The Archaeologist's Daughter (Regency Rendezvous Book 3)

by Summer Hanford

  “It will be easier to speak if we’re of a level.” He held up a hand to her.

  She cast him a quick glance, as if looking at him would ruin her resolve. “Why have we stopped?”

  “What I wish to tell you is of a very sensitive nature. I seek privacy.”

  She gave a little shake of her head. “Grace said you would attempt to get me alone,” she murmured, as if speaking to herself.

  “Who is Grace?” He cast about in his mind. He couldn’t recall Lady Lanora having any friends, let alone one named Grace. Then, he didn’t know the name of every Miss in London.

  “My dearest friend. You would not know her. She came with me from the country.”

  “And did this Grace give you advice for when I made my fateful attempt?”

  “She would wish me to allow it.”

  He grinned. “I like her already.”

  The look Lady Lanora gave him was oddly reproachful. “So you say now.”

  Feeling he was on uneven footing, knowing so little about her friend, William returned to his goal. “Will you walk with me in the flower garden, Lady Lanora? I promise not to attempt a waltz.”

  She sat for a long moment before nodding. Turning, she offered her hand. He clasped her fingers, helped her down and tucked her hand into his arm. To his surprise, she made no effort to break free, permitting him to remain at her side as they headed down the first gravel path. The crunching of his boots on stone filled the silence between them.

  “You’re lucky you may wear boots. Slippers are a dreadful bit of silliness,” she said, surprising him again by breaking the silence.

  “Are they?” He’d never given them much thought, aside from when he was slipping one from a delicate foot.

  “They’re dreadfully impractical. A set for every gown. Material that does not withstand water or dirt. Like as not, one evening will ruin them.” Her smile was wistful. “In the country, I wear boots.”

  “You would be like your aunt, I see.”

  “How I wish I could be.”

  Why did she sound so sorrowful? What young woman lamented not being a dowdy old widow with a pack of dogs? Fine as Lady Edith’s collection was, a pack of terriers hardly replaced a husband and children.

  He led her around several turns, wending his way toward one of the five focal points of the somewhat maze-like rooms created by walls of evergreen. Fewer flowers were in evidence than at other times of the year, for spring was behind them or not yet come, depending on how he wished to view the world. The particular space he brought her to, however, boasted a statue of Achilles. He thought it might appeal to her, given her choice in reading.

  “I didn’t realize this was here.” Her tone was pleased. She left his side to examine the statue.

  “Not many do. This is a less frequented area of the park. Most people come to be seen, after all.”

  Her back stiffened. She turned slowly, cool gaze assessing. “And we are here for you to explain your behavior.”

  “Would you care to sit?” He gestured toward one of three benches placed around the statue.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. She moved to Achilles’ right, for the statue faced the opening, the only side with no place to sit and view it. William sat once she had, angling himself toward her. Sunlight shown bright around them. Somewhere, in the distance, children laughed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He spent so much time lying, he wasn’t sure where to begin with the truth.

  The one thing he was sure of was that he must not reveal he’d lived in London’s poorest borough for the many years he was absent from the marquess’s household. That would turn any well-bred lady from him, even a sympathetic one like Lady Lanora. Nor could he reveal who Cecilia truly was. Her safety was not a gambit. William shied from contemplation of what the marquess would do should he ever locate her.

  “You were going to tell me why a smitten man visits his mistress,” Lady Lanora said, her tone even.

  She watched him with curious, slightly confused eyes. Did his expression reveal so much, then? Enough that she felt a softer touch was required. William grimaced. He may as well begin with something terrible, then. “My mother is dead, as you must know.”

  She nodded. “Yes, she and your older brother, both. I’ve heard the stories. After the…incident, she was brought to a place where she could be cared for, and you were sent to live with Mr. Darington, in Egypt, because your father was too heartbroken to look upon you.”

  The story the marquess told the world. William had used it to soften many a heart. How he wished he needn’t begin his life with Lady Lanora on such lies. “That is… Well, yes, it’s what they say, is it not?” He tried not to let subterfuge bog down his tongue. The truth was so much darker and more complicated. “Putting that aside, what is important here is that the marquess feels my mother was flawed. Weak.”

  That single line appeared on her brow again. She hadn’t expected his words. “Weak?”

  William nodded. “Unfit. Not worthy. Add most anything else disparaging you like and you’ll have the gist.”

  “But I thought it was his sorrow that drove him to send you away.” Her tone bled confusion.

  As sorrow drove her father to leave when her mother died, he realized. Lady Lanora, who came from a home with a father who loved his wife and daughter, saw William’s world in the same light. He passed a hand across his eyes, threading his way between truth and lie.

  “The marquess is not a loving man.”

  Sympathy mounted in her expression.

  William shook his head. He didn’t wish to win her through pity. “Which is neither here nor there. What matters is, much of my life has been spent attempting to convince the marquess of my suitability. He requires an heir who is strong, lacks sentiment, knows his place in the realm, and a host of other archaic traits.”

  “You are telling me you’ve pretended to be a man different from who you are in order to please your father?” She sounded doubtful.

