His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 (6 page)

“I need an heir,” he said, his jaw visibly clenching as he met her gaze.

Mary fought the urge to pull away, refusing to be cowed by him. “Then I am afraid you will have to find someone more obliging.”

“I am accustomed to getting what I want, Lady Mary, and I have decided that I want you.” Shards of ice spilled from his words.
He drew her closer. “But if it is a courtship that you demand, then a courtship you shall have. By all means.”

Jitters flurried around her belly, rising up into her chest like a swarm of bees. “It will make no difference,” she told him
defiantly. “You are not the sort of man whom I would wish to be bound to for the rest of my life. I am sorry.”

For one frightening moment, his expression hardened and Mary feared he might actually try to harm her in some way. But then
he drew a breath and loosened his hold, smiling at her as if he found humor in her comment. “Is that because you have already
set your sights on someone else?”

Mary shook her head. “No. It is because you do not want me for the right reasons. Consequently, you do not tempt me to abandon
the life that I have otherwise imagined for myself.”

His smile tightened a little around the edges. “What about
Signor Antonio?
Does he tempt you?”

“It is too soon to tell,” Mary said without thinking. “I know very little about him.”

Rotridge’s eyes narrowed into two dark slits, but he said nothing further, for which Mary was remarkably grateful. Instead,
he led her to the foot of the stairs. “I believe an apology is in order,” he said upon releasing her arm. “Directness has
always served me well, but I fear I may have been too candid with you. If I have offended you in any way—”

“It is not just the candidness, my lord. It is the fact that you and I want entirely different things out of life. If we were
to marry, one of us would be burdened with unhappiness, and I suspect that someone would be me.”

“You would be financially independent with children to care for and a husband who would stay out of your way. I have always
believed that to be most women’s dream.”

Allowing a smile that took some effort to produce, Mary said, “It may well be. Unfortunately, I am not like most women. My
hopes and dreams are entirely different from the norm.”

He did not look mollified, but seemed to accept the finality of her statement nonetheless. Bowing, he thanked her for her
company before excusing himself and heading back in the direction from which they’d come. Expelling a breath, Mary started
up the stairs, thankful that her brief encounter with the Earl of Rotridge had finally come to an end.

It was five o’clock in the evening when Richard woke and got out of bed. As usual, he’d slept through the day, the heavy curtains
drawn tightly together in order to keep out the light. Reaching for the tinderbox on his bedside table, he struck a flint
and lit an oil lamp, his thoughts returning, as they always did, to the sound of shots being fired, of screams wrought from
frightened men’s throats while hooves thudded upon the bloodstained ground. Next came the memory of a dimly lit room, of heavy
chains wound around his limbs while fire consumed him. He could feel it even now—the fierce torment of his burning flesh.

Briefly, he closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be long now before the man responsible for it would finally pay the price he deserved.
As far as Richard was concerned, that day could not come soon enough.

Crossing to the washbasin, he splashed cool water on his face and reached for a towel. Deliberately, he turned his mind to
happier thoughts and considered the lady he’d met the previous evening at the masquerade ball.

Following the conversation with Lady Foxworth, he’d returned to his bedchamber where he’d watched the rest of the ball from
his window. He’d seen Lady Eleanor dance with Spencer’s friend, Chadwick, irritated by the overwhelming sense of possessiveness
that had come over him. Once the ball had ended and the guests had gone to bed, he’d stayed up, just as he’d done every night
for years, trying to rid his mind of her. It had been a futile effort that not even his violin had been able to help him with.

Reaching for his shirt, he pulled the garment over his head and tied the closure shut. He put his stockings and breeches on
next, not that he was planning to go anywhere, but Spencer would be stopping by with food soon and Richard felt that he owed
his brother the respect of at least getting dressed before he arrived.

With this in mind, he glanced toward the door and immediately frowned. What the devil? It looked as though a letter had been
pushed beneath it, which was slightly odd since Spencer usually brought him his correspondence. Striding toward it, Richard
bowed down and picked the letter up, briefly studying the wax seal of a rose before flipping the letter over. His heart made
a loud thud inside his chest at the sight of the neat script gracing the front.
Signor Antonio
.

Crossing to one of the armchairs, he lowered himself onto the seat. Holding the letter between both hands, he hesitated opening
it, unsure of whether or not he wanted to know what it said. It had to be from her. But how had it arrived in his room? The
only explanation he could think of was that Lady Duncaster must have gotten involved, but how Lady Eleanor had managed to
convince her to defy Lady Foxworth’s wishes, he could not fathom.

He slid his finger beneath the wax, breaking it. Considering the way in which they’d parted last night, he supposed the letter
would insist upon some sort of explanation. As much as Lady Eleanor deserved one, he knew it wasn’t something that he was
prepared to grant. Unfolding the letter, he started to read, his heart kicking up a notch at the recognition of her voice
delivered to him so clearly in the form of writing.

A soft knock at the door drew Richard’s attention away from the letter. Muttering a curse, he folded it back up, got to his
feet and placed it securely in the pocket of his breeches as he went to the door and unlocked it. Moving away, he went to
stand by the window, drawing back the curtain so he could look out at the garden while his brother entered the room and closed
the door behind him.

“It was quite a lively event last night,” he said, staring toward the part of the garden where he’d first spoken with Lady
Eleanor.

“I wish you could have participated,” Spencer said.

Richard heard him walk over to a small table and setting something down—a tray with food, no doubt. Turning slowly away from
the window, Richard offered his brother the side of his face that remained unscarred. “Such things no longer interest me.”

