Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  Half charmed, half exasperated, she shivered. “Well, Lily isn’t immune to him, either—of that I’m sure. But despite all my efforts to get them alone together, the poor boy isn’t making much progress. After I noticed Rand runs every day by the river, I told Lily that Snowflake needed some exercise, but—”

  “Poor boy must not have my talents,” her husband interrupted, cupping a breast. Making skilled use of his thumb, he pulled back to grin at her indrawn breath. “Are you sure he’s good enough for Lily?”

  “You’re incorrigible,” she said. But she didn’t remove his hand, instead arching her back in blatant invitation. “I told you, didn’t I, that Violet said Lily promised Rose she’d stay away from Rand? Besides feeling bound to that ridiculous vow, Lily is genuinely concerned for Rose. I can see it in her eyes, in her attitude. She’s afraid to put her own happiness before her sister’s.”

  “Give it some time, love. She’ll come to her senses.” He lowered his mouth to where his fingers had been.

  “But Rand’s house will be ready soon,” she choked out on a gasp. “He’ll be leaving.”

  “Give it some time,” he repeated against her tingling flesh. “If he wants her, he’ll be back. You didn’t win me in a day.”

  Oh yes, she had, she thought with a secret smile as she helped him wiggle her out of her night rail. It just proved her finesse with men that he hadn’t noticed.

  Nineteen

  ONCE IN A great while, a man had to get drunk. And it was always better to do that with a friend.

  Sitting in Ford’s laboratory, Rand stared at a nearly blank piece of paper. He blinked hard to make out the words. “We’ve been here all night and translated only a single sentence,” he muttered, finding himself fascinated, in an odd, detached sort of way, at hearing the slur in his own voice. “We’ll never finish. You’ll never make gold.”

  “What’s a few more years when these words have been waiting for four hundred?” Ford reached across the cluttered table for a decanter of brandy, impressing Rand when he didn’t knock over any of the assorted paraphernalia. He filled Rand’s beaker for the third time.

  Or maybe the fourth. Rand had lost count.

  “So you’re in love, are you?” Ford said.

  “Maybe. Probably not. I cannot be sure.” Rand paused for a sip, trying not to speculate on what chemical concoction the beaker might have held the day before. “I think so.”

  Topping off his own beaker, Ford nodded. “You’re in love.”

  “She won’t have me. It’s that older sister of hers. Rose.” Rand took another sip—or rather a gulp that he’d intended to be a sip. “She keeps pointing out how Rose and I are more suited,” he complained. “Rose sings and can speak Italian. As though I’m looking for those qualities in a lover.” Then another thought occurred to him—one that made the liquor seem to sour in the pit of his stomach. “What if she’s only using Rose as an excuse? What if she won’t have me because I’m only a professor? She lives in a bloody mansion, and I—”

  “Lily’s not like that,” Ford rushed to interrupt. “She cares about her animals. She cares about other people. She doesn’t care where she lives.”

  Rand nodded—slowly, to keep the room from blurring—as he tried to believe that. He almost succeeded. “Then why does she keep bringing up Rose?”

  “Guilt,” Ford said succinctly.

  “Guilt?”

  “Look, we all know Rose wants you—”

  “Every woman wants me,” Rand said with a wide, drunken grin. He was intelligent, he was financially stable, he was charming, he was tall and—from what women had told him—apparently easy on the eyes…and as much as he hated to admit it, he had the title Lord in front of his name.

  No female had ever turned down Rand Nesbitt.

  Then his expression fell. “Except Lily.”

  “Guilt.” Taking his time about it, Ford drained his beaker. “She doesn’t want to steal you from Rose.”

  “Rose doesn’t have me. Therefore Lily cannot steal me from Rose.” Rand felt inordinately proud of that observation. “Those two statements make rational sense, don’t they? And I’m a professor of linguistics, not logic.”

  “You’re brilliant,” Ford said dryly. “But you’re forgetting something.”

