A Lady for Lord Randall Read online

  ‘She is a young woman and, like a bird about to fly the nest, she is trying out her wings,’ said Mary. ‘It must be difficult for you, my lord, being head of such a family when your military duties keep you from home so much.’

  ‘I have had little to do with my siblings,’ he admitted. ‘My mother has always managed things at Chalfont, while I pursued my army career. Until now it has worked very well.’

  ‘You mean you have handed down your dictates and they have all followed them.’

  ‘Not at all. I am not such an autocrat as you think me, madam.’ There was the briefest hesitation before he said slowly, ‘Perhaps I should have taken more interest in them all.’

  ‘There is still time, sir. When this war is over.’

  ‘If I survive.’

  A shiver ran down Mary’s spine at his words, uttered in such a matter-of-fact tone. Instinctively she put up her hand, as if to push away the thought. To distract herself, she turned back towards the barouche.

  ‘I wonder how much longer Bert—Dr Lebbeke—will be?’

  ‘Why would you not see me?’

  The earl’s question was not unexpected. It had hovered between them from the moment he had come up to her, but it did not make responding to it any easier.

  ‘You. I.’ Mary stopped, gathering her wits, which had an unfortunate tendency to desert her when the earl was present. ‘It...’ she tried again. ‘It frightens me.’

  ‘My indomitable Mary. I did not think you frightened of anything. Even Bonaparte.’

  ‘Well, you are wrong. And I am not your Mary!’

  She felt his hand on her elbow, the briefest touch, but it sent a prickle of anticipation skittering over her skin.

  ‘I would not have you frightened of me.’

  Her heart clenched painfully. It was not the earl who frightened her. It was her own feelings. She desired him, so much that it was like a physical pain. She tried to concentrate upon the events in the carriage, glad that something was happening at last. Bertrand was climbing down. He was smiling, so it must be good news. As she watched him approach, Randall’s deep voice murmured in her ear.

  ‘I shall call on you tomorrow. We will talk then.’

  There was no time to reply. Bertrand was addressing the earl.

  ‘Your sister was feeling the effects of the heat, my lord. She is a little better now, but she must stay out of the sun for the rest of the day. I advised Lord Blanchards to take her back to Brussels, but she will stay for the review.’

  ‘The devil she will,’ retorted Randall. ‘I will talk to her; perhaps if I add my voice to Blanchards’s we might persuade her.’

  ‘You will not do it, my lord,’ said Bertrand. ‘She is determined to see the duke.’

  ‘Is she, by God,’ exclaimed Randall furiously.

  Mary touched his arm. ‘Speak to her, my lord, and express your concern. She will appreciate that, I am sure, even if she will not leave. Then go back to your men and prepare for the review. Show your sisters and His Grace the Duke of Wellington that Randall’s Rogues are a troop to be reckoned with.’

  He hesitated for a moment, frowning, before he strode off to speak to his sister.

  ‘Bon, Mademoiselle Mary. A stirring little speech.’

  ‘Was I too patronising, Bertrand?’ Mary asked anxiously as she watched Randall remonstrating with his sister.

  ‘Not at all. But you clearly have the earl’s interests at heart.’

  Mary felt her spirits sinking. Was it so obvious? She heard cheering and looked up. A colourful cavalcade was approaching.

  ‘It is the duke and his guests,’ observed Bertrand. ‘Come, let us return quickly to our carriage. We shall be able to see everything from there.’

  He helped her on to the seat and they watched Wellington and his cortège moving past the troops gathered for inspection. Despite the number of distinguished officers surrounding the duke, Mary’s eyes followed one dark-coated colonel on his grey horse and while she watched him, her mind went over all he had said to her, every word, every gesture. He had said he would call. Would he do so? She must tell Jacques to once more deny him, just in case.

  ‘Well, Mademoiselle Mary, have you seen enough?’

  Bertrand’s words recalled her wandering attention. The duke was at the far end of the impromptu parade ground now. The review was almost at an end.

  ‘They will all be dismissed soon and everyone will be trying to get away,’ he continued. ‘If we leave now we shall be ahead of the crush.’

  ‘Then by all means let us go now,’ agreed Mary, consciously avoiding taking a last look at Lord Randall. ‘It has been a most interesting day, Bertrand, thank you.’ She added impulsively, ‘I feel I should repay your kindness—will you join us for dinner this evening?’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Well, of course, my teachers will be there. It would be improper for me to dine alone with you.’

  ‘Did you dine alone when you travelled from England with Earl Randall?’

  ‘Yes, but that was different.’

  ‘It was?’

  She sucked in a breath. It was very different, but she dared not tell him in what way.

  ‘Lord Randall escorted me here to please his sister. She was concerned at my travelling back to Brussels alone. The earl was very reluctant to bring me with him, I assure you.’ A faint smile bubbled up when she remembered their arguments. But there had been very pleasant moments on the journey, too. She shook off the memories and looked Bertrand in the eye. ‘It is not the earl I am inviting to dine at the Rue Haute tonight, Bertrand. It is you. Now, what do you say?’

  ‘I say I would like that very much, mademoiselle. Thank you.’

