by Lauren Royal
Mum knocked and called through the oak. “How is it going, Rand?”
The door opened, and Rand stood there, a shirt dangling from one hand. “It’s going well, thank you,” he said, stepping back into the room to toss the garment into his trunk. He looked, Lily thought, like he was relieved to be heading over to Lakefield to stay.
Well, she was relieved, too. The less she had to watch Rose fawning over him, the better.
A frown on her forehead, Chrystabel pointedly scanned the room. “Where is the maid I arranged for? Did she never show up?” She turned to Lily. “Perhaps you can assist Rand with his packing.”
“I—” Lily started.
“That’s my Lily.” Without waiting for her agreement, Mum turned to look down the stairwell. “Arabel!” she shouted. “Don’t you dare leave without a bottle of perfume!” And before Lily could say anything, she was gone.
Lily shifted her gaze to Rand, suppressing a smile when she saw him roll up a pair of breeches. With a sigh, she walked into the room. “Let me help you with that.”
“I can do it myself, although I cannot fathom why the maid unpacked everything. I brought enough for a two-week stay, but not here.”
“She wasn’t privy to your plans.” She took the garment and folded it neatly, thinking it felt a bit scandalous to be handling his clothes. “As soon as some of these people leave, more help will be available.”
Lady and Jasper watched from the sill, holding a noisy conversation. “What could a squirrel and a bird possibly be discussing?” Rand asked rather peevishly, then didn’t wait for her to answer. “I told Ford I’d be back in an hour. He wants to work some more on the translation.”
“Ford will have to understand.” She walked over and bent to set the breeches in his trunk. “He can wait.”
When Rand didn’t respond, she straightened to find him near her. In fact, he was looming over her, near enough that her skin prickled in reaction.
“I cannot,” he said, his voice lower and husky.
“What?” She blinked.
“I cannot wait. To kiss you.”
A sudden awareness began pulsing through her veins. “My lord—”
“Rand.”
“Rand,” she whispered. He was so close she could smell him, soap and the faint remnants of all those warring perfumes, all layered over his own unique scent. The scent that was Rand. And he wanted to kiss her. Her lips tingled with the memory of last night’s kiss, so innocent and yet so affecting. She wanted that again…that and more.
Rose. She’d promised Rose. She couldn’t do this.
She backed up toward the corridor, her gaze darting around the chamber. “The door is open.”
He followed her—and reached around her to shut it. “Now it’s not.”
She backed away more, until she was smack up against it.
“Lily.” He followed her again and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I very much wish to kiss you.”
Even through the fitted jacket of her riding habit, his fingers felt warm, their imprints sending a rush of sensation through her. Her mouth dried, and she licked her lips. “I very much wish…”
“What?”
She could hardly breathe. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” His eyes glowed silver, a mixture of confidence and desire. “You want to kiss me, too.”
“Maybe. But…I cannot.”
“Oh,” he said, “I think you can.”
And then he proved it.
His mouth on hers was gentle, like it had been the night before. Still, that light touch was enough to make her dizzy. Finding it impossible to think clearly, she reached to wind her arms around his neck. His hands slipped behind her, settling on the small of her back to draw her against him.
He felt warm, solid. She moved even closer and fit her curves to his body. A low groan rose from his throat, and his lips slanted more urgently, coaxing hers to open.
Lily knew about this kind of kiss—she was, after all, the youngest of three sisters. She’d anticipated the day she might try it, with both excitement and some trepidation. It had sounded…well, rather messy and not entirely pleasant, no matter that she’d been assured otherwise.
So it was with some apprehension that she responded to the pressure of his mouth, opening her lips the barest measure. His tongue traced a slow line between, and she shivered and opened wider, giving him what he wanted.
And goodness, she wanted it, too. His tongue invaded further, teasing hers with a heavenly skill that made her weak in the knees. Her eyes drifted closed. Her arms tightened around him, and she breathed in his heady scent, tasting him in return.