  “It’s simpler to obey the marquess than war with him, and yes, that is what I’m suggesting.”

  “And your mistress?”

  “I have no mistress. I do keep a house, and a woman lives there, but she is not now, nor ever has she been, my lover. She is a ruse.”

  “And the gambling?”

  He shook his head, his smile returning. “Many men gamble. I’m not saying I’m a saint, only that I didn’t come courting you and then, hours later, avail myself of the charms of another.”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line. “It all sounds a bit farfetched.”

  “You have not met the marquess.” God willing, she never would. William studied her, weighing his options. They were alone, utterly so. She was eighteen, on her first season. He’d read the effect his nearness had on her the first night they spoke, and while they danced. He was certain he could charm her, befuddle her, leave her mussed and dreamy eyed. That wasn’t the way he wished to go about it, though, nor did he think it advisable.

  Lady Lanora didn’t strike him as the type to wed where her heart wasn’t properly engaged, no matter what rash acts he drew her into. Worse, the way his blood surged at her nearness, the way the elusive sweet scent she wore reminded him of warm summer days, none of it boded well for his ability to stop once he began. That he could bring her around to agreement, at least for now, he did not doubt, but he would not deflower his future marchioness on a gravel walk under a statue of Achilles. Or lay her out on a stone bench and watch the sunlight caress her skin. Or—

  “Lord William?”

  He blinked, clearing visions of her from his mind.

  “If you’ve no more compelling evidence to offer, I’m afraid I must insist you return me home.”

  William ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. What was wrong with him, lusting after her like a schoolboy when he should be conversing intelligently? He must think of something more to say. He couldn’t tell her anything else about Charles, or his mother. There must be something he
could offer.

  He mustered a crooked smile. “What more can I say? I’m not the man I show to society. I would be a good husband to you, not a cad who keeps mistresses and other bits on the side. Take the evidence before you. Have I attempted to seduce you? Have I been anything but a gentleman today?”

  She studied him, her eyes guarded. “You are asking me to accept that your pursuit of me is in earnest, and you will be a model husband if we’re to wed?”

  “I am.”

  She pressed her lips together again, a habit he was beginning to believe meant she was struggling with an idea. “I will consider your words, but I must ask you to do something for me.”

  “If it’s within my power.” He spoke carefully, trying not to let the happiness that shot through him show. Showing more enthusiasm than a female evinced was apt to scare her off. Or so other men reported. William had never been in such a situation before meeting Lady Lanora. “What must I do?”

  “I’m afraid you must kiss me.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lanora worked not to wince. Lord William looked at her as if she’d suggested they flap their arms and fly up into the bright blue above, chasing clouds. What must he think of her? Here he was, a notorious rake and charmer, being perfectly well behaved, and she requested a kiss. If he refused, she was going to throttle Grace.

  “It’s a sad thing to find, at only six and twenty, that my hearing is failing me,” he finally said.

  “Are you declining, then?” She couldn’t keep a hurt edge from her voice. She hadn’t expected to be so thoroughly disappointed if he wouldn’t kiss her. She’d expected relief.

  “Before I decide, may I ask why?”

  Lanora let out a sigh, feeling foolish. “Grace said, if I kissed you, I would better know my feelings, and she seems to think it will give me some insight into yours.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “And you agree with her?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not certain. I worry you aren’t the sort to stop with one kiss.”

  “Yet you would take that risk?” He didn’t appear offended by the accusation. Nor did he refute it. If anything, amusement touched his tone.

  “Well, if you don’t stop, Grace said I was to remove a hairpin and stab you.”

  He grinned, a real smile, not the strained ones that curved his mouth as he spoke of his father. “What if kissing you is so distracting, I don’t feel the hairpin?”

  “Then I’ll stab you again.” She could feel her face heating.

  His grin didn’t falter. “Eventually, I should like to meet Grace.”

  Lanora doubted that would go well. She knew he believed Grace was at least a gentleman’s daughter. When he learned she was a maid, he would look down on her, and Lanora. She frowned. How could she consider kissing such a man, any man of the ton?

  “Or not,” he said, his tone light. “As I can see you don’t wish me to.”

  Her face was still hot. She stood, turning her back in the pretense of studying the sculpture. She could hear him rise to his feet. Once composed, she turned back. “Forgive me for making such a scandalous suggestion. Please forget I spoke.”

  His hazel eyes darkened. “I don’t believe I can do that.”

  He was quite tall, particularly when he stood so near. Lanora pressed her lips together, annoyed by her racing pulse. “I rescind the request.”

  “Oh? Has it not worked in the past, then, kissing a man to know if there’s something between you?” His tone was still light, but his eyes narrowed.

  She lost a second battle not to blush. “I wouldn’t know.” Was that whispery voice hers?

  “There’s only one way to learn.” He closed the remaining distance between them. “For the pursuit of knowledge, I feel you must permit me to kiss you.”

  He slid an arm around her waist, his hand warm and large on the small of her back. His other he brought to her face, his fingers gliding along a curl before tucking it behind her ear. His eyes, dark pools now, studied hers.

