“She could have said no.”
“You know as well as I that to refuse him would have been unthinkable. He was a duke. Never mind the fact that she loved him.”
Having reached the number one, Will began to count again. “More fool her.”
Lady Charlotte’s fingers closed over his coat sleeve. “No one knew what existed beneath your father’s charming exterior. He drew people to him like moths to a flame. She loved him and assumed he felt the same. We all did. It was not until after the marriage that he showed himself for what he really was.”
“I’ve no need to hear this, Lady Charlotte,” Will interrupted, looking down at the elderly woman. “I do not mean to offend, but I know only too well what kind of man my father was.”
Lady Charlotte rearranged her shawl, holding it tighter as a slight breeze picked up from the north. “That may be true, Your Grace, but your mother is a mystery to you, clearly.”
He came so close to telling her, in scathing terms, just why he was the only one who truly knew what went on in the house with his father and mother.
But her eyes as she peered up earnestly stopped him. They were so like Lucinda’s in color and shape, yet uniquely her own.
“Your father was a tyrant, that much you know,” Lady Charlotte began. “The demands he placed on your mother were …”
She hesitated, the distress such memories caused clearly written across her face. “Well, the duchess did everything she could to preserve herself, but it was pointless. He drained her of life, of confidence, of love—of everything that she was, until there was not a recognizable trace of the vibrant girl she’d once been.”
Will looked hard at the woman as she spoke. He concentrated on the information as if it were part of an assignment, the thought of the impact such revelations could make on an unguarded heart pushing him to focus.
“He seemed to take pleasure in robbing her of joy, and when you were born—”
“Stop.”
Lady Charlotte grasped his hand in hers. “I do not mean to distress you, Your Grace,” she said in a gentle tone, “but I feel it is important that you know the truth, no matter how painful.”
Clearly, she was going to force him to hear her confidences through to the end. He wanted to run. Hell, he wanted to hide. But there was no escape. Funny how a unassuming old woman could manage what the most hardened of criminals could not.
Reluctantly, he accepted his fate and nodded for her to continue.
Lady Charlotte acknowledged his acquiescence and continued. “When you were born, your father used your existence against her, threatening to take you away from your mother if she didn’t do exactly as he asked.” She patted his hand then gestured for him to walk along the path with her. “She knew all too well what he was capable of and she could not risk losing you. And so she agreed, and lost herself in the hellish bargain.”
Will felt numb; the anger he’d suffered for so many years over his mother’s indifference wasn’t easily defeated. He wanted to argue with Lady Charlotte. Couldn’t his mother have escaped? Taken him to live with her parents? Hidden on the Continent somewhere?
But with brutal honesty, he had to acknowledge that these scenarios would have been impossible. His father had the power, and the legal right, to track her down like a common criminal and do with her—and the boys—whatever he wished.
“The duchess worked very hard to protect you, and all on her own, I might add,” Lady Charlotte said, interrupting Will’s thoughts. “He forced her to cut ties with all those she held dear, including me. Despite this, she spent every waking hour doing what she could to ensure your safety and that of your brother. It broke her heart to refrain from showing her love for you boys, but she knew your father’s temper would only be more vicious if she had.”
Will closed his eyes momentarily, the spring sunshine warming on his face. Lady Charlotte’s determined championship of his mother and blunt condemnation of his father was almost more than he could absorb. He’d made assumptions about his mother’s reasons for her actions. Could he have been so completely wrong?
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Would you have believed her?”
Will knew the answer without even stopping to think: no.
“You do not strike me as a man who dwells on the past, Your Grace.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” the elderly woman began, “that while there is nothing to be done about what has transpired, there is always ground to be gained in the future.”
Will smiled wryly at Lady Charlotte. “Am I to understand you see a heartwarming reconciliation in my future?”
“What you do with this information is, of course, solely your decision, but I would think a man of your intelligence would hardly let such an opportunity pass without some deliberation.”
She tugged gently on Will’s arm and turned toward the house. “There is so much to be learned from your parents’ actions, would you not agree?”
Will nodded absentmindedly, still trying to make sense of all he’d heard during the last few moments.
