Regina Scott (17 page)

“Congratulations, Lord Kendrick,” she made herself say. “I believe that is sufficient reward.”

He stared at her as if he’d never truly seen her until that moment. She knew the others were staring as well.

“Excuse me,” she said, face heating, and hurried for the house. She was running away again, but somehow she thought at that moment it was the best choice.

* * *

Will stared after Samantha. She was moving so quickly her skirts were a swirl of cream about her legs, her golden head bowed. The kiss had affected her more than she wanted any of them to know. He understood. He felt the same way.

He’d kissed other women. His wife Peg had been particularly enthusiastic. In his diplomatic duties chaste kisses on a hand or one or both cheeks were commonplace. None of those kisses compared to kissing Samantha. They were a tallow candle against the blazing light of a crystal chandelier.

What had he done?

He knew why he’d raced. He liked to race, especially with opponents like the Everards, who could challenge him. And the sight of Prentice Haygood lining up, so determined to win, had brought out Will’s chivalrous side. Surely Will’s kiss was to be preferred to his.

He simply never dreamed her kiss would be preferable to all others.

With knowing smiles, the women were gathering up the boys and starting for the house. Most of his opponents were heading for the stables. For the first time he focused on Vaughn Everard’s horse as it moved away from him. He hadn’t even noticed the beast as he’d raced, so intent had he been on winning. Now he saw that it was a powerful roan, exactly like the horse of Samantha’s outrider.

Surely Vaughn Everard had not borrowed the horse. He was a man used to driving his own carriage, and it seemed, riding his own mounts. But he apparently hadn’t arrived at Dallsten Manor until the day after Will had seen the horse.

Before he could follow the man and ask, Haygood drew his horse up beside Will.

“I am very disappointed in you, my lord,” he said, face tight and hands tighter on the reins. “I shared my intentions toward Lady Everard with you. I thought you understood.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Will assured him.

But Haygood pointed a finger at him as if he wished it were a loaded pistol. “I trust you will comport yourself as a gentleman for the remainder of my sojourn here. I should hate to have to call you out.”

He turned and rode back toward the stables, and the plodding steps of his mare did not belie the stiff set of his shoulders. Jamie took up his place at Will’s side, face equally stiff.

“I suppose you wish to berate me as well,” Will said.

Jamie’s mouth worked as if he could not bring himself to utter the words aloud, and Will waited for the condemnation.

“You’ve fallen in love with her, too,” Jamie accused.

Had he? After years of guarding his heart, of telling himself he was better off alone, had he tumbled into love with a woman he’d known a little more than a week? True, he’d heard stories of her for the past eight years, and even before that through his father’s and Jamie’s letters. But was this love, the kind of love on which to base a marriage?

It couldn’t be. Samantha was an amazing woman, but he wasn’t ready to be a husband again.

“I cannot claim love,” he told Jamie. “She is bright and beautiful, and even a blind man would fall for her charm.”

“As well as a man not so blind,” Jamie replied. “I think the others will expect a declaration after that demonstration.”

Will ran his hand back through his hair. “I will have to beg her pardon, and her cousins’ as well.”

“That,” Jamie said, turning his horse, “would be a mistake. We already lost Uncle. I should hate to lose you, too. I doubt Mr. Haygood’s ability to put you under. I’m not so sure about the Everards.”

Knowing a conversation with Vaughn Everard would have to wait, Will went to remount Arrow. “I won’t accept a challenge. I did nothing to impugn the lady’s honor.”

“No, only steal her heart.”

Will stiffened in the saddle. “She doesn’t love me, Jamie. Trust me on that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jamie replied. “What I want to know is what you intend to do about the matter.”

His son’s gaze was so stormy Will wondered if he shouldn’t expect a challenge from that quarter as well. Jamie had to be smarting over the fact that Will had just kissed the woman he loved, in front of her entire family. He had to convince his son that he had no plans to make Samantha Everard his wife.

“What I intend to do,” he told Jamie, pulling Arrow in beside his horse, “is go home. See to my horse and my estate. Remember who I am.”

