Chapter 21
Meriel couldn’t discuss Charles’s visit at dinner, and it took all her patience to wait until midnight to sneak down the private staircase to Richard’s room. She remained fully clothed and vowed to guard against her unpredictable feelings.
She found Richard awake, still dressed, leaning against a window frame and staring at the night sky. She silently stepped beside him and looked out to see a sliver of moon. His face was pensive and sad, and she wanted to hold him, to comfort him. She settled for putting her hand on his arm.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
He only shrugged.
“What did Charles want?”
He heaved a sigh and looked down at her, his sad smile worrying her.
“He came to tell me that my brother is dead.”
She gasped. “Then he knows the truth about you? But how would he—surely you don’t believe him!”
“He had Cecil’s valet as proof. I don’t see what lying about it would accomplish for him. If he wanted Cecil out of the way, killing him is the easiest way to do that.”
“Oh, Richard,” she whispered and leaned against him.
When he put his arm around her shoulders, she snuggled in against his body and held him.
“I cannot imagine how you must feel,” she said. “If something were to happen to one of my sisters—”
“But this isn’t the same,” he said, still staring out the window. “Cecil and I were never exactly close, and adulthood further separated us. I maybe saw him twice a year. But…I never thought it would feel this way, to know that he was dead.”
With her arm around his back, she felt a little spasm, as if he tried to control himself. When she looked up at him, she saw a tear slide down his cheek.
She whispered his name again and went completely into his arms, holding him tight, wishing with everything in her that she could ease his pain.
He held her for a moment, then gently pushed her away. Turning aside, he brushed at his face, and when he looked back, all his emotion was gone. He looked ruthless, determined—and deadly.
He told her about his conversation with Charles.
“So you don’t know how long he’s known about your masquerade?” she asked. “He certainly was trying to test you when he was talking about the entertainment at last year’s ball.”
He shook his head. “Thankfully Cecil always wrote me detailed letters bragging about masquerade. No, today was all about Charles’s love of the hunt. And we’re supposed to figure out the target.”
“Would that be you? Aren’t you the one who stands between him and guardianship of Stephen?”
“That makes sense, of course, but somehow that seems too easy. And we can’t forget that Cecil was under his control, for however brief a time. Charles might have forced him to sign a guardianship document.”
“But then you wouldn’t be in his way, would you?”
His eyes softened. “Now I know why I keep you at my side.”
“And here I thought it was for another reason.”
She immediately regretted such playful banter, but Richard seemed to appreciate it. Some of the terrible tension went out of him.
He arched an eyebrow. “You mean as governess?”
She blushed. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. So the duke probably didn’t name Charles as guardian.”
“I don’t think so. Perhaps Charles’s plan is as simple as guardianship of Stephen, and I’m in his way. He’s worried that a sympathetic court might side with me, considering that Cecil and I were raised as brothers. The duke housed and educated me—”
“And Stephen loves you.”
He smiled. “I would like to think so. Though my illegitimacy might cost me some sympathy, Charles can’t take that chance.”
“So how far do you think he would go to eliminate the threat of you?”
Richard’s mouth tightened. “If he killed Cecil…then he will dare anything.”
“But Cecil was sick; you don’t know for certain that Charles killed him.”
“No. But if Charles only wants to get me out of the way, all he has to do is announce my real identity. It will seem like I wanted the dukedom, and killed Cecil to get it. Maybe Charles is just biding his time, waiting to denounce me at the worst possible moment.”
“But how do we protect Stephen from him? Heavens, that little boy is now the duke,” she said, shaking her head in wonder.
“My first thought was to take Stephen out of England all together, but it will only look like I’m kidnapping him for my own ends. Hiding him somewhere until this all plays out would mean I’d have to trust someone to protect him.”
She studied him. “And trust doesn’t come easily to you, I would assume.”
He rubbed his hand across his brow. “No.”
A part of her felt let down, and he didn’t deserve that. She couldn’t expect him to trust her unequivocally. She still didn’t completely trust herself.
But why was his trust so important to her?
“So we keep Stephen here, and under watch at all times,” he said. “The training we’ve done with the wolfhounds will come in handy now. They’ll guard him well.”
“Did you train them with this in mind?”
