The Notorious Lord (30 page)

Rachel and Cory looked at each other.

‘I thought that you would never give me a chance,’ he said.

Rachel’s heart beat a little faster. ‘I was not aware that I had,’ she said wryly.

Cory laughed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I am indebted to Lady Marney for her perception. I would like to talk to you, Rae.’

He took her arm and drew her deeper into the relative privacy of the trees. When they were sheltered beneath the dense cover of the forest he turned to her and allowed his gaze to travel over her slowly, consideringly.

Rachel trembled slightly. ‘What is it, Cory?’

‘I want to know why you are avoiding me,’ Cory said bluntly. He rested one hand against the sturdy trunk of the nearest pine. ‘Last night, and again today, you have been very careful to make sure that we are never alone together. I would like to know why.’ He took her hand. ‘What has changed between us, Rae?’

Rachel evaded his gaze. It was so difficult when they knew each other so well. She felt as though she had nowhere to hide, no place to keep secrets. He knew her thoughts and he knew her mind. Every reaction was exposed to him and there could be no concealment.

She paid him the compliment of being as blunt as he.

‘I hear that you are to go away,’ she said.

She saw his face ease, as though he had expected some far more difficult problem. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘It is true that I shall be leaving for London shortly, but I do not plan to go for a week or so yet. I am sorry that you had to hear it by a roundabout route.’

There was a hollow feeling growing within Rachel. ‘And your trip to Scandinavia?’ she said. ‘Is that also something that you wish to tell me about?’

This time the silence was longer.

‘This was not how I wished to do this,’ Cory said, at length. His gaze held hers. Rachel could feel the tension in him tight as a coiled spring.

‘I want you to marry me, Rae,’ he said. ‘When…if I go away, I wish you to come with me. You cannot have misunderstood my feelings or my intentions, I hope. It is my most ardent desire that you will accept my proposal.’

Rachel stared at him. She felt breathless, as though she was on the edge of something too huge to be contemplated. Cory looked quite calm, but then she saw the faintest hint of uncertainty in his face, the way that he squared his shoulders as though expecting a rejection. The moment of vul
nerability from such a strong man sent a wave of love through her that was so acute that she trembled.

‘I do not know…’ The words were wrenched from her. ‘There is much to consider, Cory. I need time.’

‘Time,’ Cory said, with a ghost of a smile. ‘Yes, I understand that, Rae.’

Rachel felt her fears and doubts press in on her. ‘It sounds foolish when I have known you so long,’ she said, ‘but I have not yet become accustomed to our situation.’

Cory nodded. ‘I am not a patient man, Rae…’ he pulled her close to him ‘…but if you can give me hope then I can give you at least a little time.’

His mouth brushed hers in a tantalising shadow of a kiss that set Rachel’s pulse racing. It was the lightest, most teasing of contacts, and yet it sent flickers of desire burning through her. Barely aware of her own reactions, she leaned into the kiss, feeling the rough material of Cory’s shirt under her fingers and the hard muscle beneath that. In his arms it was all too easy to forget her misgivings, her fears of the future. The kiss changed, became heated and fierce, and Rachel felt herself turn hot all over, her skin prickling with desire and awareness. She knew that she had no defences against Cory’s undeniable expertise. He kissed her with a concentrated passion that made her shiver down to her toes.

‘Damn it, Rae,’ he said, against her mouth, ‘do not keep me waiting too long.’ He let her go and she could see the conflict in his face before he smoothed the expression away. ‘I must take you back,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Until I can claim you as my future wife I must not do anything further to endanger your reputation.’

He drew her hand through his arm and led her out of the shade and on to the beach. No one seemed to have noticed their disappearance. Deb and Olivia, Ross and Richard Kestrel were still wandering along the water’s edge. Helena Lang and James Kestrel were nowhere to be seen.

Rachel tilted her hat to shield her face from the sun and from Cory’s perceptive gaze. Her mind was in a turmoil.

Until I can claim you as my future wife…
There seemed no doubt in Cory’s mind that she would accept. Rachel wished that she had his confidence. For although the physical attraction between them threatened to sweep all sanity away, she knew that it required more than that to make a life together.

