Allison Lane (25 page)

Thus she could not use public demeanor as a clue to truth.

A stronger gust of wind rattled the windows, as if berating her for having been so stupid to begin with.

So how could she judge people if they hid behind masks?

She couldn’t. 
But you did know one happy couple,
that pesky voice reminded her.  Sir Lewis’s parents had been deeply in love, a fact she recognized because she had so often visited Little House – his younger sister had been a close childhood friend.  More than once, she had come upon the Mitchells embracing – in empty rooms, in the maze, in the stable…  Yet their public demeanor had been no different from her own parents’, whose private behavior bordered on abusive.  After the baronet’s death, Lady Mitchell had moved to Carlisle to escape the daily reminders of what she had lost.

Yet even admitting that some marriages worked left her with questions.  A husband had a legal right to make all decisions, to discipline his wife in any way he chose, to ignore any suggestions she might make.  Her earnings would belong to him.  She would have no claim to the money beyond what he chose to give her.  Even if she bought property before marriage – assuming anyone would sell it to a female – the title would revert to him the moment she wed.

There was no way to protect herself from abuse.  Regardless of how honest Mr. Randolph was being today, he could change his mind in the future, and she would have no recourse.

So the decision came down to Mr. Randolph’s character and to the question she had asked more than once.  Was he a man who would treat her fairly, or was he hiding behind geniality to force her into marriage?  Her suspicions might seem odd, for she offered nothing a gentleman usually coveted – fortune, connections, beauty.  But this case was tangled in honor.

Honor was a malleable concept for gentlemen.  It could force a man into deeds he found abhorrent or it could defend disreputable conduct.

Honor demanded that vows between gentlemen took precedence over promises to others.  Thus settling gaming debts was more urgent than paying the butcher, even if the butcher teetered on the brink of bankruptcy and the holder of the vowels was as rich as Golden Ball.

Honor ostracized a gentleman who cheated another at cards while turning a blind eye on a man who ignored his marriage vows, thus cheating his wife, or who wagered away dowries and inheritances, thus cheating his children.

Honor required a gentleman to marry any lady he dishonored, however inadvertent or insignificant the compromise.  Yet honor then ignored any mistreatment he meted out afterward.

So honor dictated behavior, but in the end, it protected only gentlemen.  Women and anyone from the lower classes didn’t count.  And no matter how much he tried to dress it up, Mr. Randolph’s proposal arose from honor.  He had spent the night with her – never mind that he was unconscious the entire time – therefore, he must wed her.  All his talk of companionship and mutual interests sought only to convince her that life would be all right.

And it might well be, she admitted.  If he had been honest, then they did share many interests, especially a craving for knowledge.  But just how honest had he been?  She had already caught him playing fast and loose with his background.

And there were other concerns.  He had made no mention of setting up a nursery or what that entailed.  A landowner who was heir to another estate would need a son.  And he was close to the Whitfield line as well.

She frowned.  Again he had hedged, for he had glossed over just how close he was.

But that did not matter.  Had he left out the subject of intimacy because she was an innocent maiden, or was he avoiding it because he found her unprepossessing appearance off-putting enough that he was unwilling to make any promises?

It was an important point, for if he rued marrying an antidote, let alone sharing a bed with one, then the future looked grim.  Sooner or later he would resent his entrapment and take that resentment out on her.

She hoped his silence rose from delicacy, for she found him quite likable.

Be honest,
demanded her conscience.

All right, she found him more than likable.  Far more than likable.  He might lack the size and intimidating masculinity that Symington radiated, but she had always been uncomfortable around blatantly virile gentlemen.  Mr. Randolph did not intimidate her.  He was pleasing to look at, stimulating to talk to, and his touch raised an amazing amount of warmth.

Again, she felt his lips pressing against her hand.  His fingers were long and elegant, conveying gentleness.  She would have no fears with him.  His caress would be excit—

She was actually considering marriage, she realized in shock.  Tension gripped her arms, spreading to engulf her entire body.  But it was a good tension, a welcome tension that hinted at something more.  She needed to see him, to touch him, to decide if he would welcome her into his heart and home or merely tolerate her.  The question was assuming a burgeoning importance.

