“I cannot imagine what it must have been like.”
“Nobody can. Not unless they were there.” A memory surfaced—blonde hair tied with blue ribbons. “There was a girl, perhaps sixteen years old. She was French.” He could still hear her screams. Laisse-moi! Je t'en supplie! “Some British soldiers—my own countrymen—had captured her during an unsanctioned raiding party in Lille. They snatched her from the street and brought her back to camp with them, almost eighty miles away from her home.”
“What did they want from her?”
He could tell from her voice that she dreaded the answer, so he decided to spare her the details. “Something they never got.”
Her eyes widened with understanding. “You fought your fellow soldiers in order to save a Frenchwoman?”
“It was the right thing to do.” He shook his head. “The war brought out the worst in those men. They deserved the beating I gave them and the dishonorable discharge issued by Wellington after I told him of their actions.” A flash of bare limbs twisted beneath the torn fabric of a gown shot through his mind. The girl had been bruised and battered by the time he’d found her, but she’d muttered an almost inaudible, merci, when he’d set her down in front of her parents’ house the following day.
“Will you tell me how you sustained your own injuries?”
Blinking, Richard focused his mind on the present and on the woman standing before him. He’d known the question would come—had suspected that she must have figured it out—and yet it still caught him off guard. His shoulders tensed and his heart rate accelerated, as was always the case when he thought back to the moment when his face had been taken from him. “I was captured,” he said, pushing the words past the knot in his throat. “It was a reconnaissance mission, ordered by the Duke of Wellington. I volunteered along with a few others, but something went wrong and . . .” He winced, sensing the blind rage that threatened to consume as he recalled the betrayal, forcing it back so she would not see. He took a deep breath, expelled it, aware that his nails were digging into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists. Willing himself to relax, he told her bitterly, “The French wanted information. They decided to burn me in order to get it.”
Pain captured her features, twisting them with anguish on his behalf. “I am so sorry,” she whispered.
“You must not pity me!” The words whipped through the air, echoing around them.
“I do not,” she told him gently. “But I cannot help but feel a tremendous amount of sadness for what you have been through. Nobody should have to experience such a thing.”
Soothed by the goodness she exuded, he felt his anger dissipate. “I agree.” Shifting, he took her by the hand. “Spending time with you allows me to forget. When we are together, I feel like the man I once was.”
“Before the war?”
He nodded. “I used to be social. Now I choose to live alone, surrounded by no one.”
“What about your family? Your friends?” Incomprehension filled her voice. “Surely you must have seen some of them since your return?”
“Only my father, my brother and my secretary,” he confessed.
“Surely your friends must have called on you, to welcome you home?”
Gently, he squeezed her hand. “I was reported missing. When I returned to England, I did nothing to change that status.”
“They think that you are dead.” The words were but a whisper in the dim light of the cavern. “Why?”
“Because it was easier than facing them, of having to explain what happened and subjecting myself to their shocked responses to my altered appearance.” There was another reason as well, of course, but he had no intention of sharing that with her.
“I suppose that makes sense,” she said, surprising him with her level of understanding.
That spark of hope he’d felt when they’d first met, and then again last night when she’d mentioned that character was of greater importance than looks, returned. “How long have you been singing?” he asked.
“For as long as I can remember.”
“And this particular style of music?”
“Just a few years,” she confessed. “I visited the opera for the first time with my parents when I was fourteen and was so impressed by it that I could not help but make an attempt at that style of singing myself.”
Her openness impressed him. “It is a pity that nobody else will ever hear you, because in my opinion, you are the best soprano that I have ever had the pleasure of listening to.”
She smiled, clearly pleased by his praise. “Thank you. That is very kind of you.”
He looked her straight in the eye, wanting her to know what he saw. “It is the truth.”
She said nothing in response as she stood there staring back at him, her eyes widening with deep understanding. “This is the strangest thing,” she eventually murmured as if she wasn’t even talking to him but to herself.
“What is?”
Her hands moved, indicating the space between them. “You and me. I never thought that I would meet someone who would actually see me, but I believe that you do. Don’t you?”
Richard felt the atmosphere change around him, aware that they were no longer having a casual conversation. “I can tell that singing is vital to your well-being, that it feeds your soul and that you would suffer without it. I suspect that this is the reason why you are reluctant to marry, because you fear that if you do, you will have to sacrifice your greatest passion.”
“I would have no choice but to do so. No man would allow me, as his wife, to engage in such activity. Not to mention that few men would even consider marrying me if they knew.”
“Then they are fools.” Lord, he’d give anything to be able to listen to her every day for the rest of his life.
She tilted her head a little. “Do you not realize how scandalous it would be if anyone were to find out?”
“Why would they? If you married, then I am sure that you would be able to find a private place on your husband’s estate where you might practice.”
