Someone to Love

by Cheryl Holt

  “I’ll handle it,” Charles said. “She and I have grown cordial enough to have a frank discussion.”

  Luke blew out a heavy breath. “When will you confer with her?”

  “Later today. It’s already after two o’clock. I can’t force her out when supper is approaching. I’ll request she depart in the morning.”

  At learning she’d be in residence one more night, Luke was like a condemned felon who’d just discovered his life had been spared by the king.

  “I feel terrible about this,” Luke said, and Charles shrugged.

  “These things happen.”

  Charles stood and gestured to the door. “Shall we head out and bluster into the middle of the party? The festivities were moved into the house because the grass is so wet.”

  Luke motioned to his whiskey. “If you don’t mind, I’ll finish this, then I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Thank you for talking about this with me. It’s was extremely difficult, but we staggered through it without embarrassing ourselves.”

  Luke snorted with disgust. “Speak for yourself. I’m incredibly embarrassed.”

  Charles started out, and at the last second, he halted and glanced back. “Miss Carstairs’s presence in the manor this evening will be a huge temptation for you. Don’t disgrace yourself under my roof. I can put up with a lot, but I have to draw the line at you sneaking into Miss Carstairs’s bedchamber. This is Penny’s home after all.”

  “I won’t misbehave. I respect you too much to act that way.”

  “Good.” Charles nodded. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”

  Then he was gone, and Luke was left to fuss and stew all alone.

  Libby would depart, and apparently, he would stay right where he was. He’d have to pay more attention to Penny, would have to play the part of doting swain so she stopped despising him. He wanted that, didn’t he? He wanted to please Charles. Didn’t he? He still wanted to wed Penny for her dowry. Didn’t he?

  Charles was correct that Luke should remember what mattered—and that was Penny. For pity’s sake, he’d only known Libby a few weeks. Would he sever his fond acquaintance with Charles just for her? Would he relinquish Penny’s fortune just so he could continue to roll around on a mattress with her?

  He asked questions to the quiet room. “Would Libby be worth that much turmoil? Would I be mad to cut ties with the Pendleton family—just for her?”

  When voiced aloud, there was no denying that he sounded deranged.

  What kind of man made those choices? He certainly didn’t, and he had to get a grip on his unruly fixation before he carried on like a lunatic. As Charles had advised, he had to separate himself from her so he could determine if he might not be as besotted as he assumed.

  Except what if—when the party ended and he followed her to London—she’d vanished and he never found her again? What if? What if?

  The prospect sent such a wave of terror racing through him that he stumbled over to a chair and plopped down. He sipped his whiskey, thinking that he must have been bewitched by her. There was no other explanation, and if she’d cast a magical spell, how could he free himself?

  He had no idea, and truth to tell, he had no desire to free himself. If he couldn’t have Libby Carstairs by his side for as long as he could keep her there, what was the point of anything?

  Penny strolled down the hall to a rear door that led onto the verandah. It was cool and wet, and she was bundled in a cloak and intending to walk to the stables where she would pretend nonchalance as she arranged carriage rides—weather permitting—for her guests the next day.

  In reality, she would slyly eavesdrop on the grooms to discover if they might know where Simon was hiding. She’d been searching for him everywhere. It had been hours since she’d quarreled with her father, and she was anxious to discuss the situation with him. He was the only one who would commiserate.

  She stepped outside, but she immediately pulled up short. Luke was leaned on the balustrade and staring out at the park. She hadn’t seen him all day and didn’t mind that she hadn’t. In her current mood, she couldn’t bear to speak with him.

  He hadn’t noticed her, and she thought about sneaking away, but the wind banged the door shut behind her, and he glanced around. On viewing her, his expression was completely blank, and his obvious lack of regard had her temper soaring.

  He was at Roland to decide if he would like to wed her. Was he so sure of his position that he imagined he didn’t have to expend any effort to win her?

  As Simon had bluntly clarified, he was after her money. He didn’t care about her as a person and would never love her. In fact, he was in love with someone else—a problem that would have crushed Penny if she didn’t like Miss Carstairs quite so much. Penny comprehended why a man would be smitten by Miss Carstairs, but honestly!

  Luke was an idiot if he presumed Penny would marry him when he was obsessed with another woman.

  “Penny! Hello,” he said, and he started toward her.

  It was too late to dash down the stairs and run off, so she said, “Hello to you too.”

  “Are you taking a walk? The grass is soaked, so you’ll ruin your shoes.”

  “I’m off to the stables, so I can stick to the gravel paths. I’ll be fine.”

  “May I join you?”

  She gnashed her teeth, not convinced she could be civil, but she forced a smile. “I’d enjoy it if you would.”

  He extended his arm, and she grabbed hold. They went down into the garden, even as she irritably recollected that it was the first time she’d touched him since the party had begun. He treated her like a pesky little sister, while Simon was so besotted he brashly crept into her bedchamber so he could shower her with torrid kisses.

  Penny cherished him for it, and on pondering his heightened affection, she grew even more aggravated by Luke’s tepid display.

