Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3)

by Boyd, Heather

  A frown creased her brow. “He has other chores to do today.”

  “Yes, he did mention them but I wondered if you might spare him for work in the east wing. My grandmother’s apartment is large but uninhabitable as yet. I thought we might work together to clean it up.”

  “You’re proposing to spend even more time with my son?”

  Oliver snorted. “Outside of the servants, quite possibly it will be my paltry efforts that set the rooms to order rather than his. I imagine the model will claim his attention for a good long while yet.”

  A frown line appeared between her dark brows. “Why would you do this?”

  “I like the room.”

  Elizabeth shook her head suddenly. “No. Return him to me. You can play at being interested in the abbey with someone else. I knew this was a mistake.”

  The anguish in her tone made his pulse increase. Oliver tightened his grip. “The boy says you cry at night. Why?”

  She struggled to get away from him and he let her go reluctantly. She backed toward the door as if afraid of him. “Nothing in my life is of concern to you. Go away, Oliver. Go off on your adventures and leave us alone.”

  Confused by her words, Oliver followed as she tugged on the door handle. She turned when she discovered the door wouldn’t open and he kept her against the door. He touched her arms and then bent his knees so he could see her face. “Why are you always so upset with me?”

  She met his gaze and scowled. “Indifference is better than turning into a bully. Release me.”

  But Oliver couldn’t seem to do that, nor ignore the way her eyes had grown glassy-bright when she spoke. “There is no reason to cry.”

  “No, of course. None at all.” Her voice cracked on the last and he cupped her jaw. When her face turned up to his, tears slid down her cheeks unabated.

  He searched her expression for clues, but could see no sign of why she was upset. He was only trying to help the boy become a wiser man. He’d never understood her disapproval. He doubted he ever would. But right now he couldn’t bear to see tears streaming down her face. He cupped her face with both hands and wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. Shutting him out.

  The warm body against him shook and he moved closer to offer comfort. But Elizabeth’s hands thumped against his waistcoat and held him back when all he wanted was to hold her against him. Her teeth clamped on her lower lip, heightening his confusion. The action reminded him that it had been a very, very long time since he’d lain with a pretty woman, and the one in his arms fit that description perfectly.

  When Elizabeth opened her eyes again, Oliver dipped his head and kissed her.

  Chapter Eight

  ELIZABETH FROZE, STUNNED to be in Oliver’s arms like this. Her heart rejoiced but her mind screamed. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. This was not supposed to happen. He did not care for her at all. Yet Oliver’s lips played over hers in a soft, compelling dance, making her vow to forget him impossible. Making her need him. His fingers cupped her skull, sliding into her hair and battering her defenses. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, but his lips were sinfully skilled.

  They shattered every belief she held that this man could never feel passion.

  He moved closer, pulling her deeper into his embrace and his warmth burned through her gown as if she were naked. The touch of his hands against her upper back grew firmer and he teased the seam of her lips with his tongue until she let him in. A soft moan escaped her at the first stroke of his tongue across hers and she curled her hands about his neck, knowing she was making the second biggest mistake of her life.

  She should not succumb to this madness but her body had other plans. She tightened her grip around his neck, curved her body to lie against his, seeking more as she kissed him back hungrily. His hands slid to the small of her back and eventually curled over her bottom. With a deep groan, Oliver jerked her hard against him, lifting her feet from the floor while pressing her against the door. His legs wedged between her skirts, their hips aligned. Beth broke the kiss and turned her face away.

  She struggled for breath as Oliver’s mouth seared the skin of her throat. He nibbled and nipped, sending her senses soaring. But this was not what she wanted. She was not the kind of woman to seek pleasure in a cold man’s arms. When it was over, she’d have even more reasons to cry herself to sleep at night.

  After a few moments, Beth pushed against his shoulders. Eventually, Oliver ceased kissing her skin and allowed her to regain her feet.

  When she faced him, he wasn’t smiling. “Is that better?”

