“In good conscience, Miss Sheffers,” he said, “I simply cannot allow you to continue to traipse through the countryside unescorted. As a gentleman, I’m compelled to protect you from your imprudent actions.”
The quelling glance she sent his way could have burned the oriental paper off his parlor walls. He was glad they were in a wide-open space.
“Please, Miss Sheffers,” he said with considerably more tact, “I would suffer terribly were I to hear you’d come to harm on the long hike home. Please allow me to escort you.”
After an insufferable pause, she gave a short nod. Her lips had thinned to a mere line and resembled nothing of the swollen passionate petals he’d tasted the night before.
The kiss. There were a few things he should say to her in regard to that kiss. But where to start?
“I cannot follow you down such a steep trail,” he said instead, even though she had remained motionless, letting him take the lead and set the pace.
They walked in silence for several yards down a well-used path. He sensed her stiffen with each step until she appeared to be strung as tight as a bow ready to spring.
“I may play the part of a rake, Miss Sheffers, but I vow you are as safe with me as you would be with my old toothless sheepdog.”
“I know,” she agreed far too quickly.
“What I mean to say—” He struggled for the right words. How did he explain without scandalizing her or damaging her virgin’s sensibilities? “Although I dearly enjoyed kissing you and long to do so again, I am a man of virtue. I would never force my attentions or put you in a situation that would have your reputation questioned.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Her two-word replies dug into his gut. She wasn’t making the task an easy one. And why should she? He saw how society treated her. She was Lady Winifred’s companion, the lowest rank a young lady could hold. Most of the guests at Newbury’s party looked through her. She didn’t even seem to mind that she was expected to step back from the fashionables and fade like a servant into the wainscoting.
Radford had been about to intervene at the party last night when the bubbly Lady Iona had appeared and taken Miss Sheffers’ arm, dragging her into the middle of a crowd of women. In fact, the Newbury family, with the exception of Lady Lillian and her mother, treated Miss Sheffers as one of their own—as part of the family.
As interesting as his meandering thoughts were, they did nothing to solve how he was to address his kissing her. He should offer up some additional explanation . . . but what?
“Why do you refuse the use of a cane?” she asked in the lengthening silence.
The question stopped Radford where he stood. He wasn’t ready to speak of this. His injuries were his burden and his alone. To speak of them would only make them more real.
He truly believed that if he pushed himself, ignoring the pain and the weaknesses, he could will the damage away.
Miss Sheffers stopped on the grass path and turned to face him. “My aunt often refuses the aid of a cane. Pride, I believe, keeps her from depending on such a luxury. She leans heavily on my arm, instead.”
“That must be quite a burden. Lady Winifred must weigh at least twenty stone.”
“It’s a burden I gladly bear. My shoulders are strong.” She tilted her head up and peered into his eyes from beneath her straw bonnet. “But you don’t lean on anyone. Why?”
“I don’t need to.”
A slow smile, the closest expression to pity he’d seen on her lively features, stuck him in the belly like an icy sword. The last thing he wanted from her was pity.
“You fool yourself, my lord. Bowing to the use of a cane cannot diminish your manhood. Your injuries, no matter how fleeting, are a reality—”
“You know nothing. You cannot begin to imagine what has become of my life,” he said bitterly.
“—Now my aunt, she will never recover,” she said at the very same moment. “She will only weaken.”
Radford couldn’t miss the raw sorrow he heard in her voice.
“I am sorry,” he said. “For your aunt, I mean. She is all you have?”
“I have my parents and my uncle, the Earl of Redfield.” The words rang hollow.
“Ah.” There was much more to that story. What, he could only guess. “The earl is Lady Winifred’s brother, I believe? He is also the one who introduced you to your beloved, Mr. Tumblestone?”
May blinked furiously. He’d obviously touched a sour topic. “There are more important things than love when considering marriage, my lord.”
“Of course. So you found yourself a rich man, eh?” he teased. “Perhaps he owns half of England?”
“I do not believe Mr. Tumblestone’s state of finance is any of your concern.” She forged ahead at a brisk pace.
Radford had a devil of a time catching up to her as she rounded the hill heading down toward Sydney Gardens. His limp grew more pronounced, and his foot felt like it was being torn apart from the inside.
“Please—” sweat broke out on his brow “—slow down.”
May took one glance in his direction and drew to a quick halt. “You are in pain?”
“No, damn it! For Heaven’s sake, what kind of proper lady marches at a pace rivaling a bloody foot soldier’s?”
“You are in pain.” She took his arm. There was considerable strength hidden in her small limbs. “You will lean on me . . . or would you rather rest?”
A felled tree lay near the path. Although Radford was more than set on pushing forward and gritting through the pain, May’s firm grip guided him toward the rotting log.
“It’s such a beautiful day,” she said as she arranged her skirts and lowered herself onto the dirty log without a thought to the stains she must be causing. “I think I would prefer nothing more than to take a moment to enjoy the sunshine before returning to the cottage.”
