The Baron's Heiress Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “I’m sorry you’re not kissing me now.”

  “I’m sor—what?”

  He blinked and took a step closer, and Lily took a step closer, and they met in the middle.

  Everything that had been holding her back had suddenly vanished, like the moon on a cloudy night. Something inside her had shifted. Never in her life had she been so angry with another person, much less with one of her own flesh and blood. She was too furious to think straight. How could Rose—it was so completely shocking—she must be the most selfish, underhanded—and to call him a mere professor—!

  There was nothing mere about Rand. Not one thing. His form was towering and solid in her arms. His lips moved with devastating deftness over hers. He had the silkiest hair, the manliest scent, the kindest soul she’d ever known.

  Rose didn’t deserve him.

  But Lily didn’t want to think about Rose. Now that she could kiss Rand without so much as a twinge of guilt, all she wanted was to keep kissing Rand for as long as possible. Now that she could be close to him and touch him and taste him, untainted for the first time, she realized the truth.

  He was all she wanted for the rest of her life. She was in love. And loving Rand was the most precious gift in all of God’s creation.

  A laugh bubbled out of her, the noise joyous to her own ears. Her heart felt light enough to escape her chest and float away. How giddy and strange she felt. Rose had put Rand in a very awkward position, and Lily had witnessed it, and somehow, that had changed everything.

  Lily’s laugh was a sound of pure, ringing happiness, a sound Rand hadn’t heard from her in weeks—maybe ever. It was a sound he perceived not with his ears, but with his heart. Though it startled him out of their kiss, it brought hope.

  Love. Ford was right, this had to be love. It wasn’t a comfortable emotion—it was far too huge and overpowering—but it was there. And it wasn’t going away.

  Now Rand just had to figure out what to do about it. Marry her, despite never having pictured himself marrying anyone? He thought of her sweetness, her faith in him, the way she made him feel.

  Her essence.

  Then he pictured letting that essence slip through his fingers, and the choice was obvious.

  Never say never, he told himself ruefully, and took her hand. Lacing his fingers with hers, he drew a deep breath.

  “Have you seen my ironclad spade?”

  They both jumped, then turned to see Lily’s father standing in the doorway. She felt Rand had been about to say something important, and she was impatient to discover what. In haste and agitation, she scanned the dim summerhouse.

  There was no spade. There wasn’t anything in here, in fact, save the narrow wooden benches attached to the circular wall. “It’s not here, Father. Why don’t you ask the head gardener?”

  “Hmm,” he said. “I was hoping it would be in here. Perhaps I should ask the head gardener.” Muttering to himself, he turned and left.

  Rand sneezed, using his free hand to block it. “Pardon me,” he said thickly.

  “You are falling ill.”

  He waved that away. “Your father didn’t hear your suggestion.”

  She shrugged. ”If he hears one suggestion in ten, I consider myself lucky.”

  “He wouldn’t have said a thing had he found me alone with Rose, would he?” Sounding incredulous, Rand raised their still-joined hands. “He didn’t even notice I was here.”

  “Well, what did you expect? You’re not a flower.” Lily smiled up at him. “Now, what were you going to say before my father interrupted?”

  He gave one of his inscrutable smiles in return. “Lily, can I ask you a favor?”

  Her heart sped up. “Of course.”

  “Will you play me a song?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “PARDON?” Lily blinked, unsure she’d heard right.

  “I want you to play a song. On the harpsichord. And I’ll sing.”

  “Now?”

  “Now. Right now. In your family’s drawing room. Will you do that for me, Lily?”

  She nodded, although she was confused. She’d been rather expecting—or perhaps just hoping—to hear a question of a different nature. But there was little Rand could ask that she would refuse.

  He led her outside by the hand. In the fickle way of summer, the sky had clouded up while they were in the summerhouse. Beatrix, Lady, and Jasper appeared and followed them back to the house. Claiming he didn’t want an audience, Rand maneuvered to get through the door without allowing them inside.

