by Gayle Callen
"Are you certain you can walk that far?" she asked.
He nodded and began to put one foot in front of the other. She led him out onto the path, and he tripped over a root, threatening to send them both sprawling.
"Your Grace— "
"I can do it," he said heavily.
The farther they walked, the more he leaned on her. The weight of him bent her spine and made her shoulders ache. Even her legs began to burn with pain.
The path curved, and there was the hunting lodge.
The front door hung ajar, and the shutters over the windows were broken in places. The roof was thatched, but a corner of that had somehow been stripped off to reveal the bare wooden slats of the ceiling. It looked like no one had hunted or lodged there in years.
"Your Grace, are you certain it's safe?"
He nodded. "Spent my…childhood here."
She glanced up at him curiously. He had his own secret place, just like her Willow Pond.
She helped him inside, and though the place smelled musty and damp, it was cozy enough. There was a small bare cot, a crooked wooden table, and two chairs that looked as if they might hold a child's weight. Mr. O'Neill leaned heavily on the table, then lowered himself into a chair. She winced, but it held him.
And then she saw the blood trickling down his neck from the gash in his head.
"You're still bleeding," she whispered. She put aside her feeling of helplessness and went to the battered cupboard in the corner. "Do you have supplies in here?"
He closed his eyes and shrugged. "We used to."
She found a bucket, a half-burned candle, flint and steel, a knife, and a couple of rags. She held a rag up with two fingers and grimaced.
"What did you use these for?"
He opened one eye. "Cleaning rabbit carcasses?"
"Ugh." She dropped it back in the cupboard.
"I'm just teasing. I can't remember. But there's a stream out back for washing."
She had no choice. She washed out the rags as best she could, filled the bucket with water, and came back inside. Mr. O'Neill was sitting up straighter, and his face was regaining some color.
She set to work, parting his hair until she could find the wound and cleaning it out as best she could. There were bits of tree bark to remove, but the blood flow itself had almost stopped.
"So you didn't see who hit you?" she said.
"No, he came from behind. Probably just a thief."
She straightened to see his face. "That's not what you implied."
"My head had just been dented. I'm sure I wasn't making sense." He gave her a lazy grin.
"Do not try to be Cecil with me. I will no longer be so gullible."
"I'm not trying— "
"You think by distracting me that I won't remember what you said, how frightened you were for Stephen's safety? And you said it all had to do with your cousin Charles."
"I'm sure I didn't mean— "
"Richard!"
She used his Christian name in a forceful, angry tone.
He blinked up at her, so close, yet so far away.
"You're still lying to me," she said. "I knew it wasn't only Cecil's vanity at stake. That rationale just didn't make sense!"
But he was stubborn, remaining silent until she was finished cleaning the wound.
"Meriel," he said in a soft voice, "forget about this."
"I won't. I can't. If Stephen is in danger, I need to know."
"It's none of your business."
She glared at him. "Everything to do with Stephen is my business."
"I can take care of everything. This is just a misunderstanding."
She saw it now— his stubborn insistence on protecting her, as he was protecting Stephen. He was a liar and a cad…but maybe for the right reasons.
She didn't like how her feelings toward him were undergoing a rapid change. When he was just humoring his brother, playing tricks on all his staff and friends, she could despise him for the easy way he lied. And she hated liars.
But now that she knew he had deeper reasons for what he did— honorable reasons— her heart was melting, along with her resistance.
She needed to know the truth, and if her femininity would help, then she'd follow Richard's lead and do what she had to. She approached where he sat and stood between his legs, her skirts touching him. He suspiciously looked up at her, and she did what she'd wanted to do for so long. Putting her hands on his face, she looked into his eyes. He flinched but didn't draw away. His skin was warm, slightly damp, with the faintest rasp of whiskers along one side of his jaw where his new valet had missed a spot when shaving this morning.
Then he put his hands on her waist and pulled her even closer, so that her breasts were just below his face. She inhaled swiftly, but didn't struggle.
"Is this what you want?" he asked.
"I want the truth, Richard. You must tell me."
She looked into his eyes and willed the words to come out, but all he did was reach up and remove her spectacles, laying them behind him on the table. She found that she was trapped in his gaze, in the way he studied her face like a man who might never see again.
He kept her tight against him, even as he began to pull the pins from her hair. She should protest, she should pull away, but she stayed there, his arm around her, his thighs on each side of her.
