‘I have.’
‘Then you can give me a game,’ Rachel said, gesturing towards the table. ‘Your aim should be in.’
Cory picked one of the cues from the rack on the wall. Rachel potted two balls in quick succession and he watched her as she moved around the table. She sized up the state of play quickly and made swift decisions about which ball to pot. Cory, on the other hand, found it difficult to focus on the state of play, preferring to watch Rachel herself. He knew that his concentration was shot to pieces before he even started.
Rachel took on a risky pot and just missed the pocket.
Cory approached the table to take his shot. Rachel came and leaned on the edge of the table beside him. Cory gritted his teeth. He tried to block out her presence and ignore the scent of her perfume, a scent that seemed insidiously to wrap itself around his senses. She smelled clean and fresh and innocent. It was the scent of lavender and lily of the valley. When the hell had he started to find the smell of lavender attractive?
He missed his shot.
‘Hmm.’ Rachel’s quizzical hazel gaze was on his face. ‘It is to be hoped that the security of the nation does not rest entirely with you, Cory.’ She potted two more balls with quick efficiency, brushing against him as she tried to get the optimum angle.
Cory watched the sway of her hips and tried to remember that his life depended on breathing at regular intervals. To distract himself as much as her, he said, ‘So, did you enjoy your conversation with Richard Kestrel today, Rae? I seem to recall that you were quite taken with him.’
An unexpected dimple dented Rachel’s cheek as she smiled. ‘I think Lord Richard is absolutely charming.’
‘Hmm,’ Cory said, feeling a certain ironic amusement that the answer to his question was the opposite of the one he wanted. ‘Do you think that he might be the sort of husband you are seeking?’
Rachel gave a peal of laughter. ‘Certainly not! Lord Richard is almost the last person that I would wish to marry, even were he to be in the market for a wife. He is far too…’ she paused, wrinkling her brow ‘…far too costly for me.’
‘Costly?’ Cory raised his brows.
‘Yes.’ Rachel straightened up and paused in her decimation of the billiard table. ‘You remember the bit in Shakespeare—Much Ado About Nothing, I believe—when the Prince asks Beatrice if she would consider marrying him and she says that she would need two of him, one for best and one for everyday use? I feel like that about Lord Richard Kestrel. He is far too dangerous for me to tangle with in any romantic sense.’
Cory hesitated. ‘Do you feel like that about me, Rae?’
Rachel looked at him for a moment. He allowed his gaze to travel over her, from her kid slippers to her neatly pinned Grecian knot, finishing at her face, which was now ever so slightly flushed. She dropped her gaze.
‘The question does not arise,’ she said, her voice slightly muffled as she turned back to the billiard table. ‘I might feel like that if I was not such an old friend of yours. I know you too well to see you as other ladies do.’
She took the shot; Cory saw her hand tremble very slightly on the cue. Even so, she put the ball away.
He followed her round the table as she prepared for her next move. He could tell that she was ruffled now, for she did not have sufficient experience to hide it. The thought roused tenderness and ruthlessness in him in equal measure. What would it be like to exploit the attraction that he knew Rachel felt for him, an attraction that she would not admit, even to herself? The idea was such a potent one that he almost lost all his good intentions towards her and kissed her there and then.
Looking at her, he could tell that Rachel had read something of his thoughts; her troubled hazel gaze had flashed one look at his expression and then away.
‘You seemed to appreciate the company of Mrs Stratton,’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘You were enjoying yourself as much if not more than I was this morning.’
For a moment, Cory could not even remember who Mrs Stratton was.
‘Indeed,’ he said, when memory had returned. ‘She was trying to persuade me to take part in Lady Sally’s watercolour book.’
Rachel laughed. ‘No doubt you were more receptive to her persuasions than you were to mine?’
‘I was probably less outspoken with her,’ Cory said, ‘but the outcome was the same.’
Rachel leaned over to take her final shot. Cory moved until he was very close to her, their bodies just touching. Rachel shifted away. Cory moved imperceptibly after her. She looked up, her face red.