“A woman such as your mother, so intelligent and capable, is still vulnerable when it comes to affairs of the heart. Most women are.”
“Yes, quite,” he replied, then stopped. “Lady Charlotte, have you something else to say?”
She urged him into motion once again, continuing their stroll along the graveled path. “I’m certain you must realize how deeply my sisters and I care for Lucinda.”
“Of course.”
“You are in a unique position, Your Grace,” Lady Charlotte said, pausing to snap a sprig of mint from a raised herb bed. She twirled it between her forefinger and thumb. “Do not let what happened to your mother happen again.”
Will stiffened. Of course she would be concerned for Lucinda. Her beloved niece was being courted by the Duke of Clairemont, whose own father had destroyed a woman. Despite the logic of her concern, however, he felt only outrage and violent rejection of the possibility that he would harm Lucinda. “You think highly of me, then?” he answered coolly.
She looked directly at him. “Do not misunderstand me, Your Grace. You are not your father. But …” She hesitated, weighing her words carefully. “I have watched the two of you together. Lucinda cares for you—something she has not allowed herself to do with any other man.”
She held the sprig of mint to her nose, her hand visibly shaking. “I should not be speaking to you of this, and normally I would never presume to invade your or Lucinda’s privacy. But though I know you to be an honorable man—and I do, without a doubt,” she continued, tossing the bit of greenery back into the garden bed, “a woman in love is a fragile thing, Your Grace, a very fragile thing indeed.”
Will’s heart could stand no more. He wanted nothing more than to ride straight to Gentleman John Jackson’s and lose himself in the battering and blows until the physical pain was all he felt.
“Promise me you’ll take care with her,” Lady Charlotte said in a low tone, nearly pleading.
Will had always operated with the assured confidence of one who knew the difference between right and wrong. Truth and falsities. And now? All was in tatters and Will did not know how to put his world back together.
He relied on the only weapon left in his exhausted arsenal and answered the woman with convincing assuredness.
“You have my word.”
A bar of bright sunlight marked the open doors at the end of the aisle between the stalls, but the stable’s hayscented interior was shaded and cool. Lucinda stood in Cleopatra’s stall, braiding the rough silk of the mare’s black tail as Winnie’s foal watched her curiously from where he hid.
Cleopatra stood patiently, reaching out to nuzzle the foal now and again.
“Winnie would be proud, Cleo,” Lucinda commented, the weight of such a loss slightly lessened by the lanky foal at Cleo’s side.
The mare swished her tail lightly, twitching it from Lucinda’s grasp.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Lucinda scolded.
She caught up the thick length of hair and started over, secretly pleased that her time with Cleopatra was extended.
“How is the colt today?”
Lucinda looked up. Will leaned lazily against the stall gate, his amused half grin making her want to kiss him right where his lips curved upward.
She smiled in response. “He is exceedingly handsome, is he not?”
He slid the lock free and pushed the wooden gate open, strolling inside the stall with its deep layer of bedding straw. He slowly approached the colt, extending a hand toward him. The colt looked ready to bolt, then sniffed Will and decided against it, his pink tongue darting out to lick at Will’s palm. All at once the colt relaxed, moving toward Will until he threatened to climb into his lap.
“You’ve an admirer,” Lucinda laughed.
Cleo pinned her ears and glared at Will, hardly happy about her new ward’s enthusiasm.
Will backed up and allowed the mare to nose the colt closer to her side.
“Do not take offense,” Lucinda offered, finishing the braid. “Cleopatra is only doing as any good mother should.”
“Cleopatra?” Will lifted an eyebrow. “Surely not the same Cleopatra who bested an entire pack of stallions—in both the Ascot and the Doncaster Cup?”
Lucinda smiled, delighted he’d recognized Cleopatra, and gestured for him to hand her the length of red ribbon looped over the gate.
“The one and only,” Lucinda replied, taking the ribbon from Will’s hand and securing the end of the mare’s braid. “Though, with any luck, that distinction will be short-lived,” she added. “In due time, she’ll be foaling champions.”
“And the sire?”
Lucinda smiled. “King Solomon’s Mine, of course.”
“Bloody hell.”