  “Since I arrived,” he said, “we’ve hardly had an opportunity to chat.”

  “I invited too many guests. We’d have been better off with a small family gathering.”

  “I’m not much of a one for large crowds. I spent too many years on a ship at sea. I’m afraid it’s made me unsocial.”

  You’re right about that! she silently fumed.

  She peered up at the sky and inquired, “What is your prediction as to what the weather will be like tomorrow? I’d like to offer carriage rides for people who would like to tour the neighborhood.”

  “My groom swears it will be sunny and dry.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Their conversation dwindled after that, and she couldn’t conceive of a topic to keep it going, but why was it up to her to stir the dialogue between them?

  It was another sin to lay at his feet. Why must she do all the work?

  Again, she couldn’t help but compare him to Simon. When she and Simon were together, they didn’t stop talking for a single second. He understood her as no one ever had, and she felt as if they’d been acquainted forever.

  There were so many comments churning inside her. She was like a pot on a stove and the lid about to blow off. What if she simply blurted out her reservations? What if she simply told him exactly what she was thinking?

  He’d likely drop dead of shock, and she’d have murdered him with her flippant attitude. Then again, if he dropped dead, she’d be shed of him once and for all.

  She snorted with a grim amusement, and he asked, “What has you laughing?”

  “Nothing important. I was merely reflecting on a horrid thought.”

  “I hope it wasn’t about me.”

  “No, no, it wasn’t about you. Why would you suppose that?”

  “Your father waylaid me”—she could barely tamp down a wince—“and he mentioned that I’d vexed you. I hadn’t realized it, so I probably ought to apologize.”

  She wasn’t aware
that her father had accosted him, and she could picture them, snickering about her over a brandy. They’d have clucked their tongues about how young she was, how immature she was, how she needed the firm hand of an older husband. They’d have congratulated themselves on how Luke was the perfect spouse for her and how they’d been smart enough to recognize it.

  The entire scenario was galling and infuriating.

  If she hadn’t been so irked, she’d have minded her manners, but she suspected—if she acted in the proper way, in the expected way—she’d always regret it.

  “Can you answer a question for me?” she asked.

  “I will if I can.”

  “Are you in love with Libby Carstairs? If you are, why would you consider marrying me? Why would you put me through that sort of misery?”

  The query was so inappropriate and so impertinent that she was surprised she didn’t swoon with astonishment. What had come over her?

  He stepped away from her so quickly he might have suddenly learned she had the plague. A muscle ticked in his cheek as he debated his possible replies. The one he picked was precisely what she should have anticipated.

  “We shouldn’t discuss a topic like that.”

  “Of course that would be your opinion!”

  She whipped away and started for the house. He called to her retreating back, “Penny, wait!”

  She halted and glared over her shoulder. “I asked a valid question that shouldn’t have been that difficult for you to address, but I notice you conveniently failed to offer a response—or a defense.”

  “I’m sorry you’re angry, but could we not bicker? It will upset your father.”

  “Ooh, my poor, poor father,” she caustically said. “Heaven forbid that we displease him.”

  Luke shrugged. “He’s always been my friend.”

  “Well, then, I’m sure matters between us will work out swimmingly.”

  “He informs me that you and Mr. Falcon have been gossiping about me, and I’m worried Falcon may have filled your head with nonsense. I wish you’d calm down.”

  “Believe me, Lord Barrett, I am very, very calm, and I suggest you carefully ponder this dilemma so you can figure out how we are to deal with it. Until then, this party is over for you. Why don’t you return to Barrett? I’m positive you’d be much more comfortable there.”

  She whirled away and continued on to the manor. She marched up the stairs and slammed inside without glancing back.

  “Where have you been? I sent for you hours ago!”

  Libby glared at Fish, then went over and closed the door to her bedchamber. She spun the key in the lock. For this conversation, she didn’t dare encourage any eavesdroppers.

  “I was busy,” Fish blithely said, “and I’m not your maid. What did you need?”

  “I have to talk to you.”

  “Well, I’m here now. What’s wrong?”

  Fish plopped down onto a chair, and she looked totally at ease while Libby felt raw and exposed, as if her skin had been scraped away and all her flaws revealed.

  Dawn had just been breaking when she’d returned to Roland from her night of frolicking at Barrett. She’d snuck into the manor and had tried to start her day, but she’d been too disturbed to engage in any ordinary rituals.

  Once a housemaid had arrived to light the fire, she’d ordered breakfast, but had been too distracted to eat it. Then she’d ordered a bath, but she’d been too anxious to enjoy it. She’d dressed in her most comfortable clothes, but they hadn’t helped to calm her down.

  Finally, when the morning had advanced sufficiently that she wouldn’t seem like a shrew, she’d summoned Fish, but none of the maids had been able to find her.

  After relentless pacing and fretting, she’d staggered to her bed and had taken an unsatisfying nap. On waking, she was more unsettled than ever.

