Though Miss Andrews counted out the sum due to him, her hand tightened over his for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to let him know there was more she wanted to say.
He bid them farewell and departed, using the servants’ entrance. Nearly five minutes passed while he waited outside. His breath misted in the morning air, and he leaned against the back of the house until Margaret emerged, glancing behind her to ensure that no one had followed.
Slipping behind an arborvitae tree, she beckoned for him to follow her. When he did, she whispered, “Thirty? Why on earth would anyone pay that much?”
“I raised the price,” he informed her. “Your sister sent a black lace corset.”
“Black?” Her face twisted with dismay. “But that’s for mourning.”
Her innocence amused him. “There is no’ a man alive who wouldna love tae see a woman wearing black silk. Especially if the lace barely covers her—”
She clapped her hands over his mouth. “Don’t say it.” Her cheeks were bright red, but he couldn’t resist nipping at her palm in a light kiss.
“Mr. Sinclair.” She straightened her posture, lifting her chin. “We will no longer sell anything except the gowns Victoria creates.”
“The corsets are selling better,” he pointed out. “I used the name your sister gave me—Aphrodite’s Unmentionables. Madame Benedict has been telling the ladies all about them.”
“I cannot, in good conscience, permit my sister to continue selling such scandalous garments. It’s—it’s unladylike.”
Cain couldn’t stop his grin. “That’s why all the women want them.” He rested both hands on either side of her, trapping her against the house. “There’s naught more arousing than a prim and proper woman on the outside… and a wicked, wanton woman beneath her clothes.”
Margaret stared up at him, her blue-gray eyes holding worry. “I don’t want this to hurt my family’s good name. We do need the money, but if anyone finds out… my chances for a successful marriage will be over.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” he assured her.
“You?” Her mouth tightened, her gaze dropping to the ground. “You’re a man who doesn’t care about anyone or anything. You wouldn’t care if we were ruined.”
“I care about my brother,” he swore. Tipping her chin up, he demanded, “I do this work for him. Not for you or your sisters. I’ll take the percentage we agreed upon, and keep your secret. But I’m no’ your damned errand boy, and stop treating me like one.”
Cain stepped away and regarded her. “And you might be letting your mother ken that your sister Victoria has a man abiding with her in the house. If you’re worried about anyone being ruined, it’s her.”
With that, he tipped his hat and left.
Three days later
“Good morning.”
Victoria walked into the dining room and saw Mr. Nottoway holding a bowl of snow.
She couldn’t understand what on earth it was for. “You brought me snow?”
“When was the last time you touched it?” he asked, holding it out to her.
His gesture was so unexpected, she hardly knew what to do. “It’s been a long time.” But she crossed the room and dutifully touched the cold, fluffy snow. “It’s as cold as I remember.”
“We’ll begin our wager today.”
“I thought you’d forgotten.” She hadn’t pressed the issue after several days had passed, thinking he’d changed his mind.
“I wanted to wait until I could stop relying on crutches. It will be easier that way.”
“You speak as if you believe it will be accomplished this morning.”
“There’s little point in pessimism.” He leaned upon the walking stick Victoria had loaned him and drew closer. “I’ve promised to stay a fortnight,” he reminded her. “The sooner we begin, the better. And it’s nearly Christmas. What better gift could you receive?” From his matter-of-fact tone, she supposed there was no harm in trying. She set down the bowl of snow, and he led her back into the hallway. “Do you trust me?”
It wasn’t a matter of trusting him. It was her inability to trust herself. Every time she’d attempted to go outside, she’d been too afraid. But she kept those thoughts to herself. “What do you mean?”
“Show me how far you’ve gone outside,” he directed.
“I told you, I haven’t been out at all.”
“Then walk toward the front door,” he ordered. “Open it, if you can.”
Victoria remained in place, studying him. Though his intentions seemed reasonable, she was uncomfortable with the way he was watching her. She hesitated, unwilling to walk away from him, because soon enough, he would see how weak she was.
Her nervousness welled up inside her, her skin growing colder as she took a few steps toward the door. One by one, she moved closer, until she stood two arms’ length from it.
“Can you touch the door?” he asked.
She shook her head. Already her heart was racing, her body overreacting to the senseless fears. The only thing that kept her from retreating was his quiet stare.
He leaned upon the walking stick to move beside her. “Take my hand.”
“I’m not going outside,” she warned. “Not yet.” At the thought of him forcing her into the cold, her hands began to shake. The fear spread out from deep within her, knowing that she would fail in this, as she always had.
“If you want to overcome your fear, you’ll have to take the first step,” he commanded. “Just one.” Without waiting for her to comply, he took her hand.
She remained with her feet in place, even when he took the first step. “I want to, but I-I can’t.”
“Close your eyes.”
“No, really, I—”
“Do it.” He moved one hand over her forehead, brushing it down over her eyes until she obeyed. For a moment, he simply stood with her, his hand on hers. “Can you take a step forward with your eyes closed?”
She shook her head. Her feet were rooted into the floor, her fears rioting within her. “I’m sorry.”
“Then you’ll need a distraction.”
