B006DTZ3FY EBOK (7 page)

He had to remind himself of that resolve frequently during the next few minutes.

Five miles to Oldham Park, he promised himself desperately. Five miles only. He hoped his calculations were wrong and it was less. Much less. At this excruciatingly slow pace, leading a lame horse, sharing a saddle with
Cynthia
was sheer torture. How long must he hold her like this? An hour? It might kill him.

The silence between them was louder than thunder. It was
deafening
. He had been so sure, so absolutely certain, that if he ever saw her again
—
which he had confidently expected he never would
—
he would be completely unmoved. He had worked so hard, cultivating his resentment. He had hardened his heart against her, to the point
—
he thought
—
where he was, if not completely indifferent to her, at least reliably angry. But the longer she perched on his saddlebow, soft and warm and beautiful, the more difficult it was to hate her.

He had to despise her. He would lose his mind else. He cast about, striving to find his rage again.

Finally he thought of something snide enough to say.

“I
s it too late to offer my condolences for the loss of your fiancé?
”
he inquired, with false politeness.
“A
poplexy, wasn
’
t it? I heard that he died very suddenly, and only a few weeks before the wedding.
So tragic
.
”

He felt tension ripple through her before she replied.
“Y
ou, of all men, know exactly how
tragic
it was for me.
”
Her voice was low, but he heard every word.

“O
n the contrary. I know nothing about it.
”
He scarcely recognized himself, he sounded so harsh.
“I
know nothing about you, in fact. Why don
’
t you tell me how it was?
”

She squared her shoulders.
“I
accept your condolences,
”
she said coolly.
“L
et
’
s leave it there, shall we?
”

Ah, that was better. Anger whipped through him like a tonic, clearing his head.

She obviously felt that she owed him no explanations. Very well; he needed none. He knew she had not suddenly, over the course of a week, moved from fearing Sir James to loving him. She had chosen Filey despite her loathing of him, and had agreed to marry him for the coldest of reasons. His investigation, superficial as it had been, had easily uncovered that much.

Sir James Filey, with all his myriad flaws, had been fabulously wealthy.
Cynthia
had simply sold herself to the highest bidder. Derek had never had a chance of winning the Frost Fair
’
s hand, because the Frost Fair
’
s hand was not winnable. It could only be purchased.

In fact, the more he thought on it, the more suspicious he became of her presence at Oldham Park. Why would a mercenary mantrap like
Cynthia
Fitzwilliam waste her time hanging about in a house full of females? The duke
’
s two sons were married and unavailable. He wouldn
’
t put it past
Cynthia
to make a play for the elderly duke, but there would be no profit in that, either; the duchess was in excellent health for her age.
Cynthia
certainly had not landed on the duke
’
s doorstep in expectation of Derek
’
s arrival. For one thing, his visit had been unplanned; it was Natalie
’
s letter that had brought him. For another, even now, in possession of Crosby Hall, his fortune was not large enough to tempt the likes of
Cynthia
Fitzwilliam.

What, then, was her game?

They finished their journey in silence. His arms ached from the effort to avoid touching her more than strictly necessary, and he
’
d warrant her back ached from her own efforts along that line. She had sat up, stiff as a poker, rather than rest her body against his.

When their little procession wound its way up the last of His Grace
’
s graveled drive, a groom came running
to meet them, concern
in every line of his features. Derek pulled his weary horse to a halt and the groom reached up to help Lady
Cynthia
alight.

“L
ack-a-day, what
’
s this, then? Did she cast a shoe? I hope you were not hurt, my lady,
”
exclaimed the groom.

“N
o, of course not, Jacobs. I am perfectly well.
”
She landed on her feet, a bit unsteadily, and straightened her hat.
“T
hank you.
”
She did not turn to thank Derek. Instead, she walked toward the house without a backward look.

Derek climbed stiffly down, tossed the groom a coin, left instructions for Max
’
s care and stabling, and followed where
Cynthia
had gone. The few items he had brought with him would be carried up to the house in good time. Meanwhile, he wanted to forget
Cynthia
and turn his attention where it belonged, to Natalie.

The enormous foyer was empty when Derek trudged up the steps to Oldham Park
’
s grand entrance.
Cynthia
had disappeared. Just as well. He discerned the duke
’
s butler, a dapper old gent with a kindly mien, hastening toward him down the side passage.