She smiled slightly in response to his suggestion. “And in London?”
He inclined his head, seeing her point. “You might have to refrain while staying in Town, but at least you would have a normal life with children to love and care for.”
“I must admit that foregoing the chance to have children would be my greatest regret, but to choose a life without the freedom to sing whenever I please, seems like an unbearable sacrifice to make.”
He studied her for a moment, frowning as he said, “I doubt that it would be so different from the life you are presently living. After all, finding a place in which to practice whenever you are in London must be just as difficult now as it would be if you married. At present, you have your aunt to worry about.”
She started a little at his words as if he’d somehow surprised her with his reasoning. Blinking, she said, “Of course.”
There was something about the way she spoke that gave him pause. For a second, he couldn’t help but wonder if she might be hiding something else—another reason to avoid getting married. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from being curious. “Have you ever explored the cave beyond this point?” he asked, deciding to change the subject for now.
Her expression relaxed, as did her posture. “No. I did not think that it would be wise to do so alone.”
He almost laughed, stopping himself at the last moment. “I see,” he said as he went to fetch his lantern. Returning with it, he passed the spot where she stood and swung the light around. “There appears to be a small decline over here that continues down toward another level deeper underground.” The adventurer inside him called out and he turned back to face her. “Is there any chance that you might like to explore it with me tomorrow afternoon?”
“I would have to find a reasonable excuse to be absent from Thorncliff.”
“Perhaps after dinner then? You could feign a headache.” He held his breath, realizing how eager he was for her
to say yes.
She nodded once. “I think I would enjoy that.” Her tone held a great deal of thought to it and then her eyes lit with excitement. “Perhaps we will find something wonderful.”
“Like skeletons and pirate treasure?”
She scrunched her nose in the most adorable way. “The treasure would not be so bad, but skeletons?” A visible shudder raked along her spine.
“They will not hurt you, you know.”
She gave him a look of distinct displeasure. “That certainly is a comforting thought.”
“You need not worry,” he said as he moved toward her, bathing her in the light of his lantern. “I will be there to protect you.”
“Another comforting thought,” she said, her words dancing through the darkness, carrying with them a secret confession that immediately stirred his blood.
Reaching out, he trailed his thumb along her jawline, his breath escaping him as she swayed toward him, eyes closing on a sigh of pleasure. “Mary.” He spoke her name with reverence, foregoing the honorific without even thinking; loving the way it curled over his tongue.
Unrest churned around his stomach, like a storm rising upon the horizon, drawing nearer with every aching beat of his heart. His thumb continued across the soft ridge of her cheekbone, toward her ear where a strand of hair had come undone. Tucking it back in place, he noted her shallow breaths and became conscious of his own. If only . . . There were a million ways in which he might finish that wish. “It is late,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. “I should get you back to the house.”
“It is unlikely that anyone will notice my absence.”
“Nevertheless, I insist. We can come back tomorrow at a more reasonable hour. As we discussed.” He offered her his arm, which she thankfully accepted after a brief hesitation. But when he moved to escort her out of the cave, she failed to follow, effectively halting his progress. He looked down at her. “What is it?”
“It is just . . .” She bit her lip and looked away, took a breath and tried again by saying, “Forgive me, but I am having trouble expressing myself correctly.”
“Take your time.” He placed his hand over her arm, hoping to offer support and courage—curious about what she might say.
Hesitantly, she met his gaze, concern and sincerity blending in her eyes like a pair of puddles flowing together. The effect was one of complete vulnerability, tightening his chest until he felt his heart squeeze. “Am I imagining it, or is there more between us than just a cordial acquaintanceship?”
He stilled, fearing the fragility of the moment. “You wish to know if I am attracted to you.” His pulse leapt with anticipation the moment she nodded her response.
“Are you?”
God yes!
“I enjoy your company a great deal,” he said, afraid of where his honesty might lead.
She winced. “That does not tell me much, considering how little company you have had for the past few years. I daresay any conversation would be welcome.”
“You may be correct.” Her face fell. “But I doubt that anyone else would be able to sing as well as you.” Fear stopped him from mentioning her looks, how beautiful he found her or how desperately he wanted to kiss her.
“Is that all?” Hope clung to her voice.
“No. But it must suffice for now.”
She stared back at him. “I am sorry to hear you say that.”
“Why?” He could not help but ask—could not help but hope, just as he’d done from the very first moment he’d seen her—in spite of everything. The odds against them were enough to discourage the most determined of men.
A crease appeared upon her brow. “Because although we have known each other for only a brief time, I rather imagined that you were tempted to kiss me before.”
Lord help him, she was brave, bold and utterly divine. Heat exploded in the pit of his stomach while his chest expanded, a rush of energy tumbling through him, filling him with want. “And?” He forced himself to take courage.
