2. Go into a decline.
Never again would she feature in one of Wyatt’s, except possibly…
1. Attend Robina’s funeral.
Her sense of the ridiculous saved her from decline and death. As the midwinter light faded and everyone else was changing for dinner, she wrapped up warmly and slipped out of the house to enjoy fresh air, solitude, and despair. By the time she reached the end of the drive, it was almost dark and snowing lightly. She ought to go back, but Dinfield Park had become a place of horror, the glorious decorations she’d worked on so hard a mockery of the spirit of Christmas. Her cheeks were cold and damp, whether from snow or tears she neither knew nor cared.
What she wanted to do was continue down the lane that would take her straight to The Duke’s Arms, but with the fresh snowfall there was no question of the coach running tonight. She was about to turn around when a male voice called her name. Her heart beat a tattoo as she thought it was Wyatt come to find her. Except he’d only berate her for foolishness at being out so late, with reason.
But the figure that emerged from the gloaming was Nolly’s slender one. “I say, Robina, what are you doing out in the dark?”
“Just taking a walk. I’ve been busy indoors all day. And you, Nolly?”
“The same.” But he was a poor liar and couldn’t disguise a note of excitement.
“Really? I didn’t see you helping with the decorating.” He muttered something about it not being in his line. “So what are you doing? I’d like to hear a good story.”
“Since you’re a good fellow with a spirit of adventure, and because you saw the New Sheriff of Nottingham, I think you deserve to know. A couple of the fellows and I have a plan to catch him. We’re going to borrow Cobby’s father’s carriage and drive along the road where the Sheriff usually appears. When he does, we’ll be ready.”
“Does Cobby’s father know about this scheme?”
“Robina! You wouldn’t be a spoil-sport.”
“No, I wouldn’t, not least because I have no idea of Cobby’s father’s name or where he lives. How can you be sure the highwayman will hold you up? He doesn’t strike every night, does he?”
“We can’t, of course, but some think he has an accomplice at the inn. We’re going to boast about our plans in the taproom and mention that Cobby is carrying a large sum of money he won at cards.”
“That’s clever. Are you armed?”
“All three of us. I have Papa’s pistols with me.” He dug into his pocket, and a weapon glittered in his hand.
“I’m impressed. And I want to come with you.” A wild idea, but it would keep her out of the house and her mind off her troubles for a few hours.
“You can’t! You’re a girl.”
“A minute ago, I was a fellow with a spirit of adventure. But go on without me.” Wyatt had always been impossibly stubborn, but other very young men were easily managed. “I’ll walk back to the house and tell your mother.”
Nolly’s face fell. “You will not.”
“No, I won’t, because I’m coming with you. I’m in an adventurous mood. Besides, he stole my money and jewelry, and I have a right to revenge.” And she wanted to see Wyatt’s face when he heard of the escapade. She’d give him safe.
“Very well. Don’t get in the way when things get hot.”
“On the contrary. I intend to help. Give me one of those guns.”
*
“Where’s Nolly?” Sybilla asked when they sat down to dinner. “I despair of the boy.”
“Where’s Miss Weston?” Wyatt asked, tired of his eldest ward and his moods.
“She is feeling unwell and doesn’t wish to be disturbed. I fear we worked her too hard today.” Sybilla was behaving well, not wanting to jeopardize the loan of Hillforth House.
He didn’t believe it. Robina didn’t want to see him. Hell and damnation! When was he going to have the chance to speak? He brooded through the meal, hardly hearing Sybilla’s chatter. When the latter withdrew at the end of the meal and the three boys went about their boyish business, he asked the butler to inquire how Miss Weston was doing. “I know she said she didn’t wish to be disturbed, but she may need something. Has she eaten? No? Send someone up with some soup and a glass of wine with my compliments.”
Foolish girl to go without dinner. Or else she was truly ill. He paced the hall, waiting for the man’s return.
“Not in her room?” he yelled a quarter of an hour later. “Didn’t you see her go out?”
