“It is to assure you are properly looked after, I’m afraid your aunt would insist.”
“As would your uncle.”
“And how right he would be,” Sir Randall confirmed with every confidence.
One of the coach’s wheels hit a rut in the road. Lord William sprang awake. “I do beg your pardon,” he murmured, a hint of sleep remained in his voice, giving it a rasp. “Must have dropped off.” He pushed his hat back onto his forehead and drew a hand over his eyes. “Have I missed anything?”
Atop the rise in the distance stood Carswell Castle. “There it is,” Lord William announced several hours later. The coach headed up the long drive.
“I can see you’re disappointed in the old place. It has a moat, battlements, and towering turrets looming from above,” Lord William enlightened her. “Everything one could want in a castle. My brother knows all the who-built-what-when. He can tell you names and dates if you are really interested. I’m not. It’s a crumbly old thing. Ghastly, really.”
Stepping into the main house, William announced, “Here we are.”
“Shall I have tea served?” Jenkins asked, taking the travelers’ outerwear.
“Tea? Deuced hot and dusty ride we’ve been on.” William offered with distaste, appearing to forget his guests. “Oh, yes, by all means, tea … in the parlor.”
Larissa and Randall followed William down the hall until he came to a stop, reluctant to step into the parlor where refreshments were to be served. William eyed the doorway across the hall. Behind closed door lay a gentleman’s domain. A safe haven, a fine collection of books, and most importantly, a well-stocked supply of liquor.
“Would you care to take a turn about the garden before we sit to take tea?” Randall asked Larissa. “I know I could do with stretching my legs a bit.”
“Sounds like a splendid idea,” she replied, accepting Randall’s outstretched arm.
“Care to join us?” he asked, glancing up at William, who grew nervous with anticipation.
“No, no, you go right on ahead.” His answer was quick. “You must see the rose arbor. It’s toward the back, on the far left side of the garden. New since you’ve been here last,” William directed at Randall. “No need to hurry, though. Do take your time,” he said while waving them out the back door.
Randall could not hide his amusement at his friend’s eagerness to drive them away so he could smuggle into the library for a spot of drink. He knew William didn’t consider tea worth the water it was made with.
When he and Larissa stepped into the garden, she pulled her hand from Randall’s arm, and kept a steady pace beside him. “I think I could learn to like this,” she said, taking in the expansive surroundings.
“It is very nice,” Randall replied. Not only did he admire the well-maintained gardens, but it was Larissa he viewed as he spoke.
“There’s the rose garden.” She pointed and jogged ahead, disappearing through the volume of flowering bushes. They grew in profusion along the latticed sides of the wide arbor.
Randall leaned against a pole and watched her stroll along the lined rosebushes on the far side of the enclosed garden. She admired the flowers on each bush and sampled the fragrance of only a few as she passed. Completing her tour, she stopped under the arch, refusing to near him.
He felt a slow, lazy smile steal across his lips. “Shall I tell you the bloom on your cheek exactly matches the blush of that rose?”
Her eyes shifted to gaze at the pink of the flower, then lowered, glancing to the ground. “I’ve done it now,” he chided himself. “I’ve put you to the blush, throwing the similarity off. You’re nearly crimson.”
He reached out and touched her, tilting her chin up. His fingers savored the smoothness of her skin. Randall felt intoxicated with the warm scent of roses surrounding him.
Larissa drew a long, slow breath, and whispered, “You promised.” No doubt she read his thought.
He removed his hand. “So I did.” was his woeful reply. “In the future, I must remember not to make such pronouncements in haste. I’ve already come to regret this one.”
After their stroll, Larissa and Sir Randall sat down to tea. Lord William did join them, but did not drink.
“I’ve instructed Jenkins to place you on the first floor of the west wing with me,” Lord William explained. “The old place is rather large. If we don’t share the same floor we might not see each other for days.”
Larissa finished her tea and set aside her cup. After tea, she and Sir Randall were shown to their rooms.
Because of the twelve-foot-high ceilings, huge tapestries were draped throughout the house. Larissa was shown to her room first. Once inside, she threw the bolt on the door and eased onto the bed.
Peace, quiet, and solitude. How pleasant this all was, how easily she could accept these surroundings.
“Very nice,” Sir Randall drawled, appearing by the side of the bed unannounced and totally unexpected. “And I see we have the place all to ourselves.”
“How did you get in here?” she demanded, pulling herself into a sitting position.
“Through the connecting door,” he replied, smiling as if he were the proverbial cat in the cream pot.
Chapter Seventeen
“Connecting door? What connecting door?” Larissa demanded.
“The connecting door between our rooms.” He made a gesture over his shoulder to indicate the direction.
Larissa climbed off the bed and followed him at a respectable distance to the opened dressing room doors. “Where is it?”
“Right here,” he announced, gesturing to the gaping portal.
She inched closer, but did not move into his room. “That’s your room in there?” Larissa gazed into the masculine domain.
“Yes.” Randall stepped past her, into his room. “Would you care to inspect the habitat of the mysterious male of the species?”
