

“Believe me, Miss Westland, no gentleman would find you lacking.”

“I wonder if his kiss will steal my breath away.”

“Fascinating.” The conversation certainly hadn’t gone in the direction that Rhys had expected it to, and he realized too late that having Lydia alone in the moonlight was not a wise course of action. Especially when she’d obviously just risen from bed. He was sorely tempted to carry her to her bed and join her there.