Although he did not look pleased by the change in plan, he smiled tightly and nodded in acquiescence. “I see that your aunt has departed. Would you like me to call for her to assist you?”
“No. There is no need to trouble her.”
“In that case, please allow me to escort you to the stairs.”
Seeing no harm in that, she agreed. In fact, his exemplary behavior right now made her wonder if she might have misjudged him. And yet . . . she could not ignore the soft tremors that shook her every time he glanced her way.
“I do hope that you will give my suggestion some serious thought,” he said as they walked along the corridor that would take them through to a larger hallway beyond.
It took her a moment to recall the matter to which he was referring. “Are you aware of how unusual it is for a gentleman to voice his desire to marry a lady as hastily as you have done?”
“You think me too forward?”
“I think your interest in me is too abrupt. It defies logic.”
“Then let me be clear,” he told her bluntly. “My desire to marry you is based exclusively on physical attraction.”
“But I am not especially pretty.” Staring ahead of her, Mary focused on her destination, relieved to know that she was not alone with Lord Rotridge, but surrounded by other guests and servants. “And even if I were, a marriage based on looks alone will never be successful or happy. In time, as I grow older, you will tire of me.”
He shrugged. “You are probably right, but by then you will have children with which to occupy your time. I doubt you will notice if I choose to take a mistress.”
Mary turned her head toward him so abruptly that her neck hurt. She stared at him. Had he really just said that? The flint in his eyes confirmed that he had. “What you are suggesting is absurd! There would be no love or even friendship. All I would be to you is an object for you to own.” She shook her head. “I do not wish to marry, my lord. I have told you this, but in case you choose not to believe me, please know that your confession right now has done nothing to change my mind—quite the contrary.”
“I need an heir,” he said, his jaw visibly clenching as he met her gaze.
Mary fought the urge to pull away, refusing to be cowed by him. “Then I am afraid you will have to find someone more obliging.”
“I am accustomed to getting what I want, Lady Mary, and I have decided that I want you.” Shards of ice spilled from his words. He drew her closer. “But if it is a courtship that you demand, then a courtship you shall have. By all means.”
Jitters flurried around her belly, rising up into her chest like a swarm of bees. “It will make no difference,” she told him defiantly. “You are not the sort of man whom I would wish to be bound to for the rest of my life. I am sorry.”
For one frightening moment, his expression hardened and Mary feared he might actually try to harm her in some way. But then he drew a breath and loosened his hold, smiling at her as if he found humor in her comment. “Is that because you have already set your sights on someone else?”
Mary shook her head. “No. It is because you do not want me for the right reasons. Consequently, you do not tempt me to abandon the life that I have otherwise imagined for myself.”
His smile tightened a little around the edges. “What about Signor Antonio? Does he tempt you?”
“It is too soon to tell,” Mary said without thinking. “I know very little about him.”
Rotridge’s eyes narrowed into two dark slits, but he said nothing further, for which Mary was remarkably grateful. Instead, he led her to the foot of the stairs. “I believe an apology is in order,” he said upon releasing her arm. “Directness has always served me well, but I fear I may have been too candid with you. If I have offended you in any way—”
“It is not just the candidness, my lord. It is the fact that you and I want entirely different things out of life. If we were to marry, one of us would be burdened with unhappiness, and I suspect that someone would be me.”
“You would be financially independent with children to care for and a husband who would stay out of your way. I have always believed that to be most women’s dream.”
Allowing a smile that took some effort to produce, Mary said, “It may well be. Unfortunately, I am not like most women. My hopes and dreams are entirely different from the norm.”
He did not look mollified, but seemed to accept the finality of her statement nonetheless. Bowing, he thanked her for her company before excusing himself and heading back in the direction from which they’d come. Expelling a breath, Mary started up the stairs, thankful that her brief encounter with the Earl of Rotridge had finally come to an end.
It was five o’clock in the evening when Richard woke and got out of bed. As usual, he’d slept through the day, the heavy curtains drawn tightly together in order to keep out the light. Reaching for the tinderbox on his bedside table, he struck a flint and lit an oil lamp, his thoughts returning, as they always did, to the sound of shots being fired, of screams wrought from frightened men’s throats while hooves thudded upon the bloodstained ground. Next came the memory of a dimly lit room, of heavy chains wound around his limbs while fire consumed him. He could feel it even now—the fierce torment of his burning flesh.
Briefly, he closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be long now before the man responsible for it would finally pay the price he deserved. As far as Richard was concerned, that day could not come soon enough.
Crossing to the washbasin, he splashed cool water on his face and reached for a towel. Deliberately, he turned his mind to happier thoughts and considered the lady he’d met the previous evening at the masquerade ball.
Following the conversation with Lady Foxworth, he’d returned to his bedchamber where he’d watched the rest of the ball from his window. He’d seen Lady Eleanor dance with Spencer’s friend, Chadwick, irritated by the overwhelming sense of possessiveness that had come over him. Once the ball had ended and the guests had gone to bed, he’d stayed up, just as he’d done every night for years, trying to rid his mind of her. It had been a futile effort that not even his violin had been able to help him with.
