Lenora. Goodness, child, I’ve never seen you so inattentive.”
Lenora started, her cheeks warming as she glanced at Lady Tesh. Her face grew hotter when she spied the salver piled high with letters that graced the low table between them. The butler must have just brought it in; she’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him enter. “I’m sorry, Gran.”
Margery lowered her embroidery to her lap. The worry in her eyes had been growing stronger since breakfast. “You’ve been incredibly distracted all morning. Perhaps you should return to bed, dear. No one would begrudge you more rest after your ordeal.”
Which was the exact opposite of what she should do to calm her roiling thoughts. She could imagine the state of her mind if she went back to bed, curling up in sheets that still carried Peter’s scent, remembering what he had done to her mere hours ago. How he had brought her such pleasure, made her feel much more than she had ever thought to.
And how, despite knowing better, she had allowed him into her heart. Frustration and dismay reared up, that she could be so careless. But despite all that, she couldn’t regret what they’d shared.
She cleared her throat, trying to control thoughts that were quickly veering off course again. She had to put him from her mind as best as she was able. For, as he’d warned her, he was leaving at the end of his month.
And she could not handle the heartbreak.
“No, I’d much rather stay here with you.” She looked down at the slim volume in her hands. She had forgotten she was even trying to read the thing. “Though,” she continued wryly, “perhaps I’d better give up on this book. It’s not holding my interest at all.”
Just then the sound of footsteps sounded in the hall, accompanied by masculine voices. Lenora turned her attention to the sitting room door, her heart skipping a beat as Peter’s deep baritone stood out from the others. Anticipation ran along her skin, and she found herself straightening, waiting for the moment he strode into view.
Suddenly he was there, and the breath left her. This is not good, a small voice whispered. She could not hope to survive his leaving if she could not control her reaction to him. Yet that did nothing to stop the smile of pleasure from lifting her lips, from the greeting that formed on her tongue.
That greeting died a quick death when she caught sight of the stormy look on his face. But she had no time to process what it might mean. In the next instant, a second man entered behind him. It was not Mr. Nesbitt, however, though a person still known to her.
“Lord Redburn!”
“You know this man?”
Lenora pulled back at the darkness in Peter’s voice. “Yes, we became acquainted in London.” She smiled at the other man. “It’s a pleasure to see you here on the Isle, my lord.”
The earl bowed low, flashing her the smile he was renowned for, the one that had set half the female hearts in London to fluttering. “My dear Miss Hartley. You are even more beautiful, if that is at all possible. And Mrs. Kitteridge,” he continued, turning to bow Margery’s way, “so wonderful to see you.”
Margery shot Lenora a confused look before she turned a kind smile on the man. “You as well, my lord. But I don’t think you’re acquainted with my grandmother.”
As Margery made the necessary introductions, Lenora snuck a glance at Peter. He wasn’t looking at her, which she supposed shouldn’t bother her as it did. But it was the way he wasn’t looking at her that was troubling. As if he was trying with all his might to ignore her very presence in the room. Instead his narrowed gaze was fastened to Lord Redburn, as if the very devil were in his midst.
Which was ridiculous. Peter had been in America half his life and couldn’t know Lord Redburn. And anyway, the young earl was one of the nicest men she had ever met.
What he was doing in Lady Tesh’s sitting room, however, was a mystery. Almost as much as Peter’s peculiar reaction.
“Lenora,” Lady Tesh said, eyeing Lord Redburn with interest, “why don’t you call for a tea tray.”
“Certainly.” She made her way to the bell pull, trying to catch Peter’s eye as she did so. Still the dratted man wouldn’t look at her. By the time she rejoined the rest of the group, Lady Tesh was ordering everyone into seats. Lenora took hers, trying not to show her hurt when Peter pointedly ignored his great-aunt’s suggestion and positioned himself as far from her as he was able to.
“Lord Redburn,” Lady Tesh said, her fingers running through the mop that topped Freya’s frazzled head, “what brings you to the Isle?”
