Miss Quinn's Quandary (12 page)

Larissa finished her tea and set aside her cup. After tea, she
and Sir Randall were shown to their rooms.

Because of the twelve-foot-high ceilings, huge tapestries were
draped throughout the house. Larissa was shown to her room first. Once inside,
she threw the bolt on the door and eased onto the bed.

Peace, quiet, and solitude. How pleasant this all was, how easily
she could accept these surroundings.

“Very nice,” Sir Randall drawled, appearing by the side of the
bed unannounced and totally unexpected. “And I see we have the place all to
ourselves.”

“How did you get in here?” she demanded, pulling herself into a
sitting position.

“Through the connecting door,” he replied, smiling as if he were
the proverbial cat in the cream pot.

“Connecting door? What
connecting door?” Larissa demanded.

“The connecting door between our rooms.” He made a gesture over
his shoulder to indicate the direction.

Larissa climbed off the bed and followed him at a respectable
distance to the opened dressing room doors. “Where is it?”

“Right here,” he announced, gesturing to the gaping portal.

She inched closer, but did not move into his room. “That’s your
room in there?” Larissa gazed into the masculine domain.

“Yes.” Randall stepped past her, into his room. “Would you care
to inspect the habitat of the mysterious male of the species?”

“N-no,” she stuttered. Her gaze crept beyond him and conducted a
silent inspection. Offering to share a room with him was the worst thing she
had ever done. She should have slept in the barn.

Larissa slammed the door closed in his face and bolted it. That
would put an end to his unwanted visitations. And hopefully keep her curiosity
on her side of the door.

At the breakfast table the next morning, Larissa did her best to
ignore Sir Randall. She sipped at her hot chocolate and nibbled at her buttered
toast with just the smallest dab of preserves. Randall enjoyed a cup of coffee
with his plateful of eggs, ham, and sausage.

William, who had forgone his meal, had a cup of coffee at his
elbow. “Look here, Randall, you’ve made the paper.” William folded the Morning
Post and held it upright for closer inspection,
“ ‘Since
the recent discovery of the marriage of Sir R— and Lady T—, it seems they are
not the only members of their family to enter into blissful union. The Earl of
R— and Lady C— have followed their younger relatives to the altar.’ Now what do
you think of that?”

“Not much really. You know gossip.” Randall shrugged and paid
more attention to Larissa, who ignored the both of them and excused herself,
pushing away from the table.

Randall wanted to rid himself of further discussion about his
uncle, Larissa’s aunt, and his own marriage altogether. He needed to patch the
rift he had created the day before. He dabbed his mouth with the linen napkin,
set it aside and followed Larissa out the door.

It didn’t take him long to find her. She had settled in the sunny
parlor working on some type of sewing. Randall strolled in and circled around
to see the face of her hoop.

“What are you working on there?” he asked. She glanced up at him.
It did not appear he was a welcome sight.

“A panel I started when I first arrived in London. I have not had
a chance to work on it since. I must admit I value my quiet. I find this a
refreshing change from the last few months.”

“Do you?” He studied her face for a trace of encouragement. He
didn’t know if she would allow him to stay. “They’re always in need of company
of some kind to fill their house,” Randall said, venturing on a new topic.
“I’ve been coming here for years. Wills manages to have me stay at least three
or four weeks at a time. The place is so monstrously large, I haven’t been in
half the rooms myself.” Randall settled into an overstuffed chair.

“I have noticed many doors are closed,” she said, flowing into an
easy conversation.

“Who knows what torture chambers lie behind those doors?” he
teased her.

Her eyes widened in shock and she gave a little gasp. “Really?”
She displayed an ever so charming look of complete gullibility.

Randall leaned forward. “Don’t be a goose. The torture chambers
are in the dungeon below ground.”

Larissa narrowed her eyes and gave Sir Randall a guarded look. He
was just roasting her.

“Wills and his brother are the only occupants. As you probably
have noticed, most of the house is shut up.”

“I had wondered,” she admitted. Her fingers continued to work the
needle.

“It’s all right to have a look around if you want.” His tone made
it sound almost like a challenge. She glanced at him to discern his meaning.

“Thank you, I think I just might.” Despite the subtle warning,
Larissa planned to explore the lower level of the great house.

What she had expected was for the men, Sir Randall and Lord
William, to be off doing whatever it was men did in the country, while she
could be left to her own devices.