  The animals went around and entered through one of the drawing room’s windows instead.

  Lily sat at the harpsichord and arched her fingers over the keys, then hesitated. Her nose was running. She pulled the handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed.

  “Go ahead,” Rand said. “Blow.”

  Love, she supposed, meant being able to blow your nose in front of the man. So she did, even though she was no timid nose-blower.

  It didn’t seem to scare him away. In fact, in the middle of her blow, he sneezed again, and then he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his own nose, too.

  “We’re wrecks,” Lily said, thinking it felt strangely wonderful to comfortably share an illness. She faced the keyboard again. “What do you want me to play?” She suspected the tune she’d been practicing for him wasn’t what he had in mind.

  He thought for a moment. ”Do you know the one that starts ‘Let’s love and let’s laugh’?”

  Like many popular songs, it had no title, but she did know it. She nodded.

  He leaned against the harpsichord. “Then play it, please.”

  When she did, he held her gaze as he began to sing.

  “Let’s love and let’s laugh,

  Let’s dance and let’s sing;

  While shrill echoes ring;

  Our wishes agree,

  And from care we are free,

  Then who is so happy, so happy as we?”

  Although there were three more verses, he stopped singing. She played a few more bars and then stopped, too.

  For a moment, the room was completely still, even the animals frozen like statues.

  “Did you hear that, Lily?”

  “The words?” she wondered.

  “The words fit us, don’t they? But no, I didn’t mean the words. What did you hear?”

  “What did I hear?” she echoed faintly, feeling bewildered. But her heart began pumping a little faster. “It sounded good. You sound good. You have a beautiful voice.”

  He stepped closer. “But my voice doesn’t sound nearly as good alone as it does together with your music. It doesn’t sound as complete. What I mean to say is…” His face colored slightly, but he pressed on. “I want that with you, Lily. I want you to provide the melody for my songs. And I, the words to your tunes.”

  She gathered he was talking about more than music. Her blood rushed even faster. She held her breath, afraid she might wake herself from this dream.

  “Don’t say anything,” he said, still watching her. “Not yet.”

  Lady chirped in the window, and Jasper chattered, and Beatrix wound around Rand’s legs.

  Yet those intense gray eyes seemed to see nothing but Lily.

  “I’m just a professor,” he said.

  Rose’s thoughtless words had affected him. For a moment, Lily’s anger returned full force. “Rand, you aren’t just anything. Not to me.”

  He slid onto the harpsichord’s bench and took one of her hands. “No, listen. I am just a professor. I live in a house. Once it’s finished it will be a nice house, but just a house all the same, not a mansion like Trentingham. And it isn’t perched on land that stretches as far as the eye can see. It sits in the middle of a town with other buildings all around it.”

  Was he asking her to marry him, or explaining why he couldn’t? “I don’t care—” she started.

  He stopped her by squeezing her hand. “I’m a second son. I may have the word Lord in front of my n
ame, but that’s only a courtesy title. I’ll never sit in the House of Lords like your father. I could attend court if I wished, and London balls, but the fact is, I don’t. Or I haven’t,” he corrected himself. “I’m willing to go to such events if doing so would please you, as long as it’s not during term time.”

  This was a prelude to a proposal. Her breath caught, making her cough in reaction. “I don’t care,” she repeated. “Rand, I—”

  “I’m not finished.” He coughed, too, then furrowed his brow, as though he was trying hard to remember everything he wanted to say. “You should know that I earn a good living. But you should also know that it’s been years since the marquess supplemented my income.”

  “The marquess?”

  “My father. But like I said, I do well enough.” His gaze swept her gown. “I expect I can afford to clothe you in the lovely manner to which you’re accustomed,” he added in a teasing tone.

  She smoothed her periwinkle skirts. “I’d wear sackcloth to be with you,” she said quietly. “You just sang of love and laughter. Money cannot buy that. Besides, I do have a marriage portion. Three thousand pounds.”

