Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  Then suddenly she was in his arms, and she wondered how she could have thought any of that. His mouth was on hers, hot and needy, and the whole of her responded. She slipped her hands inside his open surcoat and pressed herself close. Her heart raced; the blood rushed through her veins. And it was the same for him, she was certain.

  Nothing had changed between them.

  By the time he pulled away, her senses were spinning, her knees wobbly and weak. And although he was smiling, he looked as shaky as she felt. His heart was in his compelling gray eyes, there for her to see.

  Perhaps fate would tear them apart, but it was clear as the cloudless sky that it wouldn’t be because Rand’s feelings for her had changed. And although she wanted an explanation for why he’d kissed Margery, she wouldn’t ask, because she didn’t want him to know she’d doubted him.

  Still smiling, he brushed at his damp coat and plucked his wet shirt away from his body.

  The sight of that shirt molded to his body made her swallow hard. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid Rex has soaked me through.” The dog was panting at her feet. She bent to grab the stick and tossed it arcing over the water, watching the mastiff gleefully splash in to fetch it.

  Looking every bit as gleeful, Rand swung her back to face him. “It’s all right. I’ll happily risk more wet to claim another kiss.” Involuntarily she swayed toward him, but this kiss was short and light. “Margery doesn’t want to marry me,” he said with an even wider grin.

  “Are you sure?”

  “She’s in love with another man. A local baron named Bennett Armstrong. My brother’s death was a relief to her, since it freed her from their betrothal.”

  “Then why was she weeping?”

  “The marquess has refused Bennett’s suit. Because he wants her land and income, of course. But now, with your inheritance…”

  “It should work out for all concerned.”

  “Thanks to your generosity, yes.” The dog emerged and shook, soaking them both, and Rand laughed and lifted Lily by the waist, swinging her in a wide circle.

  When he finally set her on her feet, he kissed her again soundly and then gripped both her hands. “Tonight,” he said, his voice heavy with meaning, “after all this is settled, I’ll come to you.”

  And they no longer needed to worry about conceiving a child. As her entire body responded to that thought, her fingers tightened on his.

  Then she noticed Margery walking toward them.

  “You must be Lily,” Margery said. “It warms my heart to see how happy you’ve made Randy.”

  Lily blushed to the roots of her hair. Margery must have been sitting on that bench, watching, the entire time. And if she hadn’t approached now, Lily might well have begun stripping Rand out of his damp clothes.

  Well, not really, but she’d wanted to. What a creature of lust she was becoming!

  Margery looked wistful.

  “I hear you’ve found a love of your own,” Lily told her.

  “Yes, I have.” Margery’s expression softened, but just for a moment. “Randy—I mean, Rand—we must talk. There’s something—”

  “What the hell are you doing with my dog?”

  They all turned to see the marquess storming down the path to the river. Beatrix scampered up a nearby tree to join Lady and Jasper where they sat on a branch, chattering nervously. Lily’s heart pounded.

  “Don’t worry,” Margery whispered. “He might bellow like a bear and insist on his own way, but he’s not a man to do physical violence.”

  “I beg to differ,” Rand said tightly, making Lily wonder anew what his childhood had been like.

  As his father drew near, he looped an arm over her shoulders, a clear message of possession. The tall, formidable marquess stood before them and glared down into Lily’s face. “Well?”

  Although Lily had always been nice, she’d never been shy. “I was only playing with Rex, my lord. He seems to enjoy it.”

  “Rex?”

  She shrugged. “He needed a name. I assure you, I’ve done him no harm.”

  He whistled to the dog, which obediently ran over. “His name is Attila,” he said, grabbing the chain around the animal’s neck. “And like the rest of my mastiffs, he’s a valuable fighter. He’ll sell for a top price once he’s fully trained—that is, if he doesn’t die of a chill first.” His fist was white-knuckled on the links. “My dogs do not play.”

