His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6

by Sophie Barnes

  Her eyes, so honest and pure, gazed up at him with transparent hopefulness. She lifted her hand, and Richard’s chest contracted with the realization of what was to come. He wasn’t ready, but he was also acutely aware that he never would be.

  “My secret in exchange for yours,” she whispered as she carefully drew his hood back, her hands skimming over his hair with such fragile gentleness that his entire body ached. “I trust you, Richard, with my heart and with my soul. But can you trust me?” Skimming the sides of his neck, her fingers found his shoulders and then his chest. “Will you let me see your face?”

  Having infiltrated enemy ranks and faced what he had believed would be death at their hands, Richard knew that the level of fear he felt now, in response to such a simple question, was out of proportion. And yet, he could not help the chill that made his skin tremble or the knot that tightened in his stomach at the thought of possibly losing her. But how could he hope to win her—truly win her—without reciprocating with the same level of truth that she’d just given him? He had no choice. And so, in spite of every apprehension and the sick feeling that settled over him, he nodded.

  It took a moment before she responded, and when she did, it was with the utmost of care. Richard sucked in a breath as her fingers left his chest, climbing higher until they touched the edges of the mask. They hesitated there while he made every effort to stand completely still and not turn away. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, speaking the truth. Seeing the uncertainty in her eyes, he quickly said, “But I doubt that I ever will be.”

  “It is the only way forward.” She sounded almost regretful, which in turn pained him more than the thought of what she wanted to do.

  “I know. Which is why it must be done.” Raising his own hands, he placed them against hers and began lifting the mask away, her eyes holding his while he continued to wait for her to drop her gaze. She didn’t. Not even once the mask had been completely removed.

  Instead, she did something that both confounded and humbled him. Without a word, she rose up onto her toes, leaned closer and placed a tender kiss upon his lips.

  Richard blinked, startled by the unexpectedness of it. “I . . .” He really wasn’t sure of what to say, so he glanced around the small room instead, wondering if perhaps the light was too dim for her to see him properly, because surely that could be the only explanation.

  “Regarding your appearance . . .”

  Ah!

  “You are the handsomest man that I have ever seen, and if you do decide to venture back out in public, I would be proud to be seen on your arm.”

  He stared at her, utterly speechless until he finally managed, “But the scars!”

  “They are not as bad as your mind has convinced you that they are. And since I did not know you before and can draw no comparison, they have no influence on the way in which I see you.”

  Unwittingly, Richard felt the corners of his eyes begin to moisten while his throat began to close. His heart, aching with the beauty of her words, unfurled like the petals of a blooming flower, spreading joy throughout his veins. “You say that you have never been kissed.” He stepped hesitantly toward her. “But you deserve to be.” Unable to resist the pull of her, his hand found the back of her head, moving her until she was at just the right angle. “If I may?”

  Nodding, she leaned toward him and her eyelids drifted shut. Desperate for the closeness she offered, he lowered his lips to hers—carefully at first, so they could grow accustomed to each other, and then with greater urgency. Moving closer—so close that no space remained between them—he kissed her as if he were drowning and she was his lifeline, as if she were the oxygen he needed in order to breathe. He poured every painful moment of solitude he’d endured for the past five years into that one singular moment, savoring her sweetness while imparting his own everlasting affection to her. She was like a burst of sunshine warming his heart and soul and yet there were still too many barriers between them—barriers that kept him from taking more than he’d already done.

  Resisting the urge to give in to temptation, he struggled against the deep craving that she instilled in him, determined to win against it, for both their sakes. “If only we could stay like this forever,” he said, trailing kisses along her cheek. “I never thought . . .” Allowing his words to drift off into the shadows, he hugged her closely against him, relishing the soft welcoming warmth of her body and her complete acceptance of him.

  “These last few days with you have been the best of my life,” she murmured. Her fingertips dug against the wool of his cloak, accentuating the point she was trying to make. But then she released her hold on him and drew back, her eyes meeting his. A moment later, he felt her hand upon his cheek, the smallness of it so seemingly fragile that it fairly stole his breath.

  With the utmost gentility, the tips of her fingers trailed carefully over the side of his face where the skin rippled like dry sand on a stormy beach. “I can understand your reluctance to show yourself in public.” A brief hesitation followed before she said, “And to me as well. But I am glad that you finally have, because hopefully, you will now understand that your scars would never be enough to frighten me away. Especially not after I have gotten to know the man that you are.” Lowering her hand, she pressed it firmly against his chest, covering his heart as she spoke. “You are both noble and good, Richard. I hope you realize that.”

  It was difficult for him to breathe, let alone speak. So he said nothing in response to her words, his eyes struggling against the burning sensation of unshed tears. “Come,” he eventually managed, his voice rough like gravel. “You must return upstairs.”

  She didn’t argue, but when they reached the door that would lead her back out into the hallway and toward her bedchamber, she couldn’t help but ask, “How do we proceed from here?”

  “With difficulty, I suspect.”