“M
r. Whittaker, sir! We
’
ve been expecting you all morning, but I never saw you arrive. I
’
m sorry to leave you hanging about in the hall.
”

“N
ot your fault, Cummings; I came by way of the stables. How are you?
”

“O
h, very well, sir, thank you. Well as ever. I trust you
’
ve had a pleasant journey?
”
Derek supposed that his expression, whatever it was, spoke volumes. Cummings
’
s quick eye ran over him and, before he had a chance to reply, the butler
’
s smile widened with sympathy.
“A
h, well
—
you needn
’
t answer that. It
’
s over and done with, at any rate! Might I bring you a little something in the library, sir? Or would you rather I show you to your room?
”

“M
y room, please. I think a wash would do me as much good as a glass of brandy.
”

“Y
ou shall have both,
”
Cummings promised, leading the way.
“W
e
’
ve put you in the blue room, sir. I hope it meets with your approval. It
’
s not as large as the suite you had when last you visited, but we
’
ve put the Ellsworths in those rooms, so it can
’
t be helped.
”

“A
nything will do, Cummings. I consider myself one of the family, you know.
”

“I
ndeed, sir, that you are,
”
said Cummings warmly.
“A
nd if I may say so, sir, Lady Malcolm will be overjoyed to learn of your safe arrival. Have I your leave to take word to her directly?
”

“T
he sooner the better. How is she, Cummings?
”

The butler must have sensed Derek
’
s anxiety. He shot him a look that was almost fatherly.
“P
erfectly stout, I assure you, sir. Nothing to worry about. But, if I may speak frankly
—
? Thank you, sir.
”
His voice dropped to a confidential whisper.
“I
believe she
’
s feeling a bit low, Mr. Whittaker. It
’
s rather a burden, you know, being surrounded by the family, and everyone so anxious for a boy.
”

“A
ye, it would be,
”
agreed Derek.

“H
ere we are, sir. The blue room.
”

“T
hanks very much. I say, Cummings.
”

“Y
es, sir?
”

“D
o I know the Ellsworths?
”

Cummings looked mildly surprised.
“D
o you not, Mr. Whittaker? Dear me. I should have explained. They are very old friends of the family, sir. Sir Peter Ellsworth is the holder of a large estate in Derbyshire. He and Lady Ellsworth generally visit with us for a few weeks, this time of year. And a friend of Lady Hannah
’
s, Lady
Cynthia
Fitzwilliam, is stopping here as well, with her mother, Lady Ballymere.
”

“A
nd that is all?
”

“Y
es, sir. Lord Grafton and his family, Lord Malcolm and his family, the Ellsworths, Lady Ballymere and her daughter, and yourself. A small party. With Lady Malcolm in a delicate condition, it was thought best that we refrain from entertaining on a grand scale this year.
”

“I
see. Thank you.
”
Derek was about to dismiss the butler, but paused. What had Cummings said about the Ellsworths?
A large estate in Derbyshire.
And doubtless known to make an extended stay with the Chase family this time of year. Had he stumbled on the reason for
Cynthia
materializing at Oldham Park?

He looked back at Cummings.
“T
ell me, Cummings. Do the Ellsworths have a son with them, by any chance?
”

The butler looked even more surprised.
“Y
es, sir. They do indeed. Their son John, a most amiable young man.
”

“T
heir
eldest
son, no doubt?
”

“T
heir only child, sir. How did you know?
”

Derek gave a bark of mirthless laughter.
“J
ust a lucky guess, Cummings. Just a lucky guess.
”

Chapter
4

By the time
Cynthia
reached her bedchamber, reaction had set in. Her hands were shaking. Her lower lip was quivering. It was only through an effort of will that she prevented tears from welling in her eyes. The shock of seeing Derek again had been greater than she had anticipated. And his contempt for her had been intense, deeper even than she had feared it would be.

It now seemed laughable that she had doubted he would remember her. Of course he remembered her. She had been a fool, telling herself how unlikely it was that he would. She had deluded herself into believing that things were different for men, that the encounter
that
had changed her forever had probably meant nothing to him. But it had meant something to him.
Cynthia
had humiliated him, and a man never forgot that.