Abandoning the library, she went in search of him.

“Have you decided already?” he asked when she found him in the morning room.

“No.”  Only then did she realize how difficult it would be to ask her question, for it not only bared her own insecurities but begged him to lie.  But it was too late to back down, and the answer was vital if she was to make a wise decision. 

Watching the rain flatten the emerging daffodils on the grounds outside made it easier to talk.

“You spoke of wanting companionship,” she finally said, noting his reflection in the window glass.  He seemed tense.  “But you did not mention an heir.  I presume you will expect one.”

His eyes widened.  “Of course.  I want a complete marriage, Elizabeth.  If you consider intimacy distasteful, then we need to discuss the problem before this goes any further.”

“It’s not that,” she protested.

He gently turned her until he could see into her eyes.  His own remained inscrutable.

She shivered.

“Then what troubles you?”  One finger stroked the side of her neck.

She had no choice.  “I fear you will come to regret attaching a wife who is so plain.  I accept my lack, but you would have to look at me every day.  And what if I cursed your children with my ugliness?”

“Dear God,” he muttered, shaking his head.  “I ought to throttle Cecilia.  Damn her selfish hide.  Do not let the spiteful prattlings of a conceited fool mold your thinking, Elizabeth.”

“Do not minimize the problem, sir.  Everyone in the district recognizes it.”

“What they recognize is that your looks are different from those your mother bestowed on your sister, for you more closely resemble your grandfather – his portrait hangs above your shelves in the library, does it not?”

She nodded.

“You have a strong face that imparts great elegance to your adult form, but which probably overpowered you as a child.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she begged.

“I am not.”  His arms slipped around her shoulders to pull her close, setting off explosions from head to toe.  She could not remember being held by anyone before.  Really held; not just picked up or shoved aside.  It was remarkably comforting – and exciting.

“I don’t ever want you to demean yourself again.  Cecilia may be beautiful – though personally, I have always considered blonde hair to be insipid – but she exaggerates her countenance.  At least a dozen girls with equal beauty appear in London every Season.”

She leaned closer, absorbing his warmth.

He stroked her back.  “Forget Cecilia, my dear.  I far prefer looking at you, for you are a lovely lady, whose eyes sparkle with wit and humor.  And I have wanted to do this since I awoke to find you bending over me in Sadie’s cottage.”

He tilted her head so their mouths met.

Her lips tingled, radiating heat clear to her toes.  He moved across them, then settled more firmly, deepening the kiss and pulling her against him.

She slid her hands up his shoulders, feeling the hardness of muscles she had not touched in days.  And never like this.  The pleasure elicited moans as it drove coherent thought into hiding.  She had written of kisses, but never experienced one.  It was nothing like her expectations.  She wanted more…

So did he.  Even an innocent could understand the changes in his body.  But he denied them both, easing away to stare into her eyes.  His breathing had quickened, proving how much he had been affected by that embrace.

“That is enough for now,” he said, his voice raspy with desire.  “I want you, Elizabeth – as my wife, as my lover, as my friend.  But I will not coerce you.  Have you another question?”

She shook her head.  “I will give you my answer in the morning.”

* * * *

Randolph threaded both hands through his hair as he fought to control his breathing.  And his feet.  They longed to race after her and settle this issue right now.

Dear Lord, he hadn’t expected that.  Never had he reacted so powerfully to a simple kiss.  Backing away had been the most difficult thing he had ever done.  But he’d had to.  Continuing even a moment longer would have removed the freedom of choice he’d sworn to give her.  The only consolation was that she had been equally reluctant.

He had not realized how vulnerable she was.  A good part of her defiant bravado stemmed from fear that no one could accept her.  No wonder she avoided any thought of marriage.  After years of listening to Cecilia’s taunts – and Lady Fosdale had undoubtedly contributed more than a few well-meaning condolences – she believed herself an antidote.  So she never really looked at herself in a mirror.  With the right hairstyle and more fashionable gowns, she could stun any gentleman into speechlessness.

