So long as he could give her a child.
But then she realized her gaze had settled on his lips and a disturbing memory upended her conviction—the memory of a man’s mouth exploring her skin as though he would starve if he could not consume her. The memory of his hands touching her, grasping at her, igniting sensations she’d only dreamt about.
Could such emotion be sustained, or would it quickly burn itself out and leave nothing but ashes in the end? It was a frightening prospect. Also, a moot one.
“I do not wish to be alone for the rest of my life. Neither do I wish to depend upon my brother and his family for companionship.” And all of this was still true.
“Noble endeavors indeed. Provided you choose wisely. But of course, there is that other matter—a necessity that cannot be provided by one’s family or friends.” And now, it seemed he was taunting her again. “Thus, the need to know…”
Ah, yes, indeed he was taunting her. When she turned to give him a bit of a set down, she was unnerved by how close his eyes were. With the moonlight slanting across him, the gray almost flashed silver.
She hated how muddled her thoughts had become. She’d chosen her path rationally. When she went to deny what he suggested, the words stuck in her throat.
Because he was not wrong. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard.
“What will you do when you long for adventure—for yourself—after this wise and noble wedding takes place?” He was not taunting her now. Nor was he smiling.
“Why do I need adventure?” But his question disquieted her—even more so than she had been when she’d first wandered outside. Last year, she had moved away from Land’s End and taken up residence in London as a widowed woman. She had…
“Why indeed? You are quite prepared, then, to settle down comfortably in the country for what remains of your life.”
Again, the thought made her… itchy.
“It isn’t the same for women, My Lord. We aren’t afforded the years that a gentleman is—to chase other dreams—not if we wish to have children and a family.” She grimaced. It was the way of the world. “What of you? Why have you not sailed off to unexplored lands? You are young. You have the means.” Oh, but he was the heir to a dukedom. Of course, he would not be allowed to go far.
“I intend to.”
“But you are your father’s heir.”
“I have a younger brother.” He shrugged.
“You would leave your responsibilities to another?” Oh, he was not only young but irresponsible as well.
He stepped away from the wall, putting more space between them. “At the risk of being rude, you don’t know me, Lady Asherton.”
She tilted her head. “And yet you have presumed to know me.”
“Touché.” He stood with his feet shoulders’ distance apart, his arms crossed in front of his chest, intensity blazing in his gaze. “But do not forget that it was you who admitted that you require intimacy in your marriage and that you are uncertain if my uncle will provide it. It was you who climbed into my bed unclothed. It was you who whimpered as I touched you, and it was you who begged me to satisfy your needs.” He smiled wryly. “So, do not be mistaken, My Lady. I know far more about you than you know about me.”
His words hurt. She could hardly stand to look at him but was trapped by his gaze.
He stepped to the wall again, directly in front of her this time. Who was he? He was not a boy. He was every inch a man—a man who intrigued her.
And God help her, again, he was right.
About all of it.
His eyes flicked to her lips, and she wondered if he was going to try to kiss her. Did she want him to kiss her? She didn’t move.
Her body wanted it. Her head did not.
“Duly noted, My Lord.” It was she who stepped away this time. Her disquiet had tripled by now. Not bothering to wish him a good night, she spun around toward the terrace door.
“You are not married yet, Lady Asherton. And I am quite willing to finish what we started.” His words met her ears just before she swung the door wide and reentered the drawing room.
No one seemed to notice her as she stepped back inside until Penelope glanced over and then crossed the room in her normally swift manner. “Mr. Kirkley was looking for you.”
“I needed some air.” Margaret had been a private person for most of her life. Although she had grown somewhat closer to Penelope recently, she wasn’t used to sharing all of her confidences with anyone. Even with Rose, she’d kept her most intimate thoughts to herself.
Penelope watched her with her normally sharp gaze. It was unsettling. “You are having second thoughts.”
Gah! Margaret exhaled. “Perhaps. It’s more likely that I’m feeling melancholy.” All of this must be nothing more than a combination of timing and female aggravations.
“Tell him you’ve changed your mind. Nothing has been made public yet. Nothing is official.”
Penelope had a point. And yet, none of her reasons for wanting to marry had changed. His suit had made so much sense to her just a few weeks ago. She had encouraged Mr. Kirkley and he had traveled all this way.
Margaret twisted her hands together. She simply needed to spend time alone with him. She searched the room for the familiar black and silver head of hair that had become familiar to her. Perhaps her doubts could be settled if they were to take a walk outside. Such a romantic setting as the moonlit garden was all they needed. She would experience the warmth of his caring and that which had drawn her to him initially could be reignited “Where is he?”
“He retired for the evening. You could always go to his room tonight—“
“No,” Margaret said more harshly than she had intended. “I suppose I will retire myself. It’s been a long day.” She had loved the time spent in the sea. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. I had fun today.
It had been long and wonderful and tiring and... far too confusing.
