‘A gentleman caller for you, Miss Allen. A Mr Lascelles.’
Rosalind set aside her novel with a sigh and glanced at the over-mantel clock. One o’clock. She’d barely taken in a single sentence in the past hour, her mind constantly wandering to her impending appointment with Leo and the likely outcome of their visit to Westfield. That was more than enough of an ordeal for one day. The last thing she felt like coping with was Anthony Lascelles and his faux sympathy.
‘Did you show him into the salon?’
‘Yes, miss.’ Keating, as usual, peered down his nose at her.
Rosalind rose. She could not receive Lascelles on her own, but Helena was upstairs reading to Lady Glenlochrie and Penny was occupied with Susie. She had no wish to encourage any sort of acquaintance between the little girl and Lascelles.
‘Send one of the maids to sit with us, will you, please?’
Keating trod ahead of Rosalind to the door of the salon and opened it for her, before disappearing towards the servants’ stairs.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Lascelles.’ Rosalind halted just a few steps inside the open door. If she did not sit, then Lascelles could not and, hopefully, he would take the hint and leave all the sooner.
‘My dear Miss Allen.’ He crossed the room with hasty strides and, before she realised his intention, he clasped her hands. ‘Or may I have your permission to call you Rosalind?’
Rosalind tugged her hands free. He stood so close to her, she now had no choice but to venture further into the room. She walked to the fireplace, then faced him. He had closed the door. Her hands clenched by her sides and she prayed the maid would come quickly. At least Lascelles had remained by the door and not followed her.
‘I fear that might be unwise, sir. It might prove all too easy to forget oneself in company.’
His face darkened. ‘I note my cousin uses your name with impunity.’ He strolled towards her.
‘And that proves my point.’ Rosalind wandered over to stand behind an armchair, resting her hands on the back. It provided a convenient barrier between herself and her visitor and gave her the comfort of something solid to hold on to. ‘Your cousin, as you yourself have warned me, follows his own agenda. He has not asked permission to call me by my name and I have granted no such licence.’
‘I have not come here to discuss my cousin.’
‘Indeed? It was you, sir, who brought his name into this conversation. I certainly have no wish to discuss him.’
Lascelles barked a laugh. ‘I stand corrected.’
He approached another few paces and Rosalind’s heart picked up pace, thrumming in her chest.
Where is that maid?
‘I have come to offer a solution to your dilemma over Susie, Miss Allen.’
He smiled, a smug smile, brimming with confidence. Rosalind’s temples throbbed a warning.
‘Pray, continue, sir. As you are aware, your cousin is due to collect Susie and me very soon.’
‘Where is the little angel?’
Angel indeed. Rosalind concealed her exasperation. Did the man truly believe she would fall for such mendacious nonsense?
‘She is with Penny.’
Penny had taken Susie upstairs to try and distract her from their visit to Westfield. The poor child was convinced she was to be sent away and Rosalind—fearing exactly the same—had found it impossible to properly reassure her. Susie’s fears gave Rosalind even more determination to withstand any attempt to send her to the orphan asylum. She hoped when Leo saw Susie’s dread of leaving Rosalind, he would agree she might remain, although she still agonised over whether her own reckless behaviour yesterday had already persuaded him she was unsuitable to raise the child.
‘That is a shame,’ Lascelles said. ‘I had hoped to become better acquainted with her.’
‘She is preparing for our visit to Westfield with the Duke. Now, sir...you spoke of a solution?’
‘Marry me, Rosalind.’
Those three words stole the air from her lungs. She stared at him, open-mouthed. Marry him? Marry Lascelles?
‘It is the perfect solution, my dear. Think about it. You and I will deal very well together. I enjoy a woman with spirit and you will have the security and position of my name. Think of the advantages to our union,’ he urged. ‘I am a wealthy man and I am generous to those who please me. And we can provide a home for Susie. Who else, after all, could have a better understanding of what the poor child will have to endure? Not my cousin, that is for certain. He is set on shutting her away in that orphan asylum and she will face a future of servitude.’
‘Marry you?’
Suddenly, he was by her side. She hadn’t even noticed him move. She shrank from him, but he took her by the shoulders, holding her fast.
