“Sherry.”
“—sherry, then, since we retired?”
He squinted. “Do you know, I do believe Valmaston has the hardest head of any man I have ever known.”
So, this incident must be laid in part at Valmaston’s door. It would seem the gentlemen had been drinking together after the ball. “Clearly harder than yours,” she responded. There was an irony to her words, since in approaching him she saw that he was bleeding from a cut on his scalp. Little red rivulets flowed over his forehead and down the side of his cheek. “Have you a kerchief?”
“Mm,” he murmured, closing his eyes, but not moving in the least to retrieve it. She searched in his pocket and, finding the soft square of cambric, dabbed gently at the wound, which proved to be rather insignificant. She suspected, however, that by morning he would have a nice little bump on his head.
Once she had cleaned up his face, she said, “Come, Robert, let me take you to your bed.”
“Lucy, that sounds so very nice. You have no idea just how many times I have wanted you to do just that.” He touched her cheek gently.
She was properly shocked but amused at the same time. “How you flatter me,” she said. She tried to lift him by sliding her arm about his but he would not be moved.
“No, ’tis I who am flattered. Will you kiss me even now before we go to my chamber?”
Before she knew what was happening he had pulled her onto his lap so that he was cradling her and his lips found hers in a horribly wonderful kiss.
“I love kissing you,” he murmured, then assaulted her again.
She tried to push against his shoulder but to little avail. He held her as he always did in a powerful embrace from which she would naturally have some difficulty extricating herself. “Will you not kiss me in return?” he asked, a look of hurt in his eyes. “Do you not wish to kiss me?”
“Robert, the place, the hour, the reason, is hardly seemly.”
“What do I care for that!” he cried, holding her more tightly still. He could barely keep his eyes open and every word that fell from his tongue turned sideways before hitting the air.
“One kiss, then,” Lucy said, “but afterward you must promise to let me take you to your room.”
“I shall, indeed,” he slurred but with much enthusiasm.
The kiss that followed, tasting very much of sherry, nearly undid her senses. When he forgot himself, Robert could be incredibly passionate, a quality she was beginning to understand he held severely in check.
“Lucy,” he whispered against her lips.
How tender he could be. How sensual was the manner in which he drifted his lips over hers as though savoring her. The pressure increased and her body, quite without permission, melted into his. She slipped her arm about his neck and for reasons she kept hidden from herself she kissed him quite wickedly in return, allowing his tongue to reach the depths of her mouth. She trusted or at least she hoped that he would not remember anything on the morrow. For the present, she allowed the most passionate thoughts to ripple through her mind, what it would be like to be a wife to Robert, how much she would enjoy kissing him like this day upon day, night upon night, and how often under the sanctity of marriage she would demand he take her in his arms.
“Lucy, Lucy,” he murmured against her ear, placing little kisses down her cheek until he found her mouth again.
“Robert,” she responded, sighing as she received his lips once more.
After several minutes had passed, after he had whispered her name a dozen times against her ear, her cheek, her lips, after he had fairly squeezed the breath from her, he suddenly moaned in a manner that had nothing to do with his desire to kiss her.
Lucy drew back to look at him. “Are you perchance unwell?” she inquired, barely restraining her smiles.
He blinked at her. “I believe I am,” he said sloppily. “My head is swimming.”
“You need to go to bed.”
He smiled happily and nodded several. “Yes, and you are going with me.”
“Only if you gain your feet,” she said, not believing for a moment she could argue him from his conviction that he was taking her to bed.
With that, he rolled her clumsily off his lap so that she almost landed on her head.
“What are you doing in a heap?” he asked.
She looked up at him and saw that he had found his feet but was tottering unsteadily. “I cannot imagine,” she responded facetiously.
“Well,” he said, offering her his hand, “you promised to take me to bed, so now you must keep your promise.”
She took his hand and he lifted her to her feet, but in doing so stumbled backward and almost fell again, except that she was able to steady him by leaning hard in the opposite direction.
She slipped an arm beneath his and held tightly to his waist. “Shall we go?” she inquired.
He kissed the top of her head. “Yes-s-s.”
Lucy carefully took the candelabra in hand and began slowly guiding and supporting him back to his room.
She would never have believed that the trip to his bedchamber, which fortunately was on the same floor as the library, would have required as much time as it did. Worse, however, were her efforts to keep him sufficiently quiet in order not to awaken the entire house. Though he was in his altitudes, he did seem sufficiently aware that it would not do to bring any of the inmates from their rooms.
Once arrived at his bedchamber, she settled the candelabra on a table safely away from the bed, the draperies, or anything else that might cause a fire were he to carelessly swing his arm and send the candles flying. She reached for the bellpull to summon his man, but he stopped her, saying not only did he not wish to disturb his valet but he did not wish his valet to come anywhere near his bedchamber of the moment. With these words spoken, he grabbed her and began kissing her anew.
Oh, dear, Lucy thought. She felt a strange sort of panic and tried to slip from his grasp but he held her firmly and walked her backward to his bed. He was not himself, that was certain, but would he take advantage of her? Somehow she thought it likely he might.
