by Lauren Royal
Rand had said it himself: He’d never let anything keep them apart. Ever.
It had grown quite late, and all four of them were yawning when Lord Hawkridge appeared in the doorway. Lily’s fingers stilled on the keys, leaving an expectant silence. Rose looked up from her book.
“No matter what you believe,” the marquess said, addressing himself to Margery, “I have raised you like my own daughter and care for you as though you were. Your pleas haven’t fallen on entirely deaf ears.”
Lily saw Margery’s heart leap into her eyes. “Yes?” Rand asked when his foster sister appeared unable to speak.
The marquess swung his harsh gray gaze on him. “I have a plan to spare her paramour’s life.”
“Thank you, God,” Margery breathed. “Thank you.”
“Thank me,” Lord Hawkridge snapped. “The truth is I know better than to make this offer. You should be thankful I have a soft heart.”
Rand flinched, clearly struggling to suppress a retort.
Margery rose, her black skirts trembling as she slowly approached the doorway. “What is your plan, Uncle William?”
The marquess straightened. “On your twenty-first birthday, one week hence, you will wed my son.”
“Oh, no—”
“Oh, yes. Should the two of you fail to marry, your paramour will hang. Should the wedding take place, I shall see that he is granted a commutation of sentence and transported to the colonies instead.” He paused, drawing breath. “May God forgive me my weakness,” he said, closing his eyes briefly before he turned and strode from the chamber.
As one, the rest of them released their breaths. Lily tried and failed to swallow past a new lump in her throat. No longer pretending indifference, Rose gaped at Rand and Margery, clearly waiting to see what they would say.
“This is unconscionable,” Rand gritted out.
Margery’s face was even paler than usual. A pure, bloodless white. “We must marry,” she whispered, casting Lily a stricken glance. She focused back on Rand. “We must marry to save Bennett’s life.”
FIFTY
MARGERY TOOK a few faltering steps toward Rand, then dropped to her knees at his feet. “We must marry.” She hid her face in her hands. “We must.”
Wearing a dazed expression, Rand reached for her shoulders and raised her to stand. “There must be another way.”
Lily wasn’t aware that her whole body was shaking until she noticed the harpsichord emitting sour, erratic notes. Snatching her hands from the keys, she wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to hold herself still.
Margery finally lifted her head and searched Rand’s eyes, her own green eyes frantic. She gripped his hands in both of hers. “But will you? To save his life? Tell me you will. From my earliest memories, I looked up to you, Rand. You were my big brother who could do no wrong. You won’t let me down, will you? Tell me you’ll marry me to save Bennett’s life.”
Though a muscle in his jaw twitched, he nodded. He didn’t even look at Lily—perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to. ”I won’t doom a man to die. But there must be another way.”
Tears streaming down her face, Margery hugged him, hard. Then, muffling a sob, she ran from the room.
Lily released a long, shuddering breath. “Rand—”
She cut herself off upon noticing her sister lingered nearby, as if she wanted to say something. But then Rose seemed to change her mind and quietly excused herself.
Now only Rand and Lily remained. ”I’ve never seen Margery this selfish,” he began, his gaze moving from the empty doorway to meet hers. “She didn’t for a moment consider how I’d feel about this marriage. Or you.”
Lily clenched her teeth to stop their chattering. ”I’d feel the same way if your life were threatened. I’d ask anything of anyone.”
After a moment of thought, he nodded. “I’d do the same for you. But there must be another way for Margery and Armstrong. I won’t lose you.”
She hugged herself tighter. “Someone’s life is at stake.”
“There must be another way.”
It was becoming a litany, one she dearly wished she could believe. “Does your father truly wield such power?”
“I’m afraid so.” Rand came to her side and began rubbing her arms. But she wasn’t cold. “The farther you go from London, the less provision you’ll find for due process of the law. If the Marquess of Hawkridge wishes Armstrong dead, he can make it happen. Is it not the same for the little area of the world where your father is the lord?”
Reluctantly she nodded. “I suppose it is. But I’ve never seen him wish anyone dead. Life at Trentingham is usually peaceful.” A peace she hadn’t expected to miss, a peace she’d even equated with boredom at times.
Oh, to live again that blessed, boring peace.
“Life at Hawkridge has never been peaceful,” Rand said ruefully, helping her to her feet. “But I hope to take you away from here to where we can live in peace. Soon.”
Neither of them felt like speculating on the strength or frailty of such a hope. Though Lily’s shaking had subsided, her heart had begun pounding a slow but forceful beat, rattling her bones. Ne…ver…say…ne…ver…say…
“Lily?”
They’d stopped in front of the Queen’s Bedchamber. All that awaited her inside was darkness and her sister’s spiteful turned back. In that moment, she’d have given almost anything to be at Trentingham, curled up in her own cozy bed with Mum and a cup of chocolate. When she’d been little and had nightmares, Mum would always bring her chocolate, and then the scary things would go away.
This wasn’t going away.
