Love With a Scandalous Lord (17 page)

His back was to her. She couldn’t resist running her fingers over his shoulders, along his spine. He stilled.

“You are not to worry,” he said quietly. “Following my father’s funeral, I shall talk with Grayson and put matters to right.”

Joy spiraled through her with the knowledge he would ask for her hand. They would marry and be
happy. She would see to it.

Wrapping her arm around his waist, she pressed a kiss between his shoulders. She laid her cheek against his warm skin.

“I don’t think you know how happy you make me,” she whispered.

L
ydia knew it was probably unseemly to have a spring to her step when she walked about the manor, strolled in the gardens, and visited the stables. But she could not contain her elation. The grass had never seemed as green, the trees as full of leaves, the birds’ songs as sweet, and the sky as blue. Everything was vibrantly beautiful.

Rhys loved her. He hadn’t spoken the words, but she didn’t need them when he’d shown her how he felt. Soon he would speak with her stepfather.

As she sat in the sitting area of her bedroom, thumbing through
Harper’s Bazar
and searching for an appropriate wedding gown, she could hardly fathom how quickly her life had changed.

That she’d found such a deep love in so short a time was almost unbelievable, and even though she knew the acknowledgment and celebration would have to
wait awhile longer, she bounced between euphoria and anxiousness.

Three days had passed since the elder Duke had been laid to rest. The Duchess had immediately packed up her belongings and moved to the dower house, apparently a smaller house on a stretch of land not too far away. Lydia suspected her hasty retreat had come about because she couldn’t stand to be in the proximity of Grayson Rhodes and his
abhorrent
clan.

The Duchess had tolerated them while her husband was alive, but now she was free to do as she would.

Lydia had not been saddened to see her go. The manor seemed more at peace with her absence. Although she would always welcome the Duchess into her home, she wouldn’t feel slighted if the woman never accepted an invitation.

“Lyd, when do you think we’ll be going home?” Sabrina asked from her place not far from Lydia’s feet. Despite all the chairs, her sister preferred lying on her stomach on the floor.

“I’m sure you’ll be going home soon,” Lydia replied as she studied the lines on the gown that had caught her fancy. She tried to imagine how she would look wearing it into the chapel.

“But you’ll be coming, too,” Sabrina said.

Lydia cursed her careless tongue. She lowered the periodical and met her sister’s questioning gaze. “I might decide to stay a little while longer.”

“Why?”

She couldn’t very well announce to her younger sister—before Rhys had spoken to her parents—that she was going to get married. She wondered if she’d have time to send for Johnny and Micah. Would she and Rhys be married in London or here?

She had so many questions, but ever since the night she’d lost her innocence within Rhys’s arms, she’d had no opportunity to speak with him. He’d been unavailable for meals. She didn’t know exactly where his bedchamber was. She’d been unable to find him in his study or in the library. He never joined her in the morning room or on the croquet lawn or in the garden.

She knew he had many affairs to see to after his father’s death, and she fought not to feel neglected. Soon they would be able to spend every night together wrapped in the cocoon of their love.

“I like England,” she told Sabrina, hedging with the truth.

“But you won’t stay long, will you?”

Forever. She would stay forever.

A quick knock saved her from having to answer. The door opened and her mother strolled in, a hesitant smile on her face. She looked as though she wanted to appear happy, but wasn’t altogether certain she was filled with joy.

“Rhys just had a long talk with your father and me,” she said.

Lydia’s heart kicked against her ribs, and she fought to maintain her composure. “And?”

“He’s suggested we go to London.”

Lydia smiled brightly. “London,” she repeated, pleased they would be married there.

“Yes, he thought I would like to visit with my sister, and he seemed to think you attending the balls would facilitate your finding a husband. Lydia, did you tell him that you hoped to find a husband while you were here?”

Lydia’s smile withered and died. “He wants me to go to London to find a husband?”

Her mother nodded, obviously as confused as Lydia was. “Since he’s in mourning, he, of course, won’t be attending any social functions, but he said he could still manage to sponsor you and ensure that you found a good match. I don’t understand why he is even proposing such a thing unless you’ve said something to make him feel that we expect you to marry an aristocrat.”

Lydia’s chest tightened and ached to such a degree, she could barely draw in a breath. Surely her mother had misunderstood what Rhys had told them, had misconstrued his intentions.

“Lydia, what did you tell Rhys?” her mother asked.

Lydia shook her head. She’d told him nothing. She’d made love with him. Why was he talking of parading her around London?