Her heart beat rapidly as he pushed her back on the bed. She tried to scramble backward out of his reach but he was quickly on top of her. “Lucy, Lucy, how much I love you. I have always loved you, at least since you were grown. Not as a child, that would be ridiculous, but I love you so now. Did I tell you how glad I am that you have come to Aldershaw?”
Though he was pressed against her, he lifted himself sufficiently to look into her eyes. They were clouded but his expression was so tender, so sweet, that for the barest moment she wished what he was saying was true. “You . . . you are not yourself!” she said. “It is the wine speaking. Indeed, Robert, you must let me go.”
He shook his head sloppily then kissed her anew. She wished his lips were not so perfect. She wished he had not spoken of loving her. And she certainly wished she were not pinned to his bed!
“Robert you must listen to me. You have had a great deal of brandy tonight—”
“Not brandy, sherry—”
“Yes, of course, sherry.” He kissed her hard on the mouth, but she was able to push him back. “Pray heed what I am saying to you! Robert, you have drunk too much. You are quite foxed and are making no sense. You must let me go.” She thought it would probably be of use to speak more loudly to him, but not for the world did she want any member of the house to see either of them in so scandalous a situation.
“No,” he said, almost petulantly as a child would. “I shan’t. I have you in my power and I shan’t let you go. I love you Lucy. I mean to marry you. Tomorrow.”
“That will be excellent. You shall marry me tomorrow and then we can share your bed, but not now. Tonight, you must let me return to my own room.”
“I do not want to let you go,” he laid down on her fully, his head nestled against hers. “If I do, you will never come back to me. You will go to Henry.”
“No, I will not go to Henry,” she stated firmly.
“Henry wants you, Lucy. He loves you but I love you more. He writes poems about you, but my heart aches so much when I look at you that sometimes I can’t breathe for wanting you. Henry can still breathe. I have watched him. But I cannot. Dear Lucy, I cannot breathe.”
Lucy did not know what to do. She knew he was completely foxed so that he could not be held entirely accountable for either his words or his conduct, but what on earth was he mumbling about Henry and about his own heart aching? Odd tears began streaming from her eyes. Did Robert truly love her?
She realized she understood completely what he meant about his heart aching and about being unable to breathe because more than once she had felt precisely the same way while with him. For the first time she considered quite seriously the possibility that after all of their quarrels and attempts to behave with polite indifference toward each other, that she might truly be in love with Robert and he with her. For that reason, she slipped her arms about his shoulders and held him tenderly, stroking his hair. “Robert, I do not know what to say,” she murmured.
He remained silent, but kissed her neck several times.
“Do you truly love me?”
“Yes,” he said in a very quiet voice. “So much, my darling.”
“I . . . I think I may be in love with you as well.”
“Of course you are. How could you kiss me as you do without being in love with me?” A heavy sigh followed.
She continued petting his head and stroking his hair. She hugged him and nuzzled him. A moment later, he was snoring against her shoulder.
She began to laugh, for it was absolutely ridiculous. Even her laughter did not awaken him. She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand and rolled him off her. She began scooting away from him, but he reached for her, pulling her close.
She tried again, but once more he held her tightly. Over the next hour, she tried again and again but always with the same result: he would reach for her and prevent her from leaving. She continued trying until she grew fatigued. She decided she would rest for perhaps an hour or so and try again. Perhaps then he would be so deeply in his slumbers that he would permit her to leave.
With a sigh, she gave in to the seduction of sleep until a strong light shone on her face. She blinked several times and only after a minute or so did she realize that the light on her face was coming from a sunbeam.
She thought it odd that the sun would by shining on her since her bed did not face the windows at this particular angle. And why were the curtains blue and not rose-colored?
A quick horror filled her. She turned abruptly in what proved to be Robert’s arms. He pinned her once more. “No, do not leave me.” Then his eyes opened and he looked at her. “What the deuce?” he cried.
He sat up so fast that she was able to watch as obvious pain flooded his head. “I shall be ill.”
She leaped from the bed and retrieved the basin at his dressing table and ran to him. He looked as though he might be very ill indeed, but after a few moments, and several deep breaths, he set the basin aside and reclined instead against his pillows. He stared hard at her, his brow furrowed deeply. “Good God, Lucy! Whatever are you doing in my rooms? And you are in your nightdress!”
Lucy shook her head. It would seem he remembered nothing after all. “You were quite foxed and fell while in the library. Your head was bleeding. I helped you to your bedchamber but you would not permit me to leave.”
“You are making no sense whatsoever. How could I have prevented you from leaving?”
Lucy did not feel it prudent to spend another moment in his bedchamber. If they were discovered, even though the situation was perfectly innocent, there would be no recourse but for Robert, a quite honorable man, to offer for her. Though she had already begun to think that she would like very much to be married to him, she was convinced no circumstance could be worse than for Robert to feel a sense of dutiful obligation.
“I must go,” she whispered, and before he could argue the point further, she was gone.