‘Stop it! You are doing it on purpose!’
‘Doing what?’ Cory asked innocently.
‘Trying to put me off,’ Rachel said crossly.
Cory smiled. ‘My proximity has never disturbed your game before,’ he pointed out.
‘Well, it does now!’ Rachel bit her lip. ‘Kindly stand further off.’
Cory moved away obediently, keeping his gaze on her face. There was a militant light in Rachel’s eye, but beneath it he could see her uncertainty. His physical presence had not troubled her in the past. Probably she had not even been aware of it or aware of him. Yet since he had joined the excavation in Suffolk the awareness between them had been so sharp that it struck sparks. Cory intended to keep it that way. There would be no settling back into a comfortable friendship now.
Rachel hit the ball far too hard, jamming her cue into the top of the table. The ball leapt, jumping off the end of the table and bouncing on to the wooden floor. Cory heard Rachel swear, which in itself was a most unusual occurrence. He picked the ball up and held it out to her.
‘Would you like another go?’
Rachel was struggling to control her temper. She looked like an infuriated child.
‘No, thank you. And if you sabotage me again like that you will feel my cue between your ribs!’
Cory caught hold of her arm, pulling her close to him. He could sense the genuine distress beneath her childish anger and it was like a blow to the heart.
‘Pax, Rachel,’ he said. ‘I am sorry.’
She looked up at him and he could see the conflict in her expression. She was aware that something had changed between them but she did not understand what was happening to them. Swiftly, briefly, unable to resist, Cory lowered his head and kissed her. It was not much different from the comforting caresses he had occasionally offered to Rachel when she had been younger and had bumped her knee. The images in his head were of consolation and reassurance, but such thoughts fled as his lips touched hers and the kiss transformed itself into something entirely different. Rachel’s lips parted for him with a trusting innocence that incited a rush of desire and swept all memories away. Suddenly he was kissing her with a fierce heat that almost pushed all common sense beyond his reach. Rachel’s lips were soft and helplessly accepting beneath his and he drove one hand into her hair to hold her still so that he could plunder the sweetness still further.
The billiards cue fell with a clatter beside them and they both jumped. Cory let Rachel go so suddenly that she almost fell and had to put out an instinctive hand to steady herself against the billiard table.
‘Sorry,’ Cory said. He caught Rachel’s arm to help her regain her balance, flinching as he saw the way she pulled away from him.
‘I’m sorry, Rachel,’ he said again. He did not regret what he had done, but he was obliged to admit that he could have shown considerably more finesse.
Rachel’s eyes were blank for a moment, then expression slowly returned to them. She put up a hand and touched her lips gently. ‘What…what was that?’
Cory felt his stomach drop at the bewildered note in her voice. ‘That,’ he said, ‘was a kiss between friends.’
Rachel nodded slowly. ‘I remember you saying the other night that a kiss between friends was a mistake. Now that it has happened, do you think it is true?’
Cory did not think so, but equally he did not want to frighten her further. He could see how shocked she was at the way t
heir comforting friendship had so abruptly shifted into something far more dangerous. Even though there had been intimations of such a change over the previous weeks, the suddenness of it had startled her as well as aroused her.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
Rachel’s hazel gaze focussed on his face. ‘I think it was the inevitable consequence of getting too close to a rake,’ she said.
Cory laughed ruefully. ‘I cannot in all honesty deny that,’ he said, ‘although I think there was probably more to it than that. Do you mind, Rae?’
Rachel gave him a brief glance. He sensed that she felt shy with him, which was an unusual state of affairs between them.
‘No,’ she said slowly. Her brow puckered. ‘I suppose I ought to mind.’
Cory took her hand. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers and the way she trembled beneath his touch. It lit a savage male urge within him. At its most primitive, it made him want to throw her down on the billiards table and make love to her there and then. He took several steps away from temptation, drawing her with him by the hand and forcing himself to be gentle.
‘So you did not mind it.’ Cory kept his tone soft. ‘Could you even go so far as to say that you enjoyed it, Rae?’
