Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  Still, dragging the Master-piece back out wasn’t what she had in mind. “I just thought…I thought it would be nice to talk.”

  “Bang!” Nicky sailed his ship closer to Rose’s. Beatrix’s small head whipped back and forth, following the battle. “Bang, bang!”

  “Quieter,” Violet cautioned. “Your sister’s sleeping.”

  Rebecca had nodded off in Lily’s arms. Violet gazed at her daughter tenderly. “Of course I’ll come sleep at Trentingham. Someday soon. It will be great fun.” Though she sounded enthusiastic, her brown eyes were filled with concern. “Is there something in particular you’d like to talk about?”

  “Nothing special. Just…life.”

  Rose aimed a tiny Dutch cannon. “I want to talk about Lord Randal.”

  The one thing Lily didn’t want to talk about. Despite her promise, she felt she’d heard her sister gush over the man quite enough. Especially because, regardless of all their plotting, Rose seemed to be making no headway.

  “How many times,” she said, more peevishly than was her nature, “do you suppose he’s asked you to call him Rand?”

  “Oh, about a million,” Rose answered gaily. “But I like to think of him as a lord. My lord.”

  Lily feared Rand would never be Rose’s lord. He’d made it clear, with words and a kiss, which sister he preferred. And while she had no intention of going back on her word by allowing him to get closer, she’d seen nothing to make her believe he’d turn to Rose instead.

  She met Violet’s gaze, sending her a silent message.

  “Has he shown interest?” Violet asked Rose carefully.

  Their sister’s lovely nose went into the air. “He walked with me in the garden today. He’s been very kind.”

  “Bang, bang!” Nicky yelled. “Auntie Rose, you’re not watching. You’re going to sink!”

  “Quieter,” Violet repeated—rather patiently, Lily thought, considering she’d probably heard her sister utter that word a thousand times or more.

  Lily lowered herself to a chair, being careful not to wake the baby. “Rand is kind,” she said, more dreamily than she’d intended.

  Beatrix started hiccuping.

  “That silly cat.” Rose stood, abandoning her ship to the mercy of the English. She narrowed her eyes at Lily. “You made a promise. Are you intending to break it?”

  Violet looked between them curiously. “What promise?”

  “Well…” Lily began.

  “She promised,” Rose finished for her, “to stay away from Lord Randal.” Her gaze whipped back to Lily. “And to help me win him.”

  Lily swallowed hard. She’d been helping her, hadn’t she? Every way she knew how. “Have you ever known me to break a promise?”

  Rose appeared to give that some thought. “No,” she said at last. “You always do the right thing.”

  She said it as though always doing the right thing were a character flaw, which Lily was beginning to think might be true.

  And how absurd was that?

  Fourteen

  LATER THAT afternoon, the notes wafting from the harpsichord did their magic as always, transporting Lily from her family’s cream-and-gold-toned drawing room to a much more peaceful place.

  At the moment Trentingham was far from peaceful. The drive was crammed with carriages waiting to take friends and family home. Uncles and cousins were busy seeing that their things were properly packed and loaded onto the correct vehicles. Children ran through the corridors, their feet pounding on the planked floor as they chased one another in last-minute games.

  Lily knew she should join everyone and say good-bye. And she would, after a few more minutes of playing behind the drawing room’s thick oak doors. The music was too soothing to resist. Her fingers glided over the keys, picking out a tune of her own creation, one that matched her mood.

  Pensive. Confused. Longing—although for what, she wasn’t sure.

  The door opened, and her mother slid gracefully into the chamber. Chrystabel waited for her to finish. “Dear,” she started as the last note faded, “that was lovely, but you really should be—”

  “I know, Mum.” Lily rose, forcing her lips to curve in a smile. “I’ll go make my farewells.”

  “That’s my Lily.” Mum smiled in return. “Aunt Cecily could use some help bringing Lucy and Penelope downstairs.” Lucy and Penelope were Lily’s small cousins, aged two and three. “I’m afraid all our servants are engaged with the luggage.”

