The Knot of a Knight, page 21
Having noticed the odd behavior—he and his horse had been left behind for a moment—Mark let out a chuckle.
“What is it?” Rachel asked.
“I do believe Sir Randolph must be in the park. That horse back there is one of your mount’s stablemates,” Mark explained as he indicated Richard. “Sir Randolph is your brother, is he not?”
“Oh, he is,” Rachel agreed. “I have not yet met him, but I am friends with Lady Dunsworth. She thought we might see them today whilst they were on their ride.” She glanced back at the phaeton and decided the occupants must be taking a walk.
Or perhaps they were enjoying a clandestine kiss.
“I was not aware Lady Dunsworth was out of mourning,” Mark murmured.
“For only a few days now,” Rachel replied. “Tell me, who is the friend of mine you referred to a moment ago? The one who put you up to courting me?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “If I tell you, you must promise me she will come to no harm.”
Rachel scoffed. “If she is truly a friend, then she has nothing to fear from me.”
For a moment, Mark continued riding as if he hadn’t heard her, but then he turned an expression of amusement on her and said, “Lady Comber came to me yesterday afternoon.”
Inhaling sharply, Rachel said, “Julia?” in disbelief.
“Indeed. She had just come from having tea with Lady Dunsworth where she had learned of your imminent arrival from the Continent.”
As if Richard could sense her distress, the pony whinnied and Rachel leaned forward to press her hand against his neck. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. “What ever did she say that had you going to The Queen of Hearts last night?”
Mark chuckled. “I was already going to be at The Queen last night. I play cards with the Earl of Haddon there every Wednesday, and she knew that,” he explained, his brows furrowing when he once again wondered how she knew. “What she said that had me seeking you out was the claim that there is a woman for every man, and she was sure you were the woman for me.”
Rachel stared at Mark for several seconds before she let out a small cry. “Until earlier this afternoon, Julia hadn’t even seen me in... in seven or eight years,” she stammered.
“And yet, she was right. From the moment I laid eyes upon you—when you and The Queen were making your way through the dining room—I knew you were the woman for me.”
“You hadn’t even met me,” she argued.
“True,” he acknowledged.
“Surely you don’t believe in love at first sight.” She quickly put aside the memory of her father’s claim that he had fallen in love with her mother in that fashion.
“Perhaps I didn’t before,” he replied, one of his brows furrowing. “But after our conversation last night... after I learned you weren’t an insipid English miss, but a rather clever woman who could do arithmetic, well I... I was besotted.”
Rachel scoffed again. “Besotted?” she repeated. “I wasn’t aware men used that word.”
“Have a care, my lady,” Mark warned. “I was and still am besotted,” he added, feigning offense.
“I am flattered,” Rachel replied, deciding she really was flattered. Flummoxed as well, but after learning more about The Three Bells from her father, she had come to realize she had underestimated the earl’s son.
“Enough to consider my offer?” he asked.
Rachel stared at him. “You mean the one of employment as your bookkeeper?”
He allowed a guffaw. “I was hoping for a bargain.”
“Oh?”
“A one-for-two sort of arrangement,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Arrangement?” Rachel repeated, wincing at having repeated the word. For a moment, she imagined an offer of carte blanche on top of the offer of a position to be the bookkeeper for The Three Bells.
“Marriage, actually,” he clarified, his eyes on the road ahead. When she didn’t immediately respond, he dared a glance in her direction and discovered she was no longer abreast of him. He pulled his mount to a stop and glanced behind him to discover she had halted her mount. She was staring at him. “A wife and a bookkeeper all in one beautiful woman,” he added. “Why do you look so shocked?”
She scoffed. “We haven’t even known one another for an entire day,” she replied, her mouth left open in dismay.
“Yet I feel as if I have known you far longer. As if we were destined to meet. And marry,” he replied, as he urged his mount to step backwards so that they could once again be side-by-side. “I have never known a woman to be so comfortable with me that she would tease me as mercilessly as you have done—”
“And will continue to do so,” she warned, not bothering to add that her father had encouraged her in that regard.
He grinned, the look of mischief still apparent. “As I would hope you would, although not when we’re intimate, of course,” he murmured. “I have been in need of a good teasing for some time.”
Wishing Richard weren’t so short—she was forced to look up at Mark as she regarded him in disbelief at hearing his suggestion they would be intimate—Rachel gave her head a shake. “Why, pray tell?”
He allowed a shrug as he urged his mount forward. The pony followed suit without any encouragement from Rachel. “Owning a business has made me far too serious. I welcomed the responsibility at first. I needed something to occupy my time lest I spend it in the card room losing my allowance to Haddon,” he explained. “But I have discovered there are trials at every turn. Unreliable vendors, rotten meat, limp vegetables, employees who do not always arrive on time—”
“An unsuitable cook,” Rachel put in, one of her brows arching.
Mark inhaled sharply and then rolled his eyes. “He’s not bad,” he replied. “But he’s not good.”
Remembering her conversation with the maid, Gem Baker, the day before, Rachel’s eyes widened. “What if... would you consider a woman for the position?”