Quite suddenly her world seemed filled with him. He tasted glorious. And the mysteries of the bedchamber no longer seemed frightening—not when her entire body thrummed from only a kiss.
At last he gently eased away and rested his lips on her forehead. “I have to leave,” he said, the words gruff against her skin.
Lady tweeted from the window, and Jasper answered with a chirp. Lily hadn’t heard them while Rand had been kissing her. She hadn’t heard or felt or seen anything—except for him.
She was trembling all over. And Rand was right.
“Yes,” she said. “You should leave.”
FIFTEEN
IT WAS A WEEK later, when Lily was exercising her horse, Snowflake, that she spotted Rand running along the bank of the Thames.
He’d avoided her all that time. Or she’d avoided him. Or both—she wasn’t sure. But now, riding toward him, her heart began to race…and it wasn’t from the exertion of the gallop.
She slowed deliberately, both Snowflake’s gait and her own breathing. It didn’t matter that the mere sight of this man set the pit of her stomach to tingling. She wouldn’t let him kiss her again.
She’d promised Rose. Never mind that Rose had contrived to visit Violet every day this week and come back reporting she’d seen neither hide nor hair of Rand. A promise was a promise.
Lily was seeing a considerable amount of Rand’s hide now. Above plain buff breeches, his loose white shirt was unlaced and open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Tied back into a queue, his glorious hair streamed on the wind behind him, shimmering in the sun. His unfashionably low-heeled boots pounded along the grassy bank in a rhythm measured and unceasing.
He ran, she thought, like a wildcat, lithe and sleek.
She knew the moment he saw her. There was a telltale stumble in that perfectly smooth motion. And a matching hitch in her heartbeat.
He stopped and leaned over, hands to bent knees, panting hard as he waited for her to ride closer. When she did, he straightened and looked up at her, using a hand to shade his eyes.
His face was flushed; his shirt clung damply to his skin. That piercing gray gaze swept her from her toes on up. When it met her eyes, searching, it seemed almost as though he were seeing her for the first time.
Holding her reins in one hand, she self-consciously smoothed her butter yellow habit with the other.
“Good day, Lily.”
She swallowed tightly. “Good day.”
“I’m finished running,” he said, stating the obvious. But for some reason, she had a feeling he spoke of more than exercise. Moving beside her white horse, he reached to help her down. “Will you walk with me? I like to do that after I run.”
There was no harm, she supposed, in walking. But when his hands spanned her waist to ease her to the ground, she felt a disturbing jolt of sensation. And he let his fingers rest there longer than he needed to before he stepped back.
She deliberately looked away, taking Snowflake’s reins and looping them over the branch of a scrubby tree.
A sparrow fluttered from the sky and alighted in the sparse foliage. Rand looked up, then raised a questioning brow. “Lady?”
“Yes. She thinks she’s protecting me.”
“She thinks I cannot defend you without her help?” His laugh sounded strained. “She’s insulting my masc
ulinity.”
To the contrary, Lily suspected Lady was acknowledging his masculinity—protecting her from Rand rather than in spite of him. But she certainly wasn’t going to encourage him by telling him that.
They turned and walked along the riverfront, settling easily into a comfortable tempo. Keeping far enough away from him that he couldn’t take her hand, Lily focused on the water. Swans glided majestically, and faint laughter drifted from one of the boats filled with people enjoying the summer sun.
“Do you run often?” she asked, then realized she knew the answer.
Here was the reason he looked so browned and healthy, so lean and sleekly muscled. Apparently not all academics spent their days locked away in research.
“Often enough,” he said. “It helps me think.”
Surprised, she turned her head to meet his gaze. “How can you think while you run that hard?”
“Not during.” He smiled, his teeth blindingly white in his heated face. “After. Like now. When my body is pleasantly worn-out and I can feel the breeze cooling my skin.”