That moment this afternoon when her hat was caught by the wind slipped into her mind. For an instant, she’d felt bare and off-balance but as she’d watched it swoop into the sky, swirling and floating, she’d felt oddly exhilarated.
It had indeed made a most magnificent exit. Margaret sighed at such an absurd thought. It had been her favorite hat and now it was gone forever. She ought not to have worn it. Silly of her.
Penelope narrowed her eyes. “You seem different.”
Margaret refused to meet her sister-in-law’s stare. “I just need to talk to him.” If only he would cooperate! And yet she found herself thinking not of her intended, but…
“Perhaps you can do so on your picnic.” Margaret had almost forgotten that George had reserved the day with her once he’d learned it was her birthday. It had sounded like a lovely idea at the time. Yes. She would speak with him then. There would be no one to interrupt them or distract him.
“Cook is aware?” She would need to have a basket prepared.
“It’s all been taken care of and will be waiting for you at the overlook. ” Penelope waved a hand through the air but then bit her lip. “And there are other plans. You’ll be wanting to look your best for the evening…”
Ah, but of course. The party that was to be a surprise.
Margaret nodded. She would not go walking alone as Abigail had suggested. Rather than have a long conversation with her dead husband, she would hopefully have a fruitful one with her future one.
8
Ladies of a Particular Age
Margaret awoke feeling much better, which was surprising, considering the day looming ahead of her.
She was thirty.
And on this day, four years ago, she had sat beside Lawrence’s bed, holding his hand. She had watched her husband and best friend take his last breath.
She had been sad. Dreadfully so. She had felt alone and afraid and so lost. But she had also felt relief. His pain had come to an end, and she would no longer be forced to watch him endure it. Comforting him, smiling
for him, and assuring him that he was not going to die had taken its own toll upon her.
And at the time, she’d had a babe growing inside of her. She’d lost her husband but still had something wonderful to look forward to.
She remembered the guilt she’d felt—guilt for experiencing hope when she should have only known grief. She still wondered, irrationally sometimes, if the miscarriage had been a punishment.
Margaret shoved the thought aside. She would not fall into a melancholy with the sun shining so brightly on another beautiful autumn morning.
Determined that the day would be a pleasant one, she climbed off of her bed and into the tub that Esther had had prepared for her.
Three decades. It didn’t sound quite so ancient as the actual number thirty.
Oddly enough, it felt rather like a new beginning. She was old, yes, but she smiled to herself. Growing older was better than the alternative.
Plans had been put into place for many of Hugh and Penelope’s guests to visit the nearby village where they could shop and visit the church and explore a few other oddities. The excursion promised to be an enjoyable one.
Margaret and George, however, would remain at Land’s End. The overlook was a romantic spot not far from the house where Hugh and Penelope picnicked sometimes, and Margaret liked to set up her canvas to paint. When George had learned it was a particular hobby of hers, he had asked her to paint something for him to commemorate their engagement. Margaret did not consider herself a talented painter, by any means, and she’d told him this, but he still had insisted.
Anticipating the day’s prospects, she chose one of her favorite gowns, a rose-colored muslin. She’d embroidered tiny vines around the bodice and hem. It would be comfortable but also made her feel pretty.
Hopeful to settle matters with George, she’d allowed Esther to add a tint of rouge to her lips and leave a few alluring strands of hair to curl around her cheek. She looked forward to spending a romantic morning and afternoon with her intended and that was just as it should be.
Yesterday, she’d swam for the first time in years. Of course, she’d had an enjoyable time. It was only an unfortunate coincidence that she’d shared the experience with Lord Rockingham. And yet she couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his shocked expression when she’d splashed him.
By the time she had descended to the main floor, a canvas under one arm and a small valise carrying her art supplies in the other, she was practically skipping in happy anticipation.
The party going into town had departed early and so the halls were unusually quiet but where was George? He was not in the breakfast room, nor either of the drawing rooms, nor was he in the library or the billiard room. She ought to have reminded George the night before so that they knew where they would meet.
When she emerged in the front foyer again, Mr. Milton met her with questioning eyes. “Is there something I can do for you, My Lady?”
“I am looking for Mr. Kirkley. We are to picnic together. Do you know, by chance, his whereabouts?”
Mr. Milton appeared confused. “I am quite certain he traveled into town with the others, My Lady.”
All of her optimism swooshed away. Surely, she had not been mistaken in their plans? No, because even Penelope had remembered. He’d told her he wanted to do something special with her, since it was her birthday.
She glanced down at the supplies in her hands. She could still go out on her own and paint a landscape, but she had wanted to spend time getting to know George better. She needed to spend time getting to know George better.
Before she could make a decision, the front door burst open, and the morning sunlight filled the foyer. Mr. Milton must have been wrong. George must have simply gone to the stables and was returning from his early morning ride.
But the man standing there was not her intended. Her eyes adjusted to make out the silhouette of the man who’d just entered. When he closed the door behind him, there was no doubt. Not George—but his nephew.