They rejoined the rest of the party and soon Helena Lang and James Kestrel appeared along the beach and it was generally agreed to return home. The others seemed to be in good spirits and Rachel smiled until her face ached. It was only later that she sat on the edge of her bed and thought about Cory and about what he wanted from life.

She knew now that Cory’s intentions were honourable, but she was also aware that there was a very great problem indeed in marrying him. She knew that she loved him—he was the man that she wanted as her husband, just as Olivia had suggested to her all those weeks ago.

But she did not love his way of life.

Just thinking about it made her come out in a cold sweat of fear and depression. When she had come to Midwinter, she had allowed herself to think that her travelling days might be over for good. For years she had traipsed around the world in her parents’ wake like a small rowing boat bobbing helplessly behind two purposeful galleons. She had craved a settled home and a stable life—the chance to carve out something of her own—and from that point of view, Cory Newlyn was the worst possible choice for a husband.

She thought of Cory then; of his fervour for life, and his enthusiasms and the spark of excitement about him that she had always condemned as recklessness, but now saw was the essence of the man himself. She had a dreadful feeling that that spark would be extinguished if he were to marry a woman who did not share his passions in life, or, worse still, a woman who followed him reluctantly and could not
disguise her unwillingness. It made her feel quite sick to think of it.

She turned her face against her pillow and felt the hot tears sink silently into its cool surface. For the kissing had to stop now and so did any idea of marriage, and she was rather afraid that the friendship would be lost too.

In fact, she stood to lose everything.

Chapter Eighteen

W
hen Cory found her the following morning, Rachel was standing on one of the library chairs, plying a feather duster to remove the cobwebs from the candelabra. It was not the position that she would have wished to be in when she met him, for it set her at a distinct disadvantage. She had endured a miserable night, tossing and turning as she thought over what she had to say to him. She knew that she had to talk to him at the first opportunity. Early in the morning she had gone down to the excavation to see if he was there, only to discover that he had not yet arrived and no one knew where he was. In desperation, Rachel had sought refuge in cleaning. It had always worked in the past when she felt unsettled, but now she was so unhappy than not even a brisk sprucing up of the library could make any impression on her blue-devilled mood.

The library chandelier was an ugly object. It was suspended from a hook on the ceiling that looked uncannily like a butcher’s rack for hanging game, and there were long trails of candle wax hardened on to the branches in a dreadfully dirty fashion. Just seeing it there offended Rachel’s sense of cleanliness. Although Sir Arthur Odell was the only one who used the library in the evening, she knew that she simply could not countenance leaving such a dirty object
hanging there. The difficulty was that the hook was just out of her reach and even if she stood on tiptoe she could not quite ease the heavy iron candelabra from its catch.

She put the feather duster down on the table, moved the chair to precisely the correct position beneath the candelabra, and climbed up again. If she stretched up as far as she could…

The chair lurched beneath her with sickening suddenness. Rachel made a grab for the back of it and her hand raked thin air. She felt her balance going and then strong hands grabbed her about the waist and she was swung through the air and placed gently on her feet.

Cory’s voice said, ‘Trying to break your neck, Rachel?’

Rachel felt flustered. Cory still had his hands about her waist and she could feel them warm through the thin muslin of her dress. His expression was quizzical as it rested on her flushed face.

‘I was trying to dislodge the candelabra,’ Rachel said.

‘And instead you almost dislodged yourself,’ Cory observed. ‘Why did you not call one of us to help you?’

‘You were all busy,’ Rachel excused. She tried to step out of his grasp, but Cory did not let go. He was watching her expression, amusement in his own face.

‘What are you doing inside, Cory?’ she asked. ‘I thought that you were working.’

‘I came to see you,’ Cory said, ‘and there is no need to make me sound like the kitchen cat. I swear I took my boots off before I came inside.’

Rachel looked him up and down. He was indeed in his stockinged feet and the sight gave her a rather odd feeling, as though he were in a state of intimate undress.

‘I am glad that you are here, for I wished to talk to you about something important,’ she said, averting her gaze to the table and glaring rather hard at a smear of dust on the shining surface.