Reaching for his shirt, he pulled the garment over his head and tied the closure shut. He put his stockings and breeches on next, not that he was planning to go anywhere, but Spencer would be stopping by with food soon and Richard felt that he owed his brother the respect of at least getting dressed before he arrived.
With this in mind, he glanced toward the door and immediately frowned. What the devil? It looked as though a letter had been pushed beneath it, which was slightly odd since Spencer usually brought him his correspondence. Striding toward it, Richard bowed down and picked the letter up, briefly studying the wax seal of a rose before flipping the letter over. His heart made a loud thud inside his chest at the sight of the neat script gracing the front. Signor Antonio.
Crossing to one of the armchairs, he lowered himself onto the seat. Holding the letter between both hands, he hesitated opening it, unsure of whether or not he wanted to know what it said. It had to be from her. But how had it arrived in his room? The only explanation he could think of was that Lady Duncaster must have gotten involved, but how Lady Eleanor had managed to convince her to defy Lady Foxworth’s wishes, he could not fathom.
He slid his finger beneath the wax, breaking it. Considering the way in which they’d parted last night, he supposed the letter would insist upon some sort of explanation. As much as Lady Eleanor deserved one, he knew it wasn’t something that he was prepared to grant. Unfolding the letter, he started to read, his heart kicking up a notch at the recognition of her voice delivered to him so clearly in the form of writing.
Signor,
I dearly hope this letter will somehow manage to make its way into your hands. If it does, then I would like to tell you how well I enjoyed your company last night and how saddened I was by your departure. Please understand that my aunt feels a great responsibility toward me, for you see, my parents have entr
usted me entirely to her care. She is my sponsor—a position that she takes most seriously. And while I was honest with you when we spoke, regarding my position on marriage, I—
A soft knock at the door drew Richard’s attention away from the letter. Muttering a curse, he folded it back up, got to his feet and placed it securely in the pocket of his breeches as he went to the door and unlocked it. Moving away, he went to stand by the window, drawing back the curtain so he could look out at the garden while his brother entered the room and closed the door behind him.
“It was quite a lively event last night,” he said, staring toward the part of the garden where he’d first spoken with Lady Eleanor.
“I wish you could have participated,” Spencer said.
Richard heard him walk over to a small table and setting something down—a tray with food, no doubt. Turning slowly away from the window, Richard offered his brother the side of his face that remained unscarred. “Such things no longer interest me.”
Sighing with resignation, Spencer indicated the carafe on the side table. “Mind if I pour myself a glass?”
“Be my guest,” Richard told him. Stepping toward the armchair he’d recently vacated, he asked Spencer to pour him one as well. His thoughts rested on the letter in his pocket and what the rest of it might say, but he could hardly throw Spencer out of his room in his eagerness to discover this.
“I do not understand you,” Spencer said as he placed a glass of brandy in front of Richard and sat down across from him. “You are still an eligible gentleman.”
Studying his brother, Richard raised his glass to his lips and took a slow sip. “You know how untrue that is. One look at me and all the young ladies will have a fit of the vapors.”
“Sarah did not,” Spencer reminded him. “If you recall, she told you that the scarring is not as bad as all that.” Richard grunted disagreement. “And besides, the ball last night was a masquerade. You could easily have been there without anyone being the wiser.”
For a fleeting second, Richard considered telling Spencer that he had been. Sharing his encounter with Lady Eleanor was especially tempting, but he resisted. If Spencer knew, he would probably become more adamant about Richard going out in public. There was also the added risk that he would mention Richard’s attendance at the ball to their parents and sisters, which would only make Richard’s situation more difficult. “To what avail?” he asked instead.
“I do not know,” Spencer murmured with a shake of his head. “You have always loved music.”
“True.”
“You would also have had an opportunity to meet someone.”
“I presume that you are referring to a lady?”
“Well, you are hardly going to form an attachment by remaining in your bedchamber all the time, and with a mask—”
“We have discussed this many times before,” Richard said, annoyed by Spencer’s insistence.
Spencer stared at him for a long moment. Picking up his glass, he drained it in one long gulp. “You cannot stay dead forever.”
Richard clenched his jaw. “It is best this way.”
“Best for whom?” Rising, Spencer went to the sideboard and set down his glass on the tray there. “You will not let Mama or our sisters see you, yet you expect them to carry on this farce on your behalf.”
“I have never asked them to lie for me. People made their own assumptions when I failed to put in a public appearance after the war was over. It was commonly known that I was missing in action. All I asked was that nobody celebrate my return when I finally managed to make my way home.”
“It is dishonest.”
“To some degree perhaps, but I believe that Mama and our sisters preferred to go along with it rather than having to answer an endless amount of intrusive questions.”
“They respect your decision because they love you, Richard. That is not the same as agreeing with it, and it certainly does not make it right.”