When Rand’s arms came around her, she tried to pretend they were Mum’s. But they weren’t. They were the arms of the person who had hurt her, and knowing why he had to hurt her—and understanding he was doing the right thing—didn’t make it hurt any less. Still, she savored his familiar warmth and breathed in his musky scent. Dimly she realized he must not have had time to bathe after this morning’s run. She didn’t mind. It just made him smell more like Rand.
We’re going to get married and live happily ever after, he’d promised.
That had been a stupid promise to make. Just like her promise to Rose.
Rand held her a long time. When he finally pulled away, he first pressed the lightest, tenderest kiss to her forehead. “It’s not over,” he whispered against her skin, his chin feeling scratchy.
Lily nodded, then turned and entered her chamber. Rand was right, in the strictest sense; she hadn’t lost him yet. But for the first time since the day he sang to her and proposed, Lily felt real fear.
Oh, she’d had her niggling doubts and worries, but in her heart she’d always trusted they’d find a way to be together. Even if Rand’s father had proved intractable, they could still have eloped. Hang the consequences. They could have survived without the marquess’s blessing.
They could not survive with a man’s blood on their hands.
And short of an angel descending from the heavens, Lily knew of nothing that could end this nightmare. Not even chocolate. It was obvious to her now that Lord Hawkridge could not be reasoned with—the unveiling of his cruel, fiendish ‘plan’ had proved his lack of humanity. Etta had been wrong about the man.
The room was nearly pitch black but for a few dying embers in the fireplace. Lily could just make out Rose’s face, turned toward Lily’s side of the bed. She usually faced away. She must have flipped over in her sleep.
Or perhaps she’d somehow sensed their sisterly bond deepening, now that they had something new in common: They both knew what it felt like to lose Rand.
Had Rose felt then what Lily was feeling now—or even a fraction of it? Absently tracing her scars, Lily wondered if Rose had hurt so deeply. Because if so, she thought she could forgive her all the turned backs and cold shoulders in the world.
FIFTY-ONE
IN HIS SMALL chamber, Rand sat on the bed to tug off his boots. There must be another way, he repeated to himsel
f over and over as he pulled off his stockings and crushed them into balls that he threw across the room with a rage he hadn’t felt since he’d last lived in this wretched house. He shrugged out of his surcoat and yanked at the cravat at his throat, throwing those across the room, too. He wished he had something to break, but his chamber had been stripped of all but the furniture some time in the ten years between when he’d left for Oxford and now.
There had to be another way.
He was loosening the laces on his shirt when a soft knock came at the door. Thinking it must be Lily, his heart gave a little hitch. He hurried to open the door.
Margery stood there instead.
She was still wearing the dull black gown, the clothes Hawkridge had forced her to purchase in London to show the proper respect for his dead son. Her eyes red-rimmed, she twisted her fingers together. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
Though her tone sounded dire, Rand just sighed. ”Come in, Margery.”
He shut the door and led her to sit on the room’s only chair, attempting to appear sympathetic. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but he’d had about all the anguish he could take—and despite her obvious distress, he couldn’t imagine anything that could make this situation even worse.
Until he heard her next words.
“Rand, I…I’m with child.”
“Sweet mercy!” He dropped abruptly to sit on the bed.
He was too shocked to know how to react. Sympathy for her predicament, censure for her misdeeds, and anxiety for her health all occurred to him at once. How could prim and proper Margery have done something like this? Margery, his baby sister Margery…
“I know what you’re thinking, Randy.” The very picture of misery, she laid a hand on her still-flat middle. “It was a horrible mistake. That is, well, it wasn’t horrible. It was very nice—” At Rand’s appalled expression, she turned red and lowered her gaze. “But afterwards,” she began, then stopped and shook her head. “I was only a little nervous at first. It was just one time, and there isn’t always a baby, you know. But then I would sit in church every Sunday, unable to think of anything else but my wickedness, and then I began noticing the signs—”
“Spare me those particular details, if you wouldn’t mind,” Rand said quickly. Living among academics, including those who studied medicine, he was familiar with the common symptoms of pregnancy—and he did not need to associate them with his baby sister.
“I’m sorry.” Margery’s eyes filled with tears again, and Rand’s sympathy began to win out over his other instincts. “We didn’t mean for it to happen! Truly. It’s just—” Her voice broke, and she took a moment to gather herself. “We just got carried away,” she finished in a whisper.
Remembering last night in the drawing room, Rand felt his skin prickle. He and Lily had been alone. Alone in a luxurious room with music, candlelight, and emotions running high. Anything could have happened between them. Why, something almost had happened! He ought to be down on his knees giving thanks for their lucky show of restraint—for Rand suspected it was only luck that had kept Lily from suffering his poor foster sister’s fate.
Though he could not condone Margery’s behavior, in light of his own close call, sympathy was definitely carrying the day. Temptation was a difficult thing to resist. Perhaps Lily was right that they ought to keep some distance until—until, not unless—their marriage was settled. The thought of having to decide between preserving Armstrong’s life or Lily’s well-deserved reputation, plus the reputation of Rand and Lily’s unborn child…
Well, Rand couldn’t say what he would choose. It was a far worse dilemma than the one he faced now—which was to say, unfathomable.