  Every time footsteps echoed in the hall, she braced, being sure that it would be Luke, that he’d have realized she’d left Barrett—and him—and he’d be determined to scold her. He was brazen enough to stroll up to her bedchamber, but it hadn’t ever been him, and she was struggling to figure out what it indicated.

  She understood that much of his attraction to her had been fueled by the fact that she had constantly refused his advances. Now that she’d succumbed, was he already over her? She would hate to imagine a man could be that fickle, but the pathetic reality was that they were.

  She was ruing and regretting and completely in love with him. If he was bored by what had transpired and keen to move on, she’d be crushed to death by disappointment. She’d yielded to temptation. What if he decided he’d gotten what he craved and could proceed with his betrothal to Penny? If that occurred, Libby truly couldn’t guess how she’d survive it.

  “Where were you?” Libby said. “Dare I ask? From the gleam in your eye, I’m not certain I want to know.”

  “I don’t care if you know. I’ve stumbled into a torrid affair.”

  Libby frowned. “With who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  Libby was focused on her own dilemma, but it wasn’t difficult to deduce who it was. She collapsed onto a chair, her gaze caustic and condemning. “You’re having an affair with Lord Roland?”

  “Yes.”

  “I forbid you!” she ludicrously said. “Stop it immediately!”

  “You’re not my mother, Libby, so it’s not up to you. And I have no desire to stop it. I’m having a grand time.”

  “How did this happen? Why did it happen?”

  “He and I were cordial years ago. I told you that.”

  “How cordial? Clearly, I was mistaken about the level of your attachment.”

  “For a bit, I had flirted with the idea of marrying him, but by then, he was on a different path.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was during that terrible period after his wife had fled and he’d filed for divorce. He was marching down the road to marrying his second wife as his father and friends were demanding. I probably could have saved him from that fate, but after what he’d been through, I didn’t suppose I ought to be that greedy.”

  “You let him go? You set him free?”

  Libby’s tone was snide, but she couldn’t help it. She was too overwhelmed to think rationally, and she couldn’t have Fish entangled with Lord Roland. It would simply add to the weight of the burdens she was carrying.

  “Yes,” Fish replied, “I very nobly set him free, but with my traveling to Roland, we’ve rekindled our affection. We’re both unattached adults. What’s it to you if we’re dallying? It’s not any of your business, and I fail to comprehend why you’re in such a snit about it.”

  “You can’t be involved with him.”

  “Your opinion is noted, but as I previously mentioned, it’s not up to you.” Fish had never been a person who would fight over an issue. “What’s wrong? You still haven’t told me.”

  “I spent the night at Barrett with Luke.”

  “Yes, I received a message from him that you were stranded by the rain.”

  “I finally did it,” Libby muttered, eager to spill the dreadful confession out into the open. “I’m no longer a maiden.”

  “You didn’t ruin yourself!”

  “I did.” Tears sprang into Libby’s eyes. “I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Why? Didn’t he know his way around a mattress? He’s such a handsome rogue. I would have bet ten pounds he’d make it interesting.”

  “It was splendid. It was perfect and . . . and . . .”

  Libby broke off. She was wretched and desolate, feeling as if she was all alone, without a single friend. She was anxious to talk to Luke and have him tell her everything would be fine, but she wasn’t brave enough to have a conversation with him about what they’d done.

  In the cold light of day, she was positive she shouldn’t
have participated, but then, she was frightfully glad she had. She kept studying herself in the mirror, expecting to look altered and not able to believe she could have experienced such a colossal event and still be exactly the same.

  Fish pointed out the obvious. “You’re distressed.”

  “Very distressed.”

  “It’s a common sentiment. A virgin’s deflowering is a big moment in a girl’s life.” Fish smirked. “Was he any good at it?”

  “He was.”

  “I suspected as much, so why are you fuming and fretting?”

  “I’m not sure what I should do now.”

  “What would you like to do?”

  “I’d like to vanish. That was my plan when we were in London and I still want that.”

  “No, you don’t. If I had to describe your condition, I’d say you’re madly in love with him. Why would you disappear just when your affair is heating up?”

  “He’ll engage himself to Lady Penny and wed her very soon.”

  “I’m certain he will,” Fish slayed her by concurring. “His kind never behaves any other way.”

  “I can’t stay on the fringe of his world and watch him proceed. I didn’t realize how intimate fornication would be.”

  “I tried my best to explain it.”

  “Evidently, you weren’t adept at clarifying because I am thoroughly bewildered.”

  “Why? Did he hurt you? Did he scare you?”

  “No. It was very romantic.”

  “Then why this anguish? In my view, you’re being very silly.”

  “It was very . . . special to me, and I’m terribly afraid it won’t have been special to him at all. It would kill me to discover that it wasn’t.”

  Fish shrugged. “I’ve told you about men and their drives. It’s just physical conduct for them, and you have to separate your feelings from the bodily antics he showed you. Otherwise, your yearning will consume you.”

  “I can’t muster your callous attitude about it, Fish.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  Fish had never been a maternal female. She was pragmatic and practical, and she never offered sympathy when Libby could desperately use some. In that, she’d always been very much like Uncle Harry.