She toyed with her cheese soufflé.
“You seem distracted yourself,” he observed.
“Maybe I am.”
“Is there any particular reason?”
“I’m curious, I suppose.”
“About… ?”
Giving up the pretense of eating, she put down her spoon. “Lady Penelope. What is she like?”
He pictured the duke’s buxom daughter. “She has dark hair and eyes. Although she’s not quite as tall as you, she’s larger overall.”
“Do you find her attractive?”
He covered her hand with his own. “Don’t make it worse, Rachel—for either of us.”
“I was just wondering if you could see yourself being able to love her.”
No. He didn’t see that at all, but he couldn’t say so without denigrating his future wife. “Maybe that will come with time.”
“Have you learned any more about… ?” She fell silent as Linley came in to clear the plates in preparation for their next course.
“About… ?” he prompted when his butler was gone.
“Jonas Cutberth?”
“Not much. And I’m not sure it will do me any good to keep digging.”
“Because… ?”
“If Cutberth is responsible for the fire, why would he set it?”
“You showed me the reason last night.”
“But the more I think about it the more preposterous that seems. He is still working at the mine. If he had money, wouldn’t he take his family and move elsewhere?”
“Maybe he hasn’t sold the paintings. Maybe he’s been unable to sell them or is waiting until he feels it will be safer to try.”
That was a definite possibility, especially for a novice like Cutberth. “Where would he store them?”
“They could be anywhere.”
Linley entered again. Only he didn’t carry food; he carried an envelope. “My lord?”
Truman relinquished his drink in anticipation. “What is it?”
“This just arrived.”
The note bore the seal of the Duke of Pembroke. “Another missive?” he muttered.
Linley frowned and didn’t respond, but Truman knew what he was thinking. The man Truman had met with last night could not have had time to return to London with his answer. So maybe the duke had changed his mind and didn’t want to move forward with the wedding regardless of how he had responded to the ultimatum.
Truman wasn’t sure if that would make him happy… or sad. He craved an excuse to turn his back on what he felt he must do. But any relief would be short lived when the Abbotts made their next move and he had no way to counter it. He couldn’t abide the thought that he would be the one to bring shame on the Stanhope name.
Rachel watched with quiet consternation as he broke the seal and read the note.
“Good God,” he muttered.
“Is it as I fear?” Linley asked.
“No, but it’s almost as bad.” He tossed the note aside. “The duke has decided to bring Penelope for a visit.”
The color drained from Linley’s face. “When?”
“He’s already on his way.”
Chapter 17
It was late but Rachel was fighting sleep. She feared this might be her last night with Lord Druridge and didn’t want to waste a second of it. The uncertainty of travel made it difficult to guess when the duke and his daughter might arrive. Would it be tomorrow? The next day?
“What are you thinking about?” the earl murmured.
“I should leave at dawn,” she admitted.
He stiffened beside her. They were lying naked in each other’s arms because he’d insisted that she join him in bed, but they’d barely kissed. That letter at dinner had changed everything, had made the end so imminent. “Where would you go, Rachel?” he asked. “Linley hasn’t had the time he needs to make proper arrangements.”
“Why should I wait for Linley, my lord?”
“Don’t call me ‘my lord,’ anymore,” he said with a grimace. “I think we’re on an intimate enough basis that you could use my first name, don’t you?”
“You are ‘my lord’ to me, and you need to stay ‘my lord.’ I-I am not your responsibility, and I don’t want to get in the way of you reestablishing your happiness.”
His arms tightened around her. “Don’t talk like that. I would only worry about you if you left.”
“But it would be far better if I were not here when your guests arrive. You can’t argue with that.”
“They already know about you.”
“Now you’re being stubborn. That’s all the more reason I should go. They will, no doubt, be watching you closely.”
His fingers slipped through her hair. “Don’t talk about leaving until I know where you’re going and feel comfortable with it. Don’t even think about it.”
“What’s our other option? Shall I remove myself to the far wing while Lady Penelope is here? Hide there with Peasant Wedding Feast until she and her father leave?”
“This is a big enough house that we can make sure your paths do not cross.”
“And afterwards, would we simply take up where we left off? I could never feel good about that, and I know you couldn’t either.”
He sighed. “Bear with me, sweet Rachel. I have to be certain I’ve got the right situation for you.”
“That could take weeks, my lord. In the meantime, I refuse to get in the way.”
“Stop,” he growled, growing impatient. “I won’t hear any more of this.”
The fire popped and crackled but brought little comfort. Rachel felt cold in spite of its heat. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I’m leaving in the morning.”
Assuming they’d only argue if she stayed with him tonight, she tried to get out of bed, but he stopped her.
“I don’t think I can give you up,” he said and kissed her fingertips, her arm, her neck.
The lethargy that’d gripped them since dinner burned off like fog beneath a hot sun. Suddenly they were touching and tasting each other as if they might never have another chance.
Maybe they couldn’t have forever, but they could have this one night.
It would be her good-bye, Rachel decided and let go of all restraint. “One more memory,” she whispered.
He didn’t like the finality of that any more than what she’d said before. Briefly he pulled back to scowl at her so she’d know it, but she brought his mouth back to hers, kissing him with all the pent-up longing she knew she’d feel the moment she left him, and he seemed incapable of further protest. His tongue was too busy mating with hers; his hands were too busy making her shake with desire.