A Lord's Kiss

by Mary Lancaster et al.

  With half an eye still on the enraged Barton, Nathanial turned toward the billiards room door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lie, Rebecca cried inside her head. Stop blushing and lie. Say something, anything, to keep Charlie from defending your honor.

  Honor she really, in truth, didn’t hold. She’d kissed Mister Kensley, after all. Not only kissed him, but dreamed of kissing him again. Thought of little else every moment of every day.

  “Maggie, are you in there?” Mister Escott cried and burst into the room.

  They all turned, even Charlie. Rebecca could have hugged the grinning Mister Escott. He waved a paper in the air. A letter, she guessed, by the lines scrawled on the thick page.

  “Maggie, I’ve received a position, and look at this.” He thrust the page at her. His finger poked a line Rebecca couldn’t read from where she stood.

  Maggie’s squeal of delight ricocheted about the room. She threw her arms about Mister Escott and pulled him into a kiss. He swept her up, off her feet, and spun her around, his lips never leaving hers.

  “Has everyone gone mad?” Charlie roared. “Walt, unhand my sister.”

  Mister Escott put Maggie down, one arm wrapped firmly about her shoulders. He wore a thoroughly foolish, besotted look of pure joy. “I am rich, Charlie.”

  Maggie’s grin was as wide as his. “Wally’s going to be important, and wealthy, and marry me,” she cried. “And everything will be perfect.”

  Faced with Maggie’s joy, confusion and worry dropped from Rebecca like a shed cloak. She rushed around the table to pull Maggie from Mister Escott’s half-embrace and into a hug. “Maggie, this is wonderful. It’s what you have always wished for.”

  Maggie sniffed. Rebecca released her to find her cousin’s face streaked with tears. “It is. It’s perfect, Becca. Simply perfect.”

  Mister Escott reached out and drew Maggie back to his side. “I don’t know how it happened. I hadn’t even applied to the position. I thought it out of my reach, and I had no idea it pays so well.”

  “A mystery,” Mister Kensley murmured.

  A shock went through Rebecca. With absolute certainty, she knew he’d done this. He’d secured the commission. He may even have augmented the holder’s income. Slowly, she turned to face him across the billiards table.

  Green eyes met hers. The promise of a smile on his lips, he offered the barest wink.

  “Well, I guess if you’re going to marry Mags, I won’t have to kill you, Walt,” Charlie said. “But, you, Kensley, that’s anothe--”

  “Oh, my apologies,” Mister Escott said. “I all but forgot. Mister Kensley, there is a gentleman here to see you. Missus Barton took one look at him and stuck her nose in the air, muttering something about insolent clerks, but she permitted him to wait in the front parlor.” Mister Escott paused, and Rebecca glanced over her shoulder to see him smiling down at Maggie. “I couldn’t quite catch his name. Something like Starving or Strolling.” He shrugged and squeezed Maggie closer.

  “Stirling?” Mister Kensley asked, tone sharp.

  “The law clerk?” Rebecca wondered why he would ask for Mister Kensley.

  “That sounds correct,” Mister Escott said.

  Expression confused, Mister Kensley bowed to the room. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go inquire why he’s come.” He offered Rebecca a look he molded into reassurance and strode from the room.

  “Fleeing from retribution,” Charlie snarled. “Is that the sort of man you want, Becca?”

  She turned to find him glaring at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I saw you.” Charlie strode to her side to glare down at her. “You liked his hands on your person. You wanted them there.”

  “Ah, this seems like a private discussion,” Mister Escott said.

  “Let’s go tell mother we’re engaged.” Maggie’s voice reverberated with joy. She grabbed Mister Escott’s hand and pulled him toward the door. “This is the most wonderful day ever.”

  Rebecca watched them go. Maggie’s happy laughter bubbled down the hall. Rebecca swallowed and turned back to Charlie.

  Fists balled at his sides, he still glared. His neck flushed a splotchy mix of white and red. He wasn’t much taller than she, unlike Mister Kensley, but he still managed to loom over her. For the first time in their fourteen years under the same roof, Rebecca thought that, perhaps, she ought not be alone with him.