  Three thousand pounds was a more than respectable dowry, considering the average shopkeeper earned less than fifty pounds a year. But Rand didn’t look as though he cared, as though the money mattered at all.

  At their feet, Beatrix began hiccuping, and he leaned to pick her up. “What of your animals?”

  It was startling to realize she hadn’t considered them, even more startling to see Rand—an avowed dog person—with her cat on his lap.

  He absently stroked Beatrix’s striped fur. “I do have a garden,” he started; but then a corner of his mouth curved up in a half smile. “Well, I don’t expect your father would consider it a garden, but I’ve a patch of land behind my house. I can ask Kit to toss up a shelter of sorts…but it won’t be the grand animal home you’ve been envisioning.”

  The fact that he cared about her aspirations made tears prick her eyes. “It sounds perfect, enough for the strays I have now. And once I’m ready to use my inheritance…well, I always envisioned building here at Trentingham, anyway. I can hire local people to care for the animals.” She knew there were plenty who would appreciate the work, and she’d be pleased to provide it. “Perhaps I’ll be able to visit—”

  “Of course you will. Oxford isn’t far, and I expect you’ll want to see your family often.”

  “A positive statement,” she observed, risking a tiny smile. “Does that mean you’re finished trying to talk me out of…”

  She couldn’t say the rest of it. He hadn’t, after all, actually asked her to marry him. And the possibility was so shockingly new to her, she hadn’t yet thought it over. So she let the words hang there, waiting.

  It seemed like forever.

  “Yes,” he said at last. He shifted to face her and took her other hand. His palms were cool and smooth, and his thumbs traced her knuckles. Her gaze flicked to the scars, but she wasn’t embarrassed by them just now. He cleared his throat. ”Since I’ve apparently failed to talk you out of it, what do you say, my sweet? Can we make music together for the rest of our lives?”

  He spoke with a lighthearted air, as though the words were nothing more than banter.

  But his heart was in his hypnotic eyes.

  Unlike Rose, Lily admired Rand’s success in the face of his family’s disapproval. That strength was one of the things she loved about him—through good times and bad, a wife could depend on a husband like Rand. But she knew him better than Rose did. She knew that beneath the self-sufficiency lurked a lonely little boy who needed someone to hold him.

  Did she want to be that someone? Was she willing to do it at the expense of her sister? Could she, for the first time in her life, put her own interests ahead of another’s?

  She remembered Rose’s behavior in the summerhouse and knew the answer was yes.

  And she didn’t even have to say it. He read her response in her eyes, and both joy and relief leapt into his.

  Then their lips met, and she’d never imagined she could feel such happiness. He was magnificent, and he was all hers. He kissed her over and over, and she wished he would never stop.

  When he finally pulled away, they just looked at each other and laughed helplessly, until they both started coughing. Which only made them laugh harder.

  Life was perfect, even with a stuffy nose.

  TWENTY-SIX

  WHEN LILY AND Rand told her mother they had news for the family, her eyes sparkled with delight.

  “Since your father’s already in the gardens,” she said, “why don’t you find him and then wait by the twenty-guinea oak? In the time it would take me to explain why I want him to come inside, I can gather everyone else and meet you there.” A wide smile on her face, she hurried off.

  It didn’t take long to find Father, who happened to be weeding a flower bed near the oak, using a hook and a forked stick. Lily decided to let him continue puttering.

  She and Rand waited beneath the tree. “I should have told Rose first,” she suddenly realized, knowing her sister was going to be devastated. A stab of sympathy took her by surprise.

  Rand shot a glance to her oblivious father before slipping an arm around her waist. “Because of your promise?”

  “You knew?”

  His arm curved, drawing her closer. “Your mother would never forgive you if you told your sister first.”

  “True,” Lily murmured, realizing a second truth: She didn’t want to tell Rose first. She wasn’t ready to face her own anger or her sister’s.

  “Lily?” He tilted her face up and touched a finger to the dent in her chin. “You’re supposed to be happy right now.”