“N-no,” she stuttered. Her gaze crept beyond him and conducted a silent inspection. Offering to share a room with him was the worst thing she had ever done. She should have slept in the barn.
Larissa slammed the door closed in his face and bolted it. That would put an end to his unwanted visitations. And hopefully keep her curiosity on her side of the door.
At the breakfast table the next morning, Larissa did her best to ignore Sir Randall. She sipped at her hot chocolate and nibbled at her buttered toast with just the smallest dab of preserves. Randall enjoyed a cup of coffee with his plateful of eggs, ham, and sausage.
William, who had forgone his meal, had a cup of coffee at his elbow. “Look here, Randall, you’ve made the paper.” William folded the Morning Post and held it upright for closer inspection, “ ‘Since the recent discovery of the marriage of Sir R— and Lady T—, it seems they are not the only members of their family to enter into blissful union. The Earl of R— and Lady C— have followed their younger relatives to the altar.’ Now what do you think of that?”
“Not much really. You know gossip.” Randall shrugged and paid more attention to Larissa, who ignored the both of them and excused herself, pushing away from the table.
Randall wanted to rid himself of further discussion about his uncle, Larissa’s aunt, and his own marriage altogether. He needed to patch the rift he had created the day before. He dabbed his mouth with the linen napkin, set it aside and followed Larissa out the door.
It didn’t take him long to find her. She had settled in the sunny parlor working on some type of sewing. Randall strolled in and circled around to see the face of her hoop.
“What are you working on there?” he asked. She glanced up at him. It did not appear he was a welcome sight.
“A panel I started when I first arrived in London. I have not had a chance to work on it since. I must admit I value my quiet. I find this a refreshing change from the last few months.”
“Do you?” He studied her face for a trace of encouragement. He didn’t know if she would allow him to stay. “They’re always in need of company of some kind to fi
ll their house,” Randall said, venturing on a new topic. “I’ve been coming here for years. Wills manages to have me stay at least three or four weeks at a time. The place is so monstrously large, I haven’t been in half the rooms myself.” Randall settled into an overstuffed chair.
“I have noticed many doors are closed,” she said, flowing into an easy conversation.
“Who knows what torture chambers lie behind those doors?” he teased her.
Her eyes widened in shock and she gave a little gasp. “Really?” She displayed an ever so charming look of complete gullibility.
Randall leaned forward. “Don’t be a goose. The torture chambers are in the dungeon below ground.”
Larissa narrowed her eyes and gave Sir Randall a guarded look. He was just roasting her.
“Wills and his brother are the only occupants. As you probably have noticed, most of the house is shut up.”
“I had wondered,” she admitted. Her fingers continued to work the needle.
“It’s all right to have a look around if you want.” His tone made it sound almost like a challenge. She glanced at him to discern his meaning.
“Thank you, I think I just might.” Despite the subtle warning, Larissa planned to explore the lower level of the great house.
What she had expected was for the men, Sir Randall and Lord William, to be off doing whatever it was men did in the country, while she could be left to her own devices.
Her own devices would be no more than needlework, reading, and walks in the garden. Perhaps if she grew adventurous she’d wander outside the castle walls for an extended outing. Since she didn’t ride, she couldn’t stray far.
What she hadn’t planned on was Sir Randall’s constant company. It all came about so gradually. That evening he joined her in the drawing room after supper. She closed her book and they passed the hours in comfortable conversation.
The following evening, they took turns reading aloud. He acted out every line. How she had enjoyed that!
The next day, he happened by her in the garden and accompanied her for the remainder of her stroll. How she could enjoy his company, and how he could make her laugh! This routine set the pattern for the several days that followed.
That afternoon at tea, the look he gave her was so … so … intimate. He spoke very little at tea, only an occasional please or thank you, but he was far from silent. It was his eyes. When their gazes met, she could feel the flush of warmth wash into her cheeks.
When she handed him his second cup, his fingers brushed against her hand, sending a shiver up her arm.
Sir Randall smiled. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. He might have done it on purpose. From his previous behavior, she had just cause to be suspicious. Riveted on the fingers that had brushed so casually against hers, she watched him grip the handle of his cup and followed the cup to his mouth.
It was the beginning of her undoing.
That mouth. His mouth. And those lips moved into an enchanting smile. She watched with rapt attention as they pursed to blow upon his tea. When he tipped the cup to drink, Larissa gasped when the cup intervened, depriving her of the sight of his magnificent mouth. How she ached for those lips, to see them, to watch them, to feel them. Larissa knew she had to feel them on hers once again.
It was later that day when Larissa noticed that one of the doors, which had previously been closed, was now open. She approached with caution, pushing the door only wide enough to peer in.
What lay behind the door was concealed in darkness, until the drapes were thrown open by a maid, sending motes of dust flying in every direction.
“Am I allowed in?” Larissa asked, still hovering outside the door.
“Yes, my lady. I’ve been ordered to air out the room for his lordship’s return.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and continued with her work.
Larissa entered the room. A pianoforte stood in the far corner. The fireplace lay on the right. The wall opposite held built-in bookshelves, drawers, and glass display cases.