  Beth gaped. His eyes were dark pools that stripped her down to bare skin, his lips were flushed but pressed firmly together. To think he’d had his tongue in her mouth and still couldn’t appear happy took her breath away. She shoved hard against his chest to regain perspective. Even at a distance, he appeared dispassionate. “I think I preferred it when you ignored me.”

  His brow creased with a frown and before he could offer more cold words to follow such a devastating kiss, she blindly reached for the doorknob, turned the key this time, and threw the door open.

  Lady Venables was waiting on the other side. “The duchess requests your presence in the drawing room, Mrs. Turner.”

  Beth scrambled to gather her scattered wits. She quickly bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, I’ll be there momentarily,” she agreed self-consciously. Her lips still tingled with the remnants of that kiss. Her body pulsed in places it should not. She pressed her hand to her stomach as panic overwhelmed her. The disapproving look in the countess’s eye hinted she knew exactly what had been going on behind the closed door. Beth didn’t dare glance over her shoulder at Oliver. She wasn’t sure whether she could be trusted not to hit him for destroying her peace and reputation or throw herself at him to ensure her downfall was complete. She had worked so hard to earn a place here and Oliver had ruined everything. “Excuse me.”

  Lady Venables eyed her gown, glanced behind to where Oliver stood quietly, and looked back. “Her Grace suggested that you may wish to wear something a little finer for this meeting and I do believe I agree with her. You have a visitor and must look your best.”

  Beth frowned. “Who would come to call on me here?”

  A look of distaste crossed the countess’s face. “A Mr. Henry Turner presented himself to Her Grace a short time ago, demanding to see his family.”

  “Henry is back?” Beth swayed, overcome with hope. “That’s my husband’s elder brother. I’ll change and come down as quickly as I can. Good grief, so he is alive? George will be so pleased to hear it.”

  “He is alive, indeed.” Lady Venables caught her arm and hurried her down the hall. “The duchess requested Annie attend you. She should be waiting there now.”

  “Thank you.” Beth impulsively squeezed her hand and then fled down the hallway, up the stairs, and along to her bedchamber.

  Annie was waiting beside the fire. “The duchess asked me to come.”

  “Thank you, Annie. I’m sure I shall need it.”

  She threw open her wardrobe doors and considered her options.

  Annie stepped up to her side. “Her Grace was very clear that you were to wear the pink muslin and cream shawl.”

  “Is that so?”

  Annie nodded and placed the gown on the bed. “She also asked me to restyle your hair. I see it was a timely suggestion. Whatever happened to you?”

  Beth turned to the mirror and then closed her eyes. Oliver had quite deftly destroyed her efforts to appear serious and neat. Her hair was in danger of complete collapse. “Your help would be very much appreciated, Annie.”

  With Annie’s cheerful assistance, her gown was changed and her hair restyled into elegance rather than practicality.

  While the maid fussed, Beth twisted her fingers together in her lap and tried to still her racing heart. Being kissed by Oliver was unexpected, but that feat paled in comparison to the return of her husband’s brother. A thousand questions f
looded her mind. Had Henry made his fortune in America and returned now to set up his own household? She hoped so. Was he married? When he learned of their situation here would they be welcomed guests or invited to live there with them forever? Would George have the cousins he’d always longed for?

  “There you are. Pretty as a picture.” Annie added one last pin to her hair and stood back so Beth could see her handiwork. She looked nothing like a housekeeper and that bothered her. She appeared to be a lady of leisure again. Beth fiddled with the borrowed bracelet Annie had pressed her to wear and then removed it.

  She peered at her hair and was impressed by what she saw. “Thank you, Annie. You’ve done a splendid job.”

  She took a deep breath, then gathered up her shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and hurried downstairs.

  Eamon Murphy was waiting for her at the base of the stairs and his appreciative smile hinted she looked very fine. “Mr. Randall has joined Her Grace for the meeting.”

  “Oliver?”

