A Lady for Lord Randall Page 13

  The colonel’s cheeks, flushed before, now turned beetroot. He swallowed, drew himself up and turned to Mary. She almost heard his heels click together as he bowed.

  ‘Madam, my sincere apologies. It seems I mistook the matter.’

  Mary’s hands pressed against the wall as she looked at the two men before her. Randall’s blue eyes blazed. There was murder in his face. If she said the wrong thing now he would challenge Bennington Ffog to a duel and heaven knew what repercussions that would have.

  ‘I fear you have indulged in too much wine this evening, Colonel,’ she spoke coldly, relieved that her voice was not shaking as much as the rest of her. ‘I am willing to overlook your behaviour, this one time.’

  His relief was almost comical, if Mary had felt at all like laughing.

  ‘You are very good.’ He bowed again.

  ‘She is,’ growled Randall. ‘And more forgiving than I would be. You had best leave now, sir, before I take you to task for your impudence.’

  Without another word the colonel walked off. Mary could hear the laughing chatter in the main reception, but she and Randall were alone in the alcove, screened from the crowds, and the air was taut as a bow string.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ he asked at last.

  She shook her head, not daring yet to move away from the wall that supported her.

  ‘No. I am a little shocked. I did not expect—’

  ‘You should not have been subjected to such gross impertinence.’ The angry light in his eyes faded, replaced by concern. ‘You are very pale; shall I fetch you a glass of wine?’

  ‘No, no, thank you. I think I should like to go home.’

  ‘Of course. Can you walk?’

  ‘Yes, if you give me your arm. I refuse to have you carry me out of here over your shoulder, my lord.’

  He relaxed slightly, as if this little show of spirit reassured him.

  ‘Then let us go now.’

  Their progress through the crowds was painfully slow, but Mary knew it would not do to hurry away. That would only arouse the conjecture they had so far managed to avoid.

  * * *

  ‘I cannot think that no one noticed what happened,’ she remarked once they were in the earl’s carriage and bowling through the dark streets towards the Rue Haute.

  ‘No one could see you in that alcove.’

  ‘So how did you know where to find me?’

  ‘I have been watching you all evening. When I saw Bennington Ffog leading you away I followed, but it was slow work to do so without drawing attention to myself. I was obliged to stop and talk to goodness knows how many people on the way. I only wish I had got there sooner.’

  Mary pulled her cloak a little closer around her.

  ‘I am only thankful you arrived when you did.’

  There was silence, then she heard Randall draw a breath.

  ‘You should not have had to suffer that fellow’s insults.’

  ‘It is not your fault.’

  ‘But it is.’ He turned and pulled her into his arms. Gratefully she rested her head on his chest and felt the rapid thud of his heart against her cheek. ‘I should have taken better care of you.’

  She closed her eyes, feeling safe and comfortable at last.

  ‘It does not matter now.’

  ‘But it does. I wish—’ He broke off as the carriage came to a stand. ‘You are home.’

  Reluctantly she pushed herself upright and allowed him to help her out of the carriage.

  He said urgently, ‘Let me come in. There is something I must explain to you.’

  She hesitated. She felt drained, exhausted, but the thought of keeping him with her for a little longer was too strong to resist.

  ‘Very well.’

  He dismissed the driver and accompanied her to the door.

  ‘I will walk back,’ he told her as a sleepy maidservant let them in.

  Mary nodded and led him into the hall.

  ‘Therese, light the candles in my sitting room, if you please.’

  * * *

  Randall followed Mary to the darkened room, where they waited silently until the maid had put a taper to every available candle. Mary removed her cloak and laid it carefully across a chair. He watched her strip off her gloves and put them down, her hands shaking a little. The shutters were already closed but the maid checked the catch, then hovered uncertainly by the window, reluctant to leave her mistress.

  ‘Go to bed, Therese, I will see to everything.’

  ‘But the door, m’amselle...?’

  ‘I am quite capable of seeing the colonel out, Therese. Go to bed.’

  ‘She is concerned for your reputation,’ he remarked as the door closed behind the servant.

  ‘After this evening I do not think I have any reputation left.’

  ‘Bennington Ffog will not mention tonight’s fracas, I will make sure of that.’

  ‘Thank you, but it hardly matters now. I shall be leaving Brussels on Monday.’ She glanced at the clock. It was gone midnight. ‘Tomorrow.’

  Randall was silent. He had said he would explain, but he had not thought how hard it would be. He took a turn about the room, coming to a stand by the table, where he stared down at the cheerful arrangement of fresh flowers.

  ‘Are these from your doctor?’

  ‘They are from Bertrand Lebbeke, yes.’

  ‘You should marry him.’

  He heard her sudden intake of breath. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Because I cannot marry you.’ He closed his eyes, but the orange-and-yellow blooms had burned themselves on to his eyelids, taunting him with their sunshine colours.

  ‘I have never asked that of you, Randall.’