  “Of course I’ll help.” With one last wistful look at the harpsichord, Lily quit the room and followed her mother upstairs, looking forward to kissing the two girls good-bye.

  But the nursery was empty. “Oh, well,” Mum said cheerfully. “Aunt Cecily must have managed to wrestle the little rapscallions downstairs by herself. Come along, then.” She turned back to the corridor.

  Feeling like one of King Charles’s tennis balls being batted back and forth, Lily followed. Then nearly bumped into her mother when she stopped before a door—the door to the room that had been assigned to Rand.

  If Lily hadn’t already known that, she would have figured it out on hearing the humming that drifted from inside.

  Mum knocked and called through the oak. “How is it going, Rand?”

  The door opened, and Rand stood there, a shirt dangling from one hand. “It’s going well, thank you,” he said, stepping back into the room to toss the garment into his trunk. He looked, Lily thought, like he was relieved to be heading over to Lakefield to stay.

  Well, she was relieved, too. The less she had to watch Rose fawning over him, the better.

  A frown on her forehead, Chrystabel pointedly scanned the room. “Where is the maid I arranged for? Did she never show up?” She turned to Lily. “Perhaps you can assist Rand with his packing.”

  “I—” Lily started.

  “That’s my Lily.” Without waiting for her agreement, Mum turned to look down the stairwell. “Arabel!” she shouted. “Don’t you dare leave without a bottle of perfume!” And before Lily could say anything, she was gone.

  Lily shifted her gaze to Rand, suppressing a smile when she saw him roll up a pair of breeches. With a sigh, she walked into the room. “Let me help you with that.”

  “I can do it myself, although I cannot fathom why the maid unpacked everything. I brought enough for a two-week stay, but not here.”

  “She wasn’t privy to your plans.” She took the garment and folded it neatly, thinking it felt a bit scandalous to be handling his clothes. “As soon as some of these people leave, more help will be available.”

  Lady and Jasper watched from the sill, holding a noisy conversation. “What could a squirrel and a bird possibly be discussing?” Rand asked rather peevishly, then didn’t wait for her to answer. “I told Ford I’d be back in an hour. He wants to work some more on the translation.”

  “Ford will have to understand.” She walked over and bent to set the breeches in his trunk. “He can wait.”

  When Rand didn’t respond, she straightened to find him near her. In fact, he was looming over her, near enough that her skin prickled in reaction.

  “I cannot,” he said, his voice lower and husky.

  “What?” She blinked.

  “I cannot wait. To kiss you.”

  A sudden awareness began pulsing through her veins. “My lord—”

  “Rand.”

  “Rand,” she whispered. He was so close she could smell him, soap and the faint remnants of all those warring perfumes, all layered over his own unique scent. The scent that was Rand. And he wanted to kiss her. Her lips tingled with the memory of last night’s kiss, so innocent and yet so affecting. She wanted that again…that and more.

  Rose. She’d promised Rose. She couldn’t do this.

  She backed up toward the corridor, her gaze darting around the chamber. “The door is open.”

  He followed her—and reached around her to shut it. “Now it’s not.”

  She backed away more, until she was smack up aga
inst it.

  “Lily.” He followed her again and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I very much wish to kiss you.”

  Even through the fitted jacket of her riding habit, his fingers felt warm, their imprints sending a rush of sensation through her. Her mouth dried, and she licked her lips. “I very much wish…”

  “What?”

  She could hardly breathe. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.” His eyes glowed silver, a mixture of confidence and desire. “You want to kiss me, too.”

  “Maybe. But…I cannot.”

  “Oh,” he said, “I think you can.”

  And then he proved it.

  His mouth on hers was gentle, like it had been the night before. Still, that light touch was enough to make her dizzy. Finding it impossible to think clearly, she reached to wind her arms around his neck. His hands slipped behind her, settling on the small of her back to draw her against him.

