His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 (8 page)

“What it might be like to what?” she prompted.

Sucking in a breath, he turned away from her and opened the door. “You should go.” His voice was too stern, but there was
nothing he could do to change that. Five years of celibacy followed by the close proximity of a virginal goddess whose innocence
would have him undone within seconds. If he hadn’t already known that life was unfair, this proved it.

She stepped past him, but paused in the doorway. “When I asked you to meet me, it was because I needed to be certain.”

“Of what?”

“That I did not imagine the effect you seem to have on me.” She spoke as if in a daze. “There is something—some kind of pull
that I cannot explain, except to say that I have never felt this way before.”

“You do not know what you are saying.” Hope, so small and fragile, began to spread against his better judgment. “It is the
mystery that draws you.”

She stared back at him with a great degree of pensiveness. Eventually she nodded. “You are probably right. It cannot possibly
be because I enjoy spending time with you, because I have found our conversations interesting or because you saved me from
Rotridge. The fact that you have shown a genuine interest in me or that you seem to care about my well-being is probably inconsequential
to my opinion of you.”

When she started to turn away, he caught her by the arm. “What do you want from me?”

Raising her chin, she gazed up at him with sparkling eyes. “To get to know you better, I suppose.”

“For what purpose?”

A look of uncertainty crossed her face. She glanced away, and he realized then how difficult it was for her to share her thoughts.
Desperate to hear them, he kept quiet, allowing her the time she needed to take courage until she eventually said, “I do not
have many friends, and while it is true that I have decided not to marry, I do believe that it may be possible for the right
man to change my mind.”

He remained completely still, confounded by her courage. “So you wish to cultivate a friendship in the hope that it may blossom
into something more?” he carefully asked.

“Yes.”

“And if it does not?”

“Then I shall have had the pleasure of sharing the company of a man whom I genuinely like and admire—one who also happens
to share my fondness for music.”

Afraid he might pull her into his arms if he didn’t release her, he dropped his hand to his side. “You are unlike any woman
I have ever met.”

She smiled faintly as she continued through the doorway, adding distance between them. “Thank you for meeting me tonight.
I really appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure.” She was gone before he spoke the last word.

Stepping back, Richard closed the door and leaned against the stone wall of the stairwell. He shouldn’t want her, but by God
he did. It couldn’t be helped. Her scent—sweet roses in bloom—still filled the space where she’d stood only moments earlier.
When will I see you again?
Her words echoed through his mind. He was playing a dangerous game—one that would likely lead to a pair of broken hearts
if he didn’t retreat now.

Muttering a curse, he swung toward a passageway leading off from the small landing and headed in the direction of his own
room. Hours of darkness still spanned before him, and after that, an entire day before he might see her again—against his
better judgment.

“How was your walk, my lady?” Amy asked the moment Mary entered her room. “Did you see him?” Rising from her chair in the
corner, she came to help Mary with her cloak.

“You should not have waited up for me,” Mary said, feeling slightly guilty. “It is very late.”

“So it is, but I was too excited to hear about your meeting to get any rest.”

“There is not much for me to tell,” Mary said as she removed her slippers. “I still have no idea who he is.”

“Really?” Neatly folding Mary’s cloak, Amy set it aside before approaching her mistress.

“He wore the same mask that he wore at the ball.”

“I take it that he did not give you his name either?” Amy asked as she began helping Mary undress.

“No,” Mary lied. For whatever reason, Richard wanted to keep his identity secret. If she was to gain his trust, then she could
not allow the risk of him discovering that she’d shared any part of their conversation with anyone.

Richard
.

The informality was strange for her.

“Will you see him again?”

Blinking, Mary slowly nodded. “Probably.” Because in spite of what he’d initially said, she trusted her instincts, which in
this case told her that she would not be so easily forgotten by him.

“Good morning,” Lady Duncaster said as she slid into a chair across from Mary and beside Lady Foxworth the next day at breakfast.
“I trust you both slept well?” She gazed directly at Mary as she spoke, which resulted in a sudden wave of discomfort.