“We discussed the Season on occasion,” she managed to force through her dry mouth.

Setting her periodical aside, she stood. “He must have misunderstood what I wanted. Do you know where he is?”

“We left him in his study.”

She nodded, trying to contain the tremors rippling through her. “I’ll speak with him.”

“I’m all for going to London, because I would like to see Elizabeth. I’m not against you attending balls while we’re there, but I simply don’t understand why he feels he has an obligation to find you a husband.”

“Yes, well, I don’t understand his reasoning either, but I’m certain before the afternoon is over that I’ll get to the bottom of this misunderstanding.” She strode from the room, her thoughts as scattered as autumn leaves by the first breath of winter.

What he was proposing was preposterous! She wanted to marry
him
, not someone she met at a ball in
London. Maybe he wanted to give her a Season and then ask for her hand in marriage. Yes, surely that was it. He wanted her to experience London without being tethered to him in the beginning.

She hurried down the stairs. Yes, yes, that had to be the basis for his suggestion. It was entirely inappropriate for them to become betrothed so soon after his father’s death. Taking her to London was a gift. He didn’t really plan to act as her sponsor and find her a husband.

Not when she’d already shown him with her words and her body how deeply she loved him.

Arriving at the entrance hall, she turned toward his study. Her heels clicked impressively over the marble, beating out a steady tattoo that seemed to echo like drums during a battle. Only she and Rhys weren’t at war. They were simply not communicating very well.

The young footman standing guard outside the study did not move to open the door as she approached. Instead he simply bowed his head slightly.

“His Grace has indicated he has no wish to be disturbed, while he works on his ledgers,” he informed her.

“His Grace can go to hell.”

The footman’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Lydia reached for the door handle, and he grabbed her wrist. She glared at him, and his cheeks flamed red.

“Miss Westland, I must insist you not disturb His Grace.”

She considered making a scene, but it wasn’t this poor man’s fault his master had suddenly lost his senses. Instead she gathered her dignity around her like a tattered cloak, spun on her heel, and marched down the hallway.

Rhys had to have known she would have questions
about their trip to London. That he would instruct his man to forbid her from seeing him was unconscionable.

Stepping into the garden, she began trudging toward the other side of the house, her temper heating with each stride she took. Until this moment, it had never occurred to her that he’d actually been avoiding her. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt and assumed his duties in regard to the estate had kept him away. She was no longer so sure.

She recognized the glass doors through which he’d once emerged to join her in a game of croquet. If they were locked, she’d grab a mallet and break them.

She’d worked herself into a fine fury by the time she tried the door. That it opened with a resounding squeak of its hinges should have calmed her somewhat. Instead it only served to ignite her temper further.

She entered the room and glared at the man who sat behind the desk, continuing to scribble something across his ledger, ignoring her in the process.

“Did you really think you could keep me out?” she demanded.

His head came up abruptly as though he was only now aware of her presence. He set his pen aside, leaned back in his chair, and sighed. “No, I suppose I didn’t.”

As he stood, he grandly swept his hand over his desk, indicating one of the chairs opposite him. “Please, come in and sit down.”

She shut the door and
did
walk in, but she had no intention of discussing this situation while sitting.

“My mother tells me that we’re going to London.”

“It is a favorable market for husband hunting.”

“And you think I need to
hunt
for a husband?”

He looked away momentarily, while she fought to
stop shaking. He could not be this dispassionate. Not after all they’d shared, all she’d given him.

“I’ve compromised you, and as I stated before, I intend to set the matter to rights.”

His cold words caused shards of ice to form around her heart.

“I thought you’d intended to ask my stepfather for my hand in marriage.”

“Then you misconstrued my meaning.”

Misconstrued his meaning?
He’d held her tightly, with their naked bodies entwined. He’d wept. What was there to misconstrue?

“In your mind, finding me a suitable husband will set matters to right?”

“Indeed.”

“You think a man is going to be content with soiled goods?”

He blanched. “I doubt during the heat of passion he will notice you are not virginal.”

“You noticed that I was.”

“I shall bestow upon you a dowry the likes of which will make him not care.”

She spun around with a heavy weight pressing on her heart, her chest tightening until she thought it would cave in on her, and her pulse racing. She pressed a trembling hand to the lips he’d kissed voraciously. “You’re selling me.”

“I am attempting to right a wrong I did you.”

She turned around and stared at him, this man she thought she’d known. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you feel anything for me?”

She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed.

“I feel
everything
for you,” he rasped.