Rachel pursed her lips. Cory wanted to kiss them again.
‘It was quite pleasant,’ she allowed, withdrawing her hand from his, ‘but it was a mistake all the same.’ She unconsciously pressed her fingers to her lips again. ‘If we are to remain friends, Cory, I do not believe that we should kiss each other.’
Cory drove his hands into his pockets and tried to hold on to his self-control. ‘Is that what you want, Rae—that we remain friends?’
Rachel nodded vigorously. ‘I think that we should pretend that it never happened.’
Cory raised his brows. ‘Do you think it will be as easy as that?’
Rachel hesitated. She looked a little bewildered. ‘Is it not that simple?’
‘I suppose so.’
But it was not. Cory knew it. Something had been transformed between them and time could never be turned back. More importantly, he did not want it to be, but he knew not to press the matter now. For all her retreat into friendship, Rachel had admitted to enjoying the kiss. More than that, she had responded to him with a sweetness that had stirred his blood.
Rachel was still looking at him as though she expected him to say something else. Cory clamped down on all the things that he wanted to say to her and waited politely.
‘Well,’ Rachel said after a moment, I suppose that I shall see you tomorrow, Cory. Goodnight.’
Cory waited until he heard the soft patter of her footsteps die away along the corridor, then he took the billiard ball from his pocket, placed it on the table, took aim and hit it viciously and precisely into the corner pocket. It relieved some of his frustrations, but not all of them. Nothing short of taking Rachel to his bed would do that, and even then he had the suspicion that as soon as he touched her he would not want to let her go ever again. Given the difficulty he knew he would have persuading her into marriage, he almost groaned aloud. Never had a rake set himself such a daunting task. Never had he been more determined to succeed.
Chapter Ten
‘Lady Sally is the most consummate hostess, is she not?’ Deborah murmured to Rachel as they stood side by side in the long gallery at Saltires a week later. ‘She promised us a ball and here we have one that would grace the ton. The Midwinter villages have not seen so many eligible gentlemen since Henry VIII came hunting here!’
‘There seems to be plenty of hunting going on this evening,’ Rachel said drily. ‘The ladies seem determined to charm the gentlemen in order to get them to agree to take part in Lady Sally’s watercolour book, and the gentlemen are not exactly resisting very hard!’
She leaned on the stone balustrade to scan the hall below. Saltires was too small to have a ballroom, so Lady Sally had cleared the Great Hall and had had a dais erected for the orchestra at one end, beneath the huge stained glass window. The iron sconces flared with candles and the stone walls were warmed with brightly coloured tapestries. The medieval atmosphere was further enhanced by a self-important little man who strutted through the guests dressed in doublet and hose, his chest thrust out like a ruffled pigeon.
‘That is Lady Sally’s tame artist, Mr Daubenay,’ Deborah commented, following Rachel’s gaze. ‘He is the one who is commissioned to paint her watercolours. Does he not affect the oddest attire? I almost expect him to bring out a lute and start to serenade the ladies!’
The artist had in fact whipped out a sketching pad and was starting to draw one of Lady Sally’s guests. As the crowd in the hall shifted, Rachel saw that it was Helena Lang. She seemed quite flattered by Daubenay’s attentions, for she was preening a little under his attentions, tossing her curls and trilling with laughter. At her side lounged a tall man with very dark auburn hair and the classic good looks of the Kestrels. Rachel caught Deborah’s sleeve.
‘Deborah, you must tell me who Lady Sally’s guests are, for I have not been introduced to them all. The gentleman with Miss Lang, for instance. He must be one of the Duke’s brothers.’
Deborah laughed. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is Lord Lucas Kestrel, the third of the unholy trinity! They say that he is even more unsafe to tangle with than his brothers because he looks a lot less dangerous!’
‘He is the one who is an army man, is he not?’ Rachel asked. She thought that Lucas looked extremely attractive. ‘I had heard that he was recently returned from India.’