  “What’s that?” Rand asked, marveling at the way the words sounded once they’d left his mouth. Whazzat. Had he said whazzat?

  “The way women’s minds work. Or don’t, as the case may be. Would you care for some more brandy?”

  Rand held out his beaker. “I think I need it.”

  Ford refilled his own, too, then leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Listen,” he said, rolling the beaker between his palms, “it doesn’t matter whether Rose has you. The salient point here is that Lily knows Rose desires you, and she’s unwilling to hurt her sister by taking what Rose considers hers—never mind that you’re not and never will be—because Lily is putting her sister’s feelings before her own. She won’t allow herself to marry—”

  “Who said anything about marriage?”

  “Hold your tongue and listen. Lily won’t allow herself to marry before Rose, most especially to a man Rose wants for herself.”

  Rand sipped more brandy as he attempted to absorb that convoluted line of reasoning. He found himself truly amazed. “How the hell do you know all that?”

  “Violet told me. And she also said that Lily made Rose some harebrained promise to stay out of her way, which further complicates matters.”

  “Did Violet give you a solution?”

  “She said it was hopeless. But that’s where she’s wrong.” Ford leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he focused on Rand’s. “Listen, my man. It’s time for you to take your own advice.”

  Rand sat up straighter and then waited until the world stopped spinning around him. “Advice? About love? I’m not even sure I believe in it. I’ve bloody well never given advice—”

  “When Violet didn’t want me, remember? You helped me devise a plan. And it worked.”

  “I did?” He blinked, trying to recall. “I must have been gloriously drunk.”

  “You were,” Ford assured him. “Now, listen. Seduction was the key. You must make Lily desire you so very much that she doesn’t give a damn about her sister. Her lust for you can overcome her loyalty to Rose. If you give it your best, it will work, my friend. Take it from a man with experience.”

  Rand rubbed the ends of his hair, warming to the idea. It sounded like an excellent plan. And certainly an enjoyable one. He would put it into effect starting tomorrow.

  But for now, he felt like he was going to be sick.

  Twenty

  THE BURN OF overworked muscles. The sound of his own labored breath. The rhythm of his feet on the turf. All worked to clear Rand’s mind…but disturbing thoughts insisted on creeping in anyway.

  He’d stayed indoors yesterday, fuzzy-brained and out of sorts, the pounding in his head quite enough without the jarring beat of a run. He hadn’t felt up to putting the seduction plan into action, either. It had been years since he’d indulged in drink like that—for good reason. This recent bout would serve to ensure he drank moderately for another decade at least.

  Still, he’d managed to make progress on the translation—enough, in fact, that he and Ford had come to the sad conclusion that Secrets of the Emerald Tablet held no secrets to making gold. Over the past few weeks, Ford had tested every formula Rand could find, with results ranging from hopeful-but-disappointing to all-out laughable.

  Now there were no more formulas. There was no point in laboring to decipher what little was left of the text.

  “I’m sorry,” he’d told Ford when they’d closed the book last night.

  “I always knew this was a possibility. Hell, the mere idea of making gold was too good to be true. I’m sorry you wasted so much time on it.”

  Rand had shrugged, even that small movement hurting his aching head. “You know I’m alw
ays up for a good puzzle, and I enjoyed this one thoroughly. Besides, it gave me a sound excuse to escape all the construction. Kit should be finished by now.”

  Now there was no reason for Rand not to go home to Oxford.

  Except Lily.

  Today, sunlight sparkled off the Thames, and the fresh air felt good in his lungs. Pounding along the banks, his feet seemed to be saying, se-duc-tion, se-duc-tion, se-duc-tion.

  He laughed at himself; what a pathetic case he’d become. His next breath was a huge one, drawn in through both nose and mouth, meant to cleanse his body and head. But with it came a faint scent that made alarm slither down his spine.

  Fire.

  He stopped and turned, scanning the horizon. There it was. Slightly inland and to the west, dark smoke puffing up to smudge today’s clear blue sky.

  Trentingham was over in that direction, he realized with a jolt of panic.