Jamie nodded, and his shoulders came down. “An excellent plan. Remember exactly who you are—the Earl of Kendrick. Our family has safeguarded this valley for generations, or so Grandfather always said.”

The weight of Will’s responsibilities settled over him. “Your grandfather was right. I won’t forget.”

“Good,” Jamie said, taking up his place beside Will as they started across the fields. “Because it strikes me you could be just what Samantha needs. I think you should marry her, Father. Tomorrow.”

Chapter Seventeen

W
ill was so surprised by Jamie’s statement that he reined in Arrow. “What?”

Jamie turned his horse to meet Will’s gaze. Will had never seen his son so serious. His dark brows were down, his body centered over the saddle.

“I think you should marry Samantha,” he repeated. “It solves all our problems.”

Will felt as if the ground was sliding away beneath him. His hands tightened on the reins as he started forward again. “Marriage can easily cause more problems than it solves,” he advised, nearly grimacing at how pessimistic he sounded.

“Not in this case,” Jamie assured him. “I am not at liberty to offer details, but marriage is exactly what Samantha needs right now. And so do we.”

“We?” Will frowned at him. “Since when is marriage a threesome, sir?”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I know about the estate, Father. I’ve looked at the ledgers. We need an influx of cash, and Samantha can provide that.”

Will reined in once more, forcing Jamie to do the same. “Tell me you didn’t offer to marry her because of her fortune.”

Jamie could not quite meet his gaze. “Not entirely because of the fortune,” he said. “Make no mistake,” he hurried on when Will opened his mouth to protest. “I think I’ve loved Samantha Everard since the day Miss Walcott brought her to Kendrick Hall to visit Grandfather and she slipped me the last biscuit from the tea tray. But she doesn’t love me, not as a woman should love a man. From what I just saw, she appears to have offered that love to you.”

Will shook his head as the horses headed for home. “It was a kiss, Jamie. Nothing more.”

“A kiss that caused her to tremble,” Jamie countered. “A kiss that made her dash away to seek her composure.”

Will barked a laugh. “You see those things as signs of love. They could as easily be signs of disgust.”

“If you had disgusted her, you’d be facing her blade,” Jamie promised. “Or the blade of one of her cousins. No one chastised you but Mr. Haygood, and even he saw what we all saw. You have feelings for her, and she returns them.”

Did she have feelings for him? He supposed it was possible. He had been insistent in his attentions, and she may have taken those attentions as more than friendship, despite his protests. But if Samantha Everard held him in her affections, there were only two respectable outcomes for those feelings—friendship or marriage. Jamie apparently had decided friendship was not enough. But Will refused to offer marriage for money.

“It matters not,” he insisted. “Neither of us has any intention of marrying.”

Jamie frowned and drew his horse closer. “Why not? She’s beautiful and charming. You said so yourself.”

“I’m too old for her,” Will tried.

Jamie made a face. “Well, I grant you ten years is a little much.”

Will told himself not to argue. If he managed to dissuade his son from this line of thinking, then pretending to a few gray hairs was worth it. “Entirely too much.”

Jamie held up a finger. “But Uncle was even older than you are, and he was accounted a viable suitor.”

“And look where his suit led him,” Will pointed out.

Jamie dropped his hand and rested it on the pommel of his saddle. “We agreed the Everards are likely innocent. So, Uncle was murdered for another reason. You cannot use that as an excuse not to pursue her.”

Will chucked to Arrow, who started to trot, and Jamie came alongside to keep up. “I don’t need to pursue anyone,” he told his son. “I have no need for a wife. I have an heir.”

“That’s not the only reason to wed,” Jamie all but scolded. “Did you marry Mother because you wanted an heir?”

How could he be having this conversation with his son? Will focused on avoiding the grazing sheep ahead of them. “That is an entirely different situation.”

“Not where I sit,” Jamie declared. “You married Mother without thinking twice, from what I’ve heard. Why are you so hesitant now?”

Will urged Arrow faster, but Jamie increased his pace as well, shooting him a look that told Will he could not avoid him.

“I was only the second son in those days,” Will explained. “Who I married was less important than who your uncle married. Besides, your mother and I were wildly in love.”