  He felt warm, solid. She moved even closer and fit her curves to his body. A low groan rose from his throat, and his lips slanted more urgently, coaxing hers to open.

  Lily knew about this kind of kiss—she was, after all, the youngest of three sisters. She’d anticipated the day she might try it, with both excitement and some trepidation. It had sounded…well, rather messy and not entirely pleasant, no matter that she’d been assured otherwise.

  So it was with some apprehension that she responded to the pressure of his mouth, opening her lips the barest measure. His tongue traced a slow line between, and she shivered and opened wider, giving him what he wanted.

  And goodness, she wanted it, too. His tongue invaded further, teasing hers with a heavenly skill that made her weak in the knees. Her eyes drifted closed. Her arms tightened around him, and she breathed in his heady scent, tasting him in return.

  Quite suddenly her world seemed filled with him. He tasted glorious. And the mysteries of the bedchamber no longer seemed frightening—not when her entire body thrummed from only a kiss.

  At last he gently eased away and rested his lips on her forehead. “I have to leave,” he said, the words gruff against her skin.

  Lady tweeted from the window, and Jasper answered with a chirp. Lily hadn’t heard them while Rand had been kissing her. She hadn’t heard or felt or seen anything—except for him.

  She was trembling all over. And Rand was right.

  “Yes,” she said. “You should leave.”

  Fifteen

  IT WAS A WEEK later, when Lily was exercising her horse, Snowflake, that she spotted Rand running along the bank of the Thames.

  He’d avoided her all that time. Or she’d avoided him. Or both—she wasn’t sure. But now, riding toward him, her heart began to race…and it wasn’t from the exertion of the gallop.

  She slowed deliberately, both Snowflake’s gait and her own breathing. It didn’t matter that the mere sight of this man set the pit of her stomach to tingling. She wouldn’t let him kiss her again.

  She’d promised Rose. Never mind that Rose had contrived to visit Violet every day this week and come back reporting she’d seen neither hide nor hair of Rand. A promise was a promise.

  Lily was seeing a considerable amount of Rand’s hide now. Above plain buff breeches, his loose white shirt was unlaced and open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Tied back into a queue, his glorious hair streamed on the wind behind him, shimmering in the sun. His unfashionably low-heeled boots pounded along the grassy bank in a rhythm measured and unceasing.

  He ran, she thought, like a wildcat, lithe and sleek.

  She knew the moment he saw her. There was a telltale stumble in that perfectly smooth motion. And a matching hitch in her heartbeat.

  He stopped and leaned over, hands to bent knees, panting hard as he waited for her to ride closer. When she did, he straightened and looked up at her, using a hand to shade his eyes.

  His face was flushed; his shirt clung damply to his skin. That piercing gray gaze swept her from her toes on up. When it met her eyes, searching, it seemed almost as though he were seeing her for the first time.

  Holding her reins in one hand, she self-consciously smoothed her butter yellow habit with the other.

  “Good day, Lily.”

  She swallowed tightly. “Good day.”

  “I’m finished running,” he said, stating the obvious. But for some reason, she had a feeling he spoke of more than exercise. Moving beside her white horse, he reached to help her down. “Will you walk with me? I like to do that after I run.”

  There was no harm, she supposed, in walking. But when his hands spanned her waist to ease her to the ground, she felt a disturbing jolt of sensation. And he let his fingers rest there longer than he needed to before he stepped back.

  She deliberately looked away, taking Snowflake’s reins and looping them over the branch of a scrubby tree.

  A sparrow fluttered from the sky and alighted in the sparse foliage. Rand looked up, then raised a questioning brow. “Lady?”

  “Yes. She thinks she’s protecting me.”

  “She thinks I cannot defend you without her help?” His laugh sounded strained. “She’s insulting my masculinity.”

  To the contrary, Lily suspected Lady was acknowledging his masculinity—protecting her from Rand rather than in spite of him. But she certainly wasn’t going to encourage him by telling him that.