  “I am,” she said and smiled.

  They parted when Rowan hurried out to meet them under the gigantic oak. “Benjamin couldn’t fish,” he said with a pout. “Mum said you have something to tell us?”

  “Yes,” Lily said, “we do.”

  “So what is it?”

  She tweaked his nose. “You’ll have to wait for everyone else.”

  With a small huff of impatience, he leapt to catch the lowest bough that branched off the huge, twisted trunk.

  “It’s a big tree,” Rand commented, looking like he didn’t quite know what to say to Lily’s little brother. She supposed that living at a university, he mightn’t have much experience with ten-year-old boys.

  “Zounds, it’s bigger than big.” Rowan swung back and forth, looking up at the cloudy sky through the canopy of leaves. “This tree has been here for more than three hundred years. And Father says we must never chop it down, even though it destroys the symmetry of his gardens.”

  “Symmetry.” Rand raised a brow. “That’s a big word for a lad your age.”

  Hauling his feet up, Rowan crouched on the big branch and began climbing. “I know,” he said proudly, his voice drifting from above. “What does it mean?”

  Rand and Lily both laughed.

  “What’s that?” Father demanded, noticing all of them at last. Lily laughed even harder, her amusement earning her a volley of coughs.

  “It means balanced proportions,” Rand said loudly enough for even her father to hear.

  “Ah, symmetry,” Father said. “You know, I’ve been advised to chop down this twenty-guinea oak for the sake of symmetry.”

  Amid more laughter, Rand moved closer to Lily’s father so the older man could hear him better. Rand was patient with him, she thought. Not many young men would be.

  Yet another reason to love Rand Nesbitt.

  He raised his voice. “Why do you call it the twenty-guinea oak?”

  Father smiled, always eager to answer that question, eager to tell the story that Lily had heard countless times. “A passing timber merchant once offered me ten guineas for the wood, saying it was quite the most enormous tree he’d ever seen.”

  “Ten guineas, not twenty?”

  “I’m getting to that,” Father said. “Well,
the truth was, I’d been thinking of chopping the old boy down anyway, seeing as it impairs the symmetry of this garden. But I’m not one to act too rashly, you see, and so I told the merchant I’d like to think about his offer overnight. Next morning, bright and early, the fellow was at my door, increasing his offer to twenty guineas.” Father waved the long, pointed tool in his hand. “I figured that if the wood’s value could increase by a hundred percent overnight, the tree was an investment worth keeping.”

  Rand laughed out loud, and Father grinned. Lily was glad they seemed to get along. But her smile faded when her mother arrived with Rose and Judith.

  The gray sky might be threatening a gentle summer rain, but Rose’s expression looked like thunder.

  Fresh sympathy tightened Lily’s sore throat.

  Rowan dropped from the tree. “We’re all here now. What is it you were wanting to tell us? Is it something happy?”

  It was, for her and Rand. Lily’s emotions were riding a seesaw, and despite her confusion, her smile returned to her face. “Lord Randal has asked me to marry him.”

  Suddenly everyone was talking at once.

  Mum threw her arms around her. “I knew it! Congratulations, dear.”

  “Can Jewel come to the wedding?” Rowan asked.

  “No,” their mother said. “Jewel is related to Violet’s husband, not Lily’s.” She kissed both of Lily’s cheeks, then pulled back and winked. “Even though I didn’t arrange the marriage, I wish you every happiness.” Not one to stand on ceremony, she turned into Rand’s arms next. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you,” he said, hugging her back rather awkwardly. Lily gave him credit for trying, knowing her family could be overwhelming.

  Rowan tugged on her gown. “Lily?”

  She kissed his forehead, laughing when he blushed and pulled away. “Jewel may attend,” she told him, “if her parents agree.” She wanted her brother to be happy, too, and after all, it was her wedding. She ought to have a say in the guest list.

  Her wedding, she thought in a daze. It still didn’t seem real.

  “What’s all this?” Father asked.