The Notorious Lord

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘Cory,’ she said desperately.

  ‘Yes?’ Cory asked.

  Rachel looked at him. Her heart gave a painful leap into her throat. She swallowed hard, but found that the words of dismissal that she had practised for the best part of the night simply did not come. Cory moved closer to her, his gaze disturbingly intent on her face.

  ‘You have cobwebs in your hair, Rae,’ he said softly.

  ‘Oh…’ Rachel put a self-conscious hand up to her head. She felt a little confused. ‘I knew that I should have worn a cap,’ she said.

  ‘Thank the lord you did not,’ Cory said feelingly, ‘for I should have had to take it off you. They are as unbecoming as a frumpish gown, and you are only two and twenty, Rae, far too young to be donning a spinster’s cap.’

  His fingers tangled with hers in her thick, brown hair. ‘Hold still. I will get the cobwebs out for you.’

  ‘You will loosen all the pins!’ Rachel wailed. She felt his fingertips brush her scalp and felt acutely self-conscious. This felt dangerous, reminding her of the experience in the phaeton when she had been completely abandoned in her response to him. At such close quarters her senses were full of him; his touch and the scent of his skin made her head spin. She felt slightly dizzy, put out a hand to steady herself and found herself clutching his arm. The linen shirt was smooth beneath her fingers and Cory’s arm hard and strong beneath that. Thinking about it, she felt even more shaky.

  ‘You are making me forget what I wanted to say,’ she said faintly.

  Cory smiled into her eyes. His voice was soft. ‘I am only removing the cobwebs from your hair, Rae.’ His fingers tangled once again in her curls. ‘There. I have finished.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rachel realised that her voice sounded a little husky. She cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, Cory.’

  ‘You look charmingly dishevelled now,’ Cory said, his gaze appraising her. There was a disturbing light in his eyes. ‘I think I have made matters worse rather than better.’

  He picked up the feather duster, turned it over in his hands and laughed. ‘In fact, you look like a tousled Cinderella.’ He touched her cheek lightly with the feathers. ‘This is rather nice…’

  ‘Don’t…’ Rachel began. Her voice almost failed her again. The touch of the feathers was soft, sensuous, disturbingly arousing. Her skin prickled. Goose pimples teased their way down her back. Cory was watching her face and she knew he could read her feelings. Slowly, so slowly, he let the feathers drift across her throat and down one of her arms. Even through the material of her gown, it felt like a lover’s touch. Rachel could feel her eyes starting to close as shivers of sensation coursed through her body. The expression in Cory’s eyes made the heat burn in her blood as she saw the echo of her own desire, hot and hard, in his eyes. The feathers brushed her bodice and her nipples hardened in shameless response. She knew the outline of them must show clearly through the thin material, knew that Cory could see it too. The knowledge heated her senses past bearing.

  ‘Cory…’ she said, on an anguished whisper.

  She grabbed the feather duster from his hands and almost snapped the handle in the attempt. In a second it would be too late and she would be helplessly caught in her desire for him. No, it was already too late. Cory pulled her roughly to him and the feather duster fell unnoticed to the floor. He kissed her hard and long and very thoroughly until Rachel was breathless and her knees were in danger of buckling beneath her.

  They were both so engrossed that they did not hear the tramp of footsteps in the hall nor even hear the upraised voices until the door burst open and Sir Arthur Odell burst in, blunderbuss in hand. His boots were still on and he was scattering sand all over the neatly swept floor.

  ‘What the devil is going on here?’ Sir Arthur demanded. ‘Kissing and hugging in full view of the window!’ The blunderbuss wavered alarmingly in Cory’s direction. ‘When I invited you to join us in our work, sirrah, I didn’t throw my daughter in as well! What do you think you are at?’

  Rachel had seldom seen Cory look so taken aback. He took a step forward-and one back again, when the blunderbuss menaced him.

  ‘My apologies, sir. I realise that this looks bad-’

  ‘Damned right it does!’

  ‘But it is not as it seems.’

  Sir Arthur glared. ‘In what way is it not as it seems? Seems pretty clear to me!’