Angling his head in her direction, Mark displayed a look of confusion. “You cook, too?” he asked in amazement.
Chuckling, Rachel shook her head. “No, but the woman who used to be the cook for my mother has been lamenting. Mrs. Baker used to do meals for twenty or thirty people every day, twice a day. Now that Mother has her French cook, Mrs. Baker has been relegated to housekeeper duties,” she explained. “She misses what she calls the ‘hub-bub of it all’.”
Mark stared at her for a moment. “Where might I find this Mrs. Baker?” he asked, his manner most urgent.
Rachel grinned at his query. “I can introduce you when you return me to my home.”
Continuing to stare at her, Mark finally had to pay attention to the road. His horse had taken to wandering aimlessly along the King’s Road, and Rachel’s mount had simply done the same, as if recognizing the taller Irish walker as his leader. “I should like that very much,” he said, once again paying attention to the reins.
“Is your public house far from here?” Rachel asked when she felt Richard pick up speed in an effort to keep up with the walker.
“Not even a half-mile,” Mark replied. “I should like to take you there. On an afternoon such as this, it will be warm and smell of baking bread.”
Rachel grinned. “I hardly think it would be proper—”
“There is a table in the back. Well hidden from the rest of the diners where we will not be seen,” he said in delight.
“Mark!” she scolded.
At the sound of a horse’s hooves and wheels, she turned to see that the phaeton they had passed now had two people on the bench seat. The equipage had turned around and was heading back toward the southeast entrance.
Disappointment settled over her when she realized she would not be meeting her brother on this afternoon.
“Are you up for a race back to the gate?” Mark asked, his grin of delight infectious.
Despite her momentary disappointment, Rachel set Richard into a run as Mark let out a shout and struggled to urge his mount forward. Despite his smaller size, Richard made it to the southeast gate only a head before the Irish walker.
From the look on Mark’s face, Rachel knew he had deliberately tightened the reins on his mount in order to allow the Welsh pony to remain in the lead. “Sometimes, we must allow the small ones to win,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
The strangest sensation gripped Rachel’s heart. She nodded in agreement as they set off for The Three Bells.
Chapter 30
A Seduction Thwarted by Exhaustion
A few minutes later, in Bradley House
Xenobia led Randolph to the back door of Bradley House. “I’m of a mind to take the servants’ stairs to the second floor,” she whispered as Randolph opened the door for her. She pulled her hands from her muff to remove her gloves and then shoved them into her pockets while Randolph followed suit.
When she reached for his bare hand with hers, Randolph’s gaze went to the thin set of stairs that led to the upper floors. “Will it be warm enough in your apartments, my lady?” he queried. “I cannot help but notice, but your hand feels awfully cold.”
Xenobia couldn’t help the shiver that coursed down her spine just then. Was the man mad? She was far warmer than she would be on a hot summer day. “I rather doubt that’s possible,” she replied with a grin, almost embarrassed by what she thought they might be about to do.
Spend a few hours together.
In the afternoon.
In a bedchamber.
There was nothing about this tryst that could be considered appropriate, even if they didn’t do anything scandalous. She was on the verge of feeling ashamed of herself.
Overcome by a yawn, Randolph struggled to cover it with the hand that held his hat. “If you’re not comfortable with this—”
“It’s fine,” Xenobia interrupted as she headed to the stairs. “There’s a different bedchamber we can use. One where we won’t be disturbed.”
Xenobia lifted her skirts and made her way up the thin, wooden steps, her half boots barely making a sound. Meanwhile, she was well aware of his boots and the sounds they made directly behind her. The cadence of the slight tapping matched how fast her heart was beating.
About to reach for the door handle to the very first bedchamber along the second floor corridor, Xenobia gasped when Randolph’s hand brushed past hers. “Allow me,” he murmured as he opened the door.
Xenobia stepped in, relieved the darkened bedchamber was in good order. The heavy drapes were closed, no doubt to lessen the chill from the two windows. From the painting above the mantle and the dark blue fabrics curtaining the bed and covering the chairs in front of the fireplace, she remembered this room had been part of her father’s apartments.
Randolph made his way to the room’s fireplace, where a bucket of coal and kindling were on hand. He lit a fuzee, and soon the flames lit the room in a golden glow. Helping himself to a candle lamp, he lit the wick and returned it to the nightstand.
Xenobia noticed how he studied all the furnishings in the room. How his gaze darted to the clock and marble busts, to the objets d’art her father had collected. Remembering his comment about having to work at nights, she now worried that he might really be a thief, using his ties to the ton as a means to gain entry into lady’s homes to help himself to their jewelry and other valuables.
She quickly reminded herself of who he was—the son of a marquess and a friend to Julia’s husband—and she tried to relax.
Randolph turned to regard her, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps you should come sit next to the fire.”
“Of course,” she quickly agreed and moved to take one of the upholstered chairs. As Randolph helped her out of her redingote, she inhaled sharply when she saw that the curtains were open on the side of the bed that faced the fireplace. Had the bed linens been turned down, the expanse of white would have been an obvious invitation.
