The Bridal Quest (19 page)

He turned her hand over and laid another breath of a kiss in her palm. She felt the trembling in her hand—and the way it spread insidiously throughout her body. She looked at his head, bent to press his mouth to her skin. She saw the thick darkness of his lashes against his cheeks, the sensual curve of his mouth. His hair brushed against her wrist.

Had she always thought him this handsome? she wondered. When she met him, had other men paled beside him, as the thought of them did now? She could not remember any other man whose gaze had enthralled her as his did, or whose smile she had awaited with such anticipation. When and how had her heart taken to tripping like a hammer whenever she saw him?

She thought of the way she had held herself aloof from him the past few days, hoping to avoid a repetition of the kisses they had shared the other afternoon. And yet, after those days, those hours and hours of avoidance, all it took was a look from him, a smile, a kiss upon her hand, and she felt once more as if her knees were turning to jelly, that simmering burn beginning to bubble again deep in her abdomen.

It was frightening to feel so little in control of herself, scary to know that someone could affect her so effortlessly, so quickly, slipping past her defenses with the ease of smoke. And yet ... and yet ...

Where, she wondered, was the harm in taking a husband who could make one feel this way? Was what she felt the foolishness of women like Francesca or her mother, who had married those they had come to regret wanting? Or was this merely one of the benefits of a wise marriage—an extra dollop of sweetness on a practical course of action?

Gideon raised his head and looked into her eyes. She wondered if he could see the thoughts that danced in her brain, confusing her. She rather thought he must guess how he disturbed her. She could see the trace of male satisfaction in his eyes even through the heat that flamed in them.

He drew closer, his body only inches from her now. He still held her hand, and now he brought it up to his face, cradling it against his cheek. She felt the flash of heat, the smoothness of his skin, the prickles of the dark stubble that was beginning to roughen his flesh. She thought about feeling his cheek against hers, of his mouth pressing against her lips.

She remembered the way his hands had stroked her body that afternoon after their first dance lesson. Her breasts tightened at the thought, her nipples budding with yearning.

"You think that you have fooled me the last few days?" he murmured, and there was a raw ache to his voice that stirred her. "That I cannot see past the plain clothes? That I do not remember how full and soft your hair is, or how it curls around your face? I have seen how you dressed, how you have stifled your curls into a governess's knot." He bent close to her, his breath brushing against her hair as he talked, and Irene could not suppress the shiver that snaked through her.

"But I know you, Irene," he went on, his voice low and gravelly. "I have kissed you, and I have held you in my arms. I know the passion that lies within you."

He hooked his forefinger beneath her chin and tilted her face, so that she looked up into his eyes. She drew a shaky breath, unable to speak or move. He was going to kiss her, she thought. He would bend down and take her in his arms, and his mouth would lay claim to hers once more. She trembled, scared and excited and utterly uncertain.

For a long moment Gideon simply looked at her. When at last he moved, it was not to seize her in a fierce kiss, but to lean down and merely brush her lips with his.

"Do not deny us what we could have," he whispered, pressing his mouth gently to hers again. She found herself leaning into him, prolonging the contact.

He raised his head. "Think well before you decide, my lady."

He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, then turned and strode rapidly away, leaving Irene looking after him, every nerve in her body alive and tingling.

Irene was not certain how long she stood that way, dazed and shaken by the feelings swirling within her. She turned and moved back down the path toward the house, her steps slow, her face pensive. Her brain buzzed with thoughts, the encounter with Teresa and Timothy tumbling about with musings upon marriage and her feelings for Gideon, until she felt as if her head might explode from all that caromed around inside it.

She wished that there was someone to whom she could talk, but she was afraid to enlist either her mother or Francesca to aid her. She was certain that Lady Claire would urge her to marry Lord Radbourne, and she suspected that Francesca would probably do the same, though her words of advice would doubtless be couched in subtler language.

Irene was not accustomed to being confused and uncertain, and she did not care for the feeling. But she could not seem to bring herself back to her usual decisive state. She washed and dressed for dinner, half listening to the maid's friendly chatter. It was not until she was dressed that she realized she had chosen one of her new, more flattering dresses and had directed her maid to arrange her tresses in a softer style.

She looked at herself in the mirror for a moment and wondered if she should change back into something plainer. But to do so, she thought, seemed even more foolish, and finally she left the room and made her way down to the anteroom where they gathered for supper.

She was surprised to find that Francesca was there before her. Usually Francesca liked to be the last to sweep into a room, but this evening she was here as early as Lady Odelia and her sister, and she seemed wrapped in a brown study, sitting by the window several feet from where Odelia and Pansy were talking together on the red velvet couch.

Irene crossed the room and sat down on a chair near Francesca, who looked up at her and smiled.

Ah, there you are. I was just contemplating where to seat Lady Salisbridge, who, I just learned, is feuding with Mrs. Ferrington, who had the audacity to wear a dress just like one Lady Salisbridge owns."