She wasn’t certain what he meant until, without warning, his mouth descended upon hers. Her eyes flew open, but he didn’t stop kissing her.
Anyone could see them here, before the front door. Embarrassment flooded through her, only to be transformed into a shuddering response that she’d never anticipated. His heated mouth merged with hers, and she realized she’d underestimated this man. He wasn’t going to accept her surrender or let her fall back into the shadows. The kiss continued on, demanding a response from her.
The last time had been nothing like this. Conquering, defying her fears until she had no choice but to let him take what he wanted. His tongue slid against the opening of her mouth, and when she gasped, he invaded the warmth in a sensual assault.
To avoid losing her balance, she reached for his shoulders. She closed her eyes again, fully aware of his hands moving down her back, pulling her close until her hips were against his.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered against his mouth. “Someone will find us.”
“Let them.”
Before she could form another rational thought, he took her mouth again, kissing a path down her jaw and toward her sensitive earlobe. A thousand prickles of sensation poured over her, and instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer. Against her body, she felt the hard evidence of his arousal, and her body ached.
“I never promised not to tempt you,” he said, forcing her to come closer to him. His mouth plundered hers again, while his palms lowered to her hips. Her breathing quickened, and she could think of no reason at all why he should stop touching her.
Until there came a sudden invasion of cold. Frigid air blasted against her skin, and Victoria jerked away from him. She was standing before an open door. Outside, snow swirled in the air, moving toward her.
“Look,” he murmured. “You’ve made it this far.”
Instead of seeing i
t as a triumph, the urge to flee came over her. Her body was trembling violently, the cold air reminding her of those terrible nights when she’d been so alone. She couldn’t breathe, and when she tried to pull away from him, he held her fast.
“It’s all right, Victoria. Just another step.”
“No,” she breathed. It wasn’t just another step. It was a pathway toward her recurring nightmare, a terror that held no measure. She tore herself free of him and ran away, returning upstairs as fast as she could. Leaving him to stare after her with the frozen air swirling behind.
Chapter Nine
BEATRICE STOOD behind the other dinner guests, feeling every last one of her forty-four years. Her sister Charlotte had arranged her hair, tucking strings of pearls in the upsweep, along with ostrich feathers. She’d worn a bishop’s blue gown, appropriate for a woman of her age, with a lacy fichu to cover the square neckline. Matching pearls hung around her throat, and she felt as nervous as she had so many years ago, when she’d attended her first ball.
It was as if she were trying to catch a husband instead of her girls. Feeling embarrassed, Beatrice fanned herself, trying to remain on the outskirts of the ballroom.
“May I offer you a glass of lemonade, Lady Lanfordshire?” a male voice inquired.
She turned, blushing like a maid of sixteen, when she saw an older man standing nearby. Charlotte had introduced her to him earlier as a friend of the family, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name.
“I, well—I suppose,” she stammered. A genuine smile spread over his face as he bowed and went off to get it.
Her mind stumbled through a thousand reasons why he’d suggested it. Maybe he’d taken pity on an older woman. Or perhaps it was merely to be polite.
But the horrifying question… of whether he was interested in her reared its head. Men never paid any attention to her. Her first and only Season would have been a disaster had it not been for the arrangement her father had made with Henry Andrews, the second son of a baron. She had been offered upon the sacrificial altar of marriage, when no one else had proposed.
Henry had been kind enough, and she’d accepted him, knowing that she could not have done any better. Eventually that kindness had grown into affection and love during their first few years together.
But right now, her heart was hammering with bewilderment, not knowing how to conduct herself. The gentleman was bringing her lemonade, nothing more. And yet, it rattled her comportment. He returned within moments, and Beatrice fanned herself, feeling her cheeks flame.
“From the look on your face, I suspect you don’t remember me,” he apologized. “I am Sir Alfred Harrow.” His red hair was graying on his sideburns, and he had a mustache and beard that were rather distinguished. When he offered her the lemonade, he added, “I hope you don’t mind my company.”
“Not at all.” Though she couldn’t quite understand why he would single her out among the other matrons.
“I enjoy watching ballrooms,” he admitted. “You can almost imagine the stories of each man and woman. That one there”—he pointed toward a young woman with ribbons in her hair—“I imagine she has her own ideas about which beau to choose for a husband. While her parents have chosen someone like him, instead.” He nodded toward a stoic gentleman wearing a bottle green tailcoat. “He’s the most titled gentleman in the room. The Earl of Castledon.”
“He looks rather melancholy.” Beatrice studied the man, whom she knew her sister had deliberately invited as a potential husband for one of the girls. He looked to be thirty or so, but from the world-weariness on his face, he might not suit any of them.
“His wife died years ago. He spends most of his time in Wales with his daughter, so I hear. I don’t know why he’s here now, except I suppose he wants a new wife. Perhaps a son.”
Beatrice studied the earl again. The man was a veritable wallflower, remaining away from the other guests. Title or not, she wasn’t certain he was a good prospect.
“Do you have any daughters?” she asked Sir Alfred.
“Sadly, no. I never married.” There was a slight flush on his face. “And I know none of these young girls would have any interest in an old man like me.”