“Not at first, but when the dogs took to Stephen, I realized that they could be invaluable. They’re sleeping in his room as we speak. I can’t believe Charles will harm Stephen, because power is his goal, and he’ll have it by controlling all the estates.”
“How can we be certain of that, Richard?” she asked softly. “Just because he told you he wants power, doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“You’re right. I really can’t assume anything about Charles’s goals. But I won’t let him harm Stephen.”
“That puts you in the most danger,” she whispered, startled again by how terrible that made her feel.
Was this love, this worry, this want, this desperate need to be with him?
She wanted to take all his pain away, to make him—to make both of them—forget for just one night that his own cousin wanted him dead.
Her fear of her own emotions seemed meaningless now, with Richard standing before her hurting, but strong and capable and ready to take on a murderer to defend a family and a way of life that had treated him badly.
She didn’t realize how long she’d been staring at him, or what expression she wore, until Richard betrayed a new tension by the way his gaze grew hooded as it moved intently down her body. She remembered the bliss of his embrace, the feel of his mouth on her, and she wanted it all again.
“Meriel,” he said, his voice husky, “if you wish to remain a virgin, I suggest you find your own bed.”
She only shook her head. If she thought he’d been tense before, she didn’t know the true meaning of the word. His body came alert, and a shock of passion seemed to jump between them.
He took a step closer. “You have to tell me, Meriel. Tell me what you want.”
She closed the gap between them, and her corseted breasts brushed his coat. “Can’t I show you?”
He closed his eyes and shuddered. “Will my heart be able to handle it?”
Her own heart gave an answering ache.
Any thoughts of embarrassment were long gone as she slipped her hands within his coat and placed them on his chest. She slid them up the warm hard muscles, then pushed back his coat at the shoulders until with a shrug he let it fall to the floor.
This time she wanted to see him, to know if he took the same wild pleasure in her touch as she did in his.
The buttons of his waistcoat were tricky under her trembling fingers, but soon that garment was on the floor, too.
He was breathing heavily; his heart pounded beneath her hands, and his brows were lowered over dark eyes that seemed to burn into her. She felt the tiny points of his nipples, and when she caressed them through his shirt, he caught his breath.
Suddenly impatient for more of him, she quickly untied his cravat and stock and tossed them to the floor. There were only a few buttons at his throat, and then she pushed his shirt up, and he obliged her by pulling it off over his head.
His chest startled her with how very different it was from hers, all hard, rippling muscle.
“You didn’t get this from investing,” she whispered, then lifted her head to look at his face. “Boxing?”
“Keeps a man trim,” he murmured.
His arms came around, and he started unhooking her gown in the back. It came loose slowly, but even then she was still restricted beneath several layers of clothing. He pulled it down the front of her, revealing her corset over her chemise, and the several petticoats tied at her waist.
When the gown was on the floor, he said, “It’s like opening a Christmas gift.”
Her laugh sounded strange, all throaty and deep. “Do you need help?”
“I’ll manage.”
And he did. Her petticoats came off one by one, and then he was forced to turn her around so that he could unlace her corset.
To her surprise, she faced a long mirror, and she could see herself all rosy-cheeked with excitement.
He pulled the corset up over her head, and then made short work of the pins in her hair, scattering them everywhere.
She watched her own blond curls fall about her breasts and shoulders and back.
From behind, he looked at her in the mirror, gathering her hair gently and drawing it to the back. The chemise she wore dipped into her cleavage, and was just translucent enough to reveal a hint of her nipples.
Richard groaned and buried his face in her hair. “I didn’t know governesses wore such fine undergarments.”
“Maybe they don’t. I bought my chemises when I had no spending limit. I like pretty things.”
“Thank God,” he said hoarsely.
He knelt down behind her, and she gasped when she felt him lifting her hemline.
Sliding his hands up her calves, he removed her shoes, garters, and stockings.
All she had left beneath her chemise were her drawers.
Richard didn’t bother with those. He simply came to his feet, bringing the hemline with him, then drew her chemise over her head.
For a moment he stood still, looking through the mirror at her breasts.
She had once imagined she’d feel like covering her nakedness, but not now. Now she wanted to lean back against him and beg for his touch. She loved the look of admiration and desperation on his face as he watched her.