  * * *

  Randall followed the duke and his entourage as they made their way through the colourful ranks, but his mind was distracted. What had possessed him to tell Mary he would call again? Better to let this obsession die now. There could never be anything between them. Even if he had not set his face against marriage the head of the noble house of Latymor could not ally himself to a mere schoolteacher, especially one whose father had been such a prominent supporter of revolution. And Mary did not welcome his attentions, he knew that. It would be better to leave well alone.

  He followed the inspection party with impatience, but at last his duty was done and he rode back to have a quick word with his officers. He glanced across to the colourful crowd of spectators. As soon as he had finished here he would ride over to Mary and put her mind at rest. He would not call upon her. But even as he dismissed his men an aide came galloping up.

  ‘Lord Uxbridge requests that you join him for dinner this evening, my lord.’

  ‘I am already aware of that. I shall be there.’

  ‘His lordship would like you to accompany him now, sir, if you will,’ said the aide, adding in a colourless voice, ‘He requires your presence to escort his distinguished guests to Ninove, my lord.’

  ‘He requires my title, you mean.’

  The aide kept his gaze fixed somewhere over Randall’s shoulder.

  ‘His lordship cannot talk to them all at the same time, my lord.’

  There was no getting out of it. With a nod of assent he turned to follow the aide. As he cantered past the spectators he looked along the lines, seeking Lebbeke’s carriage, but it had gone.

  Chapter Six

  The teachers at the Endacott Academy for Young Ladies were all very accomplished and Mary was rarely needed in the classroom, although she did continue her father’s habit of teaching the brighter pupils Latin and Greek. She had lessons scheduled for the following morning and used this as an excuse not to tarry over her dinner with Bertrand. She was also adamant that she would not alter her timetable because Lord Randall had said he would call. She informed Jacques that her lessons were no
t to be interrupted, and did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she returned to her sitting room in the afternoon to find that there had been no callers.

  She decided to deal with the small pile of mail on her desk, which was mostly from anxious parents. With the growing unrest many had already removed their daughters from her school and she would soon be obliged to let two of her teachers go. The others would accompany the remaining children to Antwerp, where they would stay until it was safe to return to Brussels. What would happen then, and what she would do, was impossible to say. If the French were victorious she would lose the daughters of the English families and she did not have enough local children on her books to make the schoolhouse on the Rue Haute viable.

  She rubbed her temples. She could cut her costs, move to smaller premises, but for now she must wait and see what happened. She was not the only person whose livelihood depended upon the outcome of a battle.

  The sounds of an arrival caught her attention and drove all other considerations from her mind. Randall. Her heart began hammering so hard she could hear the drumming in her ears. He had come. Mary rose and took a few hasty steps into the centre of the room. She would not see him. Yes she would, but only to tell him that he must not call again. No, safer to have Jacques say she was not at home.

  That decision was taken out of her hands. She heard a hasty step crossing the hall, there was a peremptory knock and the earl came in. He closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, stripping off his gloves. He was frowning, his eyes hard, mouth straight and firm. Was it only yesterday that she had spoken to him? It seemed a lifetime ago. But much as she wanted to keep him here, to talk to him, he must go. He was dangerous, he threatened to destroy her peace of mind and her livelihood. As the earl threw his hat and gloves on to her desk Mary took a deep breath.

  ‘Lord Randall, I—’

  She got no further. He crossed the room in two strides and took her in his arms.

  All Mary’s good intentions disappeared. She raised her face to his and accepted his kiss, clinging to him and returning it passionately. His mouth was hard on hers and her lips parted to allow his tongue to enter, exploring and teasing, drawing a primitive response from her. Instinctively she leaned closer, excited by the hard, aroused body pressed against hers. She was on fire, from her head to the very tips of her toes she burned with desire for him. She drove her hands through his hair, tangling her fingers in its silky softness, wanting to cling on to him, to hold him close forever.

  He began to cover her face with kisses and she breathed in the familiar scent of him, the combination of soap and spices and something very masculine that was all his own and deeply exciting. She sighed as his lips left hers and trailed down the length of her neck in a series of butterfly-soft kisses that sent a shiver tingling through her whole body. Her breasts felt swollen, they pushed against the bodice of her gown, straining to be free, to feel his caresses. She shuddered, shocked, frightened, exhilarated by what was happening to her.

  ‘I could not stay away,’ he murmured between kisses. ‘You haunt my thoughts. I had to see you.’

  ‘Oh, Randall, I have missed you so.’

  Hearing her own words, whispered against his cheek, brought Mary back to reality. With a sob of regret she pushed her hands against his chest and held him away, just a little. It was torture to keep the distance between them when all she wanted to do was to cling tightly to him.

  ‘Please let me go.’ His arms dropped and she stepped back, out of reach, praying her legs would not give way beneath her. ‘It will not do, my lord. I had decided I would tell you so today.’

  His laugh was short and unsteady.

  ‘And I had come to say goodbye, until I walked in and you were standing there.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Then all my resolutions flew out of the window.’

  Mary turned away. It would be easier if she was not looking at him. She took out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Tears were a sign of weakness. She despised them. One good, deep breath and she was sufficiently in control to speak.

