A Lord's Kiss

by Mary Lancaster et al.

  Marigold colored slightly and brought it close to her chest. “It is a harmless pastime that I rarely get to indulge. Do you disapprove of the novels, or only my reading them?”

  “I just find them…tame,” Randolph said in a bored tone. “They’re all about saintly women in a drawing room whose greatest concerns are choosing a suitor and learning which lady is a true friend.”

  “And you would suggest reading something more adventurous? I expect you have seen many things.”

  “I have seen enough to know that those sorts of books do not represent most people’s lives. But I presume that is what appeals to you. You wish it were your life.”

  Marigold’s back straightened. “Never have I wished to have such a life. I am content with my role and situation. The kinds of books you mention are, generally, not considered suitable reading for ladies.”

  She raised her chin to meet his eyes. He peered at her as though searching her soul.

  “And you do not wish to be tempted?”

  Marigold’s eyes widened. She quickly glanced around to be sure no one overheard him. Determining they needed more privacy, she headed to a distant corner. Randolph followed. When she turned to face him, he stood very close and had a strange look in his eyes.

  “You suppose correctly, but not as I believe you meant to infer,” she whispered. “Reading Don Quixote and the like would be far too tempting for a girl in my situation. The call of adventure, of seeing new places and meeting new people is dangerous for me.”

  “Am I dangerous, then?” He leaned forward and rested an arm on the wall above her head.

  “Not as long as I carry rocks on my person,” she said and raised a hand to his wound, which was still bruised.

  “I am no thief,” Randolph said with an intensity that surprised her.

  “I believe you,” she said, and relief flooded his eyes. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not right now,” he answered. “You are a curious woman, Miss Mary.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. At her age of twenty, gentry ladies were considered to be nearing the shelf. Servants, however, often married years later. The line between girl and woman was not as clearly related to age for them, and no one had ever seen her as anything but a girl before.

  “Are you surprised to hear that I find you a woman?” Randolph’s head dipped lower. “A flesh and blood woman who wants her pulse to race and heart to pound.”

  Marigold kept her eyes averted. Still, her chest rose and fell in quick breaths. When she dared to raise her head, something caught aflame in his blue eyes. His gaze dipped to her lips, and Marigold held her breath. Was he going to kiss her?

  Thoughts of returning to the carriage and her angry cousin flew by the wayside as Marigold angled her head, prepared to receive her first kiss.

  Chapter Four

  Desire ripped through Douglas’s body like a bullet leaving a musket, and its effects were just as deadly. His base instinct warred with his attempts to play the gentleman. The side of him which craved, nay, needed Marigold’s lips on his won. She tilted her head up, inviting him to taste. Her breath caught in her throat and Douglas could hear her heartbeat. His own skipped to a similar rhythm. Just before their lips touched, a crash sounded behind them. They both startled, wrenching their faces away.

  Marigold gasped, and a hand flew to her chest. She looked up at him with shocked eyes, apparently surprised at how much she had forgotten herself. Douglas cursed under his breath. Not only for the missed opportunity, but because he had put them in an impossible situation.

  Sir Stirling meant for her to marry a wealthy man and, despite being a duke, Douglas’s coffers were mostly empty. Hence why his money from Kincaid mattered. Not that it would be enough to set things right, but it would be enough to invest in a venture. Additionally, as much as he loathed the idea, he would soon have to select a wife. Society was curious about him now, but he knew the fascination would soon give way to disgust. They would hate him forever if he married a lady with no fortune or name, who had worked as a maid most of her life. Worse, they would be cruel to her, and that he could not tolerate.

  What was he thinking? Desiring a kiss was not the same as expecting a marriage. That was the honorable route, of course, but when had he ever cared about honor?

  “I must go,” Marigold whispered. She dropped her book and rushed away.

  Freed from her spell, Douglas took a deep breath. How could he be so stupid? He approached her bent on making sure she would come to his ball, not to seduce her in a public place. If anyone had seen them, her chances for a good match would be destroyed. Douglas knew from experience that very few men would stand by a woman with a tarnished reputation.