Locks of her hair started cascading down around her shoulders, even falling forward to touch his cheek where her head was above him. He caught that curl between his fingers, smelling it with his eyes closed, then looked at her knowingly while he wrapped the hair about his finger, pulling her face closer and closer.
"Richard, tell me," she said, her mouth almost against his, their very breath mingling.
"I like how you say my name."
He tugged once more, and their lips met. The kiss was passionate and desperate and full of a temptation she'd never felt before meeting him. Inside her head a war began, with part of her saying, Who would ever know? and the other part insisting that she'd be going against everything she'd been taught to believe in.
But his mouth lured her; his tongue seduced her and made her forget everything but the two of them alone in the woods.
Where a villain had struck Richard down.
She broke the kiss. "The man who hit you could still be here."
"I doubt it." He cupped one side of her face, and his thumb brushed her lips. "You taste…like the sweetest candy."
His touch, his words, made her knees suddenly weak. She was leaning heavily against him, and with one simple move, he swung her off her feet and across his lap. Now he was above her, cradling her.
"Richard, we can't do this. Stephen will be looking for me— for us. He's the one who knew you were missing. He was waiting to box with you."
He frowned and glanced at the open doorway. "You're right. When you drape yourself across me, it's difficult to think."
Aghast, she cried, "Drape myself— "
"Ah, Meriel, you are so easy to tease. Up you go."
He set her on her feet, then stood up beside her. He swayed once, and she caught his waist.
"No, no, I can't kiss you again," he said with a grin.
She ignored his teasing. "Will you be able to walk?"
"With you at my side, of course I can."
She put her hands in her hair, realizing her state. She surely looked like a woman who'd been well kissed by a man. How was she going to repair the damage?
Smiling, Richard held up his open palm and showed her all the pins. "You didn't think I threw them on the floor, did you?"
"Your brother probably would have."
He arched a brow. "As you've already pointed out, I am not my brother."
And that was the frightening part. He was so much more appealing to her as a man rather than the duke. She turned her back on him and put up her hair as best she could. But it would be obvious to any woman that she'd done it herself, without the aid of a mirror.
Walking back through
the woods, Richard leaned on her so much that she feared he would not make it. She had to keep one hand on his chest, just in case he pitched forward.
The closer they got to the open parkland, the more the rain showers dampened them. Just before they came into view of anyone on the grounds, Richard stepped away from her.
"Are you certain you can walk all the rest of the way alone?" she asked.
"I was able to conserve my strength with your help. I'll be fine." He cocked his head as he looked at her. "Your spectacles are rain-soaked and almost falling off your nose. Are you certain you can see like that?"
She found herself blushing. "I'll be fine."
He gave a slow grin. "You don't need them, do you?"
"Of course I do." That wasn't a lie. She'd needed to protect herself from employers like the duke— or his brother.
He shook his head. "It seems to me I'm not the only one wearing a disguise."
Chapter 18
Richard could not stop looking at Meriel, bedraggled from the rain, her hair lopsided, her spectacles useless. She looked…beautiful, stunning, and he could have gladly taken her back to the hunting lodge and—
And what? Seduced the virginal governess?
But he wasn't at Thanet Court to satisfy his own needs. He was here for Stephen, who now thought that his uncle had forgotten him— just as his father always had.
And he needed to see that Stephen was all right. How had he forgotten that?
"We'll talk about your spectacles another time," he said. "Let's get back to Stephen."
As they walked through the park, past the stables, through the gardens, he couldn't help noticing the attention they attracted. Everyone turned to stare at the duke and his governess, alone and wet and…disheveled. Heads came together in whispers, people knowingly nodded, and two grooms blatantly exchanged money.
Richard glanced down at Meriel. She couldn't have missed that they were the focus of everyone as they passed. But she only lifted her chin and kept walking, nodding and smiling at the people she knew. Only he could see the hot color in her cheeks. But she said nothing, made no protest.
He felt like a scoundrel, because he couldn't protest on her behalf. He was ruining the reputation of a good woman. Though he told himself it was for Stephen's benefit, his self-disgust wouldn't go away.
They entered Thanet Court through the conservatory, and once again it was as if the indoor staff had simply been waiting for their arrival. Some maids sighed and slunk away, while others— namely Beatrice and Clover— struggled to hide their anger and disappointment. Richard hoped they wouldn't take out their wrath on Meriel, because surely they knew that Cecil always grew bored with his latest conquest after one month.
But Richard would dare even Cecil to grow bored with Meriel.
The merest thought of his brother having power over her made him feel indignant.