Lord Rockingham stood in the doorway, his hair wet and slicked away from his face and his shirt untucked and unbuttoned at the top. He was full of vigor and life and those gray eyes of his shone brightly when they landed on her.
And in his hands, he held… Her hat.
Her hat, which had gone flying off the side of the cliff into the ocean. Her hat, which she had never expected to see again.
Her mouth opened wide, but no words managed to come. He seemed as surprised as she was to see her standing there.
“I thought you went into town with George,” he finally said.
But she could hardly comprehend that he was holding her hat. It looked as though it had taken a dunking, and two of the flowers were gone, but she had never expected to see it again.
“You found my hat,” she finally managed.
He glanced down at it with a frown. “I was walking near the cliffs and saw it in one of the coves… I had to swim for it before it was dragged out again. It’s a little worse for wear, but I figured that a woman like you could restore it to its former glory.”
She blinked twice, as though she couldn’t quite put a puzzle together. “You went into the water for it?”
He shrugged and smiled down at the condition of his clothing. “Either that or it was doomed for the Americas.” His gaze landed on the supplies she was carrying. “You are going out? Perhaps Milton here will be so kind as to have a maid take it to your chamber for you.”
“But of course, My Lord.” The butler took the bedraggled straw hat from Lord Rockingham with a bow and discreetly disappeared.
“I was going for a picnic.” Margaret stared at this very thoughtful person standing in front of her. She could not remember the last time anyone had done something quite so wonderful for her.
He went into the water—wearing his clothing—to retrieve my hat.
“Ah, and you will be inspired by the scenery. It appears summer is not yet prepared to relinquish the days to autumn.” He stared into her eyes. “I will not keep you, then.”
“Would you care to join me?” The words rushed out on impulse. She did not wish to go alone. She had been looking forward to the company of a handsome and attentive gentleman. She’d been hoping to share pleasant conversation over good food and wine. She’d been hoping for… romance.
He ran his hands down his clothing. He was wet. He must be cold.
“Unless, of course, you would rather enjoy a hot bath—“
“No,” he answered quickly. “I would be happy to join you, My Lady. Will you allow me a moment to change into something dry?”
She swallowed and her throat felt a little thicker than it had a moment before. She had asked him to accompany her, and he’d said that he would like to. “Of course. You must get out of your wet clothing. I’ll await you in here.” She gestured toward the nearest drawing room.
“Ten minutes.” He walked backward toward the staircase. “Not a second more.” He was grinning now, and she found herself grinning back. And then he turned and took the stairs two and three at a time, disappearing as quickly as he’d arrived.
She was to have her picnic after all.
But not with George. She was going to spend a good part of the day with her intended’s nephew—her intended’s very handsome, charming, and very young, nephew.
Alone.
“Your picnic has been prepared, My Lady.” Mr. Milton had returned. “And it will be awaiting you at the Overlook when you arrive.”
Although only a short walk from the manor, the Overlook was a very romantic location and also very secluded.
“That will be lovely, thank you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Margaret and Lord Rockingham were marching through one of the fields toward a secret path most guests were quite unaware of. Lord Rockingham had insisted on carrying her supplies, so she was free to swing her arms at her sides.
Reminding herself that he was a friend and nothing more, despite the most improper thoughts she’d had about him in the
past, Margaret searched her mind for any conversation that would not lead them to either his uncle or their initial meeting. “Do you paint, My Lord?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Will you call me Sebastian? It seems unnecessarily formal that we should persist with my lording and ladying one another. We are friends, are we not?”
Oh! He was! Would anyone who was not a friend swim after a ruined hat for her, merely because she had mentioned that it was her favorite? She glanced sideways at him. His hair hadn’t dried completely yet but other than that he seemed perfectly put together.
He’d returned downstairs promptly, as promised, with thirty seconds to spare.
“We are,” she agreed. “Sebastian.” Speaking his name aloud sent something dancing in her belly. It was a beautiful and yet strong name. Very much like the man himself. “And you may call me Margaret.”
“Not Mags, or Meggie?”
She laughed. No one had ever called her Mags, except for Hugh on a few occasions, but as for Maggie… “My grandfather called me Maggie,” she remembered out loud. That had been a very, very long time ago.
“Maggie.” He slid a teasing glance in her direction, “Yes. I paint. But I prefer to sketch. Do you have charcoals inside this steamer trunk you have me carrying?”
It was hardly a steamer trunk, foolish man. And the valise was not all that heavy.
“I do.”
“Then I shall sketch while you paint.”
She could only smile at this. It would be more enjoyable to lose herself in the pleasure of painting if she did not worry that her companion might become bored.
“Are you any good?” she asked.
“Tolerable. What of you?”
“I’m not quite tolerable. But I love it. I love that I think of so many different aspects of nature and life when I look at them to paint. It is a different way to appreciate the scenery.”
They walked a few yards together in silence—a comfortable one now—until he spoke again.
“I look forward to the chaos that you shall produce today.”
Lady and the Rake (Lord Love a Lady Book 6) Page 8