  A moment later he was running faster than ever in his life.

  YESTERDAY LILY had awakened with the sniffles and a scratchy throat, so she’d stayed home while Chrystabel and Rose went out calling. Today, she’d awakened coughing and sneezing and could barely drag herself downstairs to tend to her menagerie. After completing her chores and nearly nodding into her breakfast, she’d crawled back into her night rail and collapsed into bed for a much needed nap, half expecting not to open her eyes again before dark.

  But now she lay teetering on the brink of wakefulness, vaguely wondering what had roused her from sleep. She was tired, so tired her whole body ached, and she could tell from the color behind her closed lids that it was still midday. She rolled over, intending to drift off again, to seek more healing slumber—

  Shouts. The stench of burning wood. Her eyes popped open, and she leapt from the bed and rushed to the window, her knees trembling.

  Smoke billowed into the sky—light gray, dark gray, menacingly black—and below that, red and orange flames licked upward, rising from what looked like the soon-to-be-roofless barn.

  Her animals were in there. Her heart racing, she grabbed a wrapper and struggled into it even as she ran for the door.

  Twenty-One

  “YOU CANNOT GO back in there, my lord! It’s about to collapse! They’re only animals! Not worth your life!”

  Rand ignored the frantic stable hand’s warning, waving him toward the long bucket brigade bringing water up from the river. Coughing, he set down the badger and quickly scanned the small collection of dazed creatures.

  The hedgehog, the fawn, a rabbit, a weasel…Lily had said she was planning to release the rat, and he prayed that she had, because he hadn’t a chance of finding anything that small in the blinding smoke. But he’d seen a shadow in the grayness…the fox cub, he suddenly realized. The fox cub with the broken leg.

  This one cannot run, he heard Lily say in his head. This one couldn’t survive without him.

  He’d originally raced into the blazing barn because he’d needed to make sure Lily wasn’t in there. But once inside, he’d remembered her face, her gentle hands as she cared for her strays. He couldn’t leave them to die. Not the ones he’d already saved, and not the fox cub, either.

  To more cries of “No!” and “Stay back!” he charged once more into the conflagration. What air remained was hotter than his first two trips, and drier, searing his lungs. Flames thundered, their orange, white, and blue tendrils licking up the wooden walls. Billowing black smoke threatened to blind him.

  He stumbled toward Lily’s makeshift pens, coughs wracking his body as he peered through the haze, his eyes blurred with burning tears. Frantically he searched the enclosures, finding nothing. The blaze roared all around him, the sound filling his head, battering his senses.

  Heat lashed him in scorching waves. He couldn’t see; he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t stay in here a minute longer.

  This one cannot run…

  He pictured Lily saying the words, kneeling beside a pen, right there. Sucking in acrid air, he reached down blindly, his fingers encountering soft, trembling fur.

  And then he was on his way out, the cub a gasping, hot bundle in his arms, both of them searching for cool, healing air. Just as he cleared the door, a mighty crash sounded behind him, and for one terrifying moment he seemed surrounded by raining sparks.

  Then there was light, and he could breathe, and someone was pulling the cub from his arms. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” someone cried, whacking him on the back. It made him cough more, and he tried to twist away, to run away, but he only stumbled. His eyes were still streaming and he couldn’t see, but whoever it was followed him.

  “You’re on fire!” she screamed, and it was Lily’s voice, and he stood still and let her beat upon his back until at last she stopped.

  “Oh God,” she said again and took him by the hand to pull him farther from the flames. They both collapsed to the ground. Rand rubbed his eyes, feeling grit, his head swimming in a haze of smoke and unreality.

  He blinked until his vision cleared. He and Lily gazed at each other, ash and soot drifting around them and settling slowly to earth like a dark, eerie snowfall.

  “You saved my animals,” she whispered, quiet tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “You saved me,” Rand croaked through his raw throat. Still coughing, he reached a hand behind to touch his back, but it didn’t hurt enough to be burned.