Ignoring the frustrating man across from her, Lenora focused on the earl. Finally one mystery would be solved.
But to her further confusion, he looked her way and smiled. “Oh, I’m sure Miss Hartley should be the one to tell you, my lady.”
Frowning, Lenora looked to Margery, who appeared even further in the dark than she did. “I’m sorry, Lord Redburn, but I haven’t a clue what you’re referring to.”
The man’s smile faltered. “Have you not received word from your father?”
“I have not heard from him since I arrived.”
“Oh, dear.” Lord Redburn gave a weak chuckle, his expression turning apologetic. “This is an unfortunate turn of events. He assured me he would write with alacrity, that his letter would prepare you before my arrival.”
A roaring started up in Lenora’s ears. She gripped the arms of her chair with suddenly numb fingers. She could imagine only one reason why her father should write to her with haste, only one reason why Lord Redburn was in Lady Tesh’s drawing room.
In a flash, she recalled the salver of letters. She dove for it, scattering the myriad correspondence in her search for one particular missive. Finally, at the very bottom, she found it. Her father’s sparse, methodical writing glared up at her like a scold.
She reached for it with shaking fingers. “It appears it did arrive before you,” she said through numb lips. “Though only just.” She drew in a slow breath, fighting back the mounting panic that was quickly taking over her. “If you will all excuse me?” she managed as she rose.
The two men rose as well, drawing her eye. She looked at Peter, and nearly gasped. For the first time since he’d entered the room, his gaze had settled on her. And it burned.
She must have paled considerably, for Lord Redburn stepped to her side in an instant. “Perhaps it would be best if I accompany you, Miss Hartley. In case you have any questions regarding the contents of your father’s letter.”
Again a glance at Peter. His gaze had slipped from her and was now fixed with barely banked hostility on Lord Redburn. Lenora cringed. She certainly had no wish to be alone with the man, especially if her father’s missive disclosed the information she feared was in its folds.
But the thought of leaving him with Peter, who looked as if he were plotting the man’s demise, made her break into a cold sweat.
“Yes,” she replied to Lord Redburn, “mayhap that would be for the best.”
The young earl held out an arm to her. She stared at it for a moment, panic rearing up again. Fighting the urge to run, she placed her fingers on the fine material of his coat and let him lead her from the room. Trying with all her might not to turn and run back to Peter’s arms.
From his expression, she didn’t think he wanted her there again.
* * *
“Miss Hartley,” Lord Redburn began when they had ducked into the small, seldom-used sitting room down the hall.
Lenora held up a hand, praying the man would heed her silent entreaty. Blessedly he understood at once and fell silent.
Turning her back on him, she made her way to the far side of the room. With trembling hands, she broke the wax seal and carefully unfolded the paper. Her father’s letter wasn’t long; in a matter of seconds, she would be able to determine if her suspicions were founded. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to focus on the neat lines of script.
Finally, when she thought she might either scream or faint from the horror of anticipation, she took a shuddering breath and began to read.
Lenora,
I have managed in short order to find a husband for you. It seems your unfortunate history has not destroyed your chances. That the man is an earl is a damn miracle. You will treat Lord Redburn with all the civility and encouragement necessary to hold his interest until the vows are said.
I don’t have to remind you what will transpire should you fail in this.
Yours,
Sir Alfred Hartley
A hard ball settled in the pit of her stomach. She read the letter again, searching for any hint of affection. Yet, as before, the words were stark, to the point—and so chill she thought she might never be warm again.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, staring down at the letter. It was only when the words began to swim in her vision that she recalled herself. She blinked and drew in a breath. “I must say,” she said, her voice overloud in the silence of the room, “this is quite…unexpected.” Which was such a glaring understatement, it might have been funny, had there been even a morsel of humor in the situation.