“You’re not old at all,” she protested.
His smile softened. “I thank you for your kindness, Lady Lanfordshire. But I know where I stand. I’m only grateful that I have someone with whom I may converse.” His warm smile stirred the sympathy rising within her. He did seem like a nice gentleman, and she returned the smile.
“If I may, you look quite lovely this evening.” He lifted his own glass of lemonade in a silent salute, causing her to blush again. Guilt flooded through her, for she was speaking to an unmarried gentleman. And he might get improper ideas the longer she stayed.
“Thank you,” she replied. “But you’ll have to forgive me. I must go and see about my youngest daughter.” Though Amelia was perfectly safe with Aunt Charlotte, it was the best excuse she could think of.
“By all means.” He bowed, leaving her to cross the ballroom alone. But even when she joined Charlotte and her daughter, her heart was beating a little faster.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” her sister remarked. “A little old for your girls, but not too old for some.” Her smile held the traces of wickedness.
She didn’t acknowledge her sister’s comment. To Amelia, she asked, “Will you tell Margaret I would like to speak with her?”
Her daughter brightened and slipped away, leaving her alone with her sister.
“Charlotte, why ever would you say such a thing? I’m married,” Beatrice hissed under her breath.
“You look beautiful this evening,” her sister countered. “And it’s been a long time since you’ve been to a party. Henry should have brought you to London far more often.”
“He hates dancing, and he doesn’t have many close friends in London,” she admitted. “It’s not his way.”
“And what about you? Do you hate dancing?”
Beatrice had never really thought about it. “I can’t say as I care, one way or the other. It doesn’t matter whether I do or not.”
“Dear sister, if I may say so, you’ve begun to fade away. You’re behaving as if your life centers around the girls.”
“It does.”
“And what will you do when all of them are married? Will you be left alone with a husband who doesn’t care anymore?”
Her eyes filled up with unexpected emotion, but she didn’t let go of the tears. “He does care, a little.”
“Then why hasn’t he written to you?”
“Because he’s fighting in the war. He’s occupied with more important matters.”
“More important than you?” Charlotte put her arm around her waist and guided her away from the wall. “He should be grateful to have a lovely, charming wife like you. And if he doesn’t appreciate what he has, then you need to make him jealous.”
“Make him—but why? There’s no one who would be interested in me.”
“Sir Alfred noticed you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She’d done nothing at all to attract his interest, and even if it were true, she wasn’t about to be unfaithful to her husband.
“Enjoy yourself, Beatrice,” Charlotte chided. “You have a freedom now that you didn’t possess before. You can be the woman you want to be, without fear of your husband’s disapproval.”
She couldn’t answer, for she had long ago given up on being anything other than Baron Lanfordshire’s wife and the mother of four daughters. It wasn’t as if she could suddenly break open the cocoon and become someone else.
“It’s not that easy,” she admitted. “It doesn’t feel right to enjoy myself. Not without Henry.”
“Because of him, you’ve been shut away in Scotland for the past five years. I’ve only seen you a handful of times, and I haven’t seen Victoria at all.” Her sister’s disapproval weighed upon her, but Beatrice could only shrug.
“Victoria won’t
leave the house anymore. Not since our journey to Scotland, you know that.” With a sad smile, she added, “We tried to convince her to come.”
She was saved from further discourse when Margaret arrived. Taking her daughter’s hand in hers, she walked with her and lowered her voice. “Are you enjoying yourself? Have you met anyone of interest?”
Margaret nodded. “Possibly.” A flush of guilt spread over her face. “But there’s something I should have told you earlier. I’ve been quite selfish, for I-I wanted to attend this party.” She squeezed Beatrice’s hand, guiding her away from the others, into a corner. “I was wrong to keep it from you. But I’ve learned that Victoria isn’t alone at the house.”
“Well, of course, she isn’t. Cousin Pauline and her husband came to stay with her.”
Margaret shook her head. “No, they didn’t come. Victoria has been there alone, with only Mrs. Larson and Mr. MacKinloch. And there’s more. Apparently, a wounded man was brought to the house.”
Beatrice covered her mouth with a gloved hand. She knew she shouldn’t have left before ensuring that her cousins had arrived. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come at all. The thought of Victoria alone with a wounded stranger was horrifying. “Did he… die?”
Margaret shook her head, lowering her voice to a whisper. “No. He’s been staying there with her, with only the servants to chaperone.”
“If this is true, then we need to return home,” Beatrice breathed. Were it possible, she’d have left this very minute. Her daughter needed her.
Margaret clenched her closed fan, lowering her head as she nodded her assent. “I only learned of it this afternoon, from Mr. Sinclair. I should have said something then, but I wanted to come to Aunt Charlotte’s party.” She let out a heavy breath. “I know you’re disappointed in me.”
“I’m too worried about Victoria for that.” Her mind was racing with the knowledge. If her daughter had indeed lived with this man for the past week, then there would be consequences—none of them favorable.
But if the man were suitable… it might be the answer to her prayers. He’d compromised her reputation and should be made to marry her.
Undone By The Duke Page 14