‘You do me a great honour, sir, but...’ Her words faltered as his black eyes blazed. She hauled in a deep breath. ‘But I must refuse.’
His fingers dug into her flesh and, before she realised his intent, his lips were on hers. She clamped her jaw tight, resisting his questing tongue. He lifted his head.
‘Open for me, dear heart. I will show you pleasure you have never dreamed of.’
Did he not hear me refuse? Fear squirmed in her belly and she struggled to free herself, but he was too strong. He backed her against the chair that only a few moments ago had given her the illusion of safety.
‘Release me, sir! What if someone comes?’
He laughed. ‘No one will come. I slipped the butler a guinea to ensure we are not disturbed—he is well aware there are some occasions when a man requires privacy. When you know me better, dear heart, you will find it is not only my cousin who can arrange matters to suit his purpose.’
One arm encircled her shoulders and he clamped her jaw with his free hand, squeezing.
‘Come, my love.’ His breath was hot on her cheek, his cologne choking her lungs. ‘Enough of this maidenly protestation. You chose me over my stuffy cousin yesterday. I can provide for you and the child—you will want for nothing.’
Her flailing hands beat uselessly at his arms. She opened her mouth to scream and he kissed her again, this time invading her mouth with his tongue. He pressed the full length of his body into hers, flexing his hips so she could not mistake the hard ridge of his arousal. She gagged and her knees started to buckle. He tore his lips from hers and placed them close to her ear.
‘I told you once before that you would not deny me, Rosalind. It is up to you whether you accept me now or whether you make me work a little harder to...persuade...you.’
The insinuation in that one word chilled her very bones.
‘Either way, now my mind is set I shall not give up.’ He laughed, stepped back and bowed. ‘My cousin and I are also alike in that respect.’
Dazed, Rosalind rubbed at her swollen lips, tasting blood in her mouth. She stumbled as she tried to put more distance between them and he was at her side in an instant, cupping her elbow, steering her solicitously to the sofa to sit down.
‘I shall leave you to consider my offer, Miss Allen...and the alternative. I anticipate your grateful acceptance by the end of the day.’
He bowed again and left.
Rosalind stared blankly into space. The man was mad. How on earth did he imagine that little display of charm would persuade her to have anything at all to do with him, let alone marry him? She shuddered. She must ensure she was never alone with Lascelles ever again. Her heart rate gradually steadied to normal and she stood up on still-trembling legs. She must go to her bedchamber and tidy herself ready for the visit to Westfield.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, she emerged from her bedchamber, having changed her gown, donned her pelisse and re-pinned her hair. She met Penny on the landing.
‘Is Susie ready?’ she asked. ‘The Duke will be here to collect us shortly.’
‘She went downstairs a little while ago, ma’am. To look for you. Poor lamb could not settle, so I changed her dress and sent her down to wait with you.’
‘I have not seen her.’
They descended the stairs together, but Susie was nowhere to be found in the rooms on the first floor. Rosalind sent Penny back upstairs to search and continued down to the ground floor. Again, there was no sign of Susie, nor of anyone else. The door leading to the basement stairs was ajar and, as she approached it, Keating strolled out.
‘I am looking for Susie, Keating. Is she downstairs?’
‘No, miss.’
‘How long has the hall been empty?’
‘A mere matter of moments, miss,’ he replied stiffly.
Rosalind hurried up the stairs and met Penny once again on the landing.
‘Well?’
‘She’s not in any of the bedchambers. I even went in to Lady Glenlochrie, but neither she nor Lady Helena have seen her.’
‘But where can she be, Penny?’
‘Oh, madam, do you think she has run away?’
‘But why would she run away?’
‘She hated the idea of being sent to that school. She ran away from her other home, after all.’
Voices floated up the stairs from the hall below. Penny peered over the balustrade.
‘’Tis the Duke! Oh, what will he say when he finds out we’ve lost Susie?’
Rosalind clutched Penny’s sleeve. ‘We must not tell him, Penny. It will only convince him I am not capable of caring for her.’
‘But he is expecting Susie to visit the school with you.’
‘I know.’ Rosalind thought fast. ‘You keep looking. I shall tell the Duke that Susie is unwell.’
* * *
Leo climbed the stairs behind the butler. There was the sound of a scuffle overhead and as his head came level with the floor he saw Rosalind, dressed in an amber pelisse, clutching at Penny’s arm and whispering urgently into her ear.