Her own devices would be no more than needlework, reading, and
walks in the garden. Perhaps if she grew adventurous she’d wander outside the
castle walls for an extended outing. Since she didn’t ride, she couldn’t stray
far.

What she hadn’t planned on was Sir Randall’s constant company. It
all came about so gradually. That evening he joined her in the drawing room
after supper. She closed her book and they passed the hours in comfortable
conversation.

The following evening, they took turns reading aloud. He acted
out every line. How she had enjoyed that!

The next day, he happened by her in the garden and accompanied
her for the remainder of her stroll. How she could enjoy his company, and how
he could make her laugh! This routine set the pattern for the several days that
followed.

That afternoon at tea, the look he gave her was so … so …
intimate. He spoke very little at tea, only an occasional please or thank you,
but he was far from silent. It was his eyes. When their gazes met, she could
feel the flush of warmth wash into her cheeks.

When she handed him his second cup, his fingers brushed against
her hand, sending a shiver up her arm.

Sir Randall smiled. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. He
might have done it on purpose. From his previous behavior, she had just cause
to be suspicious. Riveted on the fingers that had brushed so casually against
hers, she watched him grip the handle of his cup and followed the cup to his
mouth.

It was the beginning of her undoing.

That mouth. His mouth. And those lips moved into an enchanting
smile. She watched with rapt attention as they pursed to blow upon his tea.
When he tipped the cup to drink, Larissa gasped when the cup intervened,
depriving her of the sight of his magnificent mouth. How she ached for those
lips, to see them, to watch them, to feel them. Larissa knew she had to feel
them on hers once again.

It was later that day when Larissa noticed that one of the doors,
which had previously been closed, was now open. She approached with caution,
pushing the door only wide enough to peer in.

What lay behind the door was concealed in darkness, until the
drapes were thrown open by a maid, sending motes of dust flying in every
direction.

“Am I allowed in?” Larissa asked, still hovering outside the
door.

“Yes, my lady. I’ve been ordered to air out the room for his lordship’s
return.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and continued with her work.

Larissa entered the room. A pianoforte stood in the far corner.
The fireplace lay on the right. The wall opposite held built-in bookshelves,
drawers, and glass display cases.

She perused the many books on the shelves and examined the items
in the glass cases. Inside, various small hand instruments, different types of
flutes, and a wide variety of stringed instruments were displayed.

Embarrassed to sit at the pianoforte with an audience, Larissa
strolled up and down the room to study its contents until the maid finished her
dusting.

During this idle time, it occurred to Larissa the point of coming
to the country was for her and Sir Randall to keep their distance from one
another. And they were doing anything but.

That morning after breakfast, Sir Randall had taken care to
introduce the occupants of the stables. She had always been afraid of horses.
Her fear stemmed from her unfamiliarity. With Sir Randall acquainting her with
every horse safely behind their stable door, Larissa discovered each had a
personality. By the end of the tour, she had her own favorites: the bay mare,
Hera, and the dappled gray, Achilles.

Sir Randall told her learning to ride was a simple matter and she
had begun to believe him. It occurred to her if he could convince her to
overcome her fear of horses, what else could he talk her into?

For all intents and purposes, her reputation in London could be
considered ruined, but she still had her pride.

What was she to make of his constant company? Why was he spending
so much time with her? It didn’t help that she experienced her own confusion
when it came to him. She longed for him when he was absent and dreaded his
nearness when he was present. Being near him was growing more and more
difficult to tolerate. Sometimes the desire to touch him, to have him hold her
and kiss her was so overwhelming she wanted to scream.

Larissa sat at the keyboard of the pianoforte and hoped the
instrument was in tune. She paged through the sheet music already displayed and
found nothing of interest. She decided to play a Mozart piece from memory.
Unfocused thoughts of Sir Randall came to mind and a smile spread across her
lips.

It was no wonder she had fallen in love with him.

Her hands froze, poised above the keys. The smile on her lips
faded. Fallen in love? Had she actually thought those words to herself?

Larissa tried to recall where she had left off and she resumed
the piece.

She was in love with him. She knew it, she could feel it in her soul
and in the recesses of her heart … in love.

Following the delightful music emanating from the music room,
Randall stopped just inside the door and admired the artist. Larissa sat at the
keyboard, staring in his direction, but oblivious to his presence.

He didn’t know she could play. Actually, when he thought about
it, there wasn’t much he really knew about her at all. During their walks the
past few days, they never spoke of personal things.