Deborah snorted. ‘That poppycock! Lucas Kestrel is no more a soldier than Richard Kestrel can sail a ship. I heard the tale he was spinning you the other day about being invalided out of the Navy. I expect he trapped his hand in his desk drawer or some such injury!’
‘Oh, Deb,’ Rachel said reproachfully. She liked Richard Kestrel and thought her friend unduly harsh. ‘You are unkind!’
‘I know.’ Deb caught Rachel’s arm and turned her very firmly in the other direction. ‘There is the Duke himself, chatting to Lady Sally. You have not met him yet, have you, Rachel? He is only in Midwinter Bere briefly, for I hear business calls him back to London. A pity he cannot take Lord Richard with him!’
Rachel sighed. There was a certain air of careless distinction about the Kestrel brothers, as though just their presence bestowed a dazzle upon the proceedings. And, indeed, it was a very fashionable crowd that Lady Sally had gathered that evening. Without realising what she was doing, Rachel’s gaze instinctively sought out Cory Newlyn in the throng.
When she saw him, formal in his black and white evening clothes, her heart skipped a tiny beat as it had been doing every time she saw him since their kiss in the billiards room. It was pointless, it was annoying, but it was inescapable. Rachel had tried to cure herself of this strange affliction but to no avail. For someone who prided themselves on their common sense, it was particularly galling.
We should pretend that it never happened.
It had sounded quite easy at the time. Now she was not so certain. The following morning she had been possessed by a quite unexpected shyness where Cory was concerned. She had put off going down to the excavation for as long as possible and then conjured up some spurious excuse about asking Lady Odell if she wished for trout or salmon for supper. Naturally Lady Odell had no preference and was surprised to be asked, but at least it gave Rachel the chance to say a subdued good morning to Cory. He had given her a brief, smiling glance and had continued with his work, and after a moment Rachel had turned away and gone back to the house. She had seen Cory each day of the following week and he had seemed to be making a point of spending time with her. Normally Rachel would have enjoyed this, but now she felt a reserve in her manner towards him. She tried to behave as though nothing had happened between them but she knew that it had, and that seemed to make all the difference.
‘There is Lord Newlyn,’ Deborah said, suddenly. ‘My goodness, Rachel, there is something about him…’
Rachel looked—and felt once again the tiny, telltale shiver along her skin.
‘He looks most distinguished,’ she said colourlessly.
‘Well, yes…’ Deborah put her head on one side thoughtfully ‘…in a thoroughly disreputable way!’
Rachel was obliged to laugh. Cory did indeed look supremely elegant tonight, but still rather dishevelled, in a manner that suggested that he had just got out of his own—or someone else’s—bed. His tawny hair was tousled, his neckcloth tied with casual aplomb and Rachel was glad to see that he had at least done Lady Sally the honour of having his evening clothes pressed.
As she watched, Cory strolled over to Lucas Kestrel and Helena Lang, looked over the artist’s shoulder and grinned. He made some comment to Helena that caused her to look at him archly through her lashes and Rachel felt another sharp twinge in her side, as though someone had stuck a pin in her.
‘Are you quite well, Rachel?’ Deborah enquired. ‘Just for a moment, you looked a little sick.’
‘I am very well, thank you,’ Rachel said hastily. ‘I do believe that your sister and her husband have arrived, Deborah.’
‘Oh!’ Deb beamed. ‘Excuse me! I must ask Ross for a dance.’ And she skipped away down the stairs to the hall.
Left alone, Rachel sighed and followed more slowly. Sir Arthur and Lady Odell were being fêted at one end of the hall, but Rachel had no wish to stand in her parents’ shadow and hear them talk forever about their greatest excavations. Nor did she wish to hover about Cory Newlyn, listening to him flirt with Helena Lang and feeling like a spare part. Evidently Cory did not have the same difficulty that she did in forgetting. But then, Cory was a rake…
Rachel reached the bottom step and was almost immediately accosted by Lady Sally, the best of hostesses, who would not allow one of her guests to wilt in the shadows untended.
‘Miss Odell, I have been looking for you everywhere. Pray come and meet my guests.’
Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 01] Page 14