  “Inverness? Is that you?” The languid tone of Douglas’s silver-haired grandmother reached him. What could a dowager duchess want in the store?

  “Madam.” He turned and bowed.

  “Oh, you are always so formal! Grandmama, please,” she spoke loudly for the crowd that had suddenly gathered.

  “As you wish,” he said through gritted teeth. After years of being unwanted, he must now feign familial affection?

  “You will not blame Matthews for telling me you intended to shop here. Now, we must get you to the tailor. Your new clothes should be ready. You no longer need to dress like a soldier.”

  A soldier? Is that what the family had spent years saying? Refusing to continue the show she had arranged, Douglas said nothing and headed toward the door.

  “Oh, quite right.” His grandmother trailed him, carrying on like a Drury Lane actress.

  The irony of her antics, considering her long-held disapproval of his mother, made his lips tug into a smile just as a young lady on the arm of an older gentleman entered the store.

  “Oh my,” the unknown lady said and returned his smile.

  The older gentleman looked Douglas over and tugged the woman. “Come along, Adeline.”

  Douglas left the store and Grandmama raced forward to whisper, “That was Lady Adeline Randolph-Stuart. She would make a superb wife. Her fortune is forty thousand pounds, and she is the daughter of an earl. A cousin, even.”

  “And a snob. Pray tell, which of your well-bred ladies would be happy with a husband raised on the streets?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Grandmama hissed. “That is not well-known. In a marriage, who cares if you are happy, or like one another? Do you know nothing about Society?”

  “I know enough,” he sneered, “to know I want nothing to do with it. Why should I sire an heir? A legitimate one, that is.” He winked at a female shop worker adjusting a window display.

  “You would not,” Grandmama gasped.

  “Wouldn’t I? I dinnae know better, after all.”

  “I see that I have gone about it the wrong way with you. Do not think of advantage, then. What about a happy home with a sweet wife and loving children? Adeline was taken with you. It was her father who judged by your appearance.”

  “And, I suppose, once I am presented as the Duke, he will happily approve?”

  “He would be a fool not to, and Lord Randolph-Stuart is no fool.”

  Douglas did not reply, and they walked in silent for a moment.

  “Good heavens, how far are we walking? Where is your carriage? I shall freeze.” She rubbed her hands.

  “I took no carriage. I prefer to walk.”

  “Prefer to walk,” Grandmama said in a scandalized tone as she tip-toed around horse excrement. Her face contorted in disgust.

  “Yes.” Douglas looked over his shoulder. “Your obedient coachman has followed us, see?” Grandmama turned as well. “There is no need to accompany me.”

  “But you may give a poor impression—”

  “Madam, do you not recall how little my brother, father, and uncle thought of your intrusiveness?”

  Beside him, the woman’s frown deepened. “Very well, but do take care of yourself.”

  She signaled for the coachman to stop, and Douglas held a hand out to assist h
er inside.

  “Thank you, Dougie,” she whispered before shutting the door and calling for the coachman to proceed.

  Dougie. He had not been called that in many years. How had his grandmother even known of the endearment his mother used? Douglas began walking. He would return to the bookshop and his planned trip to the tailor later. He used the time to make sense of his disordered thoughts.

  In the deepest recesses of his heart, Grandmama’s image of a happy wife and children fueled his greatest fantasies. He was no stranger to the carnal delights women could provide, but had never met a woman he wished to have a conversation with. None of the beguiling ladies who had shared his bed had inspired trust. Selecting a spouse from such a different background as he was madness. That left…

  Marigold’s strawberry hair and green eyes. She was too good. Too pure. What would she ever want with him? He kicked a rock, sighed, and returned to town.

  After being fussed over and forced into fashionable clothing that was far too tight for actual movement, Douglas returned to the mansion he had inherited on the edge of Inverness. He could not call it home. Regrets of that nature would need to wait. He had a letter to write.