  Lily drew herself up to her full height of five-foot-two. “Perhaps they should. As they don’t seem to get a lot of human attention, some toys would be a welcome addition to their enclosure. Knotted rope, as I told Rand.” Rand’s hand tightened on her shoulder in warning, but she ignored it. She refused to be intimidated by the man she hoped would be her father-in-law. “And you’d do well to uproot the apple tree in there—the fruit is of a size to be a choking hazard.”

  Surprisingly, the man looked thoughtful if still fierce. “These dogs are meant to accompany soldiers at war. They get plenty of human attention when I train them—to kill. But perhaps some toys might not be amiss. Knotted rope could well promote fighting amongst themselves, which would help keep them in shape.”

  It wasn’t exactly what Lily had in mind, but it was something. And he was no longer ignoring her.

  He turned his attention to Margery. “When did you arrive?”

  She exchanged a look with Rand. “Mere moments ago, Uncle William.”

  “Good. We’ll talk over dinner. It’s long past time we settled your betrothal and marriage. In the meantime, come along. You need to make yourself presentable. The meal will be served in one hour.”

  He swung on a heel, taking Margery’s arm to pull her along with him, the dog trotting on his other side. Lily stared at the man’s stiff, retreating back. Margery needed to make herself presentable? Lily had rarely seen a woman so pristine. She glanced down at her own water-and-mud-stained skirts with dismay.

  Rand came around to face her and lifted her chin with a hand. “You did well,” he said admiringly.

  She fluffed at her filthy blue gown. “If he believed Margery needed grooming, he must think I’m a veritable fustilug.”

  He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “He wasn’t looking at you; he was listening. Miraculously. And he only said that to Margery as an excuse to drag her off. He doesn’t want us talking and figuring a way around his plans.”

  “But we will, won’t we?”

  “Absolutely. He’s unaware of your inheritance. And although he’s stood firm on her betrothal, it seems Margery doesn’t fear him. Perhaps he’s softened in his old age.”

  He didn’t look like he actually believed that, but Lily drew hope from his words. “An hour,” she said. “I’ll need that time to bathe and change.”

  He shrugged out of his surcoat and handed it to her. “Take this inside for me, will you? I’m going for a run.”

  “A run? Now?”

  “I’ll just have time.” His fingers worked the knot in his cravat, then stilled as he met her gaze. “It’s just a run, Lily. I like to do that. To—”

  “To think. I know.”

  Then why did she feel shut out?

  Not understanding, he smiled as he handed her the lace-trimmed linen. “Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  All through her bath Lily told herself that Rand’s running didn’t equate to running away—at least not from her. By the time Etta laced her into a fresh peach gown, she almost believed it.

  Forty-Four

  “JEROME, YOU may leave us now. And inform the others they are not to enter the dining room unless I ring.”

  The aging footman bowed and backed away, looking grateful to escape as he shut the door behind him. Rand watched his father pick up his fork and stab a piece of buttered and sugared turnip. The staff was still wary of the man’s moods, he thought with an internal sigh. If employment were easier to come by, he imagined most of the old-timers would have left long ago.

  “Now,” the marquess said, looking po
intedly at Rand and then Margery. “You’re both here. It’s time to seal this betrothal and get on with our lives.”

  “My lord,” Lily started.

  “No.” The man waved his fork. “You’re not part of this family, my lady, and there is nothing you can add to this discussion.”

  She shared a look with Rand, then set to silently picking at her food.

  Seething, Rand lifted his goblet. “You’re wrong,” he said tightly. “Lily does have something to contribute—an inheritance that she’s prepared to put at your disposal in exchange for your blessing on our marriage. Ten thousand pounds, plus her dowry, which brings the total to thirteen. I believe that adds quite a bit to this discussion.”

  Regardless of the fact that it was an enormous sum of money, the marquess barely blinked. “And where do you suppose that leaves Margery? Your foster sister, promised to my heir on her father’s deathbed?”

  “Free to marry Bennett Armstrong.” Rand sipped smugly.

