She struggled to pull herself together. “When are you going to tell him he can have my money?”
Lady flew into the gazebo’s opening and landed at their feet, but Rand didn’t seem to notice let alone recognize the bird. His hands tightened on Lily’s. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. After I talk to Margery.”
It was the first hint she saw that he suspected this might not all work out as planned. Suddenly her stomach wasn’t filled with butterflies. More like lead.
What if Margery wanted to marry him? Rand had said Margery had been raised right here at Hawkridge. With him. Was it such a stretch to believe she might have come to love him?
He was, after all, utterly lovable. Generous and caring, strong and successful, self-sufficient where it showed, but with that hurt little boy hidden inside. What woman could truly know him, as Margery must, and not wish to wrap him in her arms and heal that hurt?
And with both Lord Hawkridge and Margery against her, would she, Lily, stand a chance?
She tried to search Rand’s eyes, but the light was failing outside, and here in the gazebo it was even darker. “What if she wants to marry you, Rand?”
“She won’t.”
“But what if she does?”
He scooted around the circular bench until his thigh rested against hers, feeling warm even through their clothes. “I’m marrying you. No matter what the marquess wants. No matter what Margery wants. I love you. You, Lily. And do you realize…you may even now be carrying my child?”
A tiny gasp escaped her lips. She hadn’t realized. Of course, she’d known it was a possibility, but she hadn’t thought about it. She’d had no time. It had been only twice, over two short days, and so much else had happened…
And at the time, she’d been sure they were marrying anyway, so it hadn’t really mattered.
But now it did.
She laid a hand on her middle. “Oh goodness, Rand, what if I am?”
“We’ll love it, of course. Her.” He grinned, his teeth gleaming white in the night. “She’ll have dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes, just like you. In truth I’d rather have some time alone with you first, but if a child comes, well, it would be meant, would it not? And we’ll love her—”
“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”
“I have, in the short time since we first loved. I’ll admit the idea took some getting used to, but—”
“But what happens if you have to marry Margery?” Panic was rising in Lily’s chest, into her throat, a lump that seemed to be choking her.
She stared blindly at the ground between their feet. Her family motto might be Question Convention, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be so unconventional as to raise a child alone.
“Can you not see?” Rand touched her chin, that special spot that usually made her shiver, but not now. When she didn’t look up, he sighed. “Lily. This is the best thing that could happen. If you’re with child, the marquess will have to allow us to marry.”
She wished she could believe that, but the Marquess of Hawkridge didn’t strike her as the sort of man who felt he had to do anything. She tried to swallow the lump, failing miserably.
Rand slid a hand into her hair and tilted her head until she met his eyes. “Stop worrying. Your money will save Hawkridge and ensure everyone’s future. We’ll marry and live happily ever after.”
She hoped so, and when he kissed her, she believed him for a moment. But when he stopped, she couldn’t help wondering if he was wrong.
Her life so far had been happy and uneventful, like one of the baskets her sister used for flower arrangements, perfectly woven. Was this where it would unravel? Was losing Rand the price she would pay for disregarding her sister’s feelings? For breaking a promise? For being selfish instead of nice?
“Now,” he said, his tone changing to one that implied the matter was settled, “since the marquess is uninterested in entertainment, will you play the harpsichord for me alone?”
“In my bedchamber? I don’t think your father’s household would feel that’s proper. You said he has spies.”
He laughed as he drew her up and out of the gazebo, linking his arm with hers. “There’s a second harpsichord in the north drawing room. But I will come to you tonight. In your bedchamber. And damn the spies.”
Crossing the gardens, she laughed, too.
Things couldn’t be as dire as they seemed. She and Rand were just too perfect together.
FORTY
UPSTAIRS IN Hawkridge Hall, the second harpsichord was even more beautiful than the first, all inlaid with different colored woods.
“Johannes Ruckers,” Lily breathed, reading the name painted above the keyboard.
“You know him?”
“Not personally.” She grinned at the mere idea. “But Flemish harpsichords are said to make the most beautiful music, especially those built by the Ruckers family.”
“Try it,” he said, seating himself in an amazing chair that was gilded, silvered, and painted in marine colors to suggest dolphins sporting in the ocean.
She sat on the petit point stool and ran her fingers experimentally over the keys, enjoying the rich sound of the rare instrument. A small smile curved her lips as she launched into the tune she’d been practicing.
Rand smiled in return, tapping a toe in time to the music. Until he bolted out of the chair. “Where did you learn that?”
She continued playing. “I taught it to myself. Worked it out, I mean. As a surprise for you. It’s the tune you often hum, isn’t it?”
“Do I?” His lips twitched. “Perhaps I do, from time to time.”
He hummed along for a few bars, then leaned an elbow on the harpsichord and set his chin in his hand. His head was nearly level with hers, his eyes commanding her to look up.
“What?” she asked.
He grinned. “Do you know the words?”
“Does