  Sitting at the desk where his forefathers had done business for decades, he opened a drawer, pulled out writing supplies, and set to work. When finished, he snatched up the family signet ring and dipped it into the hot wax. Douglas allowed himself one moment to close his eyes as a sea of unwanted emotion crashed over him. Then, sliding the ring onto his little finger, he stood and called for the butler. The missive and package must be delivered without delay.

  ***

  “You were almost seen,” Old Tom said to Marigold as she clambered onto the ledge of the coach.

  She cast her eyes in the direction of the dressmaker’s. Her cousins walked down the street, stopping now and then to speak with passers-by. Priscilla preened as she pushed her younger daughter forward. Edith executed her curtsy’s to perfection, but Marigold could see the girl’s nervousness.

  Her heart still pounded from Mr. Randolph’s near-kiss. What on earth had gotten into her? Despite Priscilla and Nicholas’s frequent complaints, she had always been an obedient and good girl. She did not dally with stable boys or footmen. She must be temporarily mad to let a man she barely knew kiss her in public.

  However, something about Mr. Randolph made her feel as though she had known him forever. He did not feel like a stranger. They were kindred souls. All he wanted from Nicholas was his due. Marigold could relate to that.

  Randolph had seemed so surprised that she believed he was not a thief. She understood that as well. So many people judged another merely by their clothing and appearance. In another world, Marigold would have been as coddled as Edith and Augusta. She would have been escorted to fancy balls and worn gowns worth more than a servant’s yearly income. She would dance until her slippers wore out and then await suitors in the drawing room the next morning.

  Yes, she could be as genteel as any of them. She had never wanted it, though. The things she wanted most in life could not be bought. She longed for affection and a family. Marigold supposed there was nothing unique about that. Most orphans would feel similarly. While she was never allowed to forget her pitiable state, she knew Priscilla and Nicholas had been as kind as they could be.

  Not everyone’s vessel of kindness could be as deep as others. Her cousins had known more people and had experienced more in life. Perhaps they had encountered such hatred and hurt that they could not contain more love for others. Marigold could bear with their treatment. The fact that Edith and Augusta were loved by their parents warmed Marigold’s heart. The maids assured her some children did not have the love of their parents. Some parents only saw children as a means to additional income. Too many children were packed off for service without so much as an embrace. Still others ran away from home to escape abuse. Marigold was clothed, fed, housed, and rarely physically disciplined. On the whole, her relations could be worse. Compared with what her friends had overcome, Marigold’s forbearance was nothing to marvel at.

  After the shopping excursion, her cousins rushed away to try on jewelry and debate hairstyles. Marigold happily left them for her chores. Having missed two hours of work, and the other maids otherwise occupied, meant Marigold had to work harder than usual. She welcomed the distraction.

  The bustle of activity settled down once the family was served dinner. The servants of the house gathered around the worn kitchen table and ate. Dottie’s warm soup was welcome on a cold day.

  “Such a fuss!” Becky moaned. “As if the Duke is going to consider either one of those girls.”

  “Mind your tongue,” Ruth scolded and nervously watched the door.

  “La! The mistress has never come down here and never will.”

  “I should hope not,” Dottie said. “I don’t need her snoopin’ down here like I don’t know my work.”

  “How did you like going to town, Marigold?” Jack asked. “Tom said you spent a long time away from the carriage.”

  Marigold blushed at the reminder but didn’t have time to reply before the others chattered around her.

  “She is crazy about those books.” Becky laughed.

  “I ain’t never seen no one in such a state of distraction from reading.” Tom winked. “I think she met a beau.”

  “She would not,” Jack exclaimed over the laughter of the others. Turning to Marigold, he said again, sounding inexplicably hurt, “You would not. Say you did not.”

  “No, of course not,” Marigold assured him even as her cheeks flamed. “I have no beau.”

  “Not if Jack has anything to say about it,” the other footman, Nate, said.