She took a step closer. “Then why?”

“You want the glitter and lights of London. I have done things that are best kept hidden in the dark.”

“What things?”

He slowly shook his head. “Not even for you will I give voice to my sins.”

“What if I said I don’t care what they are? I forgive you for them without knowing any of your sins. My love for you is that strong, Rhys.”

“No love is strong enough for this.”

She flattened her palms on his desk and leaned toward him. “Mine is. We won’t go to London. I won’t enjoy the Season. It was just a dream—”

“That you shall have. It is all I can give you, for I will never give you marriage.”

“What if I’m with child?”

The blood in his face quickly drained away, and he dropped his gaze to her stomach. “We shall pray you are not.”

He might as well have stabbed a rusty bayonet through her chest. She shoved herself back from his desk and straightened her shoulders.

“It seems, Your Grace, I have made a grave error in judgment. I welcome your generosity in offering to sponsor me while I’m in London. I shall persevere to make you proud. As for a dowry, my father is fully capable of providing for me. I won’t have you further cheapen what passed between us by offering to
pay
”—she spat the word, not bothering to disguise her disgust with his proposal—“for me.”

Rhys watched her walk across the room with a regal bearing that would have done a queen proud. She flung open the door and marched through it without looking back.

With mouth agape, obviously confused as to how someone who had not come through his door was now exiting from it, his footman peered into the room. “Your Grace, I’m dreadfully sorry—”

Rhys held up a hand. “Just close the door.”

When it was shut tightly, he sank into his chair. Tremors racked his body as he fought to keep himself from calling her back. Letting her walk out of this room, out of his sight, had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. Unfortunately, he feared this moment was only the harbinger of his torment to come.

S
tanding on the steps leading into the manor, Rhys watched while the coaches on the cobbled drive were readied for their journey to London. He would travel in the first one alone. Grayson’s family would be in the one behind his. The servants he’d brought with him from London would follow in the third and fourth.

They’d never set foot in his family’s London residence, but then it had been some time since he had as well. While in London in recent years, he’d stayed in a house Camilla had provided for him. Smaller than her residence, of course, but still part of her deceased husband’s holdings. He hoped he could arrive in London quietly and avoid being forced to call on her or anyone else of rank.

He was certain curiosity would abound regarding the new Duke of Harrington, but other peers eluded the glitz and glamour of London’s social scene. He would
not be the first reclusive lord, nor did he expect he’d be the last.

He heard the heavy front door behind him open. He glanced over his shoulder to see Grayson’s little chatterbox leading the way, incredibly animated. He could not imagine trying to keep up with her energy.

Grayson and his wife were doing their best to calm Sabrina and answer all the questions she was popping off about their trip to London. Colton seemed unimpressed with the whole affair. Rhys could certainly relate to that sentiment. He’d rather not go himself, but he wanted to ensure Lydia chose a bit more wisely in London than she had here.

Lydia’s soft voice wafted through the front opening as she thanked the servants for the care and attention they’d given her while she was in attendance. He stiffened, greedily anticipating the sight of her. He’d made an excuse to avoid dining with them each night since his father’s passing. If only he’d heeded his own counsel and avoided her since she’d arrived, he would not now find himself in a position of feeling as though he needed to be her benefactor.

Then she glided through the doorway and regret slammed into him with such force that it caused him to take a step back.

She wore a traveling outfit of violet that deepened the hue of her eyes. The innocent young woman who had stumbled over her introduction to him looked to be a woman with a purpose, no longer naïve. No longer a dreamer.

But a woman who had been slapped in the face by harsh reality.

She angled her chin haughtily. “Your Grace, it was so kind of you to arrange our journey to London.”

“It was the least I could do, Miss Westland.”

She gave him a pointed look that clearly conveyed she thought there was a great deal more he could do.

“Your Grace? Your Grace?”

He glanced down at the urchin tugging on his sleeve, taking his attention away from the beauty who would soon grace only his memories. “Yes?”

“How long will it take?” Sabrina asked.

“We will travel for most of the day. This evening we shall stay in an inn. Then tomorrow we’ll again travel for most of the day. By tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be in London.”

Colton groaned and dropped his head back as though someone had cracked a whip across his back.

“Colton, behave,” Abbie scolded.

“But two long days inside the coach listening to Lyd
ohing
and
ahing
everything she sees and Sabrina asking how much longer is enough to drive anyone crazy,” the boy grumbled.

Rhys could not agree with the lad’s assessment. He thought it would be quite enjoyable to witness Lydia’s excitement, when she saw things for the first time.