  “You’ve given yourself to him, haven’t you?” Charlie snapped.

  “Excuse me?” Rebecca gasped out.

  Charlie’s hand fixed around her upper arm and squeezed. “Tell me the truth, Becca. Did you lift your skirt for Kensley?”

  “Most certainly not.” She jerked back, but his hold only tightened.

  He bent to scrutinize her face with harsh intensity. “I do not believe you.”

  “Whether you believe me or not is immaterial.” She ignored the pain of his grip and tilted her chin up. “I have done no such thing.”

  “You’re meant for me, Becca, to be my wife. We didn’t put fourteen years into you for nothing.”

  Dizzy, Rebecca brought her free hand to her forehead. The icy cold of her palm countered some of the heat that suffused her face. “Charlie, you are hurting me.”

  He blinked. Some of the rage cleared from his face. He looked down and appeared slightly surprised to find his hand on her arm. His grip eased. “I don’t understand, Becca,” he said in a more normal voice. “All these years, I thought you loved me.”

  She dropped her hand to her side. “I thought I did, too,” she admitted, her words a whisper. “I assumed I did. It wasn’t until you started to woo me that I realized I don’t.”

  “You don’t love me?” His voice took on a forlorn note.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie, but I don’t.”

  “Why?” His eyes, clouded with confusion, studied her face. “We’ve always been so close.”

  “You have been close with me, Charlie,” she corrected gently. “You’ve shared much of yourself, and I’ve always been happy to listen, for I do care about you. You’ve never once asked after my feelings or thoughts.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I could, though. I can change, Becca. I can learn.”

  She pressed her lips together and gave careful thought to her reply. “Why now?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You’ve never treated me as anything but a relation. You’ve never paid court to me, as Mister Escott always did to Maggie. Never kissed my hand, or gone riding with me, or anything. Why now?”

  Silence stretched between them. His grip on her arm tightened again. “You’re seventeen now.”

  She could hear the lie in his voice, in how he hesitated. Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve been seventeen for ten months, Charlie.”

  “Well, yes, but there’s also the change in your dress.” He gestured to her frame but didn’t remove his other hand from her arm. “You, ah, look prettier now. You are beautiful, Becca.”

  “A change in how I dress?” she repeated, incredulous. “You expect me to believe you’ve suddenly fallen in love with me because I changed how I dress?” Which had been his mother’s idea. An odd one, especially coupled with Missus Barton’s apparent pleasure at seeing them together. “What is going on, Charlie?”

  He finally released her, to half turn away. She could read his internal struggle in his profile. The way he pressed his lips together so hard that dents appeared in the soft flesh of his chin. He shot her a look, askance. A long sigh pressed from him.

  “You’re rich,” he muttered.

  “What?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “Our crazy great aunt is dead,” he said, louder. “She left you sixty-thousand pounds. You’re rich.”

  Rebecca staggered back against the billiards table. “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s nothing more to understand,” he muttered. “She was rich, and she left all her money to you, though God knows why.”

  “And no o
ne told me?”

  “The money isn’t yours until your twenty-first birthday, or until you marry.”

  A tight, sick knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “So that is the change in me that makes me suddenly so very lovable?”

  He nodded, gaze locked on the wall to her right.

  “And Mister Kensley knows?” Was that why he’d kissed her, or why he’d called it a mistake? She pressed a hand to her forehead again.

  “I told him, after getting his word he wouldn’t tell a soul.” Charlie let out a bark of laughter, no amusement in the sound. “I figured if anyone was rich enough to resist the allure of sixty-thousand pounds, it would be Kensley.” His face jerked toward her. “Why do you care if he knows?” A spark of anger reappeared in his eyes.

  “N-no reason,” she stammered.

  Too quick to avoid, he locked both hands on her arms now. “You do care for him.” He emphasized the statement with a shake.

  “I—I—” Lie!

  “And you let him have his way with you, didn’t you?” His anger rekindled, his snarl returned. He shook her. “You little harlot.”