Larissa looked lovely and serene, unaware she was being watched.
It was the ever so slight tilt of her head, the way her eyes moved when she
glanced down at her hands.

“That was beautiful,” he said. Larissa looked up and watched
Randall walk into the room toward the pianoforte. “I did not know you knew how
to play.”

“There are many details you do not know about me.”

“It is not due to lack of interest, I can assure you.”

She flipped through the pages of the sheet music and must have
felt his stare for an attractive blush crept across her cheeks.

He settled onto the bench beside her. “I had no idea you were so
talented.” He smiled. Randall recognized the sensual quality in his voice. He
had promised to behave himself, but she made it so deucedly difficult.

Sitting mere inches away, the impulse to stroke her soft cheek, cup
her chin and tilt her face to his almost overtook him. He wanted more than
anything to slide her across the polished wood bench toward him, trap her
within his arms.

Randall’s head had cleared of the confusion that plagued him that
afternoon. When the dinner gong sounded, he hurried to the drawing room and
waited. Waited for her. Pacing in front of the sofa, he alternated steps with
the wringing of his hands.

Imagine, he was nervous. Nervous over a female, no less. If it
hadn’t been so true the situation might have been laughable. Settling on to the
sofa and crossing his legs, he clamped his hand onto his shin to keep his leg
from swinging with impatience.

Larissa arrived with a sound of fabric rustling in the doorway.
She was dressed in a simple, palest-of-pink gown, and her hair was piled on top
of her head with a tantalizing tendril curling down her lovely, soft neck that
he would have dearly loved, at that very moment, to nuzzle.

“Evening.” Randall nearly fell, forgetting to uncross his legs
before shooting to his feet.

“Sir Randall,” she returned just above a whisper and smiled at
him.

It would not have surprised him if his mouth were gaping open,
for he was reduced to a love-struck school boy. What was happening to him?

Randall wanted her to stand there so he could enjoy her
loveliness forever, but he knew that was impossible. Afraid to kiss her hand,
he paused, inhaling the mild scent of roses he associated with her.

Larissa’s lips parted and she gave a barely audible gasp when his
lips brushed against the back of her hand. He lingered for a moment, savoring
the soft feel and fragrant scent of her skin.

What should he say? What should he do? Randall was spared any
decisions when William came striding into the room, breaking their private
exchange.

“Letter from Terrance.” William waved the missive about for all
to see. “He’ll be joining us by the end of the week. Says he’s invited one of
the ton’s lovely ladies.”

“Does he say which?” Randall asked, not really all that anxious
to know. With Larissa’s hand still in his, he rubbed her palm with his thumb,
dreading to surrender his hold.

“No, but I imagine she must be someone quite exceptional.”

“No doubt.” Randall shrugged. It really was no concern of his.

“And look here,” William went on. “Remember the do at Norfolk’s?
That enormous diamond necklace the duchess had on display, the one that was
stolen? The one belonging to Queen Catherine the Great, or some other
historical monarch.”

“That’s Eleanor of Aquitaine,” Randall corrected. “And yes, I
remember. How could we ever forget? It was the talk of the town when we left.”

“Terrance says it’s been returned.”

“Really?” Randall glanced to Larissa who gave what he interpreted
to be a look of relief.

“Doesn’t say who pinched the thing though, but its return was a
bit on the unusual side.”

“How’s that?” Randall prompted.

William drew his finger down the parchment, reading the text.
“Says it came by post.”

“That is odd.” Randall exchanged a weighted glance with Larissa,
who had the good form not to respond.

“The investigation is called off due to a lack of evidence. Much
to the dismay of her grace.” William chucked. “She wants ‘heads to roll’ over
this. The duchess was always one for drama, wasn’t she?”

Jenkins, the butler, appeared at the door and announced that
dinner was served.

Supper tonight lacked all conversation. The meaningful glances
that passed between Randall and Larissa apparently went unnoticed by William,
who kept a running monologue from the consommé to the fruit and nuts served for
dessert.

Instead of retiring to the drawing room, Larissa crossed the
garden to the old castle wall. She strolled the sentry walk in search of a cool
place to escape the abnormally warm evening.

A breeze ruffled the treetops and drifted across the crenellated battlements.
A three-quarter moon lit the four-century-old walkway. The stars twinkled
against the black velvet sky. Looking down the winding road that led to the
castle, she tried to imagine what it was like to see a knight stampeding toward
the drawbridge after a triumphant slaying of a nearby dragon.