  The man’s face turned red as his fork clattered to his plate. “Bennett Armstrong?” he bellowed. “I’ve forbidden that name to be mentioned in this house!”

  Seeing Lily shudder beside him, Rand reached to squeeze her hand.

  It seemed Margery, however, was used to this sort of tirade. “Uncle William—”

  “Don’t ‘Uncle William’ me, young lady. I’ve raised you like my own daughter, and I would think you’d have accepted by now that no amount of pleading on your part will make me consider marrying you to a murderer.”

  Rand’s jaw dropped open. “Murderer?”

  Margery turned apologetic eyes on him. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “Bennett Armstrong is a murderer?”

  “No!” Margery said at the same time the marquess snapped, “Yes!”

  When Lily gasped, Rand tightened his hold on her hand. But his gaze was fixed on the marquess.

  “He murdered my son and heir,” the man said. “And I intend to see him hang.”

  Forty-Five

  “BENNETT IS NOT a murderer!” Margery burst out. “He did it in self-defense!” She turned to Rand, her eyes frantic. “Alban came after him in the first place.”

  But all Rand could absorb at the moment was that the man Margery wanted to marry had killed his brother. The hows and whys were beyond him. And where does that leave Margery? the marquess had asked. Where, indeed? Even Rand could understand his father’s unwillingness to wed his ward to the man at whose hands his own son had died.

  Lily’s money wasn’t going to solve all their problems, after all.

  “My Alban,” the marquess said, glaring at Margery, “was not a man capable of killing. Your lover murdered my son in cold blood. Of course he would claim otherwise, and I’ve no doubt that a besotted, addlebrained female like you would believe him.”

  “Alban would kill,” she shot back. “I saw him kill, time and time again. A rabbit, a lamb. My very own cat when she pounced on him as he was forcing me to kiss him.”

  Lily hid her face in her hands, and Rand reached to rub her back.

  “It’s Bennett who’s incapable of killing without just provocation,” Margery added.

  “And he doubtless considered a man determined to wed his lover as ‘just provocation.’” The marquess pointed his knife at her, emphasizing each syllable. “Unfortunately, with only his word against a dead man’s, I don’t have enough evidence for an arrest. Yet. But I intend to get it.”

  “He’s offered a reward for information,” Margery told Rand in a voice made high by rising panic. “A hundred pounds.”

  Lily looked up at that. “A hundred pounds?”

  “A hundred pounds,” Margery repeated, her eyes filling with tears. “Bennett’s as good as dead.”

  Rand couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with her. To do so would be a lie. A footman wouldn’t earn a hundred pounds in ten years, let alone a groom or coachman or maid. For that kind of money, someone would come forward with damning evidence, honestly acquired or not.

  The marquess wielded a lot of power in this small piece of England, and if he meant to see Armstrong hang, Rand had no doubt he would accomplish it.

  Plainly seeing the truth in Rand’s eyes, Margery let out a pathetic moan and rose from her chair, rushing to kneel at the marquess’s knees. Her black gown pooled around her. “I beg you, Uncle William, don’t do this. I’ll have no will to go on should Bennett die. Let him live long enough for me to prove his innocence.”

  “Impossible,” the man snapped, “given that he’s guilty.”

  She gazed up at him, the tears overflowing, making tracks down her pale cheeks. “Then you’ll be killing me along with him.”

  Just then, she looked entirely too capable of doing herself in, and Rand watched, amazed, as the marquess’s features softened with compassion.

  But it wasn’t long before they hardened again. “He’s not dead yet, girl, but I mean to see him pay for murdering my son. In the meantime, should the two of you think to plan anything, I’ll be sending a contingent of men to keep the whoreson under house arrest.”

  A bell sat by his elbow, and now he raised it and jingled it fiercely, as though venting his frustration on the sterling silver might help him obtain vengeance.

  “Jerome!” he called, and the man rushed in.

  In moments, it was done. A dozen men were on their way to surround Bennett Armstrong’s home.