  She should say no. She should step away. A proper lady wouldn’t be in this empty garden with Lord William. A proper lady would already have a hairpin out.

  Lanora closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

  The moment his mouth touched hers, she forgot about hairpins, gardens, and proper ladies. His hand cupped her face, angling it. Resting her palms against his chest, she took in the warmth and strength of him. Nothing before had ever felt like his kiss. It was sunlight and joy. Her whole body came alive, when she hadn’t known it wasn’t. The kiss went on and on, enveloping, dizzying.

  Then he stopped. Slowly, achingly, he raised his head. Lanora curled her fingers into the lapel of his coat. She rocked up on her toes, trying to reclaim the joy of moments before. He let out a low growl and wrapped both arms around her, crushing her to his chest. He rested his chin on her head. His warm breath stirred her hair. His heart pounded beneath her palm.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, laying her cheek against his coat.

  “Stopping before you make me forget to.”

  “It was a good kiss, then?” She wished she could call the words back, they sounded so nervous.

  His chuckle washed over her. She closed her eyes. The arms about her felt so safe. When was the last time she’d felt arms around her?

  “I should take you home,” he said. “We’ve been gone rather a while.”

  “Yes, of course.” She stepped back, a little sad that he permitted her to. What did she think would happen? They would stand in the park kissing all afternoon? That was ridiculous.

  “Here.” He tugged at her gown, straightening it, and untucked her curl so it fell across her cheek once more. After scrutinizing her and making a few final adjustments, he fluffed his cravat, which she’d crushed.

  The efficient, practiced way he managed it all, while she stood, her limbs still trembling, brought Lanora to her senses. The man before her was still Lord William Greydrake. He was a notorious rake. Likely, his words about courting her had already accomplished his goal. He’d won his kiss from one of the ton’s most aloof ladies. If she proved lucky, he wouldn’t boast about it. She’d probably never see him again.

  He took her hand and placed it on his arm. As they retraced their path into the garden, Lanora pressed her lips together. She wasn’t sure if she regretted what she’d done. She already felt drawn to kiss him again, and already doubted she ever would.

  “What events do you attend tomorrow? May I claim my sets now, before your card fills?” he asked

  She snapped her gaze to his, finding his eyes a light blue-green. A warm smile turned up his mouth. “Sets?” she parroted. He wished for more than one?

  “Of course. I would have all London know I’m courting you.”

  She looked away, flummoxed. He really meant to court her? “We’re attending the theater tomorrow evening.”

  “Then I shall as well, in hopes of glimpsing you.”

  “You truly mean to court me?”

  “I admit, in view of my reputation, I can understand your doubt, but surely our kiss told you all?”

  “It was….” Why had she developed such a propensity toward blushing? “I liked it very much.”

  His grin was smug.

  As wonderful as his kiss was, Lanora still felt unease. She mulled on it. When they reached his carriage, she let him assist her up, but frowned. He tossed the boy another coin and climbed up, settling into the seat beside her. A flip of the reins set the well-trained horses moving.

  “You hardly know me,” she said. And she hardly knew him.

  “I know you are intelligent and beautiful. I know you’re more spirited than you would have the world believe.”

  “You aim to flatter.”

  He turned the team, taking them down a road that arced back to meet their earlier path. “I know your father works with Mr. Darington. I admit, that is much of what initially drew me to you. That we share Egypt, in an odd way.”

  His expression was guarded, his words a
lmost halting. She didn’t know what to make of such hesitancy in stating something they both knew, but it recalled the home for women. She berated herself for needing the reminder. How could she forget to ask about it a second time?

  “You’re in contact with Mr. Darington, I assume?”

  “I am.”

  “Would you inquire after something for me when next you write him?”

  He cast her a surprised look. “Certainly, but couldn’t your father?”

  It was her turn to look away, to feign indifference. “I’ve asked him, but my father is, well, distractible. He doesn’t always read his letters, or always reply to them. I have no way to know if he read my words, or passed them on.” She tried to keep the hurt of that admission from showing.

  Lord William looked at her askance. “What is it you wish me to inquire of Darington?” he finally asked.

  She was relieved he let the matter of her father’s inattention pass. “As you likely know, he’s funding a home for displaced women. I wish to make sure he knows work has stopped. I spoke to the foreman some days ago, and he said work would resume when the funds arrived.”

  “You spoke with the foreman?” He raised his eyebrows.

  Lanora kept her gaze ahead. She must choose her words more carefully. “Or I asked one of my footmen to,” she said, trying not to lie outright.

  “You wish me to ensure Darington knows the funds he promised to build the house haven’t been provided?”

  She nodded, again thankful he was willing to let the conversation move forward. “I do. It’s very important.” She pressed her lips together, thinking. Lord William should understand her better before things got out of hand. Undoubtedly, their drive in the park already had them practically wed in the eyes of the ton. “You should know, I take a keen interest in improving the lives of people who have little.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Lanora frowned. “That is all you will say?” Was he taking her courtship seriously? “Your reputation suggests you aren’t the sort to permit your marchioness to squander money on charity.”