Her voice seemed to unfreeze Lord Redburn from his patient watching. His boots sounded on the floor, coming closer, until he stood at her elbow. Lenora fought the urge to pull away from him. An unfair reaction. He was a good man; it was not his fault his timing was so abysmal, that his suit was the last thing she wanted. That she had already given her heart to another.
“I’m sorry for the shock. It wasn’t my intention to distress you. I believed your father’s letter would arrive well before me.” There was a pause and a soft chuckle. “I suppose I was a bit eager to get here. I should not have traveled on a Sunday. My mother would have my head, were she to find out.”
She looked at him then. “Why?”
A puzzled frown drew his inky brows together. “Why did I travel on Sunday?”
“Why were you eager? You must know my history.”
Lord Redburn appeared taken aback. As well he might, for the words were harsh even to her own ears. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her world, which had finally begun to come together after so long, felt as if it was unraveling again, and she was only beginning to realize the impact this would have on her.
He was quick to recover, his features falling into his perpetually cheerful expression. “You must know, Miss Hartley, that you’re an attractive woman; in fact, you’re one of the most beautiful women of my acquaintance. But that is merely the surface. It may be presumptuous of me, but I believe I’ve gotten to know some of your character over the past years. And I do believe you are one of the kindest persons I have had the pleasure to know. I have long thought you would make an exceptional Lady Redburn. I would have secured your hand sooner had Landon not gotten the jump on me.” Here another soft chuckle before he quickly sobered. “Ah, but how unfeeling of me, for it must pain you still, what happened between you.”
It was more question than comment; no doubt he expected some kind of answer. How would he feel to know she could not remember the last time she’d thought of Lord Landon? That her thoughts had been taken over by quite another entirely. She shook her head, too numb to do more than that.
He let out a relieved breath. “Good. That is, I’m glad. For, though I know you cannot care for me as I care for you, I do have hopes that you might one day.”
When she remained silent, merely looking at him with a confusing mixture of shock and grief, he smiled sheepishly. “Which, I suppose, was putting the cart before the horse. And here I haven’t even asked you properly, though your father assured me when he had the contracts drawn up that you would be only too willing to enter into a union with me. I’m sure it is not a dream young ladies have to let their fathers choose their future husbands for them and have the papers signed before they can voice their acceptance.”
The papers signed? Did he mean to say the thing was as good as done, that her father had not waited until the end of summer as he’d promised, but had instead signed her future away without even a warning?
Lord Redburn moved closer and took her hand in his. She was too stunned to react. “I am only too eager to court you, of course,” he murmured. “I would dearly love to get down on bended knee and do the whole thing up proper.”
He looked so sincere. For a moment, regret overrode the rest of her emotions. If Lord Redburn had come a week ago, she would have been all too willing to do as her father wished and let this man court her. But that was before.
Before Peter had taken her in his arms and loved her body.
Before he had touched her soul.
Before she had fallen in love with him.
Pulling her hand from the earl’s, she turned her back on him, pacing to the empty hearth. Her hands found the cold marble of the mantle, her fingers pressing into the hard stone as she fought to right the world back to one that made sense. Every instinct in her screamed to break the thing off now. The words settled heavily on her tongue, begging to be let loose and release her from this hell.
But her father’s missive, still clutched in her hand, crinkled then as she gripped the marble tighter. She stared at it, seeing in her mind the final line of that damning letter.
I don’t have to remind you what will transpire should you fail in this.
If she refused Lord Redburn and turned down his suit, her father would disown her.
Her stomach lurched. Bile rose in her throat, sharp and acidic. With effort, she forced it back down.
Her father loved her—he must; they were all they had for family in the world—yet she knew he would make good on his threat. Sir Alfred Hartley was shrewd, but he was also almost painfully honest. He was not bluffing in this; she was certain of it.
There was silence behind her. And then, “I’m sure this must all be quite a lot to take in, especially so soon after your last engagement. Please just give it some time. I’m certain you’ll find as much happiness in the arrangement as I before long.”
He was being far too kind and understanding. And it was doing nothing at all to ease her mind, only making her feel a keen guilt on top of her stunned confusion.