  An hour later, Rand, Lily, and Margery were on their way there, too.

  Forty-Six

  LORD BENNETT Armstrong’s house was smaller than Hawkridge Hall and Trentingham Manor, and from the mishmash of styles and the way the house sprawled this way and that, Lily surmised it was older than Hawkridge and Trentingham as well. Sections looked medieval, other parts Tudor, still other portions modern. But regardless of all that, it was obviously the home of a wealthy man.

  Each of the three doors had one of Hawkridge’s men assigned to guard it, and two more men were posted on every side of the house—in case Lord Armstrong tried to lower himself from a window.

  At first, the guard at the front door had no intention of allowing their party to enter. But Rand remembered the man, and soon he was pumping his hand and asking after his wife and children. Rand swore on his mother’s grave that he wasn’t there to break Lord Armstrong out, and—since the man had apparently adored Rand’s mother—in no time at all, they were ushered into the dark, paneled house.

  That, Lily knew, was because of Rand’s innate charm. She also knew it was because he still had strong ties with the people at Hawkridge. Strong ties that would make it impossible for him to return to Oxford if doing so meant the folks left behind would suffer.

  A butler directed them to a study, where they found Lord Armstrong writing a letter.

  “Bennett!” Margery streaked across the chamber and threw herself at him. “Oh, Bennett, Uncle William means to see you hang!”

  “I know, love.” He cupped her face in both his hands. “I was just writing to my uncle with instructions of what to do should that come to pass.”

  “Oh, Bennett.”

  With a heartfelt groan, he crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her as though he would never let her go. Margery cooperated fully, running her fingers through his longish dark hair and wrapping her arms around his middle. As Lily watched, Margery worked her hands down Bennett’s body, pressing herself against him.

  Rand’s jaw dropped. “Apparently she’s not as proper as I thought,” he whispered to Lily.

  “Hmm?” She knew she shouldn’t watch, and in truth, she felt like a peeper. But seeing them made her want to do the same with Rand. And sadly, with the new developments, she felt nearly as desperate as the other lovers looked.

  Well, at least Rand’s life wasn’t in danger. Only their lives together. She turned and pretended to study a shelf of books, trying to convince herself that things weren’t that bad.

  At last the couple parted and Lord Armstrong noticed Rand and Lil
y. His pale green eyes widened. “Randy? Is that you?”

  “I’m called Rand these days.” He strode forward to shake the man’s hand. “And this is my betrothed, Lady Lily Ashcroft.”

  She curtsied, trying to dredge up a smile. “Lord Armstrong.”

  Although his gaze didn’t make her melt like Rand’s did, he was quite good-looking. He managed a grim smile in return. “Let’s not stand on ceremony,” he said. “I’ve known your intended all my life. Call me Bennett, please.”

  “Oh, Bennett.” Margery’s bottom lip quivered. “I thought that while I was gone, Uncle William would come to his senses. But if anything, he’s become even more determined.”

  “I’ve seen evidence of that,” Bennett muttered, striding to a window to glare down at the guards.

  “He’s offered a hundred pounds for information that leads to proving your guilt.”

  “Bloody hell.” Bennett shut his eyes, then opened them and sent Lily an apologetic glance. “Pardon the language, my lady.”

  “I’ve heard worse,” she assured him. “Is there no way to prove your innocence?” She didn’t know him, most especially whether or not he might be innocent, but she was praying he was. Clearing him as an acceptable husband for Margery seemed the only hope for her and Rand.

  But Bennett just gave a helpless shrug and dropped back onto his bulky wooden desk chair. “There were no witnesses.”

  Rand began pacing. “Tell me what happened.”

  Bennett pulled Margery onto his lap and played with a lock of her pale hair while he talked. “I was hunting and, as sometimes happens, had become separated from my companions. Alban rode up almost immediately, as though he had been following and waiting for such an opportunity. He dismounted, pointed a pistol at me, and accused me of plotting to steal his bride.”