“I can see you as a lady in distress.” It was Sir Randall.

His arrival did not surprise her. “I did not realize I needed
saving.”

He inched closer with every word. “Didn’t you know?”

“Who, pray tell, should save me?”

“I had imagined myself to be the knight in shining armor.”

“I had imagined you as the fire-breathing dragon.” She covered
her mouth to keep from laughing too hard or too loud.

“And you, dear damsel, have single-handedly struck the mortal
blow.” He struck his chest with a fist and stumbled to the side.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be an actor.”

Sir Randall’s recovery was instantaneous. “You know, I’ve always
believed I had a natural ability,” he said in a tone that lacked all modesty.

“It would not take much to convince me. Aside from my brief
London stay this summer, the only acting I am familiar with is the amateur
plays done at the Seminary by the girls.” She realized how unworldly she must
have sounded. “My experience is limited.” The instant the words passed her lips
she knew it was a mistake.

By the minute change in Sir Randall’s stance and the softening of
his voice, she sensed he noticed her unintentional double entendre.

“One can learn to appreciate what one doesn’t understand.”

Larissa’s breath caught for a moment. Was he thinking the same
thing she was? Did he want the same thing she did? The warm scent of Sir
Randall’s skin mingled with the cool breeze. Larissa said nothing, but placed
her hand lightly upon his chest.

Randall moved closer and brushed his fingertips over her cheek.
He drew her face toward his and his warm lips pressed against hers, covering
her mouth. They moved with a slow deliberateness that melted her insides.
Excitement coiled inside her in a place where her resolve, her willpower once
dwelt. She feared now it had deserted her.

His kiss was as she remembered. No, it was much, much better.
Tentativeness replaced determination, leisure replaced haste,
sweetness
replaced any trace of false affection.

And it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Randall
decided he would gladly accept the reprimand once the deed was done. But
longing, necessity, and instinct dictated that he act. He waited no longer.

When their lips parted, she gasped for air. He covered her open
mouth with his, deepening their kiss. Randall pulled away and trailed kisses
from her face to her neck and showed no signs of slowing his progress downward.
His hands move up and down the length of her back, then slid to her waist.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“William!” Neither shock nor surprise was the word to describe
Randall’s response. He fairly pushed Larissa away and braced himself against
the wall. William came striding forward.

Where the devil had he come from? Randall wondered.

“Not at all,” Randall replied. He closed his eyes and pushed an
unsteady hand though his hair, taking slow, deep, even breaths. “We were just
looking for a place to find a cool breeze.” There was one consolation. Larissa
looked just as disturbed as he felt.

“Ghastly weather.” William swept a hand over his forehead. “I beg
your pardon,” he said, loosening his cravat. “I must have this wretched thing
off this instant. Can’t remember when it’s been so blasted hot.” He hopped up
to sit on the battlement and stared in the distance before starting his
monologue.

Randall heard William drone on and lost the thread of his
conversation completely. He could see Larissa paid no more attention to William
than he. Larissa arched her neck and gazed at him out of the corner of her eye.
She returned his stare with an openness that he would have found quite shocking
coming from anyone else.

At this moment, she looked so very beautiful. The simple,
desolate setting of the walk, the twinkling background of the stars, somehow
knowing her affection equaled his. What did he think he was doing? He was
driving himself mad with those kinds of thoughts.

The following afternoon, just before she entered the library,
Larissa glimpsed Lord William and Sir Randall at the foot of the stairs. Lord
William had not seen her. However, Sir Randall caught sight of her in that
precious instant and bestowed upon her the most intimate of smiles, meant for
her alone, filled with warmth, longing, and promise. She could feel her heart
pound a little stronger. In the privacy of the library she spun with her arms
outstretched.

Life was wonderful! To be in love was wonderful! Sir Randall was
wonderful!

She replaced the book she had borrowed and removed ‘Volume Two.’
How long would it be before she would see him again? Perhaps he would not wait
until tea. Perhaps he would change his clothes and come down to the library
straight away, knowing she waited within.

Larissa heard a voice. Was it Sir Randall? She listened more
carefully. Lord William?

“Good to be home again.”

It was Lord William’s brother, the Marquess of Melton.

Then she heard a female voice. No, two, but much too soft to make
out words.

Curiosity got the better of her and she inched out of the
library, gaining speed down the hall only to find herself standing face-to-face
with Lady Dorothea
Brookhurst
.