“YOU KNOW YOU ARE.”
Kathleen said more, lamenting that William’s lack of curiosity had cost them dearly, that he could have been home by now if he’d just read her letters. Vanessa had stopped listening. She was stunned—and alarmed that she might have to marry a member of the ruthless Rathban family to win her father’s freedom to come home. It was ironic that she’d have to give up her freedom and independence to attain what she’d wanted most these past six years—her father back at home and her family reunited. As awful as it sounded, she reminded herself it would be a solution to her biggest problem, and she hadn’t come up with another solution. But still . . .
“You can’t give them the sordid details,” Kathleen said, wrapping up her long list of complaints. “Unlike you—apparently—they are too delicate for that.”
Vanessa focused on her mother again, though it took a moment to catch up to what she was saying and to realize Kathleen was talking about the twins now and comparing them to her. Disparagement and concern in the same breath?
And then Kathleen added, “This is the most exciting year of their lives. Don’t ruin that for them, Vanessa, just because you don’t like telling a few minor lies to spare them, especially when you could simply avoid saying very much about where you’ve been.”
She hadn’t considered that, so she said, “I’ll think about it.”
“Good. Now return to your old room. You can’t stay in this wing any longer with strangers.”
There was the disapproval again, but she pointed out, “They aren’t strangers.”
“But they are men. And while they are welcome guests, we are due a private family meal. Join your sisters and me in my suite for luncheon.”
Vanessa hadn’t said yes to any of that, but Kathleen left her room with the assumption that she had agreed to all of it. Her mother ought not to assume anything where she was concerned.
With the room to herself again, Vanessa fell back on the bed with a frown. She had been prepared to bargain with Albert Rathban herself, but marriage certainly wouldn’t have been on the table when she wouldn’t have known that he was shopping for a wife for his son. But with Kathleen making that bargain for her, would he even be open to an alternative—if she could think of one? But this arrangement was the exact opposite of what she’d hoped for in a marriage. She would be giving up her dreams of romance and the perfect husband who would agree she could retain her independence. How could she do that? And why would Albert Rathban even need to arrange a marriage for his son, a wealthy nobleman from a powerful, prestigious family? Was there something wrong with the boy that he couldn’t find his own wife? Perhaps a hideous deformity? That would be unfortunate. She’d been so stunned she didn’t get a chance to ask her mother. What if the boy would actually sign her contract? She ought to at least find out before she weighed all her options.
When she vacated the guest room with her valise repacked and in hand, Monty walked out of his room as well and was suddenly blocking her way. Had he been listening for her? Surely not, but it still felt like an ambush. But she paused—and he approached.
“I may miss the pants,” he remarked, his eyes moving over the pretty dress she was wearing. “Then again, probably not.”
He’d added that when he was close enough to look down at the low cut of the bodice. She had the urge to laugh, but he was being too risqué, and her protective instincts rose instead—for her sisters. Was he like this only with her? It better only be with her.
“Still no blushes, sweetheart?”
“Why would I? You’re a professed rake. I anticipate rakish nonsense to come out of your mouth. But if you try to make my sisters blush . . .”
“I won’t. I don’t misbehave with ladies,” he assured her as he moved forward enough to maneuver her back against the wall. “But I’ll make an exception for you because you’ve worn pants from the moment we met. It’s going to be very difficult to forget that you’re incredibly bold and resourceful. Please don’t punch me again.”
She did laugh this time. “Should I thank you for the reminder?”
“No! But yes, I did say I would behave once you were dressed like a lady, however—you’re still wearing boots, not quite transformed yet.”
His hand caressed her cheek, then moved up through her hair, then down to the back of her neck, making her tingle with anticipation and tilt her head back so his mouth could more easily reach hers. But he hesitated when his mouth was a breath away. What a tease! She boldly bridged the gulf herself and was enraptured to taste him again, to hear his groan at her acquiescence. If there weren’t a loveless marriage looming in her future she would have protested—or would she? But the firm decision she’d made to wait for the right man and stop kissing the wrong one might be quite irrelevant now that marriage to the Rathban scion could turn out to be her father’s salvation.
Utterly unconcerned about the risk of discovery there in the corridor, she dropped the valise to put her arm around Monty’s neck, but he heard it drop and leaned back to look down by her feet, then met her eyes to accuse, “You were abandoning us without saying goodbye?”
“No, just moving to my old room,” she replied. “You didn’t actually think Mother would let me remain in this wing with male guests, did you?”
“What a shame.”
He feigned a sigh and braced his hands on the wall, one on either side of her head. She didn’t find his physical proximity threatening. In fact, she found it thrilling and deliciously improper because his leg was touching hers.
But he continued, “I thought about sneaking in on you one night for a little more of that activity, which my losing the bet yesterday forbids me to mention, but now I won’t be able to.”
She chuckled. “No you didn’t.”
“ ’Course I did. The bet didn’t say I couldn’t do it, only that I couldn’t mention it.”
“Ah, but it sounds to me like you did just mention it,” she said, and ducked under his arm to back slowly away from him down the corridor.
He didn’t pursue her, instead leaned a shoulder against the wall and asked, “So you completed all your reunions? How did it go with your mother?”
She paused for a moment to reply, “Not exactly how I expected.”
“Do I need to hide from the theatrics?”
“She’s not angry. Not pleased about some things, but not angry.”
“Splendid. I missed you at our meals.”
She wouldn’t admit she’d missed him, too. With a wave, she turned to continue on her way to the east wing.
The man still fascinated her in too many ways. And she enjoyed his banter—and his kisses. But she ought to start thinking of herself as affianced since she might be headed for an arranged marriage. Then again, would a man let a little thing like an engagement stop him from flirting and kissing elsewhere? Maybe if he loved his intended. However, she would be consigning herself to a marriage of convenience with a Rathban if she agreed to the match. But she wasn’t married yet . . .