“No, my lord. The only person I’ve seen leave the house this evening is Mr. Nolly, but I cannot be everywhere.”
“Fetch my coat. And a lantern.” She’d gone to the inn, he was sure, looking for a coach because she couldn’t bear to share a carriage with him. Who could blame her? She must be terrified that he would maul her again. Or worse.
Anxiety turned to terror when he discovered that a few flakes of snow had turned into a white maelstrom. He could have ordered a mount, but he didn’t want to waste the time. Supposing Robina had fallen by the wayside, he might miss her from horseback.
It was the worst mile-long walk of his life as he battled through the thick flakes, trying to hear and see through the wind and the white swirls, his lantern barely lighting the way a yard ahead. Clinging to the hope that she’d left before the snowfall began in earnest, he arrived at the inn, praying as he never had in his life that he’d find her safely by the fire, alive and drinking tea so that he could wring her neck.
No. He wouldn’t do that. Merely hold her tight and never let her go.
The first person he saw as he burst through the door was Nolly.
“Where’s Robina?” he asked, stamping his boots. “Tell me she’s here.”
“I had Wattles put her in a room for the night,” the boy said.
Wyatt exhaled a sigh of relief, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Nolly regarded him in nervous silence.
“What the devil were the pair of you doing out on a night like this?” Wyatt asked.
“It was barely snowing when we left, and she would come with me. She’s a damned fine female.”
Wyatt found himself grinning. “That she is. Maybe it’s time you told me why you keep vanishing.” He nodded at Peg Wattles as she passed through into the taproom. “Not that.”
“I couldn’t tell Mama because she’d have made a fuss—you know what’s she’s like. We’ve been trying to catch the New Sheriff of Nottingham. And do you know, Cousin Wyatt, I believe we’d have managed it tonight if it hadn’t started snowing so hard. Not even a thief is out in weather like this.” He described the plan he and his friends had conceived. “It’s the shabbiest thing. We drove five miles and back and almost got stuck in the snow, and not a sign of the Sheriff.”
“A very poor kind of villain to be deterred by the weather,” Wyatt commented wryly.
“That’s what I think. The four of us had our pistols primed and never got a chance to use them. Robina was dying to get a shot at the man who robbed her.”
Wyatt’s relief evaporated. “Damn it, Nolly,” he yelled, barely restraining himself from strangling the lad. “You took Robina on a dangerous wild-goose chase and let her carry a gun? What were you thinking?” He paused. If he’d never been able to keep Robina from putting herself in danger, why would Nolly? “Never mind. Where are you off to?”
“I’m going to Cobby’s for the night. His house is in the village.”
“Take my lantern and go home. Your mother will be worried.”
“What about you?”
“I need to speak to Miss Weston. Tell them not to wait up for me.”
Miss Wattles came into the hall again and asked if he wanted anything. “There’s a good fire in the taproom, my lord. Can I take your coat?” He was covered with an inch of snow, like a monstrous snowman.
He didn’t want to talk to Robina in a public place. He fished in his pocket for a coin and found a guinea. “Which room is Miss Weston in? And keep it to yourself, if you don’t mind.”
She looked a bit doubtful but wasn’t proof against the glint of gold.
“I don’t mean her any harm.” Visiting a young lady in her bedchamber was the most shocking thing he’d ever done, but frankly, he didn’t care if word leaked out. His intentions were entirely honorable, and if Robina’s hand was forced by scandal, too bad. A good politician seized every advantage, fair or foul.
Chapter Ten
‡
Robina enjoyed her adventure, even though its only achievement was getting chilled to the bone as the carriage limped the five miles back through thickening snow, the young men taking the reins in turn. She wondered if an outlaw foolish enough to be out in such weather would hesitate to attack a vehicle emitting waves of raucous laughter. Mostly high spirits, though a flask of brandy was circulated. After her experience with the punch, she’d limited herself to a sip against the cold. Once they reached the inn, the disappointed but cheerful party enjoyed a bit of hot supper and a warm fire. Then she borrowed a nightgown from Peg Wattles and got into bed.