Thank heaven she had ridden out to meet him. She had told herself that she was going to warn him,
“
just in case.
”
But her attempt to intercept him, to warn him that he must brace himself to endure her company, had really been an attempt to arm herself. She did not want to see him again for the first time in a room full of other people.

Well. She had doubtless received the treatment she deserved. He obviously remembered her just as clearly as she remembered him. And he despised her, as any right-thinking man would.

The change in his demeanor was hard to bear. Recalling the ardent warmth that had lit his face when he looked at her, it was painful to see how cold and forbidding his aspect had become. He was still breathtakingly handsome, with the same heart-melting brown eyes, the same tall, athletic build, and that gorgeous hair that made a lady long to run her hands through the thick, dark waves of it. It hurt to think that she would never have that opportunity again. It hurt to think that he would never smile at her with his heart in his eyes, the way he had three years ago. She had thrown it all away. She had killed it.

At the time, she had honestly believed tha
t she had no choice. If that were
true then, it was just as true today. But
was
it true? She was no longer certain. At seventeen, everything had seemed so clear. But the older she grew, it seemed, the more she questioned
…
well, everything. With every year that passed, she knew less and doubted more. It was horrid, but she couldn
’
t seem to help it.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, removing her hat with trembling fingers. She was exhausted. She had slept little last night. As soon as she had known, beyond doubt, that Derek Whittaker was Lady Malcolm
’
s brother
—
and, in truth, the physical resemblance was so strong, she felt she ought to have guessed it immediately
—
her anxiety had been at fever-pitch. She had ridden out directly after breakfast to make sure she encountered him on the road. Her objective achieved, all she wanted now was rest.

Part of her longed to crawl back into bed and stay there for a week. But that was, of course, the cowardly part. She would not surrender to her fear. She would get up again, and go downstairs, and face Derek. Eventually. She moved numbly toward the narrow couch, unbuttoning her jacket and trying not to think.

“
Cynthia
, dear? Is that you?
”
Her mother
’
s fretful voice sounded from the adjoining room.
“H
eavens, child, where have you been? I
’
ve been half mad with worry.
”

“I’
m sorry, Mama. The mare cast a shoe,
”
called
Cynthia
.
“I’
ve only just returned.
”
She sank down on the couch and dropped her head back against the ridge of smooth mahogany that ran along its back. She closed her eyes, heaving a deep sigh.
Rest now. Think later.

But, of course, she would not be allowed to rest after making such a sensational announcement.

“M
ercy on us!
”
Rapid footsteps approached.
“W
ere you thrown?
”

“N
o, Mama.
”
She opened her eyes. Her mother stood in the doorway that linked their two bedchambers, clad in a loose dressing gown and clutching a still-wet pen.

“W
ell, thank goodness for that. Put your feet up, child. I
’
ll ring for a nice, hot bath. We can
’
t have you falling asleep over your cards tonight. I heard you promise Mr. Ellsworth a hand of piquet. And although it
’
s often best to let the gentleman win
—”

“A
bath sounds lovely,
”
said
Cynthia
quickly, before her mother could go any farther down that path. She softened her interruption by obediently putting her feet up.
“B
ut I
’
m not as tired as I would have been. I only had to walk for a short while.
”
She took a steadying breath, bracing herself to say Derek
’
s name without betraying any emotion.
“I
happened to encounter Mr. Whittaker on the road. Lady Malcolm
’
s brother, you know.
”

“T
hat was fortunate.
”
Lady Ballymere tugged briskly on the bell rope.
“S
o he brought you back to the house, did he? What
’
s he like?
”

Cynthia
closed her eyes again, to avoid meeting her mother
’
s keen gaze.
“Y
oung,
”
she said vaguely.
“H
e looks quite a bit like Lady Malcolm, in fact. Tall, like her. And he has the same dark eyes. The same smile. His hair is like hers, too.
”

“O
h, I don
’
t care for curly-haired men,
”
said Lady Ballymere, a bit too quickly.
“T
here
’
s something distinctly feminine about curls, don
’
t you think?
”

“Y
es, Mama,
”
said
Cynthia
obediently, suppressing a flash of irritation. But she could not resist adding,
“A
lthough Mr. Whittaker
’
s hair is not as curly as his sister
’
s.
”

Lady Ballymere gave a rather unconvincing little laugh.
“Y
ou seem to have studied him quite carefully.
”

Cynthia
again felt the frisson of annoyance, and again suppressed it.
“I
saw what anyone would see.
”

Fortunately, a housemaid scratched on the door in answer to Lady Ballymere
’
s summons, so her mother was occupied for a moment in ordering
Cynthia
’
s bath. By the time the door closed once more behind the maid,
Cynthia
had recovered her poise. It would not do, to let her mother see how close her emotions were to the surface.