But didn't the servants think that he himself used his power over Meriel?
Before he could sink any lower in his own estimation, he heard "Father!" coming from the grand staircase. Stephen came rushing toward them, Nurse Weston trailing behind, and skidded to a stop.
"You're all wet," Stephen said in a puzzled voice.
"It's raining outside," Richard said mildly. He put his hand on the boy's head. "Forgive me for missing our boxing lesson. Miss Shelby came to tell me what I'd done. I'll be happy to have our lesson right now— after I change, of course."
"It's all right, Father. We had a visitor while you were gone, but we both missed him!"
Richard frowned. "Who was it?"
"Our cousin Charles! But I was out playing with Nurse Weston, so I missed him, too."
Richard felt a stab of fear that turned into anger at his own gullibility. Someone had sent him a note to meet at the hunting lodge; it was unsigned, and promised information on Charles. Richard hadn't been able to ignore it.
Charles had succeeded in getting him out of the house, just as easily as that. He felt Meriel's hand on his back, the weight of it meant to be a comfort. He took a deep breath and controlled his anger.
Had Charles meant to talk to Stephen, to begin to sway the boy's opinion of him?
Or had Charles meant to steal the boy away?
That couldn't be the case— what would he accomplish? Everyone would insist that Stephen be returned to his father.
But what if Charles suspected the truth about the masquerade?
Richard had to rethink all his plans, but right now Stephen was counting on him, and he found that he needed the comfort of knowing the boy was all right.
"Did Charles leave me a note?" he asked, looking toward Nurse Weston. Then he saw that Mrs. Theobald had come into the great hall as well. Though she wore her usual calm expression, there was something in her eyes that suggested she was as worried as he was.
"No, Your Grace," Mrs. Theobald said. "Sir Charles did not remain long, once he realized that both you and Lord Ramsgate were out of the house."
"It must not have been important," he said, smiling down at Stephen. "I'll change and meet you right here. Nurse Weston, can you wait with Stephen?"
"Of course, Your Grace."
"I'll send up your valet," Mrs. Theobald said, disappearing through the far doors.
Meriel excused herself as well. Richard wanted to talk to her, but it would have to wait. Stephen needed him.
* * *
At dinner that evening, Richard was the first to arrive. He did his usual Cecil impersonation by starting to eat without Stephen and Meriel. He had a forkful in his mouth when he caught sight of Meriel walking through the double doors.
And he froze there, not certain if he would remember how to chew.
Meriel wore her hair up in the latest London style, with several blond ringlets free to cascade to her shoulders— her very bare shoulders. Though no cleavage was even hinted at, he almost choked on his food, and took a sip of wine to get it all down.
Her gown was a brilliant, vivid red, with silk flowers sewn down her bodice and spreading out across her overskirt. Short puffed sleeves left her arms mostly bare except for her white gloves.
She looked like a princess— or a fallen woman.
Why did she allow everyone to think that she'd succumbed to his advances? It would have worked out fine if he only had to pursue her. He noticed that the footmen ogled her, barely able to fulfill their roles.
"Father, doesn't Miss Shelby look pretty?" Stephen asked, pointing to his governess.
"Stunning," Richard said, rising to his feet.
Instead of sitting on the other side of Stephen, Meriel came around and sat at Richard's right hand, like an honored guest.
The full understanding of her plan hit him, and his heart squeezed painfully. She was sacrificing herself, so that all would believe he was Cecil. Why had she changed her mind?
Stephen. Richard had given away his concerns about Charles this afternoon. Now Meriel was as deeply involved as he was.
* * *
After Meriel left to take Stephen to bed, Richard remained at the table, drinking a glass of brandy slowly, staring at the liquid as if it held an answer to the pain eating away inside him.
"Your Grace?"
It was Mrs. Theobald, but he didn't look up at her, just continued swirling the glass in his hand.
He heard the door shut, then the swish of her skirts as she walked toward him.
And suddenly the silence was too much.
"Did you see her?" he asked, speaking softly as if the words would hurt his throat.
"I did, Your Grace."
He closed his eyes. "She's letting everyone think that…that she's my mistress."
"That was your plan, was it not?"
He raised his startled gaze to find her watching him with concern. "It was not! You know that I only meant to appear to be pursuing her. She was supposed to resist, and keep her reputation intact. But then I accidentally told her that Stephen is in danger."
Mrs. Theobald sighed and sat down on his left.
"Accidentally?"
"My brain was scrambled from a blow to the head."