The last person Robina expected to see in her room at The Duke’s Arms was Wyatt. But why should she be surprised? He’d hunt her down to the ends of the earth for the sole purpose of telling her she was a fool.
“Good evening, Robina,” he said. “May I come in?” He stepped through the door and closed it behind him.
“You’re covered in snow.” Wet hair clinging to his scalp suited him. Despite everything—his scorn and subsequent engagement to Sybilla—she felt a quiver of excitement at the piquancy of having him alone in a small bedchamber.
“That tends to happen when you walk a mile through a storm in search of a lady who is supposed to be in bed.”
She shrugged. “I am in bed.” Wyatt seemed very calm. Not that agitation was his common state, but he didn’t even appear disapproving.
“I saw Nolly downstairs. He told me what you had been doing.”
“I suppose you’ve come up to scold me for imprudence and self-endangerment.”
Wyatt opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. “I just remembered,” he said after a moment. “The apple tree in your orchard. You were about seven.”
“Yes. You made me get down, and then you tried it again the other day. I was perfectly fine both times.”
“You may be right,” he said. “And at this point, you are old enough to decide for yourself, although I’d prefer it if you refrained from climbing trees without someone, preferably me, being there to catch you. I’m not so sanguine about you driving around chasing armed villains.”
“We had fun and we were armed too. But go ahead and scold me. You may as well get it over,” she added defiantly.
“Had you asked my opinion of the venture, I would have advised against it, but I am glad to see you survived without injury.”
Thoroughly unnerved by such unwonted tranquility, she tugged up the blankets to hide the coarse linen nightgown. “Uh, well. Thank you for your concern. I won’t keep you.”
He stood there, dripping water onto the wooden floor, and gazed at her. Staring back at his dear face—how she ever thought him merely good-looking baffled her, for he was surely the handsomest man in the world—it appeared, incredibly, that he was nervous. Yet she was the one most at fault. After a moment’s uncomfortable silence, she pulled herself together. They couldn’t go on like this, and she must attempt to repair their friendship. Much as it would pain her to see him married to another, she couldn’t manage without Wyatt in her life. He had always been there, a reliable and reassuring presence, even when she rarely saw him.
“Wyatt—”
“Robina—”
They interrupted each other.
“Let me speak,” he said. “I owe you an apology.”
“Do you?” she said faintly. That, she hadn’t expected. Wyatt rarely apologized, since he never thought himself wrong.
“Of course I do. At the assembly, I behaved in a way that was a disgrace to the very name of a gentleman. I forced myself on you.” He closed his eyes for a second.
“It doesn’t matter. I suppose a hussy asks for such treatment.”
“No one deserves it. What I did must have appalled you.” Which meant that she must indeed be a hussy, because she’d loved every second of it. His actions hadn’t hurt her, only the motives behind them.
“Please, Wyatt. Let us forget that evening and never mention the subject again.”
“I cannot. I must assure you that if my hopes are realized, I will never again treat you so brutally. You have, and will always have, my most profound respect.”
“I’m glad. And when you wed Sybilla, you would certainly not be kissing another woman.” She looked at him doubtfully. She knew that men sometimes strayed, but she couldn’t conceive that he would dally with her.
“Marry Sybilla? Don’t be ridiculous.”
So Sybilla had been causing mischief, and she felt like cheering.
“Naturally, I must marry you. How could you think otherwise?”
“Must? How many times do I have to tell you that you owe me nothing? Don’t tell me it was because you kissed me. And if it’s only because we’re alone in a bedchamber at an inn together, that’s easily solved. You can leave at once.”
“Why can’t I find the right words to persuade you? I always seem to say the wrong thing when I propose to you.” He shook his head, and she thought she detected hunger in his eyes, not merely annoyance. Clearly the man needed a hint.
