A Lady for Lord Randall. Sarah Mallory
If she had not been so overwrought, Lord Randall’s surprise and consternation would have amused her, but she had never felt less like laughing in her life. In fact, she felt very much like weeping. Her hands crept to her cheeks again.
‘I see how it came about,’ she went on, almost to herself. ‘The radical talk, the company Mr and Mrs Bentinck had invited to their house—’
‘Not to mention your own teasing ways, madam,’ he added in a tight voice. ‘You said yourself you were trying to be outrageous.’
‘Yes, I know I set out to tease you, but when I spoke of earning my living I never thought that you would assume—’ She gasped. ‘Good heavens, that is disgraceful! Did you suppose that the Bentincks, that your own sister, would continue to acknowledge me if that were the case?’
A dull colour had crept into his lean cheek, but whether it was anger or embarrassment she did not know.
He said, his tone harsh, his words clipped, ‘Harriett warned me I would be shocked by the company. You yourself told me you did not believe in marriage.’
‘And in an effort to prove yourself unshockable you thought the very worst of me. You are correct, I do not believe in marriage. I was brought up to believe in a free union of minds, of hearts. A union of love, my lord, not prostitution!’
He said stiffly. ‘It was an error, but a reasonable one, given the circumstances.’
‘The circumstances?’
‘Of course,’ he retorted. ‘Your whole demeanour when you told me of your business, as if it were something quite shocking, and you made a point of informing me that you had no reputation. What else was I to think? Yes, quite reasonable, I would say.’
Mary gasped in outrage.
‘Quite unreasonable, my lord.’ Her lip curled. ‘But you are an earl. Perhaps you are in the habit of propositioning any lady who takes your fancy?’
‘Certainly not, but with your radical views you should appreciate my honesty. I would rather take my pleasures with a woman who understands there can be no possibility of marriage. I am no saint, Miss Endacott. There are many ladies of my own set, married ladies whose husbands go their own way and leave their wives to find pleasure elsewhere. I have enjoyed several liaisons of that sort in the past, but I make no secret of the fact that I consort with women of a more dubious reputation occasionally.’
‘And you pay them well for the privilege. Contemptible.’
‘Is it contemptible for two adults to enter into an agreement that gives them both satisfaction?’ His eyes narrowed and for an instant she saw a glint of something dangerous in their depths. ‘And I assure you the ladies are always satisfied, Miss Endacott.’
Confusion fluttered in Mary’s breast. Instead of begging her pardon he was boasting of his prowess and the worst thing was the way her body responded to his words, to that wicked light in his eyes. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to beg him to kiss her again and show her just how satisfying his lovemaking could be.
She felt the rage boiling up inside her. How dared he do this to her? She was furious with him and with herself for allowing him to engender such emotional turmoil in her. Mary took a step away from him, saying in a voice that was not quite steady, ‘Excuse me; we can have nothing more to say to one another.’
Fighting back angry tears, she hurried out of the shrubbery. The scrunch of footsteps behind her told her that the earl was following and she quickened her pace until she was almost running.
‘Wait—Mary—Miss Endacott. Please!’ He caught her arm, forcing her to stop. ‘If you return to the house in such distress it will not go unnoticed. My sister would not rest until she had the truth from you.’
‘I am not distressed,’ she flung at him. ‘I am furious!’
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out.
She looked at it for a moment, wanting to consign it and its owner to Hades, but her eyes were wet and it would be difficult to remain dignified with a streaming nose. She took the proffered handkerchief and proceeded to dry her face.
The fine linen was freshly laundered, but mixed in with the clean smell of soap was a hint of spices, the same that had filled her senses while he was kissing her. Even now the memory of it made her ache with longing to be in his arms again. To repeat the experience. Heavens, how could she feel this way when he had treated her in such a fashion? Yet a tiny whisper of conscience could not be silenced. She had tried to shock him, but she had wanted him to think her a radical, not a, a...
‘You have good reason to be angry,’ he said quietly. ‘I have offered you a gross insult and I would not blame you for wishing to make my abominable behaviour known to the world. It is no more than I deserve, but to do so would reflect badly upon others. Upon my sister and your cousin, and I do not think you would want that.’
‘It was not only your behaviour that was at fault,’ she muttered, incurably truthful. ‘I have not acted with proper decorum and constraint, where you are concerned.’
She remembered when he had come upon her by the stream, her skirts pulled up around her knees. The image filled her mind, clear as a painting. Might he not think she had been deliberately leading him on?
‘What did you do, apart from take pity on a stranger and introduce yourself to me at the Bentincks?’
So he had not misinterpreted their meeting by the stream. Alongside her relief another emotion bubbled up. Her legs from knee to toe had been on plain view. A young man had once praised her neat ankles and now she felt a tinge of disappointment that the earl had not even noticed them.
‘No...’ he shook his head ‘...I have repaid your kindness very ill, but I do not want to make a bad situation any worse by subjecting you to questions you would rather not answer and possibly causing a rift between Hattie and her friends.’
‘Much as it pains me to admit it, you are right,’ she said bitterly, ‘I would not want anyone else to know of this.’ She took a few deep breaths and said coldly, ‘I am better now. Let us return to the house. We will forget this conversation ever took place, if you please.’
‘As you wish.’ He stepped aside. ‘Shall we go?’
They set off, keeping a space between them, as befitted distant acquaintances.
I might have been his mistress. I might have shared his bed.
Mary buried the thought. A free union, without marriage, to a man she truly loved and respected, that was something she might one day contemplate, but not a brief coupling with someone who was almost a stranger. She had not been prepared for how strong a lustful attraction could be. Her response to the feel of his lips on hers, the instinct to return his kiss, to mould herself to his body, that had shocked and surprised her, but Mary told herself now to put aside her distress and embarrassment. Such an experience would help her to be a better mentor to her pupils.
The gardens seemed to go on forever. Had they really walked so far? At last they reached the house. Lord Randall opened the door for Mary to enter. She dared not look up at him, but her eyes strayed to his body as she passed, remembering how she had laid her head against that superbly tailored coat, taken in the detail of each minute stitch, the fine embroidery on his waistcoat, the intricate folds of his neckcloth. The shameful thing was she wanted it all to happen again.
No, Mary, stop it!
‘I am leaving the day after tomorrow,’ he informed her, his steady voice indicating that his thoughts at least had moved on. ‘I shall take my leave of Mr and Mrs Bentinck now, so there will be no need for us to see each other again.’
‘None at all,’ she replied. ‘I shall make sure both your handkerchiefs are laundered and returned to you by then.’ She preceded him into the drawing room. She kept her head up, hoping her face showed