She stared at their joined hands instead of searching his face. She knew if she saw the same longing she felt, her willpower would crumble. It was even harder to deny him than it was herself. “And if His Grace and Lady Penelope arrive before that can happen?”
“They are aware of the situation. They understand I have to make arrangements before… before I can move on.”
She finally met his gaze again. “I can’t go back with you.”
Scowling, he released her. “Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to stay out of your bed.”
“I wouldn’t want or expect you to.”
“I would expect it of myself. Don’t you see?”
“No. I don’t see. I don’t have to see. I simply demand it!”
That autocratic statement should have put her off. It would have, at one time. But she knew him now, knew he was wrestling with the same demons she was—desire, frustration, loneliness. Only he was far more used to getting what he wanted.
“I’m no longer one of your servants, my lord. You cannot order me about. And I can’t go back to your bed. You’ve already agreed to marry Lady Penelope. We must remember her and… and be kind.”
“But if we find the paintings I will be free of suspicion.”
“Does that mean you won’t marry her? You’ll break the betrothal?”
“Yes!”
“Why? It won’t change the fact that I’m a-a shopkeeper’s daughter. A poor village girl. An unsuitable wife for an earl.”
“Then for God’s sake be my mistress!” he growled.
“It’s a sad reflection on my state of mind that I’m tempted by that offer,” she said with a bitter laugh.
“It won’t be so bad. You’ll want for nothing, I swear it.”
“Your money is the last thing I’m after. And such an arrangement would destroy your marriage, make certain it never had a chance.”
“The last thing I need is you trying to save me for another woman!”
“What choice do I have?” she argued. “How long do you think you’d be happy in such a situation? How long would it be before you began to regret being with me? In the end, you’d hate me for making you into the kind of man you never wanted to be.”
“I could never hate you.”
“Do you think I don’t understand who you really are?”
He lifted a hand. “Stop painting me as more noble than I am. I can’t be that noble if I’m asking. At least we’d be together. What matters more than that?”
“Duty and honor, because I know you were raised to prize those things above all else.” She gripped his forearm. “You told me you were loyal to Katherine.”
“That is of no account.”
“It signifies a great deal. You didn’t love her. You didn’t even respect her. Yet you remained true. You can’t become someone other than who you are, my lord, at least not for very long.”
He jerked away. “Don’t tell me that. I’ve never wanted anyone as badly as I want you,” he said and stalked out.
Dammit! Rachel did things to him no other woman could. It didn’t matter what he did—if he tried to put her out of his life or draw her back in—there was no way to win. He couldn’t find any peace where she was concerned. He could only ache with want.
He was on the edge of town when he saw his own carriage.
As soon as Timothy spotted him, he pulled the conveyance to a stop and Linley stuck his head out.
“There you are, my lord.”
“What is it?” He hoped they’d found the paintings—but he knew in his heart that wasn’t it. Linley’s next words confirmed it.
“The duke and his daughter have arrived. I wanted to make you aware as soon as possible.”
Truman pressed a finger and thumb to his forehead. He was in no mood to be diverted. He had yet to deal with Cutberth. He also wanted to oversee the search at the mine.
But Cutberth wasn’t going anywhere. And, reward or not, there was a good chance the paintings would never be found. He couldn’t go off on a whim when his best chance at salvaging all he had, including his good name, was waiting for him at Blackmoor Hall.
“Thank you, Mr. Linley.”
“Would you like to tie your horse behind and ride back, my lord?”
“No, this will be quicker,” he said and urged his horse into a gallop.
Mrs. Tate was working in the kitchen when Rachel returned. “What did Lord Druridge want?”
Rachel wasn’t willing to share too much of their conversation. She knew Mrs. Tate loved her, but her neighbor was defensive of her to a fault and might repeat some of what she heard in an attempt to change the villagers’ minds about her. “To tell me he’s made inquiries about a position in London.”
Her neighbor frowned. “I hate to see ye leave. With yer mum gone and yer brother out at Blackmoor Hall, it’s gettin’ mighty lonely ’ere in this ’ouse.”
She had her two sons, but they were married, worked long hours and lived across town. She saw them and their families every Sunday, but it was Rachel’s family that had given her daily company and purpose. “I’ll miss you. But it will be better for me to start over somewhere else.” It had to be better. She didn’t see how her prospects could get any worse.
“I suppose he saw your injury.”
Mrs. Tate had been angry over that since Rachel returned from the shop yesterday with her face red and swollen. “How could he miss it? Cutberth must’ve hit me just right for it to look so bad.” He’d hit her hard, too—hard enough to rattle her teeth—but she was trying to calm the troubled waters, not make them worse.
“What kind of cad strikes a woman? I wish yer dad was still around. ’E’d take care of Cutberth.”
With a smile for the love her protective anger proved, Rachel decided to ask Mrs. Tate about Jillian and the earl’s mine clerk. “He would indeed. Especially if he heard what I just did.”
She put down the knife she’d been using to cut up a chicken. “Which was… ?”
“Mrs. Cutberth claims that her husband had an affair with my mother.”
Mrs. Tate blinked several times before she could find words. “Gah! Jillian never even liked ’im. ’E made her nervous, comin’ ’round the ’ouse, spendin’ so much time with you. She didn’t want ye to get caught up in what ’e was doin’, didn’t want ’im to lead ye into trouble—an’ she saw ’im as trouble, I assure ye. An agitator—that’s what she called him.”