  Murphy’s lips twitched and a wry smile slowly spread. “No. Oliver and the Turners never got along. Leopold is inside. Tobias is elsewhere today.”

  At the drawing room doorway she took a deep breath and nodded to Murphy before he announced her. “You wished to see me, Your Grace.”

  The duchess’s smile was sincere but her eyes showed no joy. “You have a visitor my dear. I’m sure you remember Mr. Henry Turner.”

  When the duchess gestured toward the window, she spied Leopold Randall in conversation with another man. She took a few paces in that direction, puzzled for a moment by the rotund fellow. It took her a long moment to recognize her brother-in-law’s face amid the wreckage confronting her. Henry was so changed from the man she knew that she was almost afraid. His skin was pitted by pockmarks, his cheeks full to bursting, though his clothing was quite fine. He had a pale scar that ran from cheekbone to jaw and stretched unnervingly as his smile grew.

  She dipped a curtsy to hide her shock. “Henry.”

  “Beth, my dear.” He rushed forward and caught her hands. “It’s been too long.”

  The hands holding hers were rough, hard, and covered with small nicks and scars. She jerked her gaze upward to his eyes. “It has indeed. It’s been many years since we’ve had a letter. We were beginning to fear the worst for you.”

  “I’m not much for writing.” He laughed suddenly and released her. “And the worst could never stop me. Where is the boy? Fetch him to me.”

  She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “He’s upstairs.”

  “Working as a pot boy in the great house?” His voice hardened with a tinge of anger and Beth drew her shawl closer around her shoulders. She hoped he assumed she was simply chilled.

  Her Grace laughed suddenly, breaking the tension. “Of course not. He’s become quite a favorite with the young duke. The best of friends, in fact.”

  “Ah,” Henry said, his smile returned in a split second. “That’s all the better. Cannot bear the idea of my brother’s son, my heir, slaving away when there is no need. He shall never toil in service. Not when he can have servants of his own in America to do his bidding.”

  The mention of George being Henry’s heir blindsided her. “You are going back?”

  Henry sat forward, a superior gleam in his eye. “My interests in America are vast and it’s fitting that young George sees firsthand what will be his one day.”

  Never for a moment had she imagined Henry returning to take George away. She felt a little faint at the idea.

  “Shall we sit?” Leopold caught her elbow before she toppled over and steered her toward a spot beside the duchess. When Her Grace caught her hand, Beth gripped her tightly until her panic settled. Her brother-in-law beamed as if she should be happy about his news, but she was utterly terrified of this new development.

  Leopold faced Henry. “Tell us more about America, Turner. I’ve heard such conflicting stories.”

  Henry spread his hands before him. “Business is booming. Profits are up and expenses are low. It’s a prime time to be in business and we are doing well.”

  “So, you’ve family in America?”

  Henry laughed rudely. “No. No. My partners and I are confirmed bachelors, every last one. That’s why young George is so important to me.”

  Beth licked her lips. “You never married?”

  Henry sat back in his chair and looked about him with a speculative gleam in his eye. “Never found the time. It was a hard life to begin with and I’ve not the time to dance attendance on females. As you can imagine, you don’t get far with a woman in tow.”

  She and the duchess exchanged a horrified glance. Henry Turner was not an enlightened man. Her Grace squeezed her hand in a silent gesture of support.

  When Beth caught a glimpse of Leopold’s face, he’d turned an unhealthy shade of red. “Come now,” Leopold chided. “There is as much to be gained from a woman’s point of view as any man’s.” He spoke with a distinct growl to his tone and Beth silently cheered his good sense. No wonder the duchess loved Leopold Randall so much. Not many men she’d met in her life would voice support for the fairer sex’s usefulness. He’d been such a stalwart friend when he could have abandoned them without looking back. But he’d ensured she and George were comfortable in their own cottage and had eventually brought them into the abbey on the pretext they were filling a need.