Jamie pushed his horse forward and wheeled it in front of Arrow, forcing the gelding to stutter to a stop. “So that’s it. You’re still grieving Mother.”

Something tugged at Will’s throat, and he knew it wasn’t his cravat. “If I am, it is only her due.”

“It’s been seventeen years, Father,” Jamie said, voice kind. “She would want you to be happy.”

Pain shoved up from deep inside him. For once, he gave it voice.

“As happy as she was to leave us behind?” Will challenged. “As happy as your uncle was to be snuffed out just when his candle burned brightest? As happy as your grandfather to die with so many things unfinished?”

Jamie paled. “By your leave, Father, that’s not what I meant.”

It might not have been what Jamie had meant, but it was what had been. “This conversation is over,” Will said. “I’ve lost entirely too many people to want to add one more to the list.”

He clamped his heels to Arrow’s flanks and sent the horse charging forward. Jamie pulled his mount aside in time to avoid a collision. Will caught a glimpse of him, mouth opened in an
O
of surprise, face pale under his midnight hair. He knew he’d wounded the boy, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. For once, he felt as if his own wounds were on display.

And he didn’t like the feeling.

He urged the horse on, flying across the fields and into the forest beyond. The trees flashed past on either side, rich with their summer green. Shadow and sunlight striped the graveled riding path; birds shot into the boughs at his passing.

He kept riding. Jamie did not follow.

His losses were like a whip, driving him on. He’d been beaten once in Constantinople when he’d strayed out of the areas frequented by his fellow countrymen. His eye had been black for a week. He’d gone without food for nearly as long once while trying to protect Egyptian antiquities from a marauding French troop. He thought his belly might drop off his body, his tongue rot in his mouth.

Those physical pains were nothing to the pain inside him now.

So many lost, Father. I have never understood why You had to take Peg. I was the one who pushed for the marriage. Why punish her?

And Gregory. He’d trained for the position of earl. He wanted it! I never envied him. I saw the responsibilities he’d have to shoulder. Why take him and leave them to me?

And our father. With losing wife, daughter-in-law and son, he never had a moment’s peace. Why? Was he unworthy in Your sight? What more could he have done?

What more can I do?

In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

He wanted to overcome—these feelings, his past. But always something seemed to pull him back. Was it the memory of Peg or something else?

Alone at the edge of the tree line, the fells rising before him, Will dismounted and stood stroking Arrow’s lathered muzzle. His horse dropped its head and rubbed it against Will’s arm. It was an easy thing to calm a horse. That at least he’d been trained to do. Raising Jamie, saving the estate, those were far more complicated.

But not as complicated as his feelings for Samantha. What had he been thinking to kiss her? He’d planned to keep it chaste. A quick peck on her hand or her cheek. It was one more pebble on his side of the scales, showing he was a gentleman she could trust with her secrets.

But apparently not with her feelings. She’d held out her hand. A gentleman would have taken it, pressed a kiss against her knuckles, released her with a bow. He’d taken one look at those rosy lips and known he had to taste them.

Fool! He’d given Jamie false hope of a marriage that could solve their financial problems. He could well have destroyed the trust he’d worked so hard to establish with Samantha.

There was only one thing for it. He would have to apologize. Immediately.

* * *

Samantha was struggling nearly as much. She’d tried to hole up in her mother’s bedchamber. Surely her family would understand her need for quiet for once! In the past two days, she’d been struck over the head and kissed senseless. Any lady might be expected to retreat under such circumstances.

But retreating, she found, was not nearly as satisfying as it sounded. She couldn’t sit, on the chairs or the bed. She couldn’t seem to be still. She paced from the hearth to the wardrobe and back, her movements loud in the stillness. Her thoughts seemed to chase her at every turn. And all she could think about was that kiss!

What had Will been about? Had he joined the race with the sole intention of winning and claiming his reward? Why, when he’d protested over and over that all he wanted was a friendship?

And when he’d kissed her, had he felt the enormity of it, like a mountain rising from the depths of a clear lake? Impossible to ignore, magnificent in every aspect, mirrored in her very soul.

If he’d felt what she’d felt, what would he do next? Would he offer for her? Oh, how could she bear to refuse him?