  She would not be so easily deterred. “If I tell my aunt about you—if I confide in her your identity—then I am sure she will allow us to see each other again, just as long as the meetings are chaperoned.”

  “And how exactly do you plan to explain your knowledge about me? I doubt it will take her long to figure out that you have been sneaking off for secret rendezvous, and what then? If I were the sort of gentleman she would approve of, I would never have encouraged you to spend time with me against her will.”

  “You are not the only one to blame for that,” she told him hotly. When he said nothing in response, she expelled a deep breath, feeling suddenly deflated. “You are right though. It will not be easy for me to convince her that I did the right thing after having defied her wishes.”

  His voice was heavy when he spoke again. “Since there is no place for us to meet in complete secrecy, besides the cave, and with the possibility of Rotridge planning an attack against you, I believe that the best course of action right now would be for us to stop seeing each other completely. At least until this situation is resolved.”

  Why did it feel as though her heart was being torn right out of her chest? “There has to be a way for us to continue—”

  “Can you not see that it is too risky? We have been lucky so far, but until we know who it was that happened to overhear our conversation, then we have to avoid being seen together at all cost. Your reputation—”

  “Hang my reputation!”

  A lengthy pause followed. “You do not mean that,” he eventually said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Especially not until you are absolutely certain that you will consider marrying me.”

  “I—”

  He held up a hand, effectively silencing her. “That was not a proposal, Mary, but a suggestion that you take some time to consider what you want. A lot has changed for you tonight. You have confided in me your secret identity, you have seen what I truly look like beneath the mask, and you are now faced with the very real possibility of being revealed for who you are.” Crossing his arms, he studied her a moment before adding, “If i
t was Rotridge in the cave, he will undoubtedly use the information against you, and when that happens, the last thing you need is for things to be further complicated by an association with me. That said, if the need arises and you require my help, I will stand by you.”

  Expelling a quivering breath, she nodded. “Thank you.” She made no attempt to touch him again, afraid that she’d end up back in his arms, relishing the comfort of his embrace while knowing that she would not be able to stay there forever. Not yet, at least. So she made an attempt at a smile instead, afraid that it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What if I need to reach you?”

  “I shall not be far, but if there is something urgent, come back here and leave a note for me above the door. I will check for a message from you as often as I can.” Placing his hand against her arm, he nudged her toward the door, saying with greater insistence, “Now go.”

  And so she did, even though the pain in her chest suggested that her heart was breaking.

  Chapter 11

  When Mary left her bedchamber the following morning, it was almost as if she’d been disconnected from her body. Returning from her meeting with Richard the previous evening, sleep had been an impossible goal for her to achieve, her thoughts consumed by every conversation they’d had with each other since the moment they’d met, until one incredible fact had become startlingly clear to her. She loved him.

  Making her way to the dining room, she pondered this new revelation, asking herself if she was sure and, more importantly, how she could possibly tell? She’d known him for . . . blinking, she realized that she wasn’t exactly certain. Logic told her it had only been eight days, but that couldn’t possibly be right, could it? Not when it felt like so much longer.

  Mentally, she began ticking off the reasons for why she loved him. His acceptance of her was definitely at the top of the list, but even before she’d revealed that she was also Lucia Cavalani, Mary had become increasingly fond of him.

  “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you again,” a silky voice spoke at Mary’s right shoulder, scattering her thoughts.

  “Lord Rotridge,” she said, her head turning instinctively toward him. He was wearing an arrogant smirk that made her insides squirm. Looking away from him, she surveyed the dining room, relief flooding her from head to toe when she spotted her aunt. “If you will forgive me, Lady Foxworth is expecting me and I would prefer not to keep her waiting.”

  “Of course,” he said, inclining his head.

  She started forward, eager to increase the distance between them, but froze at the sound of a whispered, “I know your secret.”

  It took every bit of self-restraint she possessed to remain calm, her expression completely inscrutable as she turned back to face him. Allowing her eyebrows to rise and her spine to straighten, she gave him the most condescending stare she could manage before saying, “I cannot imagine what you might be referring to.”

  It clearly wasn’t the response that he’d been expecting or hoping for, because although he did open his mouth as if to speak, not a single word followed. Mary decided to use his silence as an excuse to quit his company and walked brusquely toward the end of the table where her aunt was sitting.

  But as the day wore on, Mary became increasingly aware of Rotridge’s gaze following her wherever she went. By the time she joined her aunt for afternoon tea, she was certain that he’d not only overheard her conversation with Richard the previous evening, but that he was plotting a means by which to use what he’d learned against her. To what avail though? Because she’d turned down his sudden proposal? It seemed absurd.

  “Mary?”

  Her aunt’s voice drew her attention away from her worries and back to the present. “Hmm?” They were seated in a private corner of the Greek salon, a space decorated exclusively with white marble and furnishings upholstered in creamy silks. A collection of statues had been placed throughout, some in corners and others as a means by which to divide the room into smaller, more intimate, areas.

  “What on earth is on your mind? You seem completely distracted.”

  “Forgive me, I was just woolgathering. That is all.”