Sighing with resignation, Spencer indicated the carafe on the side table. “Mind if I pour myself a glass?”

“Be my guest,” Richard told him. Stepping toward the armchair he’d recently vacated, he asked Spencer to pour him one as well.
His thoughts rested on the letter in his pocket and what the rest of it might say, but he could hardly throw Spencer out of
his room in his eagerness to discover this.

“I do not understand you,” Spencer said as he placed a glass of brandy in front of Richard and sat down across from him. “You
are still an eligible gentleman.”

Studying his brother, Richard raised his glass to his lips and took a slow sip. “You know how untrue that is. One look at
me and all the young ladies will have a fit of the vapors.”

“Sarah did not,” Spencer reminded him. “If you recall, she told you that the scarring is not as bad as all that.” Richard
grunted disagreement. “And besides, the ball last night was a masquerade. You could easily have been there without anyone
being the wiser.”

For a fleeting second, Richard considered telling Spencer that he had been. Sharing his encounter with Lady Eleanor was especially
tempting, but he resisted. If Spencer knew, he would probably become more adamant about Richard going out in public. There
was also the added risk that he would mention Richard’s attendance at the ball to their parents and sisters, which would only
make Richard’s situation more difficult. “To what avail?” he asked instead.

“I do not know,” Spencer murmured with a shake of his head. “You have always loved music.”

“True.”

“You would also have had an opportunity to meet someone.”

“I presume that you are referring to a lady?”

“Well, you are hardly going to form an attachment by remaining in your bedchamber all the time, and with a mask—”

“We have discussed this many times before,” Richard said, annoyed by Spencer’s insistence.

Spencer stared at him for a long moment. Picking up his glass, he drained it in one long gulp. “You cannot stay dead forever.”

Richard clenched his jaw. “It is best this way.”

“Best for whom?” Rising, Spencer went to the sideboard and set down his glass on the tray there. “You will not let Mama or
our sisters see you, yet you expect them to carry on this farce on your behalf.”

“I have never asked them to lie for me. People made their own assumptions when I failed to put in a public appearance after
the war was over. It was commonly known that I was missing in action. All I asked was that nobody celebrate my return when
I finally managed to make my way home.”

“It is dishonest.”

“To some degree perhaps, but I believe that Mama and our sisters preferred to go along with it rather than having to answer
an endless amount of intrusive questions.”

“They respect your decision because they love you, Richard. That is not the same as agreeing with it, and it certainly does
not make it right.”

Richard knew that there was a great deal of truth to this. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give in. Not now when he was so close
to exacting his revenge on the man who’d once betrayed him. “It has been five years. I am sure most people have forgotten
about me. To make an appearance now would make no sense unless I was planning to live a normal life, but we both know that
doing so will be impossible.”

“Richard—”

“I look the way I do, Spencer. There is no changing that, so even if I were to meet a woman who appealed to me—one with whom
I might imagine spending my future . . .” He saw Lady Eleanor’s kind eyes within the confines of his mind, her pretty mouth
curving as she smiled up at him. “There is very little chance that she would agree to become my wife, least of all when I
am not even in possession of a title.”

Spencer’s left eyebrow went up a notch. “You have a fine fortune, thanks to those clever investments that you have made with
your secretary’s assistance.”

Richard nodded. “Mr. Collister is, without a doubt, invaluable. But money will not be enough. Not when it comes to capturing
a young lady’s heart.”

“Clearly you have forgotten the way in which Society operates.” Pouring himself another glass of brandy, Spencer returned
to his seat. “There are plenty of young ladies among our set who would not give a damn about what you look like as long as
you are rich enough to supply them with new gowns and fripperies every Season.”

Richard felt his forehead strain beneath a frown. “If you think that I would have any interest in
those
sorts of women, then you do not know me at all. I despise superficiality and greed.”

A hint of a smile touched Spencer’s lips. “The thing of it is, Richard, if you do happen to find a lady who is not in it for
the money, chances are that she will not care about your appearance either. Such a woman—a selfless and kind woman—will want
you for
you
, in which case your scars will not make any difference.” Placing the rim of his glass to his lips, he took a sip, his eyes
bright with the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

Needing distance, Richard rose and walked back to the window where he looked out at the black sky. Fragments of the conversations
he’d shared with Lady Eleanor spilled through his mind. She’d enjoyed his company, but she hadn’t known who he was or what
he looked like. “Do you suppose that if the right woman were given the chance to get to know me properly, that she might be
able to develop some degree of fondness for me? Even if I did not allow her to see my face?”

“I think that you would have to let her see your face eventually.” Spencer spoke carefully, as if he feared Richard’s reaction.
“To encourage any woman to marry you without doing so, would be very unfair.”

Richard started, dropping the curtain as he turned back to face his brother. “Of course. I was not suggesting any form of
trickery. I was merely wondering if a moment might arise where I could show myself to her without my appearance altering her
regard.”

Spencer blew out a deep breath. “I would like to think so. But unfortunately, your chance of meeting such a lady in disguise
has passed. I do not believe that Lady Duncaster is planning to host another masquerade ball in the immediate future.”

Richard nodded. He would not mention Lady Eleanor. She was a secret that he intended to keep close to his heart. “It is getting
late,” he said. “I believe you should be getting back to your wife?”

“Yes. I probably should.” Spencer’s footsteps tapped against the floor as he walked over to the door. “I wish you a good night,
Richard.”

Richard inclined his head. “Same to you. I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow evening.”

As soon as he was gone, Richard reached inside his pocket and retrieved the note from Lady Eleanor.