Or at least while they were visible. For a while they’d disappeared into the hedge- and tree-lined gardens. Had he kissed Margery there, too? In the little round gazebo where she and Rand had kissed last night?
He was going to marry Margery.
As Lily watched him come closer, she decided she wouldn’t make a fuss. Because she was nice. Because his father wanted it this way, and if all the parties agreed, there was no point in fighting fate. Because Margery had known Rand nearly all her life, while Lily had known him just a few weeks.
Then suddenly she was in his arms, and she wondered how she could have thought any of that. His mouth was on hers, fervent and possessive, and she slipped her hands inside his open surcoat, pressing herself close. Her heart raced; the blood rushed through her veins. And it was the same for him, she was certain.
Nothing had changed between them.
By the time he pulled away, her senses were spinning, her knees wobbly and weak. And although he was smiling, he looked as shaky as she felt. His heart was in his extraordinary gray eyes, there for her to see.
Perhaps fate would tear them apart, but it was clear as the cloudless sky that it wouldn’t be because Rand’s feelings for her had changed. And although she wanted an explanation for why he’d kissed Margery, she wouldn’t ask, because she didn’t want him to know she’d doubted him.
Still smiling, he brushed at his dripping coat and plucked his damp shirt away from his body.
The sight of that shirt molded to his chest made her swallow hard. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid Rex has soaked me through.” The dog was panting at her feet. She bent to grab the stick and tossed it arcing over the water, watching the mastiff gleefully splash in to fetch it.
Looking every bit as gleeful, Rand swung her back to face him. “It’s all right. I’ll happily risk more wet to kiss you again.” And she was happy to oblige, but this kiss was short and light. “Margery doesn’t want to marry me,” he said with an even wider grin.
She felt like singing—though she wouldn’t subject him to that, of course, not for all the gold in England. “Oh, Rand—”
“What do you think you’re doing with my dog?”
They whirled to see the marquess storming down the path to the river. Beatrix scampered up a nearby tree to join Lady and Jasper where they sat on a branch, chattering nervously. Lily’s heart pounded.
“Don’t worry,” said a whispered voice; Margery had sidled up behind them. “He might bellow like a bear and insist on his own way, but he’s not a man to do physical violence.”
“I beg to differ,” Rand said tightly, making Lily wince to think what he must have endured.
As his father drew near, he looped an arm over her shoulders, a clear message of possession. The tall, formidable marquess stood before them and glared down into Lily’s face. “Well?”
Although Lily had always been nice, she’d never been shy. “I was only playing with Rex, my lord. He seems to enjoy it.”
“Rex?”
She shrugged. “He needed a name. I assure you, I’ve done him no harm.”
He whistled to the dog, which obediently ran over. “His name is Attila,” he said, grabbing the chain around the animal’s neck. “And like the rest of my mastiffs, he’s a valuable fighter. He’ll sell for a top price once he’s fully trained—that is, if he doesn’t die of a chill first.” His fist was white-knuckled on the links. “My dogs do not play.”
Lily drew herself up to her full height of five-foot-two. “Perhaps they should. As they don’t seem to get a lot of human attention, some toys would be a welcome addition to their enclosure. Knotted rope, as I told Rand.” Rand’s hand tightened on her shoulder in warning, but she ignored it. She refused to be intimidated by the man she hoped would be her father-in-law. “And you’d do well to uproot the apple tree in there—the fruit is of a size to be a choking hazard.”
Surprisingly, Lord Hawkridge looked thoughtful if still fierce. “These dogs are meant to accompany soldiers at war. They get plenty of human attention when I train them—to kill. But perhaps some toys might not be amiss. Knotted rope could well promote fighting amongst themselves, which would help keep them in shape.”
It wasn’t exactly what Lily had in mind, but it was something. And he was no longer ignoring her.
He turned his attention to Margery. “When did you arrive?”
She exchanged a look with Rand. “Moments ago, Uncle William.”
“Good. We’ll talk over dinner. It’s long past time we settled your betrothal and marriage. Come along and make yourself presentable.”
He swung on a heel, taking Margery’s arm to pull her along with him, the dog trotting on his other side. Lily stared at Lord Hawkridge’s stiff, retreating back. Margery needed to make herself presentable? Lily had rarely seen someone so pristine. She glanced down at her own water-and-mud-stained skirts with dismay.
Rand came around to face her and lifted her chin with a hand. “You did well,” he said admiringly.
She fluffed at her filthy blue gown. “If he believed Margery needed grooming, he must think I’m a veritable fustilug.”
He pressed a kiss to her lips. “He wasn’t looking at you; he was listening. Miraculously. And he only said that to Margery as an excuse to drag her off. He doesn’t want us talking and figuring a way around his plans.” Another kiss. “Little does he know that we already have.”
Lily was cautious of celebrating too soon, but she drew hope from his words. “How long until dinner?”
Rand glanced at his pocket watch. “An hour.” Tucking it away, he shrugged out of his surcoat.
She nodded. “I’ll just have time to bathe and change.”
“And I’ll just have time for a run.” He handed her the coat. “Take this
