He didn’t have fond memories of Christmas, so he moved on to the next bottle.
Fresh. Flowery. He was taken aback—it smelled just like Lily. Surely the countess didn’t expect a man to wear such a feminine scent? It must have got mixed up with the bottles she’d intended to provide him. He found himself lingering over the concoction, inhaling deeply. There was something electrifying about the scent. Something that made him want to keep smelling it for…well, the foreseeable future anyway. Maybe the rest of his life.
Which was preposterous. He’d never been interested in marriage.
At least, he’d never thought he was. Dons, the teaching fellows at Oxford, weren’t allowed to wed. He’d been comfortable in that position—under that restriction—for the past few years. It had made his choices easy. He’d hardly expected to become a professor so soon, although considering his steady advancement, he’d assumed it would happen eventually. Professors could marry, but that had always seemed so far in the future as to be unworthy of contemplation.
When he’d actually become a professor—the youngest in his department’s history—just a few weeks ago, he’d been too ecstatic to consider the secondary effects. Namely, the fact that he was now free to marry should he want to.
The chamber suddenly seemed overwarm. He rose restlessly and loosened the laces at his neck, untied his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror, he halted. Implacable gray eyes gazed back at him.
Marriage had crossed his mind more than once today, rather uncomfortably. But whatever could have changed to make him suddenly picture himself with a wife…perhaps even children?
Could it be his new home? The place had, after all, five bedchambers. As he and Kit had drawn up the plans, had he been thinking, somewhere deep inside, that he might soon want to begin filling all those many rooms?
Sweet mercy, no!
Holding Ford’s son might have triggered his parental instincts, but he was far too young to see himself as a father. Besides, he had no idea how to raise a child, no good example from which to work. He wasn’t ready for such responsibility; perhaps he never would be.
That realization made him feel calmer. There were no big changes to be faced.
Now he could sleep.
When he finally drifted off in the soft feather bed, he could’ve sworn the faint, familiar strains of “Greensleeves” lulled him to sleep.
NINE
“ROSE, DON’T!” Lily pleaded in a whisper.
“Whyever not? It’s a kind gesture to see to a guest’s welfare.” Ignoring her sister, Rose knocked on the door. “Lord Randal?” She raised her voice—and an Ashcroft’s raised voice was no timid thing, living as they did with the half-deaf earl. “Lord Randal, are you quite all right? Will you be needing anything more this evening?”
Lily groaned, then sucked in her breath when the door suddenly swung open. There stood Rand, looking haphazard and half-asleep in nothing but a shirt and trousers. His sleeves were pushed up to reveal tanned forearms.
Though Lily ought to have been shocked by his state of undress, all she could think was, How does a university professor acquire tanned forearms? Weren’t academics supposed to spend their days buried in books?
“Yes?” he said to Lily, despite her sister having been the original speaker. Jarred from her musings, she moved her gaze up to his face—way up, since he was so much taller—and once again found herself staring. He looked different in the meager candlelight, his features thrown into sharp relief. She realized his wasn’t a pretty face. His jaw was a dash too strong, his nose too long, his brows too heavy and straight. But there was something about those eyes, that smile…
She made herself release the breath she’d been holding. “I—”
“I only wanted to inquire as to your welfare,” Rose hurried to put in.
“I’m quite fine,” he said, moving to lean against the doorway.
A cloud of scent moved with him. Not a subtle cloud. “Have you been testing Mum’s perfumes?” Rose wrinkled her nose. “I apologize, my lord. Evidently one of my mother’s creations is less than pleasing.”
Very tactful wording for Rose, Lily thought with admiration. She’d never seen her sister make such an effort at courtesy.
Rand waved a hand, releasing another burst of fragrance. “Oh, I’ve quite enjoyed the perfumes,” he assured them.
“I expect you have,” Lily said, biting back a smile. It wasn’t a bad bottle, if she didn’t miss her guess, but rather an unfortunate mixture of several. “How many scents have you sampled?”
“All of them,” he said, rubbing his jaw, then sniffing his fingers. His eyes widened. “I suppose that wasn’t such a good idea?”
“One doesn’t mix fragrances. That’s the perfumer’s job,” Rose informed him, sounding both intelligent and instructor-like.
A professor ought to admire that air of competence, Lily thought.
But he only shrugged. “I did it rather absently, I expect. My mind was elsewhere.”
His gaze strayed to Lily’s, perhaps implying where his mind had been. Could he truly have been thinking of her all this time? Regardless, it didn’t matter. She’d made a promise to Rose.
“I…I must see to my animals before bed,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks heat. Wondering whether that was due to his compelling eyes or her mention of the word bed, she hoped it was too dark for him to see her blush. “I expect you’ll be wanting a bath before you sleep?”
Judging from the way Rand’s lips curved—knowingly—he had seen. “I expect that would be wise.” He rubbed his jaw again with a touch of self-consciousness.
“Go ahead, Lily,” Rose said. “Your menagerie needs tending.” She gave an elegant wave. “I’ll be happy to see that Lord Randal gets his bath.”
I’ll bet you would, Lily couldn’t help thinking, and something in Rand’s expression told her he was thinking the
