Miss Hartley,” Quincy said the next morning after they had all sat down to breakfast, “you look none the worse for your ordeal yesterday. As a matter of fact, you appear to have a fresh bloom on your cheeks.”
Peter, transfixed by that very same blush—and knowing the reason for it—nearly choked on his coffee. Blessedly Margery spoke up, drawing any attention he may have attracted to himself.
“Oh, goodness, Lenora, I hope you’re not feverish.”
“Of course not,” Lenora said in a perfectly normal voice. The blush staining her cheeks, however, didn’t help matters in the least.
Margery rose from her seat and went to Lenora, placing her wrist against her forehead. She frowned. “You’re not warm,” she murmured. “Quite cool, in fact.”
“I told you I wasn’t feverish.”
She bent down to peer closely at her friend. “But there is something different just the same.”
Lenora’s fingers worked at the triangle of toast she had been eating, turning it to crumbs. She cast Peter the briefest of glances, but it said volumes.
Ah, God, those eyes. But it wouldn’t help matters if he were caught staring at her like a lovesick calf. He straightened and placed his coffee cup down. “It was quite an ordeal she went through last night.” Then, hoping to distract Margery, he asked in an offhand manner, “I wonder what Lady Tesh has planned for us today? Now that the storm has passed, she no doubt has something up her sleeve.”
Giving Lenora one last confused glance, Margery returned to her seat. “She mentioned something about the cliffs, but I talked her into letting Lenora rest for the day.”
From the pained look on Margery’s face, he assumed that conversation hadn’t been an easy one. But it was soon replaced with her typical calm demeanor. She took a small sip from her steaming cup and smiled at Lenora. “Which means we shall have the entire day to laze about.”
Lenora smiled back. “That sounds divine.”
Peter’s stomach flipped, watching that small curve of lips. Lips he had kissed just last night. Lips that had trailed hungrily over his skin.
He poked at a piece of ham, then quickly returned to his coffee, taking a deep swallow and letting the rich, bitter brew seep into him. Last night would have to be their only intimate memory together. He shouldn’t have gone to her in the first place; he couldn’t make that same mistake again.
His gaze drifted back to Lenora, and despite his intentions, he felt a decided softening in the region of his chest when their eyes met. She gave him a small smile before she returned her attentions to Margery.
That curve of lips, that warm gaze, obliterated in seconds what he had been attempting to build all morning: the strong will that would be needed to keep away from her the duration of his stay, and to leave her at the end of his month here.
For he couldn’t fool himself any longer. It was not his estranged family he would be leaving. No, it was her. She had become the center of everything to him.
He had a flash, a vision of them in the future, seated across from one another over the breakfast table, sharing meaningful glances as they remembered the passion from the night before. He would have spent the night in her arms instead of sneaking from her bed before dawn, would have woken to find her curled warm and soft against him instead of opening his eyes to the cold loneliness of his borrowed room.
And he wanted that, more than he had ever wanted anything before.
An ache started up in his chest, the need for that possible future squeezing until he could hardly breathe.
He could ask her to be his wife, bring her back to Boston, set up a household.
Have a family.
He drew in a deep, unsteady breath as the idea flashed hot and desperate through his mind. No, he had never wanted a family. It was the one thing he had known with certainty all these long years that he didn’t want.
And yet it did not seem to be a new need, but something dredged up from the very depths of his soul. Had it been in him all this time then? A foolish question, perhaps; he saw with painful clarity it had been.
For so long it had been just he and his mother. They had been everything to one another. When he had lost her, he had lost the safety and security of knowing he was loved, that he was part of a family.
And he had not wanted it again. Not with Lady Tesh, not even with Quincy, or Captain Adams and his brood, though they had all been more than willing to accept him with open arms. Every one of them had treated him like family, had let him know what he meant to them.
Yet he had kept every single person at arm’s length, not wanting the pain of loss to destroy him again. Even Quincy, who had saved his life on more than one occasion, who was closer to him than anyone else had been since his mother’s death. And so it had been easy to make the decision to remain unwed and childless in order to thwart Dane and destroy the family line. He never imagined that anyone could breach the walls he had put about himself.
Until Lenora.
Now that future he had planned seemed cold and lonely. He could not imagine life without Lenora in it, bringing light and love such as he had never felt.
He froze, his cup halfway to his lips. Love? Where the devil had that come from? Surely he didn’t love Lenora. He cared for her, of course. But love was beyond him, his heart too petrified for that soft emotion.
But as warmth spread through him, like a spring sun melting the frost of winter, he knew deep down he was fooling himself. He loved Lenora. He sucked in a breath, stunned, as the realization coursed through him.
Dropping his cup to the table with a clatter, he shoved his seat back and rose. The pleasant chatter that had filled the room stopped abruptly, every eye turned to him in shock.
“Peter, you’re pale as a sheet,” Margery said, her brows turning down in worry. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, perhaps a touch louder than he’d intended, for Margery’s eyebrows flew up her forehead. He tried to focus on her and not Lenora. He needed to clear his head, but he knew if he caught sight of that sweet face, it would be impossible to leave.
“I’m going for a ride,” he said.
Quincy stood. “I’ll go with you.”
“No.” Again his voice carried through the room, startling its inhabitants. And now, dash it all, Quincy looked suspicious. As well he might, for he was acting like a madman.
“That is,” he continued, trying for a more normal tone of voice, “I need to clear my head. After last night.”
Which was as true as he could make it without telling his friend exactly what part of last night had him so out of sorts.
Quincy, however, wasn’t fooled. “If you’re certain,” he said, his voice dubious.
“Of course I am.”
When Quincy, after a pause, finally lowered himself to his seat and nodded, Peter turned to go.
“You’ll be back in time for dinner, won’t you?”