Her smile was as bright as the sun. Radford could not help but stare and wonder. She lied so prettily to save his pride. She sat, not bothering with him, not pressuring him to join her and take the weight off his leg. She gazed off into the distance, looking over the city glittering in the morning’s glory and completely ignored him, in fact.
Since it would have been ungallant to disregard her efforts to protect his pride, Radford eased down beside her on the log and stretched his stiff leg out in front of him. The comfortable silence spanned several minutes.
He was the one to finally break the gentle spell.
“I intend to tell my man-of-affairs, Bannor, to rescind the writ of eviction,” he said. “Your uncle has paid the back rent, you must know.”
Miss Sheffers kept her head turned away and her thoughts to herself.
“I understand you are short of funds. But since I would rather like to call you my friend, I would be loathed to force you from your home. Please know you may continue to live at Sydney Place for as long as you require.”
“It would be improper to accept, my lord. I will not live as a kept woman.” Her biting tone surprised him. How could she not see he was doing her a kindness?
“Good Lord, you misunderstand me! I am not asking you to be a kept woman.” He could delay no longer. They would have to speak further of the kiss. “What happened last night was an apparition—a startling whim never to be repeated . . . ” Which would be a great sacrifice indeed.
His body ached for another taste of her sweet nectar.
Miss Sheffers shook her head. “Whether you expect payment for your kindness or not, it does not matter. All that matters is what society would believe. I will not risk my reputation in that way. You do not need to concern yourself with my affairs, I will manage.”
“Manage by marrying a man who is old enough to be your grandfather?” He recognized immediately that it was wrong for him to press the issue. Mr. Tu
mblestone’s attentions clearly troubled her. Even though she did nothing publicly to spurn him, he’d seen only too clearly the disheartened way her brows furrowed whenever she smiled upon the old gentleman.
“Forgive me, Miss Sheffers, that remark was unworthy of you,” he said quickly. “I truly would like you to consider me a friend. I will not pry further into your affairs.”
Her bonnet bounced as she made some vague gesture.
“I do wish to be friends,” he said. There was nothing in the world, besides his health, that he wished for more. Being with her, tripping over his words and acting the worst sort of clumsy gentleman, was the most fun he’d experienced since he returned from the Peninsula more dead than alive.
He actually looked forward to waking up in the morning for the first time in months.
“Take off your boot,” she said suddenly, her tone as crisp as a general’s. Her sudden change in manner and the fact that his throbbing foot felt like it was ready to break the boot’s stitches had Radford scrambling to comply.
The tiny Miss Sheffers knelt down on the ground and cradled his injured foot in her lap. “It is swollen,” she murmured after gently massaging the pulling muscles. Her deft touch relieved the worst of the pain and sent heat spiraling throughout his body. Ah, move those magic fingers of hers any higher up his thigh, and he doubted he’d be able to be responsible for his actions.
She turned her head to gaze up at him then. Was it her soothing touch or the sharp intelligence glowing in her violet gaze that eased the biting pain the most? A question formed on her lips like a delicate “o”.
Good Lord, he had to get control over his unruly body before he frightened the poor gel by trying to kiss her again. Radford tried out an indulgent smile.
“Yes, Miss Sheffers?”
“You walked here all the way from Sion Hill? All the way across the city and up this hill?” she asked. Before he could answer, her words marched on. “You are a foolish man, my lord. A foolish, foolish man.”
“Am I?” No one, other than Wynter, had ever dared call him a fool. And she didn’t just say it once, but three times. Three times she called him a fool. The charge didn’t sit well in his spleen.
“Only a fool would abuse his body so,” she said.
“Is that so?” How dare she? Perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps Miss Sheffers could not be considered a friend. Oh yes, her mere presence helped him forget his aches. Yet, at the same time she constantly pricked his anger to the point of making him dangerous.
Radford grabbed his boot, jammed it back on his swollen foot, and pushed up to his feet.
“I will escort you home now,” he said.
If he lingered, letting her scold him while she rubbed his foot with those elfin fingers of hers, he would soon feel compelled to shake her or kiss her. And that brand of foolishness just couldn’t be allowed to happen . . . not while he was set on making Lady Lillian his wife.
Chapter 8
Aunt Winnie stood at the cottage door, one hand on her hip and the other propped against the doorjamb. May took one look at Lord Evers. She suddenly felt as naughty as a child caught stealing candy from the kitchens.
“Lady Winifred.” Lord Evers approached Winnie and offered her a quaint bow. “I gladly leave your young companion in your safe care.” He smiled like a cat that had just tipped over the flour jar. With a flick of the wrist he tilted his hat with the skill of a man well practiced at the fine art of seduction. His head bowed low, he gave May a nod filled with promises and wickedness, before taking his leave.
Aunt Winnie’s gaze narrowed as she watched him limp away. May’s dear aunt hadn’t invited the viscount in for refreshments. Hadn’t asked if he needed to rest his weary leg.
Her ire was unquestionably piqued.
“Now Aunt—” May began only to be cut off by a quelling glance.
“Go sit in the parlor, child.”
May obeyed without argument. This late in the morning, the parlor with its black and gold curtains and matching tapestry chairs was swathed by deep shadows. It appeared so dreary and dark compared to the bright morning sky she’d just shared with the viscount.