  ‘But I want you to know why. You already know that my father was a libertine, a womanizer. He fathered bastards wherever he went and made my mother’s life a misery.’ He paused, reliving the painful memory when, as a young boy, he had found his mother weeping over his father’s peccadilloes. A tremor of repugnance ran though him; such a frivolous word to describe the old earl’s philandering, his disregard for anyone or anything save his own pleasures. Had he been faithful to his wife in the early days of their marriage, or had she only ever been a brood mare, necessary for the continuation of the family name? It was the only time he had seen his mother cry. She had always been careful to hide her distress from her family but it was constantly there, in her eyes. He said now, ‘I decided a long time ago that I could never marry, that I would never inflict such a future on any woman.’

  ‘What makes you think you are like your father?’

  ‘Suffice to say I know it,’ he replied shortly. ‘I have kept clear of the marriage mart. Oh, I know many women would marry me for my fortune and the title, but I do not want a loveless marriage. And yet the idea that a woman might care for me, love me, and I should treat her as my father used my mother—I could never do that. So I have done my best to avoid raising hopes where they cannot be fulfilled. I have consorted only with women who know it is mere dalliance. Married women or those who make their living by selling their favours.’

  She was looking at him, hands clasped tightly before her. Her eyes were glowing, a deep sea green in the candlelight, shadowed with unhappiness.

  ‘That does not mean you are a libertine, Randall.’

  Did she want him to spell it out for her, that early episode that had shown him all too clearly that he was like his father? Even now he could not do it. He waved aside her arguments.

  ‘Mine is not a constant nature. It is true, I have not looked at another woman since the day I met you, but we have only known each other a matter of weeks. What if I were to marry you—who is to say that in a few more months, a year, even, I won’t tire of you?’

  ‘That is a risk everyo
ne takes when they marry.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I am my father’s son, Mary. His philandering broke my mother’s heart, I watched it happen. I will not risk doing the same thing to you.’

  * * *

  The silence hung between them. Mary’s hands were clasped so tightly they hurt, but she was glad of the pain, it helped her to concentrate.

  ‘I am fortunate, then, that I do not ask you to do so,’ she said. ‘You know my views on marriage and we do not share that commonality of intellectual interests which would make a union acceptable to me.’

  Was that true? Mary thought of the time they had spent together. There had been no lack of conversation, but what it was they had found to discuss she had no idea.

  ‘So we must say goodbye,’ she continued, her voice unnaturally calm. ‘There is no future for us once the war is over. I shall go to Antwerp, and by the time it is safe to return...’

  ‘I shall be gone.’

  Or dead.

  She thrust aside the thought.

  ‘We knew from the start it could not last, my lord.’ She turned away from him, determined not to weaken. Pride came to her aid. The stubborn pride that had helped her to make her school such a success. ‘I want to thank you for...for the pleasure your company has given me. And for your forbearance. There may be a little gossip about us, but by the time I return the fashionable set will have moved on and I shall be able to resume my business here as if we had never met.’

  ‘Mary, I—’

  ‘No!’ She turned back to face him. She felt as brittle as fine glass. One wrong word and she would shatter. ‘I am honoured by your confidences, my lord, and I shall not make this more difficult for you than it already is. Let us part now, as friends, with no hard feelings on either side.’

  He looked at her, his blue eyes challenging. She knew then that if he took her in his arms they would neither of them be able to let go. Her head went up a little as she held out her hand to him.

  ‘Goodbye, Lord Randall.’

  The steady tick, tick of the clock was all she could hear. It seemed to go on for an eternity before he came forward to take her hand. She kept her fingers straight, not giving in to the urge to cling to him. His lips brushed her skin and she forced herself not to tremble.

  ‘Goodbye, Mary. Bless you, my—’

  He bit off the last word, turned and was gone. She listened to his footsteps as he crossed the hall, heard the outer door close with a thud, then silence.

  It was over.

  Chapter Eight

  Randall rode to Roosbos early the following morning. Sunday. The bells were ringing, summoning the faithful to church as he left Brussels. He knew Mary would accompany her Protestant pupils to the court chapel for the service and he had to steel himself not to wheel Pompey about and detour there in the hope of seeing her. The past few weeks had been amongst the happiest, but the most frustrating of his life.

  Never before had he put himself out for any woman as he had done for Mary Endacott, not even his sisters, and he was aware that by escorting her so publicly around Brussels he had aroused speculation. For Lord Randall, that confirmed bachelor, to take an interest in any single lady was bound to give rise to talk. He had made one mistake early in his career and since then his affairs had always been conducted out of the public eye. They were always brief, mutually satisfying, he hoped, and without any commitment on either side. He had also made sure the lady was well rewarded at the end of the liaison.

  His friendship with Mary Endacott was very different. She asked for nothing save his company and it surprised him how much he enjoyed hers. He had quickly learned to recognise the little signs that gave away the emotion beneath her cool exterior, the way her eyes would light up with sudden humour, for instance. He soon discovered that very often he shared her amusement. She taught him to laugh, to appreciate the ridiculous. But she could be serious, too. Their very different upbringing gave them much to discuss and debate, but they always found some common ground that would bring them even closer. He liked the way her brow would crease when she considered some knotty problem or formulated an argument, and when a subject touched a raw nerve she would sink her teeth into her bottom lip as she struggled to contain her emotions.