‘I wished to see you too,’ Cory said, smiling, ‘although not necessarily to talk.’

Something twisted inside Rachel at the happiness she saw in his face. It made it all the more difficult for her to reject him. Already she felt sick with apprehension and misery at what she was going to do.

‘Cory,’ she said desperately.

‘Yes?’ Cory asked.

Rachel looked at him. Her heart gave a painful leap into her throat. She swallowed hard, but found that the words of dismissal that she had practised for the best part of the night simply did not come. Cory moved closer to her, his gaze disturbingly intent on her face.

‘You have cobwebs in your hair, Rae,’ he said softly.

‘Oh…’ Rachel put a self-conscious hand up to her head. She felt a little confused. ‘I knew that I should have worn a cap,’ she said.

‘Thank the lord you did not,’ Cory said feelingly, ‘for I should have had to take it off you. They are as unbecoming as a frumpish gown, and you are only two and twenty, Rae, far too young to be donning a spinster’s cap.’

His fingers tangled with hers in her thick, brown hair. ‘Hold still. I will get the cobwebs out for you.’

‘You will loosen all the pins!’ Rachel wailed. She felt his fingertips brush her scalp and felt acutely self-conscious. This felt dangerous, reminding her of the experience in the phaeton when she had been completely abandoned in her response to him. At such close quarters her senses were full of him; his touch and the scent of his skin made her head spin. She felt slightly dizzy, put out a hand to steady herself and found herself clutching his arm. The linen shirt was smooth beneath her fingers and Cory’s arm hard and strong beneath that. Thinking about it, she felt even more shaky.

‘You are making me forget what I wanted to say,’ she said faintly.

Cory smiled into her eyes. His voice was soft. ‘I am only
removing the cobwebs from your hair, Rae.’ His fingers tangled once again in her curls. ‘There. I have finished.’

‘Thank you.’ Rachel realised that her voice sounded a little husky. She cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, Cory.’

‘You look charmingly dishevelled now,’ Cory said, his gaze appraising her. There was a disturbing light in his eyes. ‘I think I have made matters worse rather than better.’

He picked up the feather duster, turned it over in his hands and laughed. ‘In fact, you look like a tousled Cinderella.’ He touched her cheek lightly with the feathers. ‘This is rather nice…’

‘Don’t…’ Rachel began. Her voice almost failed her again. The touch of the feathers was soft, sensuous, disturbingly arousing. Her skin prickled. Goose pimples teased their way down her back. Cory was watching her face and she knew he could read her feelings. Slowly, so slowly, he let the feathers drift across her throat and down one of her arms. Even through the material of her gown, it felt like a lover’s touch. Rachel could feel her eyes starting to close as shivers of sensation coursed through her body. The expression in Cory’s eyes made the heat burn in her blood as she saw the echo of her own desire, hot and hard, in his eyes. The feathers brushed her bodice and her nipples hardened in shameless response. She knew the outline of them must show clearly through the thin material, knew that Cory could see it too. The knowledge heated her senses past bearing.

‘Cory…’ she said, on an anguished whisper.

She grabbed the feather duster from his hands and almost snapped the handle in the attempt. In a second it would be too late and she would be helplessly caught in her desire for him. No, it was already too late. Cory pulled her roughly to him and the feather duster fell unnoticed to the floor. He kissed her hard and long and very thoroughly until Rachel was breathless and her knees were in danger of buckling beneath her.

They were both so engrossed that they did not hear the tramp of footsteps in the hall nor even hear the upraised voices until the door burst open and Sir Arthur Odell burst in, blunderbuss in hand. His boots were still on and he was scattering sand all over the neatly swept floor.

‘What the devil is going on here?’ Sir Arthur demanded. ‘Kissing and hugging in full view of the window!’ The blunderbuss wavered alarmingly in Cory’s direction. ‘When I invited you to join us in our work, sirrah, I didn’t throw my daughter in as well! What do you think you are at?’

Rachel had seldom seen Cory look so taken aback. He took a step forward—and one back again, when the blunderbuss menaced him.

‘My apologies, sir. I realise that this looks bad—’