She perused the many books on the shelves and examined the items in the glass cases. Inside, various small hand instruments, different types of flutes, and a wide variety of stringed instruments were displayed.
Embarrassed to sit at the pianoforte with an audience, Larissa strolled up and down the room to study its contents until the maid finished her dusting.
During this idle time, it occurred to Larissa the point of coming to the country was for her and Sir Randall to keep their distance from one another. And they were doing anything but.
That morning after breakfast, Sir Randall had taken care to introduce the occupants of the stables. She had always been afraid of horses. Her fear stemmed from her unfamiliarity. With Sir Randall acquainting her with every horse safely behind their stable door, Larissa discovered each had a personality. By the end of the tour, she had her own favorites: the bay mare, Hera, and the dappled gray, Achilles.
Sir Randall told her learning to ride was a simple matter and she had begun to believe him. It occurred to her if he could convince her to overcome her fear of horses, what else could he talk her into?
For all intents and purposes, her reputation in London could be considered ruined, but she still had her pride.
What was she to make of his constant company? Why was he spending so much time with her? It didn’t help that she experienced her own confusion when it came to him. She longed for him when he was absent and dreaded his nearness when he was present. Being near him was growing more and more difficult to tolerate. Sometimes the desire to touch him, to have him hold her and kiss her was so overwhelming she wanted to scream.
Larissa sat at the keyboard of the pianoforte and hoped the instrument was in tune. She paged through the sheet music already displayed and found nothing of interest. She decided to play a Mozart piece from memory. Unfocused thoughts of Sir Randall came to mind and a smile spread across her lips.
It was no wonder she had fallen in love with him.
Her hands froze, poised above the keys. The smile on her lips faded. Fallen in love? Had she actually thought those words to herself?
Larissa tried to recall where she had left off and she resumed the piece.
She was in love with him. She knew it, she could feel it in her soul and in the recesses of her heart … in love.
Following the delightful music emanating from the music room, Randall stopped just inside the door and admired the artist. Larissa sat at the keyboard, staring in his direction, but oblivious to his presence.
He didn’t know she could play. Actually, when he thought about it, there wasn’t much he really knew about her at all. During their walks the past few days, they never spoke of personal things.
Larissa looked lovely and serene, unaware she was being watched. It was the ever so slight tilt of her head, the way her eyes moved when she glanced down at her hands.
“That was beautiful,” he said. Larissa looked up and watched Randall walk into the room toward the pianoforte. “I did not know you knew how to play.”
“There are many details you do not know about me.”
“It is not due to lack of interest, I can assure you.”
She flipped through the pages of the sheet music and must have felt his stare for an attractive blush crept across her cheeks.
He settled onto the bench beside her. “I had no idea you were so talented.” He smiled. Randall recognized the sensual quality in his voice. He had promised to behave himself, but she made it so deucedly difficult.
Sitting mere inches away, the impulse to stroke her soft cheek, cup her chin and tilt her face to his almost overtook him. He wanted more than anything to slide her across the polished wood bench toward him, trap her within his arms.
Chapter Eighteen
Randall’s head had cleared of the confusion that plagued him that afternoon. When the dinner gong sounded, he hurried to the drawing room and waited. Waited for her. Pacing in front of the sofa, he alternated steps with the wringing of his hands.
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Imagine, he was nervous. Nervous over a female, no less. If it hadn’t been so true the situation might have been laughable. Settling on to the sofa and crossing his legs, he clamped his hand onto his shin to keep his leg from swinging with impatience.
Larissa arrived with a sound of fabric rustling in the doorway. She was dressed in a simple, palest-of-pink gown, and her hair was piled on top of her head with a tantalizing tendril curling down her lovely, soft neck that he would have dearly loved, at that very moment, to nuzzle.
“Evening.” Randall nearly fell, forgetting to uncross his legs before shooting to his feet.
“Sir Randall,” she returned just above a whisper and smiled at him.
It would not have surprised him if his mouth were gaping open, for he was reduced to a love-struck school boy. What was happening to him?
Randall wanted her to stand there so he could enjoy her loveliness forever, but he knew that was impossible. Afraid to kiss her hand, he paused, inhaling the mild scent of roses he associated with her.
Larissa’s lips parted and she gave a barely audible gasp when his lips brushed against the back of her hand. He lingered for a moment, savoring the soft feel and fragrant scent of her skin.
What should he say? What should he do? Randall was spared any decisions when William came striding into the room, breaking their private exchange.
“Letter from Terrance.” William waved the missive about for all to see. “He’ll be joining us by the end of the week. Says he’s invited one of the ton’s lovely ladies.”
“Does he say which?” Randall asked, not really all that anxious to know. With Larissa’s hand still in his, he rubbed her palm with his thumb, dreading to surrender his hold.
“No, but I imagine she must be someone quite exceptional.”
“No doubt.” Randall shrugged. It really was no concern of his.
“And look here,” William went on. “Remember the do at Norfolk’s? That enormous diamond necklace the duchess had on display, the one that was stolen? The one belonging to Queen Catherine the Great, or some other historical monarch.”
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