  He had seen her do so last night, when he had explained why he could not offer her marriage. She had used no tears or arguments to persuade him. Instead she had agreed, tried to make it easier for him to leave her, and in so doing the bonds between them had become even stronger. It had been as much as he could do to walk away. She was a completely new experience for him and he had not wanted to leave her, but there was no alternative. They had agreed the limits of their involvement from the start, neither of them could give more than friendship, and even then it could only be for a short time. But being friends with Mary Endacott had been a tortuous delight.

  By the time he had known her a week the mere sight of her had set his temperature soaring. He was enchanted by the vision she presented with her creamy skin and dusky curls, and having held her in his arms, and carried her over his shoulder on more than one occasion he was well aware of the delectable figure hidden beneath her clothes. She liked to dress neat as a pin, but he had seen her ruffled, for example that very first time when he had kissed her and she had looked up at him, a hectic flush on her cheeks and eyes flashing with indignation, but also with the recognition of the connection between them. Since then he had kissed her only once, but he had often dreamed of it, and in his dreams he pulled the pins from her thick curls and watched that dark cloud of hair fall around her shoulders. She was not voluptuous, but neither was she thin; he judged that one gently rounded breast would fill up his hand. The thought aroused him and he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.

  ‘Thank God there is a battle coming,’ he muttered as he rode into the camp. ‘That will concentrate my mind very well. And by the time it is over Mary Endacott will be but a faded memory.’

  He pushed aside the nagging whisper in his brain that told him it would not be that easy to forget her.

  * * *

  He spent the whole day at Roosbos, and if the officers thought him more curt and demanding than usual they knew better than to mention it. By the time he returned to Brussels the daylight was fading and after a solitary supper he fell into bed and a dreamless sleep of exhaustion. But Mary was there in his thoughts again the following morning. She would be on her way to Antwerp by now. They had said their goodbyes, but while he wrote letters, issued orders and concentrated upon his duties, her presence haunted him, like a ghost at his shoulder.

  * * *

  An officers’ dinner at the Hôtel d’Angleterre occupied him for the evening, but when it was over he left the others drinking into the early hours of the morning while he set off for his lodgings in the Rue Ducale. However, his restless feet took him in the opposite direction. There could be no harm in it, he told himself as he walked through the dark streets towards the Rue Haute. Mary and her school had left, he merely wanted to assure himself that her property was intact, although when he asked himself what could have occurred in the few hours since she and her staff had quit Brussels he was unable to answer.

  He should turn back. He had a meeting with Wellington in the morning and needed some sleep, but having come thus far he would at least walk to the school and take a look. The building came into sight, a solid square of black against the night sky. Randall stopped and stared at it, feeling a huge sigh welling up in him. She was gone and he would have to forget her.

  He was just turning away when something caught his eye. A flicker of light through the cracks in the shutters. He stopped. There it was again, coming from Mary’s sitting room. Common sense told him she would have left a caretaker at the house, but it could be an intruder. He could not walk away without ascertaining the truth. Quickly he strode to the door and banged upon it.r />
  There was no sound from within. His hand went to the dress sword at his side. He would be a fool to investigate alone. Better to return in the morning when it was light. He was about to turn away when he heard the scrape of a bolt and the door opened a crack.

  ‘Mary! What the devil—! What has happened? Have you delayed your departure?’

  Shaking her head, she stepped back to allow him in.

  ‘No, everyone went today, as planned.’

  ‘And you stayed?’ The leap of pleasure was instantly replaced by concern. ‘You are here alone?’

  ‘No, of course not. Therese has gone to Antwerp with the teachers, but she will return tomorrow. Jacques remains here to look after the schoolhouse, but he has gone to bed. He is very deaf and will not have heard your knock.’

  ‘Then what the devil do you mean by opening the door?’ he demanded angrily. ‘I might have been anyone!’

  The lighted candle she carried showed the twinkling gleam in her eyes.

  ‘I glanced out of the window first to see who was hammering on my door at midnight, my lord. Your outline was unmistakable.’

  His lips twitched, he could not keep the bubble of happiness inside him any longer.

  ‘Mary, you are incorrigible!’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his heart leaping when he felt the tremor run through her, but she pushed him aside, protesting.

  ‘My lord, be careful, or I shall spill wax over your uniform.’

  ‘Damn my uniform,’ he growled, but he released her, only retaining her hand. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

  * * *

  Mary led him into the sitting room, where only two days ago they had said their last goodbyes. Her heart was thudding so hard that it made her hand shake and she put the candle down on the desk as soon as she was able. As she turned back to him he pulled her into his arms again. They kissed; a long and deeply satisfying embrace that made her forget the tearing heartbreak of the past few days. She slipped her arms around his neck.