Suspicions aroused, he continued up the stairs. Penny disappeared up the stairs to the next floor.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Allen. I am pleased to see you are ready to leave.’
He searched for words of conciliation, but they would not come. He still smouldered over her rejection of every damned thing he had done to try to help her and her family. Every time he thought she was beginning to see things his way, something else came along and blew their tentative accord into the sky. He could no longer dismiss the suspicion that it was him she was rejecting, not merely his help. The image of her choosing Lascelles—Lascelles of all people—over him had plagued him all night and only the consumption of half a bottle of brandy had finally allowed him to sleep.
‘Where is Susie?’
‘I’m sorry, Your Grace. I am afraid Susie is not well. Our visit will have to be postponed.’
She would not meet his eyes. Her gaze darted hither and thither, settling nowhere for longer than a second.
‘What is wrong with her? Shall I send for a physician?’
‘No! That is unnecessary.’
Rosalind was more flustered than he had ever seen her. She had grabbed hold of the balustrade with her right hand and her knuckles shone white.
‘She needs to rest, that is all.’ She met his gaze now, her golden-brown eyes accusing. ‘She has worried herself into a fever of apprehension over this visit to Westfield.’
‘So...it is my fault?’
Rosalind’s gaze slipped from his. ‘Yes.’
There was more to this than she admitted. He knew it in his bones. ‘Susie need not come,’ he said. ‘You and I can still visit Westfield.’
‘No!’
‘But we must come to a decision over Susie’s future.’
‘I have made my decision.’
Leo moved closer to her and she retreated along the landing, her hand sliding along the rail.
‘I need to get back to Susie.’ Her lips were tight, her whole demeanour strained. ‘We can discuss this another time, if you still insist upon it.’
‘What are you hiding? Is Susie really ill?’
Again, her eyes gave her away, skittering all over the place.
‘I am trying to help, Rosalind. All I intended was for us to take a look at Westfield. Why do you persist in believing the worst of me?’
‘I know what is best for Susie and it is not being raised in that institution.’
Exasperation exploded through him. With two strides he was upon her. He clasped her shoulders and she winced, even though he knew he had not grabbed her hard. Then...he stilled. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Bay rum. She reeked of it. He tilted her face to his, his fingers beneath her chin, and her guilty expression told its own tale. And her lips... They looked swollen.
‘Who has been here?’
‘No one.’
Frustration growled in his throat. She lied. She was no different from Margaret. He spun on his heel and stalked down the stairs. In the hall below he waited in a fever of impatience as the butler fetched his hat, gloves and cane. Then he saw a letter on a console table and recognised the heavy, spiky lettering that read ‘Miss Rosalind Allen.’
He glanced up the stairs. Rosalind was nowhere in sight.
‘When did that arrive?’
‘It has just this minute been delivered, Your Grace.’
‘I see it was written by my cousin, Mr Lascelles. That is most odd... I understood it was his intention to call upon Miss Allen earlier today.’
‘Oh, he did call, Your Grace. About an hour ago.’
He would wash his hands of her. If Lascelles was her choice, then pity help her.
Outside, he jumped into his carriage and gave orders to drive to Beauchamp House. Once home, he stalked through the front door, growled ‘I don’t want to be disturbed under any circumstances, Grantham’ as he passed the butler and slammed into his study where he slumped into his chair and thrust both hands through his hair.
He’d thought all this angst was long behind him. He’d thought he was too shrewd to fall for the lies and trickery of any woman, let alone some countrified old maid who had never even set foot in London until a few days ago.
He reached for the brandy decanter and a glass.
* * *
Some time later there was a tap at the door and it opened.
‘I said I don’t want to be disturbed,’ he roared.
‘So Grantham said.’
Cecily closed the door behind her and advanced across the room. One look at her face was enough. He didn’t want...didn’t need her sympathy. What did she know about anything?
‘Say your piece and leave me alone,’ he growled.
Cecily pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. He fixed his gaze on his glass and the scant quarter inch of brandy that remained.
‘I thought you were going to Westfield with Miss Allen?’
‘Plans change.’
‘You did go to Lady Glenlochrie’s house?’