Lady Ballymere hovered, irresolute, near the center of the room.
“W
ell,
”
she said at last,
“I
shall just go and finish up my letter to your father. Enjoy your bath, my love.
”

Cynthia
managed a smile.
“T
hank you, Mama.
”

Lady Ballymere swept out of the room, but paused just beyond the doorway.
“I
s he handsome?
”

Cynthia
tried to look puzzled.
“W
hom do you mean?
”

“Y
oung Mr. Whittaker, of course.
”

She pretended to consider the matter.
“Y
es, I believe you would call him handsome. But you may judge for yourself tonight, Mama. I daresay he will be present at dinner.
”

“P
ooh! As if what
I
thought made any difference.
”
But Lady Ballymere seemed reassured;
Cynthia
must have convinced her that Derek had made no particular impression. She left
Cynthia
alone, at any rate, to bathe in peace.

It was excessively tiresome to be watched all the time, but
Cynthia
understood her mother
’
s reasons. It would be catastrophic for
Cynthia
to fall in love. Her entire family was bound in a silent conspiracy to prevent that calamity if they could. So fa
r, they had been successful…
as far as they knew. Lady Ballymere
’
s attempts to monitor
Cynthia
’
s opinions regarding every man she encountered were annoying, but at least they were transparent.
Cynthia
saw the little digs and prods coming and was able, therefore, to deflect them somewhat.

She used to feel guilty about the tiny deceptions she practiced every day, pulling the wool over her mother
’
s prying eyes. No more. The battle to maintain her privacy had loomed ever larger over the years. Her need for privacy now superseded, in her mind, her mother
’
s right to know. And in the present circumstances
—
with so much to hide
—
she would fight fiercely to evade her mother
’
s constant poking and probing. A girl had to have
some
secrets.

The relaxing effect of the bath enhanced her tiredness. She dried her hair before the fire, then crept between the sheets of her bed and slept dreamlessly. She woke, hours later, to her mother
’
s gentle shaking.

“
Cynthia
, my love, are you ill? It
’
s time to dress for dinner.
”

She sat up groggily.
“A
s late as that? No, Mama, I am not ill.
”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and yawned.

Lady Ballymere regarded her worriedly.
“I
hope you are not contracting a cold. It
’
s most unlike you, to sleep the day away.
”

“I
didn
’
t sleep last night.
”
The unguarded words slipped past her sleep-drugged wits.
Cynthia
immediately regretted them.

Her mother
’
s eyes sharpened.
“W
hy ever not?
”

“I
don
’
t know.
”
That was almost a lie, and
Cynthia
was sorry for it. She amended it by saying,
“I
t doesn
’
t matter.
”
Still, she could not meet her mother
’
s eyes. She stood and wandered toward the wardrobe.
“S
hall I wear the yellow crepe tonight, or the blue silk?
”

Matters of dress were Lady Ballymere
’
s chief preoccupation. As
Cynthia
had hoped, her mother
’
s thoughts were instantly diverted.
“Y
ou wore the blue silk last Wednesday.
”

“I
don
’
t mean the dark blue. I mean the new one.
”
She lifted the gown from the box where it had been packed. Tissue paper drifted to the floor. Shimmering folds of ice blue silk cascaded over her fingers.
“I’
ve never worn it.
”

“N
o, no, my dear. That
’
s glacé silk; not suitable for a mere family dinner
—
even at Oldham Park. We
’
re saving that one. Tsk! Let me repack it; you
’
ll crease the fabric.
”
Her mother almost snatched the dress from
Cynthia
and began deftly folding it, frowning as she did so.
“Y
ou must not be careless with your clothing,
Cynthia
. You know perfectly well how limited our resources are.
”