It had always done that for Rand, the running. It wasn’t only the speed. It was the strain of pumping muscles, the sound of pounding feet, the delicious gulps of air rushing in and out of his lungs. The rhythm. It all combined to clear his head—to fill his head—leaving no space for worry or concerns. When he was running, he was only running.
And when he stopped, he could always think more clearly. Life seemed simpler. Problems seemed surmountable. For him, it had worked that way as long as he could remember.
But this time, when he’d stopped, Lily had been there. And he’d thought, quite clearly, that he must be falling in love.
The realization had come out of nowhere, as though he’d stumbled on a key and unlocked a cryptic code. His heart had hammered against his ribs. Was still hammering against his ribs.
He wasn’t sure he believed in love, wasn’t sure he was ready for it. Without his family’s help—without anyone’s help—he’d made a life for himself. A good life, a comfortable life, a life in which he didn’t have to answer to anyone.
A lonely life, a little voice whispered.
“How long have you lived in Oxford?” Lily asked, then watched Rand shake his head as though to clear it.
“Half my life—since I was fourteen. I couldn’t wait to get out of my father’s house. The man doesn’t approve of what I’ve become, but it suits me better than living under his thumb and following his orders.”
“Did he expect you to assist him with his estates?” She knew that Rowan would do that someday, but Rand seemed so independent. Besides, it was different for Rowan. Someday Rowan would be Lord Trentingham, but Rand would never be more than Lord Hawkridge’s younger brother. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to do that, or live the life of an idle gentleman. Between your lecturing and your research, you have so much to contribute.”
“It’s a shame my father doesn’t see it that way. I believe my leaving for Oxford was the only thing we ever agreed on. He was as happy to see the back of me as I was to turn it upon him.”
He grinned as though that was supposed to be amusing, and she smiled in return. But she sensed a sadness lurking beneath his good humor. There was so much more to Rand than his father was willing to see. So many admirable qualities. And underneath them all, that loneliness she’d glimpsed. That lack of a family who believed in him.
No matter what, she’d always have her family and their support. She’d never realized how lucky she was. Rand had made his place in the world, but he’d done it alone.
No one should have to be alone.
Her heart aching for him, she glanced toward him as they walked and found his gaze fixed to where she was absently rubbing the back of her hand. “How did it happen?” he asked.
Embarrassed, she waved the scarred hand dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering. It happened long ago.”
“But how?”
Though he didn’t seem at all repulsed, she stared down at the thin white lines. The proof of her imperfection. “A cat. Not Beatrix. And it wasn’t his fault—I was teasing him. I learned to respect animals after that. All animals.”
“I cannot imagine you disrespecting anything.”
Something in his voice made a nervous laugh bubble out of her. “I try,” she said, “but I’m far from perfect.”
“You’re close enough to perfect for me,” he said very seriously. He stopped walking and took her by the shoulders to stop her, too, gently turning her to face him. “May I kiss you again, Lily?”
Her pulse skittered. His shirt had dried, and it billowed in the soft breeze. She wanted to lay her palms against the front of it and run them up to feel the warm, tanned skin revealed in the open placket.
But she couldn’t. And she couldn’t let him kiss her again, either. It didn’t matter that her lips seemed to be tingling with remembered anticipation.
She licked them. “Rose…”
A puzzled frown appeared on his brow. “Rose? What has Rose to do with this?”
She hesitated. They were standing beneath a tree, and a flutter of wings heralded Lady alighting above them. But Lady couldn’t help her, couldn’t protect her.
Only the truth could do that.
Holding Rand’s gaze, Lily took a deep breath. “Rose wants you.”
His lips curved in a crooked smile, and one hand drifted from her shoulder. He touched a fingertip to the little dent in her chin. “So you’re being a good sister, is that it? Let me tell you, Lily, Rose may very well want me. But I want you.”
He couldn’t, she thought.
Maybe he did. But he just couldn’t.