Richard knew that there was a great deal of truth to this. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give in. Not now when he was so close to exacting his revenge on the man who’d once betrayed him. “It has been five years. I am sure most people have forgotten about me. To make an appearance now would make no sense unless I was planning to live a normal life, but we both know that doing so will be impossible.”
“Richard—”
“I look the way I do, Spencer. There is no changing that, so even if I were to meet a woman who appealed to me—one with whom I might imagine spending my future . . .” He saw Lady Eleanor’s kind eyes within the confines of his mind, her pretty mouth curving as she smiled up at him. “There is very little chance that she would agree to become my wife, least of all when I am not even in possession of a title.”
Spencer’s left eyebrow went up a notch. “You have a fine fortune, thanks to those clever investments that you have made with your secretary’s assistance.”
Richard nodded. “Mr. Collister is, without a doubt, invaluable. But money will not be enough. Not when it comes to capturing a young lady’s heart.”
“Clearly you have forgotten the way in which Society operates.” Pouring himself another glass of brandy, Spencer returned to his seat. “There are plenty of young ladies among our set who would not give a damn about what you look like as long as you are rich enough to supply them with new gowns and fripperies every Season.”
Richard felt his forehead strain beneath a frown. “If you think that I would have any interest in those sorts of women, then you do not know me at all. I despise superficiality and greed.”
A hint of a smile touched Spencer’s lips. “The thing of it is, Richard, if you do happen to find a lady who is not in it for the money, chances are that she will not care about your appearance either. Such a woman—a selfless and kind woman—will want you for you, in which case your scars will not make any difference.” Placing the rim of his glass to his lips, he took a sip, his eyes bright with the satisfaction of knowing he was right.
Needing distance, Richard rose and walked back to the window where he looked out at the black sky. Fragments of the conversations he’d shared with Lady Eleanor spilled through his mind. She’d enjoyed his company, but she hadn’t known who he was or what he looked like. “Do you suppose that if the right woman were given the chance to get to know me properly, that she might be able to develop some degree of fondness for me? Even if I did not allow her to see my face?”
“I think that you would have to let her see your face eventually.” Spencer spoke carefully, as if he feared Richard’s reaction. “To encourage any woman to marry you without doing so, would be very unfair.”
Richard started, dropping the curtain as he turned back to face his brother. “Of course. I was not suggesting any form of trickery. I was merely wondering if a moment might arise where I could show myself to her without my appearance altering her regard.”
Spencer blew out a deep breath. “I would like to think so. But unfortunately, your chance of meeting such a lady in disguise has passed. I do not believe that Lady Duncaster is planning to host another masquerade ball in the immediate future.”
Richard nodded. He would not mention Lady Eleanor. She was a secret that he intended to keep close to his heart. “It is getting late,” he said. “I believe you should be getting back to your wife?”
“Yes. I probably should.” Spencer’s footsteps tapped against the floor as he walked over to the door. “I wish you a good night, Richard.”
Richard inclined his head. “Same to you. I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow evening.”
As soon as he was gone, Richard reached inside his pocket and retrieved the note from Lady Eleanor.
—And while I was honest with you when we spoke, regarding my position on marriage, I cannot help but feel a certain connection with you. If there is any chance that you might feel the same way, I will be at the Greek folly beyond the west lawn tonight at midnight.
Respectfully,
Lady Eleanor
; Richard felt his stomach tighten as he reread the final sentence. Clearly, the lady was suggesting a secret assignation. The thought was certainly intriguing, not to mention tempting. Glancing toward the clock on the mantelpiece, Richard noted the time, barely visible in the dimly lit room. Ten o’clock. Pensively, he reached for his violin, tucking it beneath his chin before sliding the bow slowly across the strings. The effect was a languid moan, like that of a satisfied lover.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the haunting melody to flow through him. It represented everything that he was, all that he had suffered, and the patience with which he was carrying out his vendetta. It reminded him of five long years of solitude, nights filled with equal measures of yearning and loathing, both deeply imbedded within his soul.
The tune drew to an end and Richard opened his eyes to find himself staring into the long mirror that hung on the wall. His blood pumped slightly faster through his veins as he took in the damaged flesh. To subject Lady Eleanor to such ugliness in the hope that she might be willing to accept him as a potential suitor, would be foolhardy. Worse, would be the selfishness of letting her into his life when he was so consumed by anger. He ought to dissuade her.
Still standing by the window later, he watched as the cloaked figure of a woman stepped out onto the terrace below. She didn’t have to look up for him to know that it was her, her steps eager with anticipation as she walked toward disappointment. As sorry as he was for it, Richard knew that it was for the best. He waited until she was out of sight and was just about to turn away from the window when someone else exited the house. Richard peered down at the man who was presently crossing the terrace with brisk steps, the back of his neck pricking as he recognized Rotridge. And he was heading straight after Lady Eleanor. Hell and damnation!
His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 Page 6