Two hours later, Lucy was busily helping the children sort leaves from a recent excursion to the farthest reaches of the park, when the children suddenly squealed his name. She turned and saw that he was standing in the doorway of the schoolroom. Dark circles framed his eyes and his skin was quite pale. He very much looked like a man who had been in his altitudes on the night before.
He winced as the children threw themselves upon him, but to his credit he caught each child warmly and gave kisses all round, afterward setting each of them on their feet. Though continuing to wince, he listened quite valiantly to an enthusiastic if disjointed recounting of their adventure, for apparently just as they were flanking the home wood a stag appeared at the very edge of the meadow with at least six points to his antlers. Allowing himself to be drawn into the chamber, he took up a seat next to her. She continued sorting beneath Miss Gunville’s supervision. The children once more took up their places.
After a few minutes, he bid his sisters and brother good day, promised to take William for a ride in the afternoon, then begged a word with Lucy.
She excused herself, saying she would return in a few minutes. She could see that Robert was not fully recovered. “Is your head aching you quite severely?” she asked, barely able to restrain a smile as she looked up at him.
“Yes, wretchedly so. I . . . I came to beg your pardon. Dear Lucy, what have I done?”
“Come,” she said, “and I will tell you, but not here in the hallway.”
She led him to the conservatory on the ground floor where there was little likelihood of being overheard. Taking up a seat on one of the stone benches, she gestured for him to sit beside her.
“I am completely mortified,” he said, not hesitating to sit down. “How could I have kept you imprisoned in my rooms?”
“Do not trouble yourself.” She searched his eyes, wondering if he recalled anything of what he said to her.
“Do not trouble myself?” he exclaimed. “Lucy, you were in my bed this morning. Do not speak to me of not troubling myself. I shall marry you, of course, that much is determined already.”
“I do not see why,” she returned easily, crossing her arms over her chest.
He glared at her. “You were in my bed last night. Do not attempt to tell me nothing happened between us, for I will not believe you.”
“You are so certain of your prowess that you believe you could seduce me when you were completely foxed?”
“I was not thinking of seduction,” he said, his expression absolutely pitiful.
“You did not hurt me in the least, if that is your strongest fear.”
He leaned forward, settling his face in his hands. “I want to believe you.”
She placed a hand on his back and as she had last night she rubbed it gently. “You did nothing about which you ought to feel the least shame or mortification. The only thing you did last night was kiss me. And I was, as it happens, quite flattered by your attentions.”
He turned his head to look at her. “Why, when I must have accosted you in the most ungentlemanly manner possible?”
She had debated for a very long time after leaving his room just how much of what transpired she would relate to him. She decided to hold nothing back. “Not in the least, I assure you. In actuality, you confessed that you loved me and that you believed you always had.”
“I did?” he asked, appearing astonished. “I must have been very foxed, indeed.” Lucy withdrew her hand. He sat up and looked at her. “I am sorry. Those words were uncalled for. Pray forgive me. I am not yet recovered.”
Tears once more bit her eyes. “I will tell you everything that happened and you must judge for yourself the various meanings, for I cannot make sense of it.” She then launched into an exact recounting of what had been said and done and how it had happened that she had slept in his bed, indeed, in his arms, all night, and approximately how many times he had kissed her. She felt it only appropriate that since she would have to live with the mem
ory, he ought to as well.
When she was done, she could see that there was a very crushed expression on his face. “I do not know what to say. I have behaved abominably toward you. The only proper, the only gentlemanly thing to do is to marry. I consider myself betrothed to you.”
At that Lucy rose to her feet and faced him, her temper rising. “Oh, you do, do you? Well, let me tell you, Robert Sandifort, that I would not marry you were you the last man on earth, even had your passions overcome you and I was no longer a maiden. What’s more, I will never forgive you for how the only manner in which you could reveal your heart to me was in a state of complete intoxication!”
He opened his mouth to speak but she whirled away from him and left the conservatory quickly. Though she had told the children she would return to them, she could not do so because she had need of her pillow and a score of kerchiefs for the next hour or so.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“But Lucy, are you certain?” Henry appeared so hurt that she felt as though her heart would break anew. She was sitting with him in the children’s fort in the center of the maze. The lower rooms of the house were undergoing a great change in preparation for the come-out ball and there had been so many servants about, besides the rest of the family, that the maze had been the only place to have a private conversation.
“Yes, quite certain. I wish I had understood your sentiments long before this. I . . . I had been so used to your attentions and that for so many years that I had assumed it was from a sort of brotherly affection.”
He groaned. He was silent for a long moment, then asked, “Are you in love with Robert?”
Lucy felt stunned by the question because she had been asking herself the very same thing for two days now, two long days since she had spoken with Robert in the conservatory. There had only been one answer, one true answer, particularly when she pondered the breadth of her feelings for him; how she felt when she brangled with him, how she took such great pleasure in his kisses, how she still treasured his words on that fateful night even though he had been completely foxed, and certainly how hurt she was that he had been ignoring her since. “Yes,” she responded simply. “I suppose I must be.”
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