  ‘Papa,’ Rachel interposed, placing herself between them, ‘there is no need for such a scene. Cory was just leaving-’

  ‘Not before time,’ Sir Arthur growled.

  ‘Sir,’ Cory interposed, with increasing desperation, ‘please! It is not as it seems because I wish to marry Miss Odell. I was intending to ask your permission shortly-’

  ‘Seems to me you are accustomed to doing everything the wrong way round,’ Sir Arthur barked. ‘Young people today-’

  There was a flutter in the doorway as Lavinia Odell hurried in. ‘Arthur? Mrs Goodfellow said that you had brought your blunderbuss into the library-’ She stopped as she took in Cory’s desperate expression and Rachel’s agonised one.

  ‘Whatever is going on here?’ she enquired mildly.

  Rachel looked at Cory. Cory turned back to Sir Arthur and ploughed on.

  ‘Indeed, sir, if you would give me permission to call on you we may sort this matter out-’

  ‘Just a moment,’ Rachel interposed. She was trembling. ‘I need to talk to you about this, Cory.’

  Cory gave her a smile that made her whole body tremble. ‘My dearest Rachel-’ he began.

  ‘Please don’t,’ Rachel said wretchedly. ‘Oh, Cory, there is no need for all this simply because we have shared a few kisses.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Lady Odell and an angry bellow from Sir Arthur.

  ‘A few kisses! Damn it, Newlyn, seems you have been playing fast and loose! Heard you were a scoundrel-never believed it until now!’

  Cory made a gesture of desperation. ‘Sir! My intentions are of the most honourable. Rachel-’ he turned to her ‘-please tell them that this is no flirtation.’

  Rachel took pity on him. ‘Cory’s intentions are honourable, Papa.’ She frowned. ‘It is simply that I have not said that I will marry him.’

  ‘Modern girls,’ Sir Arthur said disagreeably, turning his displeasure on her. ‘Never seem to know what they want.’

  Cory was looking as chagrined as a man might under the circumstances. He came across to Rachel and entangled his fingers with hers. His touch undermined all her defences.

  ‘You have not said that you will marry me,’ he said musingly. ‘Can I really not persuade you, Rachel?’

  ‘Yes…no!’ Rachel said wildly. ‘We cannot talk about this now, Cory. Please be sensible and leave. I can manage Papa. He will have forgotten the whole matter by tomorrow and be engrossed in The Antiquarian.’

  ‘Damned if I will,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘Dashed poor show!’

  ‘I fear that you are outvoted, my sweet,’ Cory said. ‘I shall not have forgotten, your parents will not have forgotten and I would swear that you will not have forgotten either.’ He turned to Sir Arthur. ‘I shall call on you tomorrow, if I may, sir.’

  Lady Odell pushed aside the blunderbuss and stepped forward. ‘Do put that thing down, Arthur,’ she said. ‘You will shoot yourself in the foot if you are not careful. Cory, dear boy, we should be delighted to see you.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Cory said, bowing formally. He turned to Rachel. ‘I know this is a little abrupt, my love, but I do hope that you will accept my suit.’

  Rachel rubbed her forehead. This was not turning out as she had planned and every moment made matters more difficult.

  ‘I had barely become accustomed to the idea that we were courting, Cory,’ she said.

  ‘Hah!’ Sir Arthur bridled. ‘Seems to me that you have been engaging in a great deal of dalliance for a young lady who barely considers herself to be courting!’

  ‘Really, Arthur,’ Lady Odell said, ‘
it is a little late to wake up to ideas of conventional propriety now, in your fifty-fourth year. I seem to recall,’ she added with a little, blissful smile, ‘that we had our own unconventional courtship.’

  Sir Arthur’s moustache quivered.

  ‘And,’ Lady Odell continued, ‘since dear Cory wishes to marry our daughter and we esteem him so highly, there can be no barrier.’

  To Rachel’s surprise she herded Sir Arthur out of the room with the efficiency of a well-trained sheepdog.

  ‘We must get back to work now, my love,’ she said, pausing to kiss Rachel’s cheek on the way out. ‘Congratulations!’