“Indeed we did,” Lady Foxworth said, taking a sip of her tea.

Lady Duncaster’s eyes remained on Mary even as she ordered a slice of cake from one of the footmen standing nearby. “Good.”
She seemed to relax against her seat, which in turn put Mary at greater ease. “Any plans for today?”

“Mr. Thomas Young has offered to show me one of his experiments,” Lady Foxworth said. “I am supposed to meet him in the rose
garden at ten o’clock.”

“But, Aunt Eugenia, that is in only ten minutes,” Mary said.

“Oh!” Lady Foxworth’s teacup clattered against its saucer as she set it down. Pushing her chair back from the table, she rose.
“If you will excuse me, I really must not keep him waiting.”

Mary hid a smile as she nodded her agreement and wished her aunt a good day.

“I do believe that she is smitten,” Lady Duncaster said as soon as Lady Foxworth was out of earshot. “It’s very much like
watching a young debutant in the middle of her first Season—all giddy and such.” She stirred two lumps of sugar into her tea.

“It would be nice for her if she could find someone to make her happy,” Mary murmured.

“I agree,” Lady Duncaster said as her cake arrived. She dipped her spoon into it, denting the cream. “Love, marriage, courtship,
and romance can be such a complicated business. In my opinion, everyone deserves a chance at happiness.”

Mary kept silent, aware that Lady Duncaster was referring to the brief marriage that Lady Foxworth had entered into in her
youth. It had been a love match, but sadly, her husband had died only one month after the wedding. She’d shown no interest
in any man since. Until now, that was, though Mary suspected her interest in Mr. Young had more to do with the man’s intellect
than with his looks and that any potential relationship between the two would be based on a common interest in science more
than anything else.

“How are things progressing with Lord Rotridge?” Lady Duncaster asked, her expression serene as she looked at Mary.

The unexpected question caught Mary off guard. “They are not,” she said without thinking.

The edge of Lady Duncaster’s mouth tilted. “Not your type?”

Scrunching her nose, Mary shook her head. “Not in the least.”

The countess nodded. “It is unfortunate. After all, he is both handsome and terribly wealthy. A woman could do far worse than
him.”

Mary wasn’t so sure about that last part. The inexplicable insistence with which Rotridge was trying to pursue her, coupled
with the fascination that he seemed to have with her hair, was far too unsettling for Mary’s liking. “Looks and fortune are
not the most important attributes,” she found herself saying.

Lady Duncaster popped a large spoonful of cake into her mouth, visibly savoring the delicacy while studying Mary closely.
Too closely. “Does this opinion of yours have something to do with a certain
masked
gentleman, by any chance?”

Lowering her gaze, Mary stared down at her empty plate. “Not at all.” A second passed before she chanced a look at Lady Duncaster
from beneath her lashes and asked, “Why would it?”

Setting down her spoon, Lady Duncaster reached for her teacup and took a sip. “Because your interest in him has not diminished
since the night of the ball. Rather, it has grown.” And then, “You went against your aunt’s wishes and indirectly asked me
to deliver a note to him on your behalf.”

Heat washed over Mary’s entire body. “I am sorry, but I could think of no other way in which to contact him and”—casting a
wary look at some of the other guests present, she lowered her voice to a whisper—“leaving things as they were seemed wrong.”

“While I appreciate your honesty, I do not like being taken advantage of,” Lady Duncaster told her crisply. “You know that
your aunt is a longtime friend of mine and that it is my duty to support her wishes, yet you deliberately forced my hand.”

“I needed to see him again.” At least she was being honest about that.

Something in the old woman’s eyes shifted. “And did you?”

Mary nodded. “But he was wearing the mask again, so I have yet to see his face.”

“In other words, you are curious.” Laughter from the other end of the table caught Lady Duncaster’s attention. She looked
away for a second, then smiled and said, “I suppose that is only natural.”

Mary shook her head. The strangest need to make Lady Duncaster understand, filled her. “No,” she said. “It is more than that.”