That voice. It skidded down his spine, washed over him, sending heat to every part of his body. Finally he looked at her. Her expression was tight with concern. The flush that had so worried Margery was still there, staining her cheeks a becoming pink. As he watched, it darkened and spread down over her neck, toward the high bodice of her gown. For a split second, he faltered, nearly returning to his seat so he didn’t have to spend a moment away from her.
No. He had to think, and he couldn’t do that when she was near. “Yes,” he replied, “I’ll be back for dinner.”
Her features noticeably relaxed, a small smile lighting her face. A jolt of desire rushed him, so intense it took his breath.
Before he could rethink matters, he spun about and hurried from the room as fast as he could manage.
* * *
The air was clear and crisp, filling Peter’s lungs as he urged his horse over the sodden fields away from Seacliff. The rain of the night before had washed clean the dust and dirt and made everything shine like a new penny. Droplets sparkled like gems on the grass, flying through the air in glorious rainbows under his mount’s hooves.
He blanched. What drivel was this, that he was likening mere drops of water to gems and rainbows? All the more proof that this solitary ride had been necessary. He focused on the feel of the horse beneath him, on the way the wind tugged on his unbound hair. Focus was needed to help him decide what it was he wanted for his future. And what he couldn’t live without.
He came to the crest of a gentle rise and pulled the horse to a stop, looking down into the low valley.
Danesford lay before him, elegant and sprawling, nestled in the valley. The dark brick exterior, the stone dressings, the windows winking in the sun, made it appear as if some lumbering mythical beast had come to slumber between the rolling hills. His eyes scoured the mansion. It was precious to the duke. Everything about this land was, from the carefully trimmed gardens to the smooth expanses of lawn. It screamed wealth and status and privilege. Everything the Duke of Dane held dear.
It had long been his desire to see it fall into ruins. But if he married Lenora, those plans would be destroyed. She loved this land, loved the duke’s family. She wouldn’t allow him to lay waste to them.
He had to choose between everything he had wanted for so long, and his love for Lenora.
He tried to dredge up the memory of Dane as he had been that day, the cool cruelty that had twisted his face as he’d turned him away. To his frustration, he saw only the abject misery of the duke as he was now, a sick, broken man begging for forgiveness.
Peter growled low in his throat. His horse stepped sideways, agitated by the sound. He quickly brought it back under control, patting its quivering neck absentmindedly. He had to remember just what it was he was doing here, and why he had to make Dane pay. His mother’s face swam up in his mind, haggard and pale, drawn with pain. He let the familiar fury settle under his skin, welcoming it like an old friend. How could he forgive that? How could he let that remain unpunished?
Yet if he didn’t, he would lose Lenora. And he wanted her, more than air in his lungs.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, he cast a furious glare at the mansion before turning his horse’s head and thundering away. He was no closer than he had been to making a decision, was even more mired in doubt. And he could see no clear path to what was right.
He had not gotten far, however, when a small, grizzled man came into view. The man whipped his hat off his nearly bald head and began to wave it cheerfully in the air.
“Mr. Ashford, so nice to see you!”
Peter groaned, his wish for solitude effectively destroyed.
“Mr. Tunley,” Peter acknowledged as he came closer, his voice cool and unwelcoming. The man would see he didn’t wish for company, surely.
But Mr. Tunley was either thick as a stump or quite the friendliest man in existence. He stopped in the middle of the path, grinning at Peter as if he could not think of a person he wanted to meet more.
“Out for a ride this morning, are you?” He breathed in deeply and peered up at the cloudless sky, replacing his worn cap back on his head. “Mighty fine day for it. That was some storm we had last night, eh?”
“Yes, it was.” Perhaps if he simply answered the fellow and didn’t engage him in conversation, he might be able to escape him the quicker.
But the man showed not the slightest hint of leaving. He seemed rather to settle more firmly into the road. “I myself love a good storm. It cleanses the earth, makes everything new again.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have storms such as these in America then?”
“Yes.”
He nodded as if Peter had imparted something interesting. “Wonderful. Always love learning about new places.”
Goodness, the man wasn’t going to stop, was he? Peter drew breath, intending to extricate himself as quickly as he was able. Mr. Tunley, however, launched on again.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to share a bit of food with me, would you?” The man held up a small bundle.
Peter blinked, utterly confused by the lightning change in topic. So much so that he quite forgot he was trying to keep the man at arm’s length and escape. “You wish me to share your breakfast?”
“Certainly. Though it’s not my breakfast I’ll be sharing with you. No, I’ve been up since long before dawn.” He brought the bundle to his nose, sniffing experimentally, before grinning. “If I’m right, and I usually am, my Mrs. Tunley has packed me some meat pasties and a quantity of early apples. And if I’ve been good, I suspect I shall find a hunk of hard cheese within as well. And I’m always good. At least as far as Mrs. Tunley is concerned.” He chuckled.
To Peter’s mortification, his stomach rumbled. Lady Tesh served up elegant food, delicious yet far too fancy for Peter’s tastes, with intricate flavors that only palates much more refined than his could appreciate. What Mr. Tunley described was good plain fare, food to nourish the body. It was food he had grown up eating, food he had preferred even in Boston.
But though his stomach cried out for sustenance, rebelling at the meager diet of black coffee he had consumed at breakfast, he shook his head. “I wouldn’t wish to take away food from your plate, Mr. Tunley.”
“Oh, ’tis no trouble at all, my boy,” the man said. “Mrs. Tunley always gives me much more than I can eat. As my girth can attest to.” Here he patted his rounded middle, letting loose a laugh that could not fail to wring an answering smile from Peter.
“If you’re certain.”
“Of course! It would be my pleasure.”
Before Peter quite knew what he was doing, he dismounted and fell into step beside Mr. Tunley, leading his horse behind him.