His finger traced a featherlight pattern on her chin, making her melt, making her crave his kiss even more. But this wasn’t right. She’d promised. She’d broken her promise twice already, and twice was two times too many.
While Lady twittered, Lily struggled to keep her head. “You’re so like Rose. You both sing, the languages…”
Her words trailed off. Lady flew to a lower branch.
Rand seemed to consider that line of reasoning for a long moment.
When he finally spoke, his tone was laced with quiet conviction. “Maybe I am like Rose. But I don’t want someone like me. I want someone to complete me.”
His voice was so deep, the sentiment so earnest, his eyes on hers so sure. When he leaned closer, when his hand slipped from her chin to curl around the back of her neck, when he lowered his lips to hers…all she could do was surrender.
And surrender felt entirely too good.
Slowly he backed her against the tree, his mouth working its magic. Her lips opened willingly this time, eagerly, her tongue reaching out in tentative exploration. His mouth felt soft but made hers burn with fire. She pressed closer, reveling in the feel of his hard, toned body against her.
Leaves rustled overhead as he moaned, deepening the kiss. An answering sound rose from inside her. His hand tightened on her nape while his other arm went around her, a clear bid for possession. He tasted of Rand, and she sucked in his scent, stronger and more heady following his run.
Her senses reeled, and a ripple of excitement began flowing through her, building toward a crescendo. It made her dizzy, made her knees weak, made her want more.
She arched her neck as his lips trailed down her throat. “Lily,” he whispered, her name a damp promise in the sensitive hollow. “I want you.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
“You cannot,” she said, afraid it was the same for her. She tried to pull away, fought to regain her senses. This was wrong. “We…we haven’t known each other long enough for you to know what you want.”
“Four years.”
“No,” she argued, biting her lip. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. This couldn’t be happening. “Not four years. Not even a month. A few weeks four years ago, and nine or ten days now. Most of them spent apart.”
“Well,
then,” he said quietly, so guilelessly she knew he believed it, “it must have been love at first sight.”
Love. The single word made her heart knot and grow heavy in her chest. Feeling his hands against her nape and her back, the humming warmth of his body against hers, she knew, without a doubt, that he really, truly did want her.
And she wanted him.
But Rose wanted him, too.
Blood pounded in her head, filled her ears, rocked her senses. He’d spoken of love—and if he loved her, Lily, then he’d never marry Rose, would he? What was the point of keeping her promise if Rose’s hopes were destined to be dashed either way?
For one single moment, she wanted, more than she’d wanted anything in her life, to break a promise to her sister. Then she gasped, appalled that she’d even had such a disloyal thought. Her word meant everything to her.
“I have to leave,” she said, echoing what he’d said a week earlier. And she turned toward Snowflake and ran, Lady flying after her.
SIXTEEN
FOR THREE SOLID days, Rand did nothing but eat, sleep, work on the translation, and run. And think. And run and think some more.
At the end of that time, he still wasn’t sure how—or even if—his feelings for Lily had turned from simple lust to something deeper. The mechanics of falling in love seemed cryptic, as elusive as the symbols in Ford’s ancient alchemy book.
But Rand Nesbitt was a man who prided himself on his ability to figure things out.
Leaving Ford’s laboratory for supper, he asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“No,” Ford said flatly. “It makes no logical sense.”
“Then you didn’t feel…with Violet…”
“On first sight?” Ford’s mouth twitched as though he were holding back a laugh. “Absolutely not. I thought her rather plain and more than a little odd. Though I cannot imagine why,” he added thoughtfully.
Rand followed him down the winding staircase to Lakefield’s cozy, burgundy-toned dining room, where Violet was waiting with their children.
She didn’t look plain at all—she was practically glowing, as a matter of fact, as she handed one of the twins to a nursemaid. And as for odd, well, if that word didn’t describe Ford Chase, Rand didn’t know one that did.