"Oh, dear," Irene replied. "It does sound a serious matter."

"Yes. And made more so by the fact that the dress was rather more becoming on Mrs. Ferrington than it is on her ladyship. I just learned this by letter, and I now sincerely regret inviting both the Ferrington girl and Lady Salisbridge's daughters."

Irene shook her head, smiling. "I am sure it will resolve itself one way or another."

"No doubt. However, I would prefer that it not do so in a public hair-pulling." Francesca smiled, her cheek dimpling.

"I am surprised to see you down so early," Irene commented.

"Well, that is entirely your fault. You see, I had to escape from the drawing room this afternoon, so I had nothing to do except go up to my room and dress for dinner."

"And how did I cause that?" Irene asked.

"Ah, well, the reason I had to escape is that Lady Radbourne the younger was telling me, in great detail, about how she rescued Timothy from your clutches this afternoon. It seems that you and Lord Radbourne are corrupting her son."

Irene grimaced. "She was excessively insulting to Gi—to Lord Radbourne. I suspect the only reason he tolerates her is because of her son. He is fond of Timothy—who is such a winning boy that I can scarcely believe he is related to Lady Teresa."

Francesca chuckled. "I have not seen the lad. But it certainly could not be bad if he were corrupted from Teresa's ways."

"I would think she would be glad that the man spends time with Timothy. With his father gone, I'm sure it is good for him to have a man whom he can admire. But Lady Teresa told Radbourne that she did not want her son taking on his—manners and speech."

"Lady Teresa is a fool," Francesca replied dispassionately. "And I dare swear that her son is the least of her concerns. I have never met a less maternal woman. Lady Odelia is certain that the only reason she had the boy was because she thought she would be the mother of the Earl of Radbourne when Lord Cecil died." She smiled a little wickedly. "I would have liked to see her face when Rochford announced that he had located the rightful heir."

"Francesca ..." Irene began, reminded by Francesca's comment of her conversation with Gideon on her first evening at Radbourne Park.

The other woman turned to look at her, her interest raised by the suddenly serious tone in Irene's voice. "What?"

"I have been wondering. Doesn't it seem a trifle odd that the family was unable to locate the earl all those years that he was missing, but then the duke was able to find him within a matter of months?"

Francesca looked at her for a long moment. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not sure. But the first evening we were here, Radbourne pointed out how easily Rochford tracked him down and wondered how it could have been so hard for his father. It ... well, I cannot help but wonder."

"You would understand if you knew Rochford," Francesca assured her. "That is simply the way he is. I have never known a more irritating man. He is always right." Her eyes glinted and her mouth narrowed as she contemplated the duke's annoying ways. "He will be the one person who thinks to take an umbrella on an outing. Worse, you will point out that the day is sunny and the umbrella quite unnecessary, and then, naturally, it will rain. Or you will have looked for a book or an earring or something everywhere for days, and he will sit down and reach in between the sofa cushions and say, 'Oh, look, here's a book someone mislaid.' He is exasperatingly competent."

"Oh."

"Also," Francesca went on, obviously warming to her subject, "he is so utterly single-minded and completely stubborn that he will continue to pursue a subject long after any more reasonable person would have given it up."

Irene blinked. "I see. Forgive me, I thought you and the duke were friends."

"Friends?" Francesca repeated, her voice laced with irony. "I doubt that 'friends' would be an adequate description of ... whatever it is we are." She paused, thinking, then said, "I suppose you could call us acquaintances—of a rather long duration."

There was more to this story, Irene thought, but at the moment she was too intent on the subject on her mind to pursue this secondary trail. "Still, doesn't it seem a bit strange that Gideon was not discovered before now? Even if the duke is a persistent man, one would think that Radbourne's father would have pursued his disappearance as diligently as a—what, second cousin?"

Francesca frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose he would have. But it could be that when Radbourne was a child someone was hiding him, trying to keep anyone from locating him. But now that he is an adult, he is no longer hidden. Indeed, he is a successful businessman and therefore easy to find." She paused, then continued. "What does Radbourne think—that his father did not try to find him?"

Irene shrugged. "I am not sure. It seems unlikely. But I have thought about it a good deal since Radbourne mentioned it, and there were a number of oddities about the whole thing."

"Oddities?" Francesca frowned and leaned a little closer. "What oddities?"

"Well ... for instance, why did the kidnappers take both the boy and his mother? A child would be easy to handle. Less noticeable. But a woman and a child—one has two people to try to control. A woman is more difficult to conceal or to carry. And a mother bent on saving her child is certain to struggle, wouldn't you think?"

"Yes. But perhaps they could not snatch the child except when he was with his mother. He was only a little boy, so he was probably always with his nurse or his mother. They could also have presumed that they would get a higher ransom for both of them."