Apparently seeing his expression soften, Margery continued less timidly. “No one else knows about the babe except Bennett. It’s why we’d planned to elope. I tried to obey, Rand, truly I did, but I just couldn’t marry Alban knowing I carried another man’s child. Alban was…he would have killed it,” she said flatly.
Nausea threatened, but Rand fought it off. “Well, he cannot kill it now,” he said in a way he hoped was soothing.
“But I still…” She swallowed hard. “Oh, Randy, I know it’s a lot to ask, but will you—” She gave a violent sniffle. “Will you raise it as yours?”
For what felt like the hundredth time today, Rand was stunned.
“We can hope it’s a girl,” Margery rushed on, “so it won’t be your heir, and—”
“We’re going to find another way.” Rand’s head was suddenly throbbing. “It won’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl, because the child will be raised by its father.”
“But what if?” Evidently she was quite past clinging to that hope. “Uncle William is planning our wedding for seven days hence. What if we’re forced to marry? Will you raise this child as yours? I could have hidden it from you, tried to make you believe it was yours, but—”
“You’re not like that, I know.” Margery had obviously made mistakes, but he knew she would never try to deceive him.
And he also knew there was no chance he’d ever fall for such a ploy, because if, heaven forbid, he was forced to wed her, he wouldn’t be sharing her bed.
He could never bring himself to share a bed with anyone but Lily.
Margery stood and threw her arms around him. Slow tears trailed down her pale cheeks, leaking from eyes that looked hopeless. “What if, Rand? Will you be a true father to this child?”
“Of course I will,” he said simply, because there was nothing else he could say.
But he would find another way…because there was nothing else he could do.
Nothing.
FIFTY-TWO
STILL STARING AT the spot where the final ember had winked out in the fireplace, Lily huddled beneath the covers of her giant state bed.
Although Beatrix nestled against her and Rose snored softly nearby, she’d never felt so alone in her life.
Was she fated to be alone forever?
There must be another way, Rand had said over and over, as though he could make it so by repetition alone. But Lily was unconvinced. It seemed that no matter what solution they came up with, his father would shoot it down.
For a long time she lay awake, stroking Beatrix’s downy fur and watching the unfriendly shadows cast on the walls by tree branches blowing in the wind. Rand had no love for this house, and as much as she always tried to look on the bright side of things, she couldn’t help but think that in this case he was right. Although it was beautiful, there seemed something sinister about Hawkridge, something that made her skin crawl. She didn’t feel safe here.
She hugged herself for a long while, praying for exhaustion to overtake her. Then she climbed out of bed and slid a wrapper over her night rail.
A few minutes later, she knocked softly on Rand’s door.
He came to answer, wearing just breeches and a shirt that was open at the neck and cuffs. He looked as sleepless as she.
“Rand?” Feeling shy and nervous, she fingered the end of her long plait. “May I sleep here?”
He gathered her close. “I thought we were trying not to tempt each other, in case it turns out…well, you know,” he finished lamely.
A heaviness settled in Lily’s heart. She stared down at his bare feet. No matter what he said over and over, he wasn’t convinced that everything would end well. Or else he would be inviting her in, no questions asked.
Feeling like she had nothing to lose, she raised a palm and placed it against his chest, inside the open placket of his shirt, where his bare skin was brown and warm. “Rand…” Shutting her eyes against the pain in his, she went on tiptoe for a kiss. Though his mouth on hers felt achingly familiar, the melting sensation didn’t bring the relief she was seeking.
It failed to make her forget that, barring a miracle, he would soon be married to someone else.
He reached blindly to bury his fingers in her hair, deepening the kiss until the melting turned into a searing heat tinged with th
e bite of brandy. A tiny moan escaped her throat as she wondered if this was the last time their lips would move together, the last time she’d feel his warmth spread all the way out to her fingertips and toes.
Finally, with a strangled sound, he broke the kiss and swung her up into his arms.
She gave a yelp of surprise. “Rand, what on earth—”
“We’ll only sleep, Lily.” He deposited her on his small childhood bed and looked down on her, gently finger-combing her hair into a halo around her head. “Perhaps if we stay together, we’ll both be able to sleep.”
Her big blue eyes blinked up at him, red and swollen but still impossibly beautiful. “I know we shouldn’t, but just now I cannot bring myself to care.” She bit her lip, and he noticed her mouth, too, was red and swollen—but from kissing instead of crying. “Will the staff realize I’m here?”
He lay down beside her, pulling her slender form against him. “I’ll walk you back before first light. We’ve a couple hours yet.” Regardless of what he’d said, he wondered if he would be able to sleep at all with her in his arms, feeling like heaven. He’d be a wreck tomorrow.
It would be worth it.
Feeling limp and exhausted, he lay perfectly still, holding her close and smelling her hair. As she drifted off his eyes remained open, staring up at the underside of the serviceable blue canopy overhead. No Queen’s Bedchamber, this—no silk for Rand Nesbitt at Hawkridge Hall. His room was barely more than a closet.
“I don’t like it here,” she whispered into the silence, though Rand had thought she was asleep. ”This house. I cannot sleep here alone.”
“But you’re not alone. You’re with Rose.”
“With Rose I am still alone,” she said sadly.