  Lady Foxworth pursed her lips and set her teacup aside, making Mary aware of how long her mind must have been absent from the conversation, because she didn’t recall her aunt ever picking up the teacup in the first place. “I may be getting on in years, but I am not a fool, Mary. I would much prefer it if you did not treat me like one.” Before Mary could argue, her aunt said, “It’s that man again, isn’t it? You are still thinking about him.”

  Mary cringed with the shame of knowing what she’d done. Her aunt had always been good to her, yet Mary had deliberately lied to her time and time again. First, by convincing her aunt that she liked to retire early in the evenings in order to read, when in fact, she was sneaking off to the opera instead. Now, she was being deceptive once more, going against her aunt’s specific wishes in order to meet Richard in secret.

  “It is impossible for me not to,” Mary confessed, offering Lady Foxworth some small amount of truth.

  Her aunt snorted. “I cannot say that I blame you, all things considered. After all, people do tend to be drawn to the mystery of the unknown, and that gentleman you keep on thinking about does seem to be something of a puzzle, though I do hope you realize that there is little point in continuing your ponderings over him.” Reaching for one of the sweetmeats sitting on a plate between them, she held it delicately between her fingers, studying it as she said, “Now, I have it on good authority that the Duke of Lamont will be arriving tomorrow. Word has it that he is actively seeking a bride.” The sweetmeat went straight into Lady Foxworth’s mouth.

  Mary slumped. “But—”

  “Mary,” Lady Foxworth said sternly, “I do believe I have been extremely patient with you, particularly since your parents asked me to give you the time you require to make a love match.” Mary opened her mouth to speak, but her aunt held up a staying hand. “However,” she added, “they also made it perfectly clear to me that they want to see you settled when they return to England, which is why I must insist that you start considering your options more seriously. Take Belgrave, for instance. By all accounts, including your own, he is an amicable gentleman—titled, no less—who possesses the means by which to offer you a comfortable life. Most young ladies would be thrilled to make such a coup.”

  “You are right. They would be, Aunt, but I am looking for more than wealth in a husband. I want a companion, a friend, and a confidant—someone with whom I can share every aspect of my life. But in addition to that, I want a spark. With Belgrave it simply was not there.”

  Lady Foxworth pressed her lips together and frowned. “Do you hear what you are saying? The sort of expectations you have? They are impossible, Mary. Nobody finds that sort of compatibility in marriage, least of all among the aristocracy where the only true purpose of a wife is to produce an heir. It is a harsh truth perhaps, but it is reality, and I daresay it is time for you to face it.”

  Unwilling to back down, Mary said, “You married for love, and so did Mama and Papa.” Seeing her aunt’s pained expression, Mary quietly added, “I believe they have precisely the sort of relationship that I would like for myself.”

  Sighing, Lady Foxworth leaned back against her seat, her eyes steady on Mary. “Perhaps you are right, but that does not change the fact that we are running out of time. You have had three Seasons already. One more and you will be on the shelf. The longer you wait to form an attachment, the harder it will be for you, not only because you lose the advantage of being a young bride, but also because everyone will start questioning why you have not been snatched up yet. They will start wondering what is wrong with you.”

  “Everyone knows that I barely have a dowry worth talking about. My only asset is my father’s title and the possible connection that a suitor might gain by association—a connection that is of little value to a peer of higher rank than viscount.” Mary picked up her teacup, took a sip, an
d winced. The drink was only lukewarm.

  “Which makes it even more important for you to socialize while you are here at Thorncliff. Given the chance, I have every confidence that your positive demeanor, intelligence, and wit, will achieve what your limited dowry will not.”

  “In other words, I must make every effort to socialize with the duke when he arrives.” Mary could scarcely think of anything less appealing, not because she disliked the duke in any way, but because he wasn’t the one who’d captured her heart. Trying to attract his attention and gain his favor would not only seem false, but like a betrayal of her feelings for Richard.

  “I see no other option at this point. You have dismissed everyone else.”

  “Everyone with a title, that is,” Mary said as her brain worked to find a way out of this mess. “What if I chose to encourage the attentions of an untitled gentleman? A second or third son perhaps?”

  Lady Foxworth’s gaze grew pensive. “I see no issue with that,” she eventually said. “Not as long as he comes from a respectable family and has the means to support you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have someone particular in mind?”

  Yes!

  “Perhaps.” Seeing the change in her aunt’s demeanor—the flash of interest in her eyes—she quickly added, “Mostly, I am just trying to figure out what my options are at this point.”

  Nodding, Lady Foxworth agreed with the wisdom of that before returning Mary’s attention to the subject that they’d been discussing earlier—before Mary’s concentration had slipped to Richard—and continued elaborating on Charles Bonnet’s conclusion regarding the relationship between the spiral arrangement of leaves on a plant and the Fibonacci sequence.

  Later, as Mary ate her dinner, her apprehension over Rotridge and the comment that he’d made earlier in the day resurfaced as he continued to look at her from further down the table. She’d left a note for Richard before returning downstairs, informing him of her suspicions just in case the situation with Rotridge grew less tolerable.