  Rachel waited until the door had closed behind them and then sat down rather heavily on the library chair. Cory came across to her, but before he could touch her she put out a hand to stop him. She saw the arrested look that came into his eyes as he took in the anguish in hers.

  ‘What is it, Rae?’ he said softly.

  ‘I am sorry, Cory,’ Rachel said. ‘I am very honoured, but I fear that I cannot accept your proposal.’

  The words came out in a rush and once she had said them, she felt greatly relieved. Then she saw the hurt in Cory’s face and felt absolutely dreadful.

  ‘That sounds remarkably well rehearsed, Rae,’ Cory said. ‘Have you been practising it all night? Was that what you were trying to tell me before?’

  Rachel evaded his gaze. That was the trouble with having a suitor who knew her so well. There could be no concealment or pretence. They knew each other too well for falsehood. Some things had changed between them, and some had not.

  She was remembering her doubts of the previous night and now she was trembling with the effort of trying to explain herself whilst holding on to the thing that was most precious to her: Cory’s friendship.

  ‘This does not feel right,’ she said. ‘I do not think we should announce our betrothal simply because Papa has got some mad idea of impropriety in his head and seeks to enforce it with his blunderbuss.’

  Cory gave her a little, gentle shake. ‘Sweetheart, you know it is not like that. I asked you to marry me yesterday because I wanted to and if we have to tell everyone sooner rather than later, then what is the difference?’

  ‘Our betrothal seems to be a little hasty,’ Rachel said miserably.

  ‘I agree that we may not have had much of a courtship,’ Cory said with a grin, ‘but we have had an acquaintanceship of seventeen years. I hope that you will consider that sufficient preparation?’

  He looked closely at her woebegone face. There was a grim line to his mouth now and it did not ease. ‘You are not telling me the whole truth, are you, Rae?’ he said. ‘There is something else that troubles you.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Rachel said.

  There was an edge to Cory’s voice now. ‘What is it that is making you unhappy, Rachel?’ He took both her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes. ‘Why do you not wish to marry me?’

  There was a pain lodged somewhere in Rachel’s breast. It mirrored the pain that she could see in Cory’s eyes.

  ‘It is not as simple as wishing to or not wishing,’ she said with difficulty.

  She saw Cory’s eyes darken. Without warning he pressed his mouth to the palm of her hand.

  ‘How difficult does it need to be?’ he asked. ‘Rachel, I love you! I have not been able to stop thinking of you. I want you to marry me and travel with me.’

  Rachel’s hands were trembling but she wrenched them away. She was staring into Cory’s eyes, where she saw the vestiges of their old friendship fading away. There was nothing of the childhood companion there and everything of the ardent lover. She could see the concentrated desire and the control that he was exercising over it. It frightened her even as she felt the answering tug of desire.

  ‘I…’ The word came out as a whisper. ‘Oh, Cory, do not ask it of me. I cannot.’ She was on her feet, turning her back on him for she could not bear to see the hurt in his face. This was terrible, far worse than she had imagined. ‘Cory, do not,’ she repeated. ‘I do not want this.’

  Cory stood up too. ‘Please tell me,’ he said, with constraint, ‘that I am not forcing my attentions on an unwilling lady. Please tell me, Rachel, that you are as attracted to me as I am to you.’

  Rachel spun round. ‘Yes, it is true!’ she said. She put her hands up and covered her face briefly. ‘I could never lie to you, Cory. I feel the same desire that you do, but-’ her gaze challenged him to keep his distance ‘-that is not enough.’

  Cory shook his head slowly. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we do not want the same things!’ Rachel burst out. ‘I have been thinking and thinking about this. To travel and explore is your life and to stay at home is mine! We would do better to try to salvage our old friendship before it is too late. That is more valuable that a transient attraction.’

  Cory’s eyes narrowed. He spoke very softly. ‘Is that what you want, Rachel?’

  Rachel screwed up her face to repress the tears. ‘Yes! I want us to be friends again. I want that friendship back the in the same manner it was before!’

  ‘You wish matters to be undemanding and easy between us?’ Cory shook his head. ‘It can never be that, Rachel. Never again.’

  ‘But why not?’ Rachel wailed.