“Colton, I’m taking my horse to London,” Rhys said. “He’ll be tethered to the last coach. Perhaps you could see your way clear to ride him for a bit this afternoon.”

“You mean it?” the lad asked.

“His Grace isn’t one to speak falsely,” Lydia said, before Rhys could respond.

The cold edge to her voice made it sound as though he had indeed spoken falsehoods. Her glittering eyes said it even more clearly. He suddenly remembered Colton warning him about Lydia’s bad side. It was a
lonely, frigid place to be.

“I have never spoken untrue,” Rhys said through clenched teeth.

“Did I not just say that?” she asked lightly.

“It is the manner in which you said it.”

“I think, Your Grace, you are looking for and finding innuendo where it does not exist.”

“I feel as though I’ve walked in on the middle of an argument,” Abbie said, her gaze darting between Rhys and her daughter. Even Grayson had narrowed his eyes.

“Lydia, has something happened we need to know about?” Abbie asked.

Lydia smiled sweetly as she reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand. “Of course not, Mama. I’m simply practicing my repartee. You know how much I like to put into practice the things I read in my books. Besides, I’ll need it in London if I’m to be a success. I was thinking I should travel in the coach with His Grace, so I might continue to practice.”

Rhys felt every muscle in his body tighten into a painful knot.

“Lydia, I’m not certain that’s a good idea,” Abbie said. “We’ve imposed so much already.”

“But I have so many questions about the Season that the Duke could answer for me along the way. Besides, he offered to teach me what I didn’t know.”

“When was this?” Grayson asked.

“One morning when he discovered me studying my books,” Lydia said, her gaze never faltering from Rhys.

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate, Lydia,” Abbie said.

“He’s offered me his protection, Mama. According to my books that makes him a trusted chaperone. Besides, we’re traveling in a caravan. Papa will be only a
scream away.”

“Why would you scream?” Grayson’s voice contained a savage edge.

Laughing, Lydia moved over to him and hugged him. “Now everyone is being silly. He’s family, for goodness’ sakes, and we’ll be traveling in the coach in front of yours.” She lifted her face to Grayson, looking all the world like an innocent again. “Please, Papa, I do have so many questions, and I can’t find the answers in my books.”

Grayson studied Rhys. “It’s up to you—whether or not you want Lydia to travel in your coach.”

“Please, say yes,” Colton piped up. “It’d give me more room to move around.”

Rhys considered suggesting that Colton travel with him, so he’d have all the room he needed. But to deny Lydia’s request would no doubt open a Pandora’s box of speculation and suspicions, and while they were well deserved, he preferred to handle this matter as diplomatically as possible. That Grayson had blithely accepted Rhys’s desire to offer Lydia a Season as mere kindness and a way to repay his mother’s inhospitality was a godsend.

“I shall be most honored to have Lydia travel in my coach.”

The look she flashed his way indicated that having her travel with him would not come without cost.

Sitting across from Lydia as the coach traveled toward London, Rhys was acutely aware of every aspect of her being. The slow rising and falling of her chest. The sparkle in her eyes as she gazed out the window. The gentle fragrance of flowers that surrounded her.

She’d spoken not a word since entering the coach. He would accuse her of being coldhearted, but he knew she was anything but glacial. She was as warm as sunlight in a meadow.

Yet she seemed too proper, too perfect, sitting there with her hands folded in her lap. Silent. The injured lover seeking to heal her own wounds.

He shifted on his bench seat, as he imagined Colton did for much of the journey. “You’re being most disagreeable,” he finally uttered.

Keeping her profile to him, she did little more than shift her eyes in his direction. “On the contrary, Your Grace. I’ve agreed to go to London. I’ve agreed to attend the balls. I’ve agreed to find a husband. I pray every day that I am not with child. How much more agreeable would you have me be?”

He could not prevent his gaze from drifting down to her waist, nor could he prevent himself from wondering if she were indeed carrying his child. It pleased him to think of her having his son or daughter, while at the same time he was horrified to consider the ramifications. How his past might affect his child. If he were not accepted in polite society, neither would his offspring be.

He’d always taken such care with the ladies Camilla sent him. He’d always made use of a condom if a lady wanted to reach her fulfillment with him nestled inside her. With Lydia, he’d given no thought to protecting her, only possessing her. How could he have taken so little care with the one lady who meant so much to him?

“I would have you ride in the other coach,” he finally admitted.

She shrugged. “You need only have said so.”

