“But what if—”
“I’ll never let you go.”
“Never say never,” she quoted softly.
The light went out of his eyes.
They were silent a long while, their breathing sounding harsh in the still room.
“No,” he said at last. “This time I say never.”
She drew a deep, steadying breath, then nodded. She had to believe him. Their love was too strong not to find a solution.
Still…
“I’d feel better if we waited,” she whispered. “But if you could just hold me tonight…”
He wrapped her close.
FORTY-ONE
“LILY?” RAND whispered into the darkness.
No answer.
How could she sleep? He’d been restless all night, holding her tight, savoring her soft warmth and at the same time gritting his teeth against the need that raged through his body.
Sleeping with Lily—only sleeping—was proving the most exquisite torment. Worse, he wasn’t sleeping at all. His mind kept turning over all the possibilities, all the ways their plans could go awry.
When he’d left Hawkridge at fourteen, Margery had been all of seven. Visits during his university years had been sporadic and infrequent—he’d preferred to spend school breaks with Ford’s family when possible. His last time home, he’d been twenty and Margery thirteen.
He’d known Margery the child. He’d been acquainted with Margery the girl. But Margery the woman was a stranger.
What if he were wrong? What if Margery the woman did want to marry him? She’d lived under the influence of the marquess all these years…
Something shifted at the foot of the bed. At first he thought it was Lily’s toes, but then a warm little weight settled across his feet and began vibrating.
A cat. He’d lay odds it was Beatrix, somehow found her way here to Hawkridge. And he’d wager his new house that if it weren’t so dark, he’d see Jasper and Lady on the windowsill.
He had a cat on his feet. And its lily-scented owner in his bed. He wasn’t sure which made him more uncomfortable.
Then Lily moved against him, and he was sure. More than sure. “Bloody hell,” he murmured.
“Hmm?” came her sleep-slurred voice. “Is something wrong? Are you feeling badly?”
“No, just frustrated.” He half chuckled, half groaned. “Are you sleeping?”
“I was,” she said with a patient sigh, adding guilt to his list of discomforts. “Are you worried?”
“Of course…not.”
She rolled over to face him, touching fingers to his face, sweeping hair off his cheek. “Everything will turn out fine.”
Her eyes looked black in the darkness but earnest nonetheless. “How do you know?”
“You told me. And I believe you.” She gave him a sleepy kiss before her head fell back to the pillows. “Sleep, Rand. I’ll still be here in the morning.”
Cradling her close, he stared into the interminable night. Margery would be here in the morning, too.
LILY SAW NO indication that spies had reported last night’s sleeping arrangements to Rand’s father. He’d breakfasted before them—Rand had risen late—and closeted himself in his study. Neither did he appear when Lily and Rand heard a vehicle roll up the drive and hurried outside to meet it.
As they stepped onto the cobbles, a footman swung the carriage door wide, and an oval face appeared in the opening.
Dressed in black mourning, Margery looked dazed. She was a pale woman, ethereal almost, and Lily imagined that her recent ordeal had made her even more so. It wasn’t every day a woman lost her betrothed to violence.
Lily could hardly conceive of how she’d feel should such a thing happen to Rand. To be planning a life and have it snatched from her so suddenly…well, she was certain she’d look pale, too. Margery currently stood in the way of Lily and Rand’s happiness, and Lily had been half expecting to resent her on sight. But now she could feel only sympathy.
Even in her grief, the woman was beautiful. Her hair, so light it was nearly white, framed her face in perfect curls. Her flawless skin looked translucent, and her eyes were a startling deep green. Set off by Margery’s pale loveliness, they looked huge. And very, very disturbed.
Lily’s heart went out to her…until the woman spotted Rand and her delicate face lit up. Then Lily’s heart plunged to her knees instead.
Rand helped Margery down the carriage steps, where she promptly burst into tears, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder.
Lily stood by while the man she loved awkwardly patted the other woman’s back. “Margery. Ah, Margery.”
“Randy,” Margery choked out, gripping him harder.
He’d told Lily that Margery hadn’t loved Alban, but it was obvious she did love Rand. Watching them together was more than Lily could bear. She tapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll be playing with your father’s dogs.”
“Lily—”
“No. You need to talk. If I’m not with the dogs, look for me down by the river.”
Resolutely she walked away, hoping she wasn’t walking out of Rand’s life.
FORTY-TWO
“RANDY.”
Despite the worried look on Lily’s face, and Margery’s obvious distress, Rand smiled at her use of the childhood name. Life might have been miserable back when he was known as Randy, but it had also been simpler. And this woman had never been part of the misery.
“Margery.” He squeezed her shoulder, feeling responsible for her happiness, the same way he’d felt when she came to Hawkridge as an infant when he was seven. “Whatever’s wrong, we’ll make it right.”
It seemed the old bonds were still strong, like with so many others on the estate. How could he have ignored them all these years? And if the worst came to transpire, could he walk away again, abandon them in their need?
He knew he couldn’t.
“Shall we go inside?” he asked her.
With an obvious effort, she controlled her tears. “Is your father at home?”
“He’s in his study.”
“Then no. I’m not ready to see him. Can we just walk?”
“Of course.” One arm around her shoulders, he drew her toward the gardens.