  ‘Because I do not want that any more. And neither do you in your heart.’ With a swift move Cory caught her arm and pulled her close to him. ‘How can we ever be friends when I cannot forget the feel of you in my arms?’ he said. ‘Tell me you do not want the same thing that I do, Rae.’

  This was new to Rachel, this intensity in him. Cory had always seemed the most easy and relaxed of men. Yet she remembered the persuasive insistence of his kisses with a shiver. There was a different side to Cory that she was beginning to discover, a side that was forceful and passionate and intriguing. She wanted it as much as she wanted to let him go.

  ‘I cannot deny that I am attracted to you,’ she said desperately. ‘I have admitted it! But I still maintain that it is not enough.’

  ‘It is a good beginning,’ Cory said. ‘I understand what you are saying, Rae, but we already have more than most other people. Surely we can at least try.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘No.’ Her voice went flat. ‘You wish to travel, Cory, and I wish for nothing more than a settled home. You cannot give me that and I cannot ask it of you. And that is an end to it.’

  She felt Cory go still and his hand fall from her arm, and when she dared to open her eyes she realised with a mixture of relief and intense disappointment that he looked the same as he usually did-cool, assured, slightly quizzical.

  ‘Then there is no more to be said,’ he said.

  For Rachel there was. ‘Please-’ the hot tears stung her eyes again ‘-if you withdraw your friendship from me, Cory, then all will be lost.’

  She saw the pity in his face then and felt her heart miss a beat that it could be for her. But his expression was softening and he almost smiled.

  ‘Poor Rae,’ he said. ‘Of course I shall not withdraw my friendship from you, but I cannot promise that it will ever be the same again.’

  He bowed and walked away and Rachel felt that, despite his words, it was too late. She had lost something irretrievable.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The thunderstorm struck the following day. Rachel had given the servants the afternoon off and Sir Arthur and Lady Odell had gone to a fête champêtre at Saltires. Rachel had felt far too miserable to be in company and had sent her apologies. She had retired to the library to read, as she had done so often in the past when she was unhappy, but this time neither the romantic overtones of The Enchantress nor the beautiful language of Shakespeare nor the philosophical common sense of Marcus Aurelius could soothe her. Instead she stared blindly out of the window and thought about her quarrel with Cory, her mind going round and round over the same ground until she was utterly exhausted. It was some time before she realised that the glass panes through which she was staring were liberally st
reaked with rain.

  When she finally went over to the window, a shocking sight met her gaze. The sky overhead was a strange pale brown colour with puffy rain clouds building angrily overhead. Away to the east, where the black horizon met the sea, lightning flickered and there was the distant sullen growl of thunder.

  Rachel went to the door. A sheet of rain hit her full in the face as soon as she opened it and the rising wind sent her stumbling back into the hall. There was a roaring in the air, the sound of the wind in the high trees combining with the rushing of the Winter Race as it lived up to its name and pounded the bank that ran alongside the burial ground.

  ‘Oh, no! The excavations!’

  Rachel’s anguished exclamation echoed through the empty house. There was no one here to help her secure the site and no one to save the trenches from being swamped with water or the precious artefacts from being washed away. Rachel knew that there was nothing she could do. Even so, she grabbed one of Sir Arthur’s old cloaks from the hall cupboard and dashed outside.

  Out in the rain, the storm was even more frightening. Rachel struggled through the wicket gate into the field, her body bent almost double against the power of the wind. The black outrider clouds were already overhead and the thunder rumbled much closer now. Rachel half-stumbled, half-ran along the footpath that bordered the field. She was blinded by the flapping material of the wet cloak as it whirled about her in the wind. The rain came down in torrents. The ground underfoot was already running like a stream, for so much water on the dry ground could not be absorbed all at once. And it was hopeless to imagine that she could ever save the excavation. Rachel could see that at once. The trenches were filling with water and the sandy soil was crumbling, turning to mud and flood, drowning all that was in it.

  As she came to the corner of the long barrow near the knot of pines that overlooked the river, Rachel saw that she was not the only person who had thought to save the excavation. Cory Newlyn was standing on the riverbank, looking across the flooded trenches. There was no time for embarrassment or surprise. Rachel merely found that she was very pleased to see him.