  “It was your hair.” Lily coughed, too. “Your hair was on fire.”

  He reached higher then, to the ribbon that bound the queue he wore when he ran, and it was still there—but the hair below it felt wiry and crumbled in his fingers.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, coughing some more.

  He shrugged, still feeling dazed. “It hardly matters. It will grow back.” They both coughed together. “Did the smoke get to you, too? Or are these sympathy coughs?” he said with a weak smile, then frowned, peering closer, finally noticing how she looked. “You’re wearing a nightdress. You’re ill, aren’t you? Rose is at Lakefield now, as usual, but she failed to mention you’re ill. You’ll catch your death—you shouldn’t be out here.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. She took the dressing gown clenched in her fingers—the one she’d used to beat out the flames—and draped it over herself. Once white, it was streaked gray and black from his hair. “You shouldn’t be here, either,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was running and saw the smoke.” His head cleared, and suddenly he realized the fire was still raging. “Go inside, Lily. Lie down. Your animals are safe.” Even now, a couple of women were busy moving them to the stables. “I need to help here.”

  He pushed to his feet and came face-to-face with Lily’s mother.

  She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You should go inside, too. You’ve done enough.”

  “But the barn—”

  “It’s hopeless, and the rest is under control.”

  Rand turned to see. Although the bucket brigade was still operating full force under the direction of her husband, the men weren’t fighting the fire, instead drenching the surrounding area to prevent its spread. The barn itself—or what was left of it—was burning merrily despite their earlier efforts.

  Lady Trentingham forced a wan smile. “It was old and needed replacing. So long as no one’s hurt, it’s no great loss. Come inside. I’ll fetch some water so you can rinse off the soot.” Without waiting for his agreement, she hurried toward the house.

  His hands were coated in black, and he wanted to wash his face. Imagining he looked like hell, he reached to help Lily rise. The sunshine was dimmed by the veil of smoke overhead, but not so much that he couldn’t see the outline of her body through her thin white nightdress. He thought it wise not to mention that, however. She sneezed twice during their slow progress to the house and looked even worse than he felt.

  Well, her poor red eyes and nose did, anyway. The rest of her looked magnificent.

  By the time they stepped indoors, Lady Trentingham had a basin and towels set up in the dr
awing room. She ushered them both inside, handing Rand a clean white shirt and Lily a fresh dressing gown and a pair of shears. “I must see that ale is brought to the men,” she said and rushed off.

  Lily looked shocked to be left alone with him, but Rand was too tired to care. She hurried into the dressing gown and belted it tightly at her waist. He pulled the ribbon out of his hair, then looked down at his grayish shirt, noticing all the tiny black holes where sparks had singed it. With a shrug, he began to strip it off.

  Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t avert her eyes.

  Seduction, he remembered.

  Hoping she was enjoying the view, he pulled the shirt over his head and turned to the water.

  Twenty-Two

  LILY’S GAZE WAS glued to Rand’s back, watching the muscles ripple as he washed all the black soot off his hands and arms, then his face and neck. She’d never seen a man’s bare back, unless she counted Rowan’s, but he was still just a boy. And Rowan’s back didn’t look like Rand’s, either; it looked rather like her own or Rose’s. Rand’s tapered from wide shoulders down to narrow hips, and every muscle was defined beneath the taut skin.

  Feeling her fever rising, she dropped onto a chair.

  Drying his face with a towel, he turned. “Why did she give you scissors?”

  “Hmm?” Swallowing hard, she tore her gaze from his chest and looked down to where her fingers, white-knuckled, gripped the shears. “I suppose she thought you’d want to cut off the burned part of your hair.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.” His voice sounded huskier than normal—from the smoke, she imagined. But whatever the reason, the deep words seemed to vibrate right through her. He tossed away the towel and grabbed her father’s shirt. “Will you cut it for me?”

  “Me? Cut your hair?” Her breath was coming short. He dropped the shirt over his head and tugged it into place. Though it was a bit small, it did cover him sufficiently.