A miserable smile captured her lips. “And I found myself hoping that you might.”
Richard’s heart thudded against his chest, his breaths carefully measured as he stared down at her upturned face. He swallowed, unsure of what to say in response to such a forthright confession.
She averted her gaze, began to turn away. “I am sorry,” she muttered, shame dripping from the voice that had been so confident barely a second before.
It was more than he could bear. “You must not be.” When she tried to move away from him, he held her firmly in place, knowing that he would be the greatest ass that ever lived if he failed to meet her honesty head on. “The truth is that I would like to kiss you, more than anything in the world. But I cannot.”
“Because you do not wish for me to see your face.”
“I am afraid of what will happen between us if you do.”
She frowned, her expression more serious than he’d ever seen it before. “You think that it would alter my opinion of you?”
“I am certain of it.” He knew he was being harsh and that he wasn’t giving her the chance she deserved to prove him wrong, but it couldn’t be helped. He liked her too much to risk losing her on account of his appearance.
“I am not that shallow, Richard,” she said with conviction. “Far from it.”
His name upon her lips, spoken with fondness, prompted him to pull her into his arms. “I know,” he whispered against the top of her head. “But I am not ready for you to see me. Not yet. Please, Mary . . .” He fought for breath as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Try to understand.”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she wound her arms around him too, hugging him back. Lord knew he needed this—the warmth and comfort that she provided. It wasn’t until now that he realized how much he’d missed physical contact with another person. Spencer and his father had provided him with conversation, but this . . . the feeling of her heart beating steadily next to his, almost brought tears to his eyes. “Promise me that you will not look.”
A brief hesitation followed, as if she wasn’t sure of what he was asking of her. She finally nodded. “I promise.”
Holding her against him, her cheek pressed into the black wool of his cloak, Richard raised one hand to push back the hood. Taking a breath, he then tilted back the mask and dipped his head, allowing her hair to tickle his face as he inhaled her scent. “You smell so good,” he whispered, realizing belatedly how ridiculous that sounded.
Her fingertips dug against the muscles spanning his back. “Chamomile mixed with lemons. It is my favorite scent.”
“Mine too,” he told her gruffly, to which she chuckled gently—a sweet sound filled with promise. Spreading her fingers, she pulled him closer.
For a moment they just stood there like that, chest against chest until Richard decided to lean back a little so he could look at her. Tilting her head, he saw that her eyes were closed, just as she had promised. He was grateful for that. Exceedingly so. Staring down at her delicate neck and at the pulse that beat there, he carefully lowered his lips to the smooth skin that awaited, pressing a series of kisses against her. She gasped in response to each individual one, and it was all he could do not to press his lips more fully against hers.
Raising his head, he lowered his mask before pulling back from her embrace, adoring the befuddled expression that captured her face as her lips parted with surprise. “One step at a time,” he told her softly.
With a dazed nod, she allowed him to escort her out of the cave, their lanterns lighting the path in the darkness as they made their way back to Thorncliff like a pair of specters stealing through the night.
When he returned to his bedchamber, Richard expelled a deep breath as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He deserved a medal for the degree of restraint he’d shown this evening. Which of course made him immediately wary. His situation was complicated—more than Lady Mary even realized. The demons that plagued him demanded retribution, black
ening his heart while hers shone bright with purity. They were completely ill-fitted. There was no denying that. Nor was there any denying the fact that he would be the worst possible scoundrel if he continued to seek her company. No good could possibly come of it.
And yet . . . he still had hope that maybe . . . maybe she would still want him once she saw his face. He winced. But would she be able to accept what he was doing? Women were sensitive creatures after all. Perhaps she’d judge him harshly for it.
Glancing down, he caught sight of a crisp piece of paper, neatly folded upon the floor; a letter, slipped beneath the door while he’d been out. Picking it up, he tore open the seal and unfolded the missive. There were only a couple of lines.
The funds you requested are now in your possession. Please be advised that the damage they’ve incurred seems surprisingly slight. How do you wish to proceed?
Collister
Pondering the importance of the words, Richard crossed to the sideboard, poured himself a brandy and went to sit behind his desk. Retrieving a piece of pristine paper, he dipped his quill in the inkwell and wrote:
Thank you for your letter, which was well received. We will set our sights on the property now and see how well he deals with that. Also, I believe I should like to invest one thousand pounds in Sir Davy’s electromagnetic research. Please make the necessary arrangements.
RH
P.S. Please gather as much information as possible on the Earl of Rotridge.
Once the letter had been folded and sealed, Richard took a sip of his brandy. He’d always considered himself the forgiving sort. Not anymore though. Rising, he went to the window and looked out, the positive mood he’d shared with Lady Mary earlier now clouded by the anger that followed him daily, like a loyal dog. He would be rid of it soon though. He would make certain of that.
His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 Page 10