Yet how could she forget the reason for her refusal when it was staring her in the face? She stopped at the foot of her mother’s bed. She’d prayed herself to sleep each night, trying not to focus on the canopy above her. She knew exactly where to look and reached up to finger the fabric now. Mrs. Linton had had her late husband put cloth over the iron frame, but Samantha could see the bow where her mother’s body had swung.

She dropped her hand, feeling as if her fingers had caught fire. Her mother had chosen death rather than a marriage where the passion that had fueled it had burned out. She had allowed her emotions to override her reason. Samantha would not, could not follow a similar path. A kiss, even a kiss as wondrous as the one William had given her, could not compare.

Father, help me. I know temptations are supposed to come, and that You will always give us a way out from under them. But I don’t see the way. My heart leans toward Will—his strength, his kindness, even the insufferable way he keeps wanting to rescue me. But these feelings have come so quickly, just as my mother’s came for my father and his for her. How can I know these feelings will last? How do I dare take a chance on them?

The emotions underlying her prayer were jumbled, confused. She certainly couldn’t trust them. Surely the best approach was to stay the course she had laid out.

But just as she steeled her resolve once more, someone tapped at her door. Raising her chin, she swept to the panel, prepared to tell her cousins, their wives or even their darling children that when it came to the matter of William Wentworth, Earl of Kendrick, she had nothing to say to them.

Chevers, her footman, bobbed his head as she opened the door. “Begging your pardon, your ladyship, but Lord Kendrick is downstairs, wishing a word. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Her heart turned over in her chest. He was here to offer. He’d seen how the kiss had affected her, and he knew that he had to respond for propriety’s sake. And she knew what her response must be.

Feet leaden, she followed Chevers back to the entry hall. Will stood on the parquet floor, head bowed as if weighty matters consumed him. His gaze came up to meet hers the moment she started down the stairs, and she nearly missed her step. Oh, this would never do! She had to stay strong. Raising her chin, she descended to his side and held out her hand.

As if he took her cue, he bowed over her fingers just as formally as meeting a duchess. Perhaps it was best that way. That’s how the ton responded to acquaintances—with formality, with propriety. She’d never mastered the art, preferring to speak from the heart. But where he was concerned, her heart was not her best lead.

“Is there something you need of me, Lord Kendrick?” she asked as Chevers went to take up his place beside the front door again.

“Only to apologize,” Will said, straightening. His hands hung heavy beside his chamois trousers. “My behavior earlier today was inappropriate.”

Now why did those words cause a pain inside her? She knew he was right. He shouldn’t have kissed her that way in front of her family, as if holding her fulfilled every dream. The smartest thing she could do now was finish this.

“Apology accepted,” she said. “Thank you for coming.” She turned for the stair.

He caught her arm. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

What could she say that wouldn’t get them both into more trouble? “On that matter, yes, Lord Kendrick,” she replied with her best smile. “Will you and James be back to join us for dinner?”

He glanced around the space, then nodded toward the open door of the library. “I think there’s more to the matter than that. We must talk.”

Not in the library. She was fairly sure at least one of her cousins was in their favorite lair. And not the withdrawing room. She could hear the faint strains of the pianoforte from here, telling her Claire or Adele or both were there. Even in a house the size of Dallsten Manor, there were limited places to have a private conversation with all her family in residence.

“Chevers,” she called. “Will you fetch my pelisse? Lord Kendrick and I will take a walk around the grounds. If any of my family comes seeking me, tell them I’ll be back shortly.”

Will released her with a nod.

A few moments later they were walking down the lawn toward the pond. She couldn’t call it a stroll. She could feel the tension in his arm under hers even through his wool coat, see it in the way his booted feet struck the grass.

Samantha was thankful to find the pond deserted. The glassy surface reflected the blue of the summer sky, the green of the shore around it.

“You didn’t have to apologize,” she said as they began the circuit of the water, moving along the rocky path. “I know it was just a kiss.”

He paused beside their rowboat, pulled up among the rushes at one side of the pond. “Apparently not to those who saw it. Haygood and Jamie have already berated me for accosting you.”