“I need to speak with my father,” she mumbled through numb lips.
“Of course. He mentioned he would arrive on the Isle after he concluded some business. We shall await him, talk to him together. I would have you at ease with this decision.”
She choked on a manic laugh. There was not much chance that she would ever be easy with this. For while Lord Redburn was by far the most palatable fiancé her father had found for her, he was not Peter.
“And until then,” he continued, moving closer, taking her by the shoulders, and turning her gently to face him, “perhaps you might allow me to court you properly? We’re to make a life together; I would show you, if I could, how well we will suit.”
He took her hand up and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. Just then a noise sounded in the hall. Lenora gasped, tearing her hand free from Lord Redburn’s grasp, and turned to the door.
Peter stood in the hall, his eyes cold and shuttered. And centered on her. As she watched, helplessness coursing through her, he turned and strode away.
Guilt flared, sharp and hot. But what did she have to feel guilty for? The man had proclaimed there could be nothing between them. He was set to return to Boston. And her place was here, in England.
Yet a small voice whispered that, if he asked, she would go with him to the ends of the earth.
She turned to Lord Redburn. “If you will excuse me for a moment, my lord?”
Before he had a chance to answer, she bolted from the room. Her slippers were silent on the runner as she ran down the hall after Peter’s retreating form. Goodness, his legs were long. He was striding across the front hall, his boots sharp on the polished floor, when she caught up with him.
“Peter.” She reached out, grasping his arm.
He jerked back as if burned. When he turned to face her, she reared back from the glacial look in his eyes.
She nearly turned tail and fled. This was not the man who had kissed her senseless the night before, who had treated her with such tenderness, who had brought her to such heights of pleasure.
But she would not run. That man was inside somewhere. And this was her future, after all.
“Do you have a moment?”
“I am headed out, Miss Hartley.”
The breath left her. His voice told her what his eyes hadn’t, that he wished to be gone from her presence with all haste.
But there was a chance that this new attitude was due to Lord Redburn’s arrival. If that was true, then perhaps he cared more than he was letting on.
“Could we go someplace private to talk?”
“I don’t see what there is to talk about.”
Frustration boiled up. Maddening, stubborn man! Couldn’t he see she was trying to explain? But losing her temper would only push Peter away. And there was too much at stake for that.
Stepping closer, she lowered her voice. “We didn’t have a chance to talk about last night.”
If anything, his eyes grew colder. “Have no fear, I won’t tell anyone.”
“I didn’t think you would. But that’s not why I wish to speak with you.”
“Please stop prevaricating, Miss Hartley. I have places I need to be.”
She sucked in her breath. “I am asking for five minutes of your time.”
“Are you certain you should keep Lord Redburn waiting so long?”
Aha! Excitement bubbled up. The curl to his lip when he said the other man’s name, the clipped words, all spoke of deep emotion. He cared, damn it. Now if he would only admit as much. “If you’re concerned over what Lord Redburn is to me—”
“Why should I be concerned?”
He was making no attempt to lower his voice. She glanced hastily about, noting the footman across the hall who was trying his best not to look their way. Face heating, she turned back to Peter and whispered, “Please, if we could speak in private.”
His lips pressed tight. Finally, after a moment so long she began to count the ticks of the hall clock, he gave a sharp nod and spun about, heading for a room off the side of the front door.
Lenora hurried in his wake, nearly colliding with his back as he stopped just inside the door.
“There, you have got your privacy, Miss Hartley.”
“You did not call me Miss Hartley last night, Peter.”
She tried to impart some of her feelings in her tone, to force him to remember what had been between them. It could not have meant so little to him.
His next words dashed that to bits. “No, I did not. But I think we can both agree that what happened between us was a monumental mistake.”
“A mistake?” A ringing started up in her ears. “I assure you, I don’t see it as a mistake, Peter.”
“I’m sure your fiancé would think differently.” His eyes pierced her with sudden intensity. “He is your fiancé, is he not?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, that she had made no promises.