Lucinda’s smile widened. “Really, Your Grace.”
“Call me Will, you silly chit.” He covered her hand with his much larger one, capturing it against the mare’s warm hide. “The surprising bit here is not my interest in horse breeding, but yours.”
“Does it make me less appealing? That I have a brain and choose to employ it for such a masculine pursuit?”
“You know damn well it only makes you more irresistible to me,” he answered in a gruff tone, his eyes heating. “Or have you not learned all there is to know about the infamous Iron Will?”
Cleopatra shifted her weight and a loud gurgling sound echoed through her belly.
Distracted, Lucinda didn’t answer Will; instead, she slipped her hand from under his and circled the horse, stopping on the far side of the mare. She frowned, worry creasing her brow as she examined her beloved mare’s mid-section.
“Lucinda, it’s nothing more than her digestive tract,” Will said in an assuring tone. “Cleopatra is not Winnie.”
She bent low to scan the mare’s stomach. “But what if it is the grass? Or perhaps the oats. All of the horses receive the exact same oats.”
As she rose, from the corner of her eye she glimpsed Cleopatra’s braided tail, slowly rising.
“Oh—!”
Too late. The cloud of noxious gas that exited noisily from Cleopatra’s posterior slowly filled the stall with a decidedly horsey smell.
“I suppose this means we’ve identified the stomach ailment?” Will said, his face solemn, though his eyes laughed at Lucinda over Cleopatra’s wide back.
Lucinda felt her cheeks grow hot as she struggled to find an appropriate response. “Well …” she began, then burst out laughing, the worry she’d felt only moments before dissipating with each giggle.
Will cocked an eyebrow, feigning disappointment, and attempted to maintain an unmoving expression. He failed miserably, his deep, throaty laughter joining hers.
“You,” he told her when their mirth subsided, “are a bad influence for a man struggling to act like a gentleman.”
“You would be hard-pressed to find anyone who would disagree with you on that point, were they made aware of the last few moments.”
Somehow, Cleopatra’s impolite emission had put Lucinda at ease. Throughout the day, she’d been unable to focus on anything other than thoughts of Will. Could she expect intimacy would now play a regular role in their relationship? Because, God help her, she certainly did hope so. And most importantly, what happened next?
In all honesty, Lucinda had failed to entertain the possibility that she might fall in love with Will, so there had never been the need to think beyond a brief courtship and the eventual claiming of King Solomon’s Mine before they parted ways.
But she had fallen in love. Fallen so completely, in fact, that she barely recognized herself now, the need for him akin to her requirement for air or food.
“Will,” she began, finding the courage to look into his dark eyes, “what are we meant to do now?”
“First, I suggest removing ourselves from the stall before Cleopatra relieves herself again.” His voice held a smile.
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
He ducked under Cleopatra’s neck and joined Lucinda, settling his hands on each side of her waist. “I believe you know what comes next. I’ve taken your virginity,” he murmured, mindful of the presence of stablehands on the far side of the barn. “For a man and woman in our social circle, more than a simple thank you is required.”
He backed her against the wall, his hard frame pressing hers from chest to thigh. He cupped her face in one palm and traced her lower lip with his thumb, his hooded gaze intent on her mouth.
“Then you would marry me out of obligation?” she asked, trying desperately to ease the dread constricting her chest.
He muttered something she couldn’t understand and replaced his thumb with his mouth, kissing her tenderly at first, then coaxing her mouth open with the glide of his tongue over the seam of her lips.
Lucinda couldn’t stop her response, despite the unanswered question. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, the tips of her breasts pressed against his chest. The sensation was sweet torture and she shivered, her body quivering with anticipation.
He lifted his head to look at her.
“It would be an honor, my dear Lucinda. Never an obligation,” he whispered. “Do not doubt my feelings for you. Ever.”
She sighed as he took her mouth again, their mutual need growing hotter by the second.
The rattling of wheels, accompanied by piercing, tuneless whistling shattered the spell that held them. Will’s arms tightened, his head lifted, and then he dropped to the stall floor, taking Lucinda with him. He rolled, putting her against the wall with himself between her and the horses.