  Jack shot him a withering glare and an awkward silence fell around the table. Marigold glanced around. Was Jack sweet on her? She had thought of him like a brother. When she thought of a boy she would wish to walk out with and one day marry…well, she didn’t think of a boy, at all. She thought of a very tall, broad gentleman with bright blue eyes and a small scar on his cheek. Stifling a gasp at the sudden understanding of her thoughts, Marigold jumped from the table and grabbed her empty bowl.

  “Better clean up. I’m tired after the theatrics of the day.”

  The others followed suit. Just before filing out of the kitchen, Marigold cornered Becky.

  “You have been sweet on a lot of boys, haven’t you, Becky?”

  “Aye and they’re sweet back,” she laughed. “No sense in sticking to one man when I ain’t marrying for years.”

  “What about Mr. Randolph?” Marigold fidgeted with the hem of her apron and avoided Becky’s eyes.

  “Who?” she asked and peered into the mirror, rearranging her cap and fluffing her collar.

  “You met him about two weeks ago when walking back from town. You seemed enamored with him. You were despondent after he begged for a kiss and you never saw him again.”

  “Gracious.” A hand flew to her heart. “Well, I forgot all about him. There’s no use getting my hopes up about a man I ain’t seen but once. It was another man— Why are you asking all these questions?” Becky, at last, looked at Marigold.

  “Well, I…” Marigold trailed off. Should she tell Becky about seeing Randolph?

  “You’re sweet on your first one, ain’t ya? Well, mind you don’t give away the milk.” She winked.

  “Oh, I am in no danger of that,” Marigold said. “I do not think he likes me, at all.”

  “What would you know? You had no idea about Jack, did you?”

  “I think of him as a brother,” Marigold said guiltily.

  “Don’t worry your precious head. He’ll get over it soon enough.” Becky shrugged. “They always do. Enjoy your beau while you have him.”

  Marigold nodded and allowed Becky to begin her evening tasks. She knew the wisdom in Becky’s words, but felt guilty all the same. As she returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes, she heard a knock at the back door. Opening it revealed a stranger.

  “I h
ave a missive to Mr. Kincaid from the Duke of Inverness,” the liveried man said. “His Grace requests a reply.”

  “Of course, come inside while you wait.” She showed him into the kitchen.

  “Have you eaten? We have mighty fine soup. It will warm you right up.”

  Marigold filled a bowl and broke some bread for the guest. As she poured him some water, she saw him staring peculiarly at her.

  “What is it?” she asked as she set the glass down.

  “Are you Miss Mary?” he whispered.

  A hand went to her throat. Only one person called her such. Mutely, she nodded and watched out of the corner of her eye to see if Dottie watched them. The servant handed her a package. She concealed it under her apron.

  “I’ll take the note up to Mr. Kincaid,” she said and quickly left the room.

  Once out of the room, she unwrapped part of the parcel. Two books! Don Quixote and the Camilla she had dropped in the bookshop. It must be the work of Mr. Randolph, but why? And how did he afford it? Suddenly it struck her. As the package came with the Duke’s servant, Randolph must also be in his employ. Surely the servant of a duke earned far more than one did in a mere gentleman’s household. She hid the books behind a floral arrangement in the parlor, then headed up the stairs.

  She trembled as she entered the library, in awe of her surroundings and the man who occupied the room. He could have such a harsh temper.

  “A servant arrived with a letter from the Duke of Inverness,” Marigold managed to say without stammering. “He awaits your answer.”

  “Very well. Wait in the corridor. You are not to return below stairs. I do not want the Duke kept waiting.”

  “Yes, sir.” She breathed a sigh of relief and almost reached the door before her cousin screamed, making her jump.

  “No! Explain this!”

  Marigold turned, her trembling increasing. “Sir?”

  “The Duke insists that you also attend his ball. How does he even know about you?”

  “I do n-n-not know, sir,” she stammered and inched backward. “Perhaps…” Her mind raced to think of an answer. True or not, she needed something that would put him off.