  They turned and walked along the riverfront, settling easily into a comfortable tempo. Keeping far enough away from him that he couldn’t take her hand, Lily focused on the water. Swans glided majestically, and faint laughter drifted from one of the boats filled with people enjoying the summer sun.

  “Do you run often?” she asked, then realized she knew the answer.

  Here was the reason he looked so browned and healthy, so lean and sleekly muscled. Apparently not all academics spent their days locked away in research.

  “Often enough,” he said. “It helps me think.”

  Surprised, she turned her head to meet his gaze. “How can you think while you run that hard?”

  “Not during.” He smiled, his teeth blindingly white in his heated face. “After. Like now. When my body is pleasantly worn-out and I can feel the breeze cooling my skin.”

  It had always done that for Rand, the running. It wasn’t only the speed. It was the strain of pumping muscles, the sound of pounding feet, the delicious gulps of air rushing in and out of his lungs. The rhythm. It all combined to clear his head—to fill his head—leaving no space for worry or concerns. When he was running, he was only running.

  And when he stopped, he could always think more clearly. Life seemed simpler. Problems seemed surmountable. For him, it had worked that way as long as he could remember.

  But this time, when he’d stopped, Lily had been there. And he’d thought, quite clearly, that he must be falling in love.

  The realization had come out of nowhere, as though he’d stumbled on a key and unlocked a cryptic code. His heart had hammered against his ribs. Was still hammering against his ribs.

  He wasn’t sure he believed in love, wasn’t sure he was ready for it. Without his family’s help—without anyone’s help—he’d made a life for himself. A good life, a comfortable life, a life in which he didn’t have to answer to anyone.

  A lonely life, a little voice whispered.

  “How long have you lived in Oxford?” Lily asked, then watched Rand shake his head as though to clear it.

  “Half my life—since I was fourteen. I couldn’t wait to get out of my father’s house. The man doesn’t approve of what I’ve become, but it suits me better than living under his thumb and following his orders.”

  “Did he expect you to assist him with his estates?” She knew that Rowan would do that someday, but Rand seemed so independent. Besides, it was different for Rowan. Someday Rowan would be Lord Trentingham, but Rand would never be more than Lord Hawkridge’s younger brother. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to do that, or live the life of an idle gentle
man. Between your lecturing and your research, you have so much to contribute.”

  “It’s a shame my father doesn’t see it that way. I believe my leaving for Oxford was the only thing we ever agreed on. He was as happy to see the back of me as I was to turn it upon him.”

  He grinned as though that was supposed to be amusing, and she smiled in return. But she sensed a sadness lurking beneath his good humor. There was so much more to Rand than his father was willing to see. So many admirable qualities. And underneath them all, that loneliness she’d glimpsed. That lack of a family who believed in him.

  No matter what, she’d always have her family and their support. She’d never realized how lucky she was. Rand had made his place in the world, but he’d done it alone.

  No one should have to be alone.

  Her heart aching for him, she glanced toward him as they walked and found his gaze fixed to where she was absently rubbing the back of her hand. “How did it happen?” he asked.

  Embarrassed, she waved the scarred hand dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering. It happened long ago.”

  “But how?”

  Though he didn’t seem at all repulsed, she stared down at the thin white lines. The proof of her imperfection. “A cat. Not Beatrix. And it wasn’t his fault—I was teasing him. I learned to respect animals after that. All animals.”

  “I cannot imagine you disrespecting anything.”

  Something in his voice made a nervous laugh bubble out of her. “I try,” she said, “but I’m far from perfect.”

  “You’re close enough to perfect for me,” he said very seriously. He stopped walking and took her by the shoulders to stop her, too, gently turning her to face him. “May I kiss you again, Lily?”

  Her pulse skittered. His shirt had dried, and it billowed in the soft breeze. She wanted to lay her palms against the front of it and run them up to feel the warm, tanned skin revealed in the open placket.

  But she couldn’t. And she couldn’t let him kiss her again, either. It didn’t matter that her lips seemed to be tingling with remembered anticipation.