For a moment back in the park, she had wanted Randolph to accept such an invitation.
Now she was nervous.
Now she was trying to imagine what it would be like to be bedded by this man. What words he might murmur as her fingers slid down his chest, up his arms to wrap over his shoulders. What sounds he might make as he drove himself into her, filling her completely. What he might do when he experienced his ecstasy.
She tried to remember if there had been more to it and found her recollection of lovemaking a disappointment.
Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.
Randolph furrowed his brows as he stared at Xenobia, sure she must be having second thoughts. He was as well, but for a very different reason. “Would you lie with me while I sleep? I can warm the bed for you,” he suggested. “I can undo your buttons, and you can join me when you’re undressed. Otherwise, I fear it will be chilly in here for a time.”
Xenobia wondered at the sudden excitement that came over her just then. Then she noticed his weariness. “What’s wrong?”
Randolph angled the adjacent chair so it almost faced the one she was in, and he took a seat. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and then reached out a hand to take one of hers. “I’ve not shared a bed with a woman since my wife’s death,” he murmured quietly. “And truth be told, at the moment, I do not have the energy to do more than remove my clothing and climb onto that bed,” he said as he motioned with his thumb. “However, I can provide a warm body against which you can nap for a time.” He paused and took a breath. “Do I have your permission to stay? Until I must leave to go to work?”
Xenobia was torn between asking him to leave and agreeing with everything he said. “You do,” she finally replied, well aware he still held onto her hand. For the first time all day, her hand felt warm.
Randolph sighed. “Do you require help with buttons or... or hairpins?” he asked. “I promise I won’t do anything to muss your hair.”
She shook her head. “I can manage. I’ll just go behind the...” She looked about for a dressing screen and discovered there wasn’t one. “Into the dressing room.”
And what? Undress while he did the same out here?
“Put on your favorite night rail,” he finished for her, his gaze going to the door in the corner. Then he remembered they weren’t in her bedchamber. This was probably a guest bedchamber. It was unlikely there was a night rail hanging in the dressing room. “Or a dressing gown, perhaps?” he suggested. Still holding onto her hand, he stood up and helped her to stand.
“I’ll see what I can find,” she replied as she turned her back to him.
The warmth of his fingers permeated the fabric as he undid the series of fastenings down the back of the gown. The bodice sagged forward, and when the tips of his fingers and then his entire hand settled onto her bare back to spread open the garment, Xenobia shivered. When he turned her around in his arms, he kissed her softly.
Chapter 31
The Three Bells
Meanwhile, at the corner of Duke and Charles Streets, Westminster
Riding on horseback in the streets of London was hardly the way in which young ladies and gentlemen were supposed to travel, but given the route Mark took, Rachel found she enjoyed the bucolic scenery.
Once out of Hyde Park, they were immediately on the edge of the Queen’s Garden. When that ended, they rode through St. James’ Park on their way toward the short streets that led to the Parliament buildings, Westminster Abbey, and St. Margaret’s Church.
Mark dismounted at the corner of Duke and Charles Street and then hurried to help Rachel off her pony.
“Really, Mark, I could have managed,” she scolded when his hands gripped the sides of her waist and he lifted her from Richard. “My feet were very nearly to the ground already.”
“You would begrudge me the pleasure of holding onto you, if but for a mere moment?” he countered, his hands still resting at her waist.
Her feet had long since taken purchase on the ground, and she stared up at him in surprise. “Mark,” she whispered. She glanced about, sure someone could have seen them.
A boy ran up to them, his clothes suggesting he wasn’t a resident of any of the beautiful homes that lined Duke Street. “Hold your horses for you, guv’nor?” he asked as he reached for Richard’s reins and then bowed to Rachel.
Mark regarded the urchin a moment and then angled his head in the direction of the buildings along Charles Street. “As usual, I’ll be in The Three Bells. You can take them to the mews off the alley,” he said as he offered the boy a coin. Then he pulled another, larger coin from his waistcoat pocket. “See to it they’re given water and some hay?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded quickly. “Yes, guv’nor.”
About to put voice to a protest, Rachel watched as the two horses fell in line with the boy, apparently well aware there was a treat in their future. She glanced over at Mark and gave a start when she noticed he had been staring at her.
“You needn’t worry. He’s done this for me before. Many times,” Mark assured her. He offered his arm.
“He’s so young,” she murmured.
“And ready for another bath,” Mark replied. “I think he’s an orphan, but someone along one of these streets must look after him. He spends his nights in a room in the mews.”
The scent of baking bread replaced the faint odors of the nearby river as they approached The Three Bells. The low stone façade topped by mullioned windows was broken up by columns that flanked the door, a triangular pediment above spanning the columns. Carved into the pediment were three bells. A sign mounted on the bottom of the second story bay wall adjacent to the pediment spelled out ‘The Three Bells’ in capital letters.
“This looks quite respectable,” Rachel said in awe.