“And have Grayson wonder exactly what the undercurrents were within our strange exchange at the manor?”

“Guilt has obviously made you delusional, so you are reading messages which do not exist into the conversation.”

Reaching across the coach, he grabbed her arm and shook her. “Stop it, damn it! This is not you.”

She jerked free of his hold, scooted into the corner, and glared at him. “How would you know?”

Balancing himself, he moved until he sat beside her. He cradled her cheek against his palm. “A part of me feels a need to apologize for not walking out of the room that night, before you were close enough for me to smell your sweet fragrance. But another part of me, a greater part of me, is incredibly grateful you gifted me with your love, even though you refused to believe I was so undeserving.”

“Rhys—”

He touched his thumb to her lips. “The hardest thing I shall ever do is give you up to another. That I will be a better man for having done it will be little consolation in the lonely years that follow. Trust me to know there would come a time when you would hate me and when the dream you thought you’d achieved would become a nightmare.”

“I don’t know if I want to marry an English lord when he can’t be you.”

“Many good men are in London, and we shall find you the best.”

“When I first thought of coming to England, I have to admit I thought it would be wonderful to marry a man with a title. But after having seen your parents, I’m no longer sure. It never occurred to me there would be
marriage without love.”

“You shall have love in your marriage. We will not settle for less.”

He slid his arm around her and drew her head within the crook of his shoulder.

“I wish you’d tell me what you did that is so awful,” she said.

“You would loathe me, and that I could not bear.”

She snuggled up against him, her hand coming to rest beneath his jacket, against his chest. “Mama said we’d stay at your house in London.”

“I thought it best. I am the only one in residence so there is ample room. Although I believe Ravenleigh’s house is large, he does have five daughters to accommodate.”

“Will you attend the balls?”

“No.” His being in mourning was the perfect excuse. The less he was seen, the better. “I shall, however, interview any gentlemen who express an interest in calling upon you.”

“Shouldn’t that be my stepfather’s job?”

“His position is not as…”

She tilted up her lovely face. “He’s illegitimate.”

“Quite so.”

“His birth shouldn’t make any difference.”

“But in my world, it does make a great deal of difference.”

Moving away from him, she straightened. “I actually do have a lot of questions.”

He leaned back into the corner of the coach, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled ruefully. “Then by all means, let the lessons begin.”

“Don’t know why we hafta go back to London,”
William grumbled.

Rhys took the jacket the lad offered him and slipped it on. “London is an excellent place for Lydia to find a husband.”

“But I liked it in the country.”

Rhys studied his reflection in the mirror, wondering why he cared how he looked. “Things will be much different for us in London now.”

“I’ll never be like you.”

“We should hope not.”

He gazed past his image to the bed where William sat, looking forlorn. The inn had made rooms available to him and his entourage for the night. Dinner would soon be served in a private room. Life should have been good. Instead he found it lacking. It seemed William did as well.

“You don’t much like wearing the cloak of servant, do you, lad?” Rhys asked.

William shrugged. “I ain’t complaining.”

“Perhaps while we’re in London, you might serve as Colton’s companion. The Ravenleigh household is overrun with girls. I suspect the boy would welcome having another male around when they’re visiting.”

“You mean be his valet?”

Rhys turned and smiled. “I mean, be his friend. Your duties to me will be suspended. You’ll have no lessons while we’re in London, except for what you learn from Colton. But I will expect you to apply yourself more diligently to your studies when we return to Harrington.”

“Why do you care so much about me studies?”

“Because I have great expectations where you’re concerned. You were not meant to be some man’s servant, but rather your own master. We simply have to
determine how best to achieve that end.”

Lydia had been staring out her window at the inn, certain the faint lights she saw in the far distance were those of London, when she spotted Rhys walking along a rolling hill. She now trudged along the same path he’d taken.

Dinner had been an incredibly informal affair. Sabrina had almost as many questions to ask Rhys as Lydia had asked him in the coach. He’d been patient with his answers during both occasions.

During the meal, Lydia had simply watched him, trying to understand him, while searching for a way to heal her heart.

She loved him. She loved his patience, his kindness. The way he rubbed his bottom lip when he listened. The way he smiled with amusement, using his eyes more than his lips.

She even loved him for wanting to protect her. However, she couldn’t help but resent that he kept so much hidden from her, judged himself through his eyes, and would not allow her to judge him through hers.

He turned his head slightly as she neared.

“I should think you would have learned your lesson about joining me when I am alone at night,” he said quietly.