Lily shivered at the thought. She could scarcely imagine a relation of Rand’s intentionally causing harm. It didn’t seem possible. Could he have misunderstood? He’d been very young…
“Rand, I—”
“It’s all right,” Rand cut her off. “The marquess never believed me either.” His tone was brusque, but she could hear the hurt underneath. “If you had read Alban’s journal, though, you’d have been convinced.”
“You read his private journal?” No wonder the Nesbitt brothers hadn’t gotten along! If she’d read her sisters’ journals, or Rowan’s, they’d be out for her blood.
Not that any of them kept a journal, but that was beside the point.
Rand had the good grace to blush. “Yes, but only because I was hoping to expose him.”
“To get him in trouble?”
“Well, he deserved it. And I didn’t precisely read his journal,” he said, a bit defensively. “I transcribed it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I decoded it. He wrote in secret languages he invented. Because his writings were so incriminating.”
“And you broke the codes?”
“Every one he could devise.” Rand gave a bitter laugh, and Lily got the distinct impression this was the only part of his childhood he looked back on with any satisfaction. “Alban was flummoxed. Eventually he had to stop journaling.” Rand sobered. “One good thing came of it, though—I realized I had a skill for puzzling out languages. That aptitude allowed the marquess to gain me early entrance to Oxford, and he was nearly as happy for it as I.”
“He must have been proud of you,” Lily said hopefully.
“Not in the least. He was just grateful to see the back of me. The last time I visited was when I became a fellow, and he could hardly look at me. A Nesbitt, working for a living. He thinks me a disgrace.”
Lily wanted to protest, but now she hardly knew what to think. She was having a hard time imagining the Nesbitts by Rand’s description. Could they truly be as frightful as he remembered?
Did she want to find out?
She licked dry lips. “Thank you for telling me all of this. It means a lot that you trust me enough to confide in me.”
He crouched before her chair and took her hands, making Beatrix drop to the floor with an indignant mew. “I told you so you would understand why you cannot come with me. Hawkridge is not a nice place to visit. Especially for someone as sweet and gentle as you.”
Lily wasn’t sure she was all that sweet—not anymore—but she couldn’t deny that the name of Hawkridge now filled her with a certain amount of dread.
His hands slid up her arms, his thumbs stroking the sides of her neck. He kissed her forehead, though she’d have preferred her lips. “Now you must trust me. I know how to deal with the marquess, and I won’t let him deprive us of the life we’ve planned together—the life I promised you. I’d never let anything come between us. You know that, don’t you?”
His face was gilded by the firelight when he finally found her mouth with his, his fingertips dancing on the delicate skin of her cheeks. The doubts swirling in her mind were quickly drowned beneath a wave of tender sensation.
Never say never, a little voice in her head whispered. But this time, she kept it to herself.
THIRTY-THREE
THE NEXT MORNING, Rand stopped by the inn’s common room to make his farewells and give Lily a chaste peck on the cheek. Noticing his hair was damp from recent washing, she suspected he’d gone for an early morning run.
Then she looked closer and realized he must’ve made time for a visit to the barber, as well. His hair was properly trimmed and his cheeks fresh-shaven. He’d dressed himself in a dove gray velvet suit much finer than the wool suits he normally wore. Was he hoping to impress his father?
Well, his efforts were certainly working on Lily. He looked so tempting that she had to clasp her hands behind her back to keep them to herself.
“How far are you going?”
“Only a couple of hours downriver from Trentingham. I’d accompany you all as far as the mansion, but…” He gestured toward the chaos that was Lily’s family and servants preparing for their leave-taking. They were far from ready.
Lily nodded her understanding. “If Hawkridge is so near Trentingham, I wonder that I never met you before Violet met Ford. I thought I’d been to every house within a day’s driving distance with my mother and her gifts of perfume.”
“There were no women at Hawkridge,” he reminded her. “My mother died before you were born.”
“But surely your father entertains.”
“Not since the death of my mother. Even Christmas at Hawkridge is a rather dreary affair, more of a duty to the servants and tenants than a real celebration.”
“It does sound a bit dull,” she allowed. “Did no children ever visit Hawkridge, then? How did you make friends?”
“It wasn’t easy. If Kit hadn’t lived so nearby, I likely wouldn’t have had any friends at all.”
“No wonder you enjoy the bustle of Oxford.” She gazed up at him. “I enjoy it, too. Thank you for bringing me here. And my family. We all had a lovely time.”
“Up until I received the blasted letter and Rowan fell off the scaffolding.”
“It was nice after that, too,” she protested.
He shrugged, then grew thoughtful, running his tongue over his teeth. “You’re right,” he said. “The afternoon went very smoothly, once your mother calmed down. Your parents don’t seem angry with Rowan.”
“Events occur. You take them in stride.”
Rand snorted. “My family didn’t. Your parents also don’t seem upset that you’re marrying a professor.”
“You’re a baron now, too.”
“But I wasn’t, and they never seemed to care.”
“They trust my choice. Besides, they admire you and what you’ve done with your life.”
He smiled, and something seemed to shift in his eyes, in his posture. He looked more content than he had in days. “You have a wonderful family,” he said with fervent warmth.
“My father is half