But the contract had been signed. Lord Redburn had said as much. Of course her father would have had everything tied up nice and tight before Lord Redburn left London. Which meant that, for all intents and purposes, she was engaged. Hopelessness coursed through her.
She could deny it, of course. It would be easy enough to do. But she couldn’t lie, not to Peter.
The truth sat heavy and bitter on her tongue. “He is.” When Peter’s features tightened and he made to leave, she hurried to step in his path. She braced her hands on his chest and looked up into his face, beseeching him to understand.
“It was not of my doing, I swear it. My father had the engagement contracts drawn up without my knowledge. He normally would not do such a horrid thing, to go against my wishes in such a way. Or at least not so blatantly. But I have not had the best of luck in engagements, and he knew I wasn’t keen on another, and no doubt wanted to make certain this one did not fall through. I’m afraid Lord Landon’s abandonment bruised his pride much more than I initially thought—”
“Lord Landon?” Peter’s voice sliced through the air. “You mean Hillram, do you not?”
Lenora went cold. “Er, no. I was set to marry Lord Landon not long ago. He…um…did not quite make it to the church the morning of the wedding. It’s why I came to the Isle, to escape the scandal.”
Beneath her palms, Peter’s heart pounded out a fierce beat. Finally he spoke again. His voice, however, was far from kind.
“And so you were engaged to a Lord Landon after Hillram.”
Again, she could not lie. “Not exactly.”
His eyes narrowed. “Not exactly?”
For the first time in the encounter, Lenora was the one to put distance between them. She stepped back, letting her hands fall from the tense wall of his chest. She had thought to save herself embarrassment by not telling Peter the whole truth of her history. Now, however, that seemed laughably pathetic. She swallowed hard. “Before Lord Landon there was Lord Fig.”
He went so still, she wouldn’t have been surprised to find pure stone instead of flesh if she’d reached out to touch him again.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice a deadly calm she had never heard from him before, “are there any more fiancés? Or have you exhausted your list?”
Her face went hot, an equal mix of mortification and anger. “Three engagements is hardly cause for me to feel shame over.” Or so she kept trying to tell herself.
“Four. One mustn’t forget Lord Redburn.”
Lenora nearly blanched. “He was not of my choosing.”
“And the others were?” He crossed his arms, the muscles bunching beneath the material of his coat. “I nearly pitied Hillram for dying so young. Now I wonder if the boy did not have a near miss, as your affections are so fluid.”
Her breath left her in a harsh exhale. Tears rushed hot behind her eyes. “And you, Peter?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Did you have a near miss?”
It was as close as she would get to asking if he cared for her. She was bruised from the inside out; she could not let herself become more vulnerable than she already was without losing the very last shred of her pride—and her heart.
And thank goodness she hadn’t, for his answer was like a death knell to whatever hopes had reawakened in her breast.
“I was in not the least bit of danger, Miss Hartley. You may ease your fickle heart on that score.”
With a curt nod, he strode from the room. Lenora stood staring at the place he had been. For a second, she could not breathe, the grief was so great.
She had been a fool to fall in love with Peter.
How could she have allowed it? He had never left any doubt that there was no hope for a future between them. Yet she had been only too eager to accept his kisses, even to ask for more.
She clenched her hands into fists, feeling the bite of her father’s letter in the soft skin of her palm. It would not happen again.
Straightening her shoulders, she marched back to where she’d left Lord Redburn. She half expected to find the man gone.
Yet he was still there, standing in the middle of the small, seldom-used room. When she walked through the door, his face lit up in a smile.
There was not enough left of her heart to twist in guilt. No man should be so happy to see a woman who had given her heart to another.
“Lord Redburn,” she stated, stopping before him, “I have thought about it, and would be open to your courting of me.”
He grinned that dazzling smile of his and took her hand up again for a kiss. But as she looked down at his dark head bent over her fingers, she felt not a thing.