Lady Duncaster tilted her head. “Go on.”

“I feel a connection with him.” Staring into her teacup, Mary idly thumbed its edge. “It is difficult to explain.” Behind
her, she could sense the footmen moving about, their precise footsteps vibrating through the floor and up the legs of the
table. She watched as ripples formed in her tea, so faint they were barely visible at all.

“You do not have to,” Lady Duncaster said. “I believe I know precisely how you feel.”

“Really?” Surprised, Mary looked up, her hand jolting the cup and causing some of the tea to spill.

Lady Duncaster smiled warmly. “My husband had a similar effect on me when we first met. It always felt as though my stomach
was turning itself inside out whenever he glanced in my direction.” She chuckled lightly before turning serious. “The trouble
with your situation is that too many secrets are involved and in order to keep them, too many promises have to be made.” Reaching
across the table, she took Mary’s hand in her own. “The masked gentleman you met at the ball does not wish for his identity
to be revealed. He has his reasons for that. Your aunt, on the other hand, has a responsibility toward you. It would be terribly
careless of her to allow you to associate with a man who refuses to offer her even his name. How can she know that you will
be safe in his company when she has no idea of who he is?”

“I understand her reasoning perfectly, but—”

Lady Duncaster snorted. “You think you know better, because you have taken a liking to him.”

Mary knew how silly it sounded. “You said yourself that he comes from a highly respectable family with whom an association
would prove beneficial.”

“So I did, and I stand by that statement. It was, however, meant to alleviate your aunt’s concerns, not prompt you into having
secret meetings with the gentleman in question behind her back while making me a party to your betrayal of her trust.”

Put like that, Lady Duncaster made Mary feel as though she’d just committed a terrible crime. “I am sorry,” she said again.
What else
could
she say? Her explanation seemed to have had little effect.

Lady Duncaster sighed. “You may not be aware, Lady Mary, especially not based on this particular conversation, but I am a
big advocate of love matches. It is my fondest wish that everyone should be afforded a chance at a happily-ever-after, but
in this case, I am too concerned that you might end up getting hurt.”

“Because
Signor Antonio,
” she said, refraining from disclosing her knowledge of his actual name, “might look different from what I expect? Because
I will likely be disappointed that he is not as handsome behind the mask he wears as I might have hoped? I am not that superficial,
my lady. It is his character that draws me. Nothing else.”

“And so it should be, if your feelings for him are genuine. But that is not what I am worried about.”

Mary blinked, surprised that there could be any other reason. After all, Lady Duncaster knew his identity and had been willing
to vouch for him the night of the ball. Something must have changed. “Then what is it?”

“I have my doubts that he is ready to form a deep attachment with anyone. If you were to fall in love with him, there is a
good chance that he may break your heart. Not deliberately, of course, but . . . a man like him is bound to have other secrets
as well. Until he is prepared to reveal them to you, you will only see what he wants you to see.”

“You know something about him,” Mary murmured. “Something that makes you think that he may be hiding more than his identity.”

Lady Duncaster pressed her lips together before confessing, “All I have are a few suspicions—nothing concrete.”

“So you could be wrong.” When she didn’t reply, Mary said, “As grateful as I am for your advice, I am inclined to follow my
own instincts.”

“In that case, I hope that he will be wise enough to place his faith in you.” She glanced past Mary’s right shoulder and smiled.
“Lady Spencer, what a lovely surprise!”

“Good morning to you both,” Sarah said as she came to stand beside Mary’s chair. Glancing down, she addressed Mary. “Lady
Foxworth has asked my husband and me to introduce you to some of his friends.”

Mary’s mouth dropped open. It took a moment for her to recover and say, “Really?” Just one single mention that morning about
her disinterest in Rotridge, and now this.

“Viscount Belgrave has expressed an interest in making your acquaintance,” Sarah added. “If you will join me for a walk, we
can meet with him and Spencer down by the lake.”