  “I didn’t. I swear. You are hurting me again,” she cried.

  “Admit the truth and I’ll stop.”

  “We kissed. Once,” she blurted, her mind frantic for an answer, anything to make him realize she hadn’t given up her virtue as he accused. “Just once, and not again.”

  He went still. His grip on her arms eased. His gaze dropped to her lips. “It’s the dresses too, Becca.”

  She cringed from that low, intimate tone.

  “You have grown up, into a woman. I was a fool not to see it sooner.” He lowered his head toward hers.

  “What are you doing?” She turned her face away, pulled against his grip, but his hands didn’t yield.

  “I am securing my place as your husband.” He smiled, smug. “I doubt you’ll still want Kensley once I have kissed you.”

  He released one arm to grab her chin and wrench her face back toward his. Freed, Rebecca fumbled behind her. Her hand brushed a ball. Frantic, she caught it before it could roll away. Charlie squeezed her chin tight. He dipped his head. Anger and revulsion her arsenal, she swung with all her strength.

  Chapter Twelve

  Long strides took Nathanial through the manor and into the front parlor. Stirling lounged on Miss Barton’s favorite red settee, arms draped over the back, legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankle. As usual, the duke was dressed impeccably and that infuriating, all-knowing spark gleamed in his eyes.

  “Mister Kensley.” Stirling came to his feet with smooth grace. “How good to see you.”

  Nathanial bowed. “My lord. May I ask what brings you to Barton manor?”

  “I found your investigation into Miss Wycliff’s funds of great interest, so I augmented your efforts with a bit of my own.”

  “Oh?” Nathanial raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t think it will surprise you to learn her parents left her with fifteen-thousand pounds,” Stirling said, tone wry.

  Nathanial nodded, indeed unsurprised. “And the money?”

  The duke offered a wolfish grin. “Ah, now that i the truly interesting bit. The money was protected. Mister Barton was only permitted to use the funds directly for Miss Wycliff. Her wardrobe, education, dowry, and the like.”

  Vengeful glee sparked in Nathanial’s chest. “Do you mean, my lord, that if evidence is found that Mister Barton used the money otherwise, he would have committed a criminal act?”

  “I do, and my attorney concurs.”

  Nathanial rocked back on his heels. “Well then.”

  “Well then, indeed,” Stirling agreed. “Shall I have my attorney draw up charges?”

  Nathanial shook his head, much as the idea appealed to him. “That’s Miss Wycliff’s decision.”

  “When she marries, it will become her husband’s decision.”

  “I’ll still leave it up to her, although I worry she’ll be too softhearted.”

  Stirling cocked an eyebrow.

  Nathanial went still.

  Had he just declared himself about to wed? Him…married? To Rebecca.

  Able to speak with her, be with her, as much as he wished? Hold her, kiss her, whenever he liked, which would be rather often.

  He grinned.

  A hand clasped his shoulder briefly. “You will be very happy.”

  Chagrin shot through Nathanial, mitigated by joy. He took in Stirling’s pleased expression. “You never considered investing with Mister Barton, did you?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  “You knew all along that he’s a terrible businessman, and an unmitigated buffoon, if we’re being honest.”

  The duke shrugged. “As I’m sure you discovered upon meeting him.”

  Nathanial nodded. He was a fool. Why would Stirling, a man more adept at reading others than Saint Peter himself, need anyone’s opinion about Mister Barton? “I didn’t really earn a favor from you by coming here, did I?”

  “Would that favor still be for me to release you from your pledge not to gamble?” The duke’s piercing eyes fixed on Nathanial as if they could see into his soul.

  He didn’t doubt for a moment that they did. “No, I think not.” Rebecca deserved so much more than a man who frittered away his coin in the pursuit of inconsequential thrills. “I daresay my days of wagering are behind me.”

  “Then come to me for a favor someday,” Stirling said. “If it’s a worthy one, I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Nathanial said, surprised. A frown tugged at his mouth. “Weren’t you taking an awful gamble? I may not have fallen for her and you would have been honor bound to release me from my pledge.”