  ‘This is merely a, a carnal attraction, my lord. I have considered very carefully and I know there can be nothing more to it. Our social spheres are too far apart.’

  ‘I cannot agree with you there. Your birth is as good as mine.’

  ‘You are a nobleman, although there is nothing noble about the class you represent. I despise it wholeheartedly.’ The silence that met her words pressed upon her, insisting on an explanation. ‘I mentioned that I had a sister, Jane. She fell in love with a younger son of a marquess, a so-called noble family. He courted her assiduously, but he convinced Jane to keep their attachment secret. Jane understood his arguments, that our parents’ radical views would set them against him. It was true, my father would not have looked favourably upon the match, but he was not a tyrant and would not have stood out against an honest suitor. Instead this, this noble man persuaded Jane to run away with him to Tonbridge. He promised to marry her, but after a month his passion cooled. He abandoned Jane, leaving her penniless. Thankfully, my father was not one to disown his daughter, whatever she had done. When she wrote to tell him of her plight he fetched her home immediately.

  ‘She was in a sorry state, and very unhappy. My father went looking for the scoundrel but he was abroad. On his honeymoon. His promises had all been lies, he had been betrothed even when he was courting my sister.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She never recovered. Once she knew there was no hope she threw herself in the Thames.’ She turned to face him, seeing not Randall but the ignoble class he represented. ‘I was just thirteen years old when I lost my beloved sister. The shock of it almost destroyed my family. Is it any wonder that I hold you and your kind in such contempt? But that need not matter to you. After all I am the daughter of a man who openly proposed the abolition of all such forms of privilege. So you see we have nothing in common.’

  She waited in silence for his reply, wondering if he would express outrage at the events she had described, perhaps even apologise for the faults of his class. She studied his lean face, remembered the moments of companionship they had shared and a faint hope, fragile as a snowflake, suggested he might see a way through the barriers between them, although she had spent fruitless hours trying to do so. His harsh, unsmiling countenance was not encouraging.

  ‘You are right, our worlds are too far apart,’ he said at last. ‘I have told myself as much a dozen times these last few days.’

  The leaden weight inside her grew even heavier. This was the end. They would not meet again. She was surprised how much the thought hurt her.

  She said bleakly, ‘We are agreed then. There is no hope for us.’ Treacherous tears were welling up and she did not want him to see them. She said, while she could still command her voice, ‘You had best go now, my lord. I have nothing to offer you.’

  She closed her eyes, willing him to go before she collapsed, a sobbing, distraught wreck, on to the sofa.

  ‘We could be friends.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Her eyes flew open.

  Had she misheard him? His eyes were still burning with deep blue fire, but he spoke quite steadily.

  ‘Let us be friends, if we cannot be anything else to each other. Merely soldier and schoolteacher, enjoying a brief companionship.’

  Her hand crept to her cheek. ‘My lord, I do not think I—’

  He turned away from her and began to pace the room, his brow furrowed.

  ‘It can only be for the short time that I remain in Brussels. This peace can only last a few weeks more. If the worst happens and Bonaparte comes to us, you will be leaving for Antwerp. If the duke decides to take the fight to France then I shall be gone.’ He stopped before her. ‘This is new to me, Mary. I have never felt like this in my life before, about anyone. I would be glad, when I am not engaged upon
my duties, to have your company. It need not be alone,’ he added, as if thinking it through. ‘You may provide yourself with a chaperone—or a maid, to be with you at all times. I would not wish to damage your reputation. I merely wish for your company.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘Why not?’ His mouth twisted and the ghost of a smile glinted in his eyes. ‘It is quite a radical idea, I think.’

  Now he was teasing her. But it could work. The heavy cloud on her spirits lifted, just a little.

  ‘You would ask nothing of me save my company?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  It was Mary’s turn to walk about the room, her fingers pressed to her temples. A little laugh shook her.

  ‘You continue to surprise me, Lord Randall. At almost our first meeting you suggest I should be your mistress and now you declare that you wish us to be friends?’

  ‘Yes, since there cannot be anything else between us. War is coming, Mary. Everything will change. There is very little time and I want to spend some of it with you.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps friends is all we ever could be, given what lies between us. I am a hard man, Mary, you know I lack the social graces to make a woman happy.’

  ‘I do not believe that. Despite your rank you have good qualities,’ she admitted.

  ‘But you do not know me very well. My sisters will tell you it is true. I do not back down, I do not apologise. My intransigence would hurt you, in the end, if we were lovers. As friends you may fare better at my hands. Unlike your poor sister you would be able to walk away and your reputation would not be damaged.’ He added quietly, ‘I am not ready to say goodbye to you, Mary Endacott.’

  This is madness.

  She stopped her pacing. ‘Nor I you, Lord Randall.’

  ‘Then let us try it. After all, what have we to lose?’

  Only my sanity.

  ‘Why, nothing, my lord.’ She held out her hand. ‘Cry friends with me, then.’

  He clasped her fingers. The bolt of heat shot up her arm, desire curled deep inside her, but she ignored it. Friends or nothing.