  She had seen through his plans at the time, but she’d been so moved by his determination to help that she’d agreed. She hadn’t regretted her decision to act as Lady Venables’s paid companion and when it was clear the countess would marry Tobias Randall, she’d found a way to repay his kindness by entering the duchess’s service.

  Henry shrugged aside Leopold’s comment as if it were of no significance. “George will see that things are different in the colony and learn to act accordingly.”

  A tiny gasp left the duchess’s lips and Beth feared she’d cut her brother-in-law down to size. However, for a change, Her Grace did not flay the man. She regarded him coolly and played with the band of diamonds around her wrist. “Where does your estate lie, Mr. Turner?”

  “Augusta.” The location meant nothing to Beth.

  “And what do you grow there?” The duchess managed the question with so much disdain that Beth would have laughed if not for her need to appease her brother-in-law.

  “Cotton.”

  “I’ve heard you need a good many field hands to do well. Do you have trouble finding reliable workers? Do you own slaves?”

  Proper land management required plentiful hands and here at Romsey, Leopold had been striving to increase their numbers. Slave ownership in England was against the law but the practice still thrived elsewhere. Henry’s glance flickered around the room. His eyes narrowed. “I’ve a few darkies about the place but they are free to come and go as they choose.”

  Beth didn’t believe him. He was up to his neck in slaves but wouldn’t admit it to the Duchess of Romsey.

  Chapter Nine

  OLIVER TOOK A pace back from the door and from Blythe. She followed, a frown marring her features, and shook her head at him. “I had no idea it ran in the family. I thought you at least would be spared.”

  “It?”

  She scowled. “Impulsiveness. A careless disregard for the rules and a lady’s reputation. What were you thinking?”

  “Elizabeth is—” he began, but she cut him off with an impatient swipe of her hand.

  “Is a servant in this household now,” Blythe reminded him unnecessarily.

  “I have already voiced my views to Elizabeth on her unsuitability of being housekeeper at Romsey.” Her refusal to provide a sufficient answer as to why she would take the lower position still vexed him. One day the woman would just tell him what he wanted to know without making him wait forever. Unfortunately, he had no idea how long it would take her to reach that understanding. He shrugged. “She was about to cry.”

  Blythe’s brow rose. “And why was that?”

  �
��She wouldn’t tell me.”

  Blythe settled on the chaise and patted the cushion beside her. “So she was upset and you locked the door, refusing to allow her to leave this room?”

  Against his better judgment, he sat where she indicated, considering how best to answer. Blythe at least appeared to want him to be honest, whereas most people did not appreciate it.

  “No. Yes.” He frowned. “I was angry. As you can see, I’ve been moved without so much as a word of warning as to the duchess’s decision. It is intolerable and I told Elizabeth so.”

  “Mrs. Turner was following her new employer’s instructions,” she pointed out and then her eyes widened suddenly. “Just how far did you go in your anger?”

  The question caught him off guard. Perhaps he had allowed his emotions to cloud his behavior somewhat. That could be one explanation for why the kiss had begun. Under normal circumstances he did not kiss crying women. However, Elizabeth’s stubbornness had made it impossible to act sensibly. Her scent had clouded his mind, the taste of her lips had made him abandon all gentlemanly instincts. He had crowded her and pawed at her. He had not achieved exactly what he’d set out to do. He had made her angry again, but at least she had no longer been tearful when she’d departed. He counted that a small victory.

  “I never hurt her. I would not.” He took a deep breath, irritation with himself growing. As if he could ever harm Elizabeth. “I held her. I didn’t want her to cry.”

  “You were concerned?”

  “The boy says she cries at night. I thought I could discover whatever bothered her and inform him.”

  “You really do not understand people or women, do you?” Blythe shook her head. “Most people strive to hide their disappointments from those around them, especially from the ones they love.”

  Elizabeth appeared to love her son. She was very protective of him and sought to spare him from any disturbance. “So that is why she will not confide in George?”