Before this was over, he was going to give Cecilia a blistering lecture on conceit and cruelty to others.  That chit was begging for a brutal comeuppance.  Elizabeth might be right that the girl’s core was sound, but no one would ever discover that until she discarded her selfish façade.

Dinner would be an excellent place to start.  Sir Lewis had been conducting estate business with Fosdale when this latest storm broke and had already accepted an invitation to stay the night.  Perhaps the baronet should describe some ravishing beauty he had met in Carlisle.  One who cast all other females in the shade.  If no such woman existed, he could make one up.  A little jealousy should enliven things.  And it was time to describe Cecilia’s barren future if she pressed this betrothal.

He headed upstairs.  One way or another, they must free Sedge tonight so he could deal honestly with Elizabeth when she sought him out in the morning.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Elizabeth frowned as she climbed the stairs.  Since her judgment had been unsound in one area, could she trust it for anything?  It was a vital question, for her instincts all shouted that Mr. Randolph was an honorable, forthright gentleman who was offering a life she had never considered possible.  He might even provide the one thing she had never truly believed in – love.  But was it true, or was she merely reacting to that mesmerizing kiss that had ended far too soon?

She did have another source of information at her disposal, though.  Symington had known Mr. Randolph all his life.  Yet how could she ask personal questions of a man she barely knew?

Biting her lip, she looked at the idea from several sides.  Symington was a virtual stranger.  Gentlemen rarely revealed personal information about themselves, let alone their friends.  Seeking him out was highly improper in the best of times, but even more so today, since he would most likely be found in his bedchamber.  Holding a private meeting with him would be worse, for discovery could lead to any number of complications, all bad.

On the other hand, the two men were close friends, so he must want Mr. Randolph’s happiness.  And she had no one else she could turn to.  Fosdale cared nothing about honesty or integrity.  Her mother would support his demands in the hope that loyalty would win that trip to London.  Cecilia was too immersed in her own affairs to bother about anything else.

Without wasting more time dithering, she plucked up her courage and went in search of Symington.

He paled alarmingly when he opened the door to her knock.  “Has something happened?”  Even his voice seemed hesitant.

“Not really.”  The sight of the bed looming behind him sapped most of her courage.  “I wished to speak with you for a moment – but not here.”

“Of course.”  He followed her to a sitting room at the end of the hallway.

“I—”  She frowned, framing and reframing her question.  “This is more difficult than I had imagined.”

“Then it must concern Randolph.”  His eyes were twinkling with humor, which somehow relieved her.

She nodded.

“Has he done something new to annoy you?”  He wandered over to watch the rain as if he understood that she would talk easier if she wasn’t facing him.

“Not really.  I presume that you understand the situation we face.”

“You need not fear your father’s demands,” he said soothingly.  “Randolph knows his own mind quite well and rarely allows others to dictate his actions.”

“I know.  He is quite adept at command and at getting his own way.”

His shoulders stiffened.

“What I cannot trust are my impressions of his character.  Can I believe him, or is he so accustomed to winning that he will say anything to achieve his objective?”

He turned, unable to hide his surprise at the question.  “A gentleman never lies.”

“If we are speaking of gentlemen in the abstract, then they often twist words to serve their own purposes.”  She glared, challenging him to contradict her.

“Touché,” he admitted quietly, then sighed.  “Randolph is an enigma in many ways, for he holds portions of himself aloof even from his friends.  But he is one of the most honorable and loyal men I know.  I have never seen him break a vow, or even bend one.”

“Thank you.”  Her heart soared at the words.  “You grew up together, did you not?”

“Not exactly.”  He frowned.  “I saw him frequently, but my father lived on another estate.  He was quite adventurous as a child and often led us both into trouble, though I must admit to my own share of bright ideas.”  They shared a chuckle.  “That changed after he shattered his leg.  Perhaps the prolonged bed rest broke his spirit, or maybe he acquired a healthy respect for the dangers we had been running.  He never explained, but that was when he turned to books and study, refusing to join me on further adventures.  He never acted on impulse again until he jumped into the river last week.”