She should have never allowed herself to get so carried away. She should have never agreed to let the viscount escort her home. But their conversation had been quite lively. He knew of Mary Wollstonecraft’s writings and even agreed with a few of the woman’s edicts. They’d good-heartedly debated philosophies until the little cottage she shared with her aunt came into view. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they had walked up to the cottage in silence. What folly to believe the morning adventure had been a safe one.
With a deep sigh, May chose a chair near the window and waited for Aunt Winnie to begin her lecture.
Oh, she dearly deserved one too. She’d called Lord Evers a fool—what a lark! She was a greater fool, believing the shameless rogue might try to kiss her . . . longing for him to press his lips to hers again.
She needed a chaperone to protect her from herself. Never had such a fool walked the world before her.
“I promise I will never—” Again, her aunt’s quelling glance kept her from finishing her vow to never venture out into the wilderness without a companion.
Aunt Winnie remained on her feet. She huffed several times before speaking, her large torso heaving with the effort.
“Viscount Evers,” she said at last with a haughty tenor that closely resembled her brother’s. “How well are you acquainted with the poor devil?”
Surely Aunt Winnie couldn’t believe she’d sneaked away for a lover’s assignation. Mortification bloomed anew. May’s cheeks heated with an unrestrained vigor. For the first time she was glad for her unfashionable dark coloring. Her olive complexion hid all but the deepest changes in tone.
“He-he is naught but a friend, Aunt. I vow it. I took a stroll up to Beechen Cliff when I happened upon him. He insisted he escort me home.”
Aunt Winnie studied May for several long minutes, seemingly gauging whether to believe her errant niece or not. Luckily, May had always been a horrid liar. As a child she could never talk her way out of mischief without breaking out into a fit of tears and confessing all.
“I swear it, Aunt. The meeting was all in innocence,” May said with a steady tone.
Aunt Winnie finally relented with a long sigh of relief. She settled in her favorite chair near the fire.
“I pray in the future you will act with greater prudence, especially considering your potential connection to the very proper Mr. Tumblestone.” Winnie did not have to raise her voice or speak harsh commands to press her point. The strength of the punishment came from her eyes. The cross look left May quaking in her kid boots. It had always been this way. Aunt Winnie carried herself with a certain grace that brooked no disobedience.
May lowered her head. “I will, Aunt.”
“You do wish to marry Mr. Tumblestone, do you not?”
The question was not one May could easily answer. She raised her head and noticed how the hair peeking out from below Winnie’s frilly cap appeared grayer and how Winnie’s complexion had turned bilious over the past couple of days.
“I want you to be happy,” May answered while fingering the thick threads decorating her chair. “I want you to get the best care and not worry about me.”
A sheen of tears threatened in her aunt’s weary eyes. “Not worry about you? I raised you, May. I love you. I will always worry about you. It is in my blood.”
The declaration made May only more determined to do what was right for Winnie.
“I believe I would enjoy having a family,” May admitted. “And Mr. Tumblestone, though not ideal, seems a stable sort of gentleman. I feel lucky he finds me an attractive choice.”
Winnie harrumphed at that last statement. “And Lord Evers. What are your feelings toward him?”
Knowing it fruitless to lie, May tried to deflect the question. “My feelings for him are of no great import. He is determined to take Lady Lillian to wife.”
Winnie’s brows creased and she seemed to be concentrating deeply for several long moments. “I didn’t suppose him to be that big a lobcock,” she said after a while. “Perhaps he needs to be made aware of his options.”
“It wouldn’t matter, Aunt,” May rushed to say.
If her future truly lay with the elderly Mr. Tumblestone, her heart would not be able to survive even the barest of hope that there could be a man out there in the world who could love and cherish and thrill her all at the same time.
“What I mean to say is that even if he were to find me attractive, his rank is still too high for the likes of me to aspire to. Such a match would surely cause a scandal.”
“Nonsense, May. You would do well to remember—”
Aunt Winnie did not get the chance to tell May what she needed to remember because at that very moment there was a loud knock on the door, followed by a tittering of laughter.
“We will speak on this later,” Winnie promised and shifted in her chair while they waited for Portia, their poor overworked housekeeper, to direct their guests into the parlor.
Lady Iona charged into the room, her apprehensive gaze darting from May to Aunt Winnie. “Why weren’t you present at the Pump Room this morning?” she cried. “You worried me ever so much. Please do tell me nothing is amiss—not after Mamma and Papa’s party last night. It would break their heart to think the festivities caused you any undue harm, Lady Winifred.”
May rose from her chair, rushed across the room, and clasped her hands with Iona’s to reassure her. “Aunt Winnie was just weary after the late party. So was I, I must admit. The excitement of the past several days is wearing heavily on the both of us.”
“I should say,” Lady Lillian said as she swept into the room behind her sister. Her thin, snowy white arm was linked with Lord Nathan Wynter’s. The quiet voice she often used lured May to lean in closer and give Lillian her rapt attention.
The Marriage List Page 7