"Did they demand ransom for both?" Irene asked.

"I have no idea. I never asked about it."

"And what happened to his mother? If the boy was turned loose by himself, I can understand that he would not know where to go or what to do. He might not remember his home or be able to tell anyone where he was from or who his father was. And if he did, people might just assume it was a jest. But his mother would have come back here."

"Maybe he was not turned loose. Maybe they kept him and raised him."

Irene thought about this idea for a moment. She supposed that it was possible that the Jack Sparks Gideon had lived with could have been the one who abducted him. Still, that left questions unanswered. "Then where was his mother?"

"They may have killed her," Francesca responded.

"And why did they not give him back when his father paid the ransom? Everyone assumed that they had killed the boy, and that was why they did not return him. But obviously they did not."

"Give who back? What are you girls talking about?" Lady Odelia's voice boomed from across the room.

Francesca cast her an apprehensive glance. "Oh. Um. Why, nothing."

"Nothing?" Lady Odelia arched one eyebrow. "How can you talk about nothing?"

"We were discussing Lord Radbourne's kidnapping," Irene explained calmly. "Lady Haughston did not wish to disturb you."

Gideon's grandmother gasped, but Lady Odelia merely grunted and said, "Obviously
you
have no such compunction."

"It is my belief that if one asks about another person's conversation, then one must be prepared to hear about whatever that conversation was," Irene retorted imperturbably.

Humor glinted for an instant in the older woman's eyes. "I see. Pert young thing, aren't you?"

"Yes, indeed she is," Teresa put in. Irene had not noticed that Teresa had come into the room while she and Francesca were talking. Now Teresa walked over to sit down with the older women, at some remove from Francesca and Irene.

Teresa looked at Irene with disdain as she went on. "I find that Lady Irene also seems to be remarkably concerned with other people's affairs."

Lady Claire, who was just entering the room, colored a little and hastened to intervene. "I am sorry, Lady Odelia, I am afraid that Irene can be a mite too blunt at times."

"Nothing wrong with honesty, Claire," the older woman said. "Don't worry yourself into a taking. Always better to be blunt, I say, than to be one of those dreadful girls who cannot utter a plain statement. I find nothing wrong in a having a healthy curiosity." She cast a significant glance at Teresa before returning her gaze to Irene. "What were you saying about the kidnapping?"

"Everyone has heard about it, of course, but I have never really known the details. Perhaps it is simply that I do not know the full story, but it seems to me that there were some curious circumstances."

"Indeed?"

"For one thing, is it not peculiar that the Duke of Rochford, while obviously a very capable man, was able to locate the earl with so little effort, yet no one was able to find him before?"

Pansy's eyes widened, but Odelia simply nodded. "Ah, is Gideon wondering about that? I must say, it does seem that Cecil should have learned more." She shrugged. "I was not here at the time, so I don't know exactly what was done to find Gideon and his mother. I could not come, despite Pansy's pleading with me to, as my youngest girl was having her lying-in right about then."

She glanced around. "Pansy is the only one who could tell you about that time. It was long before you were here, Teresa."

"Actually, Lady Odelia, I was here," Teresa replied unexpectedly. When everyone turned to look at her in surprise, she added, "Not here at Radbourne Park. But my family lives only a few miles away. I remember all the excitement. Naturally I was still rather young—I had not yet made my come-out. I was— Oh, I must have been about fifteen. The abduction was the talk of the countryside for months. But of course, I did not know all the details of it, only the bits and pieces of gossip that I overheard. No one would speak to a young girl about such matters."

"I expect that Cecil mishandled the search," Lady Odelia commented. "He always was one to let his anger blind him to good sense."

"Odelia!" her sister cried out indignantly. "How can you say such a thing? Cecil did everything he could. Why, he sent Owenby all over the countryside looking for some clue to where they had gone. How could anyone be expected to track down the ruffians, with no idea who they were or where they went?"

"How were Lord Radbourne and his mother taken?" Irene asked the old woman gently.

"How?" Pansy looked at her blankly. "What do you mean?"

"Were they stolen from the house? Were they out for a stroll?"

"Oh. I ... um ... I'm not entirely sure. It has been so long." Pansy looked down at her hands, knotted together in her lap. "It was such a dreadful time. Poor Cecil was so overset."

Lady Odelia let out an inelegant snort. "I imagine he was! No doubt he strode about all over the place, shouting and slamming things and getting nothing useful accomplished."

"Odelia!"

"I am sure he was most upset," Francesca told Pansy soothingly.

Irene added, "Then you do not remember if Lady Radbourne and her son were in the house or were taken outside?"

"Outside," Pansy said quickly, nodding her head. "Yes, it must have been outside. No one would have been able to just burst in here and grab them. They were in the garden—yes, that is it. They were in the garden."

"Did no one see them taken?" Irene continued.