He lifted his gaze. Held hers. ‘Why the interest?’
‘I saw Miss Allen leaving just now. You will be pleased to hear Grantham denied her.’
‘I pay him to obey my orders.’ He snatched up his glass and drained it. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Evidently she then asked for her brother, but he is not here. Leo... Miss Allen... She seemed distressed. She did not even notice me as she rushed past.’ Cecily put a folded sheet of paper on the desk and slid it across the surface towards him. ‘She left this.’
‘What does it say?’
Cecily raised a brow. ‘It is addressed to you, Leo, so I do not know.’
He eyed the note with distaste. ‘Whatever it says, it is too late. I have tried to help her, but she has made her choice.’
‘Choice?’
Leo surged to his feet and crossed the room. He flung open the door.
‘More brandy!’
He returned to his desk. Cecily had not moved. She sat in the chair opposite his, calm and composed as always, hands folded in her lap.
‘What choice did Miss Allen make, Leo?’ she asked as he sat down.
‘She has rejected my every attempt to help her and her family. It seems she would prefer to rely on Anthony Lascelles.’
‘I know you are not so foolish as to believe that.’ Cecily leaned forward and reached out her hand. ‘She is simply trying to prove she can manage without your help. She has cared for her family all her life, and now you have come along and she feels...unnecessary.’
The emotion she put into that one word jerked Leo from his anger.
‘You sound as though...’ The similarities between Rosalind’s life and Cecily’s had occurred to him more than once. ‘Cecily? Is that how you feel? Unnecessary?’
She caught her lip between her teeth. ‘Not precisely. But, once this Season is over, and when I think about my future...yes, that is my fear. And so I understand exactly how Miss Allen feels and I cannot condemn her for wanting to provide a home for Susie. It would appear an ideal solution for them both and that is why I cannot understand why you are so adamant Susie should go to Westfield.’
Leo gritted his teeth. ‘I am not adamant she must go there. I merely wanted Miss Allen to consider all the facts before making her decision. You have just confirmed my belief that she is using Susie to make herself feel useful rather than thinking about what is best for the child.’
‘But even Dominic admits it is preferable for a child to live in a real home rather than in an orphan asylum. Are you certain your real reason is not that you do not want Susie in your household if you and Miss Allen marry?’
Leo scowled. ‘Of course it is not. And who said anything about marriage?’
Cecily smiled. ‘You have—as you very well know—made your intentions towards Miss Allen abundantly clear.’
The door opened and Grantham approached, carrying a bottle of brandy.
‘Leave it,’ Leo snapped as the butler began to pour the spirit into the decanter.
Expressionless, Grantham bowed and left the room, leaving Leo feeling even more wretched and guilty than he did already. He grabbed the bottle and refilled his glass.
‘Well?’ Cecily asked as he lifted the glass to his lips.
He eyed her over the rim. ‘It is your question that is unnecessary, Cecily. There will be no marriage.’
‘I do not believe you. You never give up when you have set your mind on something.’
‘Unless I change my mind. I refuse to further humble myself.’
‘Take care your pride does not blind you to the truth, Brother. You may change your mind but, when it comes to love, can you so easily change your heart?’
Leo leapt from his chair and took a hasty turn around the room. ‘Who said anything about love?’
Cecily raised her brows, and stood, smoothing her skirts. ‘You did not have to say anything, my dear.’
She glided from the room, leaving Leo ready to punch the wall. He stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched, eyes shut, breathing hard.
Damn her. She knows nothing about it. I can do anything I set my mind to.
After several minutes, he returned to his desk and sat down.
And there it was.
The letter.
He had forgotten it. He could simply throw it away, but he reached for it anyway and read the words on the outside: The Duke of Cheriton. Two smudges attested to the haste with which those words had been written. Leo broke the seal. As he unfolded the letter, a second sheet of paper fluttered to the desk. The first sheet, apart from his name, was blank. He reached for the second, his pulse quickening as he recognised Anthony’s writing. It was the letter he had seen at Lady Glenlochrie’s house.
He read the words and his fist clenched without volition, crumpling the paper. A vicious curse was torn from his lips as he hurled the ball of paper at the wall.
He had told Rosalind to come to him for help.
She had done just that and he had denied her.