  “If you know you’re going to win, it’s not a gamble.”

  Nathanial chuckled to hear his words cast back at him. “True enough.”

  “Now that’s settled, I cannot imagine why you’re standing in a parlor with me.” Stirling gestured toward the door. “Don’t you have a young lady whose hand you ought to seek?”

  Aware his grin bordered on foolish, Nathanial nodded. He gave a final bow, then turned to stroll from the room. He hurried past a hallway where Missus Barton and Miss Barton argued, Mister Escott silent at Miss Barton’s side, then down several more. Finally, he burst back into the billiards room, only to find the space empty.

  He stopped. He blinked twice. No, not empty. Charlie Barton sat on the floor, propped against the wall, with his head in his hands.

  “Where’s Rebecca?” Nathanial asked with forced calm.

  Barton raised a face marred by a large red welt. Blood trickled from his ear and tears from his glazed-over eyes. One pupil huge, the other miniscule, he blinked up at Nathanial. “What?” he mumbled.

  “Where is Rebecca?” Nathanial repeated. Unease stole through him.

  “How the hell should I know?” Barton dropped his head back into his hands.

  Two long strides and Nathanial dropped to one knee beside Barton. “What happened?”

  Barton raised his head again. Fear flittered across his face. “I didn’t do anything. On my honor.”

  Nathanial’s eyes narrowed. His heart hammered blood through his veins. “What didn’t you do? Where did she go?”

  “She ran out of here. If you find her, you can keep her.” Barton put a hand to his ear. He winced. “I think she broke my ear. I can’t hear a thing on this side.”

  Nathanial surged to his feet. Barely able to keep from kicking Barton, he gritted out, “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll be back,” and pivoted to jog from the room.

  Where would she go? His mind frantic, he ran back toward the front of the house. She hadn’t passed the parlor. His back had been to the open door, but Stirling would have seen her. That meant she hadn’t left out the front, or run up the steps to the bedrooms.

  But her bedroom wasn’t with the others. Though she hadn’t admitted as much, he knew she slept in the attic. The servant’s stairs. He wh
eeled left to turn down another hall, one that would take him to the kitchen. He nearly collided with the still shouting Barton women, their shrill voices registering a moment too late amidst the frantic chaos in his mind. He tried to get around them, but Missus Barton turned to block his way.

  “Mister Kensley,” she cried. “What in Heaven’s name are you doing, running about our home like that?”

  “Have you seen Rebecca?” he demanded.

  Missus Barton gaped at him. “How dare you speak of our ward with such familiarity?”

  “I told you, Mama,” Miss Barton’s tone was hard with anger. “He doesn’t love me. He loves Rebecca, and I’m going to marry Wally, whether you agree or not. If you say no, I’m leaving here with him today and never coming back.”

  “That selfish, ungrateful little wretch,” Missus Barton hissed. “When I find her, I’ll—”

  “You will do nothing, Missus Barton,” Nathanial said, his words low and clipped. He eyed her, this woman who’d neglected and tormented Rebecca for fourteen years. A woman who’d send a four-year-old to sleep alone in the attic and who was almost certainly a party to her husband’s theft. “Rebecca is no longer your concern, should she choose to be my wife or not. What is your concern is explaining to the duke’s attorney where the money given over for her care went, and why a child with fifteen thousand pounds didn’t have proper clothing and slept alone in the attic, and has suffered Heaven knows what other indignities.”

  “D-duke?” Missus Barton stuttered.

  “Becca had fifteen thousand pounds?” Miss Barton turned wide eyes on her mother. “Papa spent it on his addlebrained investments, didn’t he? Just like the money for my dowry and my Season.”

  Missus Barton’s eyes seemed almost to bulge from their sockets. She licked her lips, her face chalk white.

  “While you think long and hard about how to answer that, you’d best tend to your son.” Nathanial knew his voice came out a low snarl but didn’t care. “Somehow, he’s ended up half-deaf on the billiards room floor, and I had better not find out his state has anything to do with him accosting Rebecca.”