“It doesn’t matter what you say,” she said softly. “It’s what you feel that’s important.”
His shoulders drooped, and Wyatt never slouched. “I never have the least difficulty saying what I mean to most people, but proposing to you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Is that why we suffered those excruciating morning calls in London? Because you couldn’t bring yourself to make the offer and felt obliged because of what you said to Edwin?”
“Yes…no. I wanted to marry you.”
“You didn’t give me that impression.”
“But not for the right reasons. Then. It’s different now.”
“How?” Her chest fluttered in desperate hope.
His eyes were wild, his lips pinched. He seemed unable to speak, and then he took a deep breath. “I love you.” The words came out so fast they ran together. She had no problem understanding them, but her incredulous brain lagged in grasping their significance. It was her turn to be struck dumb while Wyatt rediscovered his eloquence. “I love you, Robina. I love your beauty and your wit and your kindness. I love your intelligence and the way you create enjoyment around you even when things are difficult. I love the way you challenge me and refuse to accept second-best. I love that you refused me because I proposed for the wrong reasons, even though the sensible thing was to say yes. My greatest wish is to change your mind, and I will never stop trying.” The flood of words ceased but only for a second. “I love you, and I always have. It took me too long to see you as more than a family friend.”
When Wyatt found the right words, they were marvelous ones. She needed to speak, but her heart was caught in her throat. He cast about him and started to rifle through the pockets of his coat, tossing things onto the carpet until he found a folded sheet of paper.
“You’ll laugh at this”—his smile contained a final plea—“but I made a list.”
“Only one?” The impertinent words popped out as the lump in her throat dissolved into glee.
“I love it when you tease me,” he said. “Of course more than one. Every month this autumn, I put it on my list. ‘Propose to Robina.’ I never did, and finally I understand my reluctance. I didn’t know why I should offer for you and now I do. This is the list I made this morning.”
He handed her the paper, and she read it in wonder.
1. Tell Sybilla no.
2. Propose to Robina.
3. Make her say yes.
4. Kiss Robina. (Contingent on success of item 3.)
�
��‘Make her say yes?’ Really?”
“Will it help if I beg?”
“Begging is good. But what really settles it is the contingency. Yes.”
“What was that?”
“Yes, I will marry you, and now could we move on to item four? Immediately.” She held out her arms, but he didn’t move.
“Are you sure, Robina? You must feel nothing but fear after the way I attacked you last time. I’ll try to be gentle in future.”
“Don’t you dare, Wyatt. I enjoyed every moment.”
“Why did you push me away, then?”
“Because you had called me a hussy, and I was behaving like one. I hated how you despised me.”
“It was myself I despised, never you.”
She couldn’t wait another second to have his arms around her, his lips on her. “What are we waiting for, then, Wyatt? After all the orders you’ve given me in my life, it’s my turn to issue a command. Kiss me. Now.”
Wyatt took to obedience like a duck to water. And though he started out tenderly, sipping sweetly at her lips, when he sensed her response gentleness gave way to a passion that burned. A respectful embrace devolved into a tangle of blankets and limbs as he lay on top of her, causing the bed to creak. Instinctively she parted her legs so that his length rested between them and lit a fire in her depths. Her body arched, begging to be touched and taken. “Please,” she implored. “More.” She pushed against him, grasping handfuls of his wet coat to urge him on.
“I shouldn’t,” he said roughly.
“You should,” she replied and pulled his head down, adoring his damp hair threaded by her fingers, the slight roughness of his chin and jaw, and the hot taste of his mouth. He was Wyatt and this was only the beginning of how she wanted to know him.
His hands pulling down the neck of her gown and caressing her breast caused her no panic, only a lovely yearning that intensified the sensations below her belly. “More,” she repeated and gave a mewl of protest when he rolled off her, breathing heavily.
“I have to stop. We have to stop.” He stood beside the bed with his hands behind his back. “If I touch you again, I’ll end up doing what should wait until we are married.”
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