“I . . .” What could she possibly say without being rude? Glancing back and forth between Lady Duncaster and Sarah, she noted
their expectant faces. “I would be delighted,” she said, swallowing her annoyance with her aunt as she excused herself to
Lady Duncaster and left the dining room with Sarah.

As it turned out, Belgrave was not as dislikeable as she’d feared, following her experience with Rotridge, who’d thankfully
refrained from approaching her that morning when they’d crossed paths in the hallway. Apparently his altercation with Richard
the night before had had the desired effect. But Belgrave was nothing like Rotridge. Indeed, he was not only handsome, but
courteous and well-educated as well. Of course he was not the sort of man who would ever be willing to accept Mary’s scandalous
career choice, but at least he proved to be good company.

“Perhaps we can ride out for a picnic tomorrow,” he suggested as he, Mary, and the Spencers, enjoyed their afternoon tea together
a few hours later. The terrace had seemed a little too crowded so they’d asked a couple of footmen to set up a table and chairs
on the grass down by the lake.

Mary met his gaze, warm and inviting—so different from Richard’s, which was genuinely dark and so much more powerful. A small
shiver traced her spine at the memory of it, and for a second she hesitated, wishing that
he
would have asked her to go for a picnic instead. But he hadn’t. In fact, he’d made no promise that they would ever see each
other again. So she smiled back at Belgrave and said, “That would be lovely, if the weather permits.”

He returned the smile and offered the use of his carriage. “I will ask Lady Duncaster to recommend a good location.”

“We actually happen to know of one,” Sarah said, looking at Spencer. “Remember that hill we visited a couple of weeks ago?”

“The one with the church ruin behind it where Lady Fiona lost her bonnet?” Spencer asked as he swatted away a bothersome fly.

Sarah nodded. “The very one.”

Belgrave looked intrigued and when he asked Mary if she thought the place would suit, she realized that she felt the same
way. There was just something adventurous about the idea of picnicking on a hilltop close to a church ruin.

“It is settled then,” Belgrave announced as he emptied his teacup.

The fact that the Spencers shared a knowing look did not escape Mary. If they would only realize that they were completely
wasting their time in the matchmaking department.

That evening at dinner, Mary glanced from one gentleman to the next. During the course of the day, she’d concluded that Richard
was not an uncommon name. In fact, from what she’d discerned, there were no fewer than six gentlemen present at the dinner
table who bore that exact same name. Two were too old, however, which left four, none of whom seemed to fit the man that she
imagined to be hiding behind the mask. Their faces were far too perfect.

“I need a distraction,” she told Amy later when she returned to her bedchamber.

“It sounds to me as though you may have found it in the form of Lord Belgrave,” Amy said as she located Mary’s nightgown,
laid it on the bed, and came toward Mary with the intention of helping her undress.

“No,” Mary said, stepping away from her. “Lord Belgrave is kind, but he does not affect me in any way.” Turning, she looked
Amy straight in the eye. “I need to sing.”

“I heard you sing tonight in the music room after dinner. It sounded lovely, as I am sure all the guests will agree.”

“You know that is not what I mean,” Mary said. “That kind of song is supposed to showcase a lady’s finer qualities. It is
more about me being put on display than it is about conveying any kind of emotion.”

“I know.” Amy sighed. “You enjoy the passion that the other kind of music provides.”

“It is more than that,” Mary said. It was never easy, describing the cravings of her soul, knowing that whatever she said,
it would likely fall short. “When I really sing, Amy, it does not matter how many people surround me. They all fade away until
it is just me and the music thrumming through me, clasping at my heart. One moment I am filled with joy, the next with great
sorrow.” She paused before speaking the truth that clung to her heart. “It is in these instances that I feel most alive.”

Amy nodded. “You feel every nuance of emotion that the composer was trying to convey through words and music, and you impart
that emotion to your audience with incredible skill.”

“It means a great deal to me that you understand.”

“How could I not when I have helped you practice before every concert? I know the lyrics to every song just as well as you
do, which is why I know how important it is for you to continue doing what you are doing.”

“It comforts my soul in a way that nothing else ever will.”