Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (17 page)

The boy yelped and dropped the rod, guilt writ large on his face. “But Mr. Randall said we had to go now as the mayflies were out. I thought you would still be with Uncle Henry. He said you had things to discuss in private and I had to make myself scarce.”

Oliver quickly retrieved the rod before it floated downstream, turning over the boy’s words in his mind. At no time had the boy hinted he couldn’t come when Oliver had invited him. He hadn’t known about Elizabeth’s instructions. He’d not meant to undermine her wishes. He cursed under his breath as her gaze turned on him, blue eyes hardening to ice chips.

“It’s my fault,” he said quickly, taking full responsibility for getting swept up in his own concerns with no thought to what she might have expected. It wasn’t in his nature to think of others first, but when it came to the boy he had to remember to do that.

“Of course it is.” Her grip on the boy eased and eventually she released him. “You listen to me and no other.”

“Yes, ma’am.” George retrieved his pole from Oliver and stood tall. “May I continue fishing or do I have to go back with you now? We haven’t caught enough for Cook yet.”

Elizabeth glanced at the bank where George’s efforts, three sizeable trout, lay waiting to be delivered to the kitchens. “I suppose you may as well, but do not disobey me again,” she said eventually.

George crowed with happiness and quickly cast his lure into the slow eddy he had been methodically working.

When Elizabeth struggled with her heavy wet dress to regain the bank, Oliver tossed his rod ahead of him before scooping her up in his arms. He carried her to shore, water streaming from her skirts, and deposited her gently on her feet on the grassy slope.

He knelt and caught the bottom edge of her gown and squeezed as much water from the material as he could. Her footwear was likely ruined, however.

He stood to tell her so and her expression caught him off guard. To his eye, her agitation was too great for George merely slipping from the house without her permission or the inconvenience of a wet dress. Had something occurred with Turner when the boy had left her side?

Determined to find out, he called to George. “Keep at them, lad. I’m sure you’ll catch another soon.”

George waved and then happily resumed his preoccupation with the water and the lurking fish.

Oliver pointed to a spot downstream. “There’s a charming spot further along where you might sit in comfort to remove your footwear. Can I assist you there?”

Elizabeth stared at him as if he’d grown two heads, but eventually she made her way to a rough bench set beside a large stone, big enough for two to sit in comfort. Her skirts slapped wetly against her legs with each struggling step. As she sat, her breath huffed in a telling confirmation that had nothing to do with being damp.

He knelt and set her foot in his lap to remove her footwear. “What happened with Turner?”

“Nothing.”

She tried to remove her foot from his grip but he curled his fingers around her delicate ankle and held on. The soft kid boot was soaked completely, the strings tightly drawn and difficult to unlace. “Elizabeth.” Her name came out as a soft growl, full of exasperation that had only a little to do with the difficultly of unlacing the boot. He might not completely understand her emotions, but he was certain they were heightened for another reason.

The first boot came free with a wet squelch and he upended it, watching the water trickle out onto the ground. Elizabeth drew her foot back and discreetly slipped her stocking from her own leg, leaving her bare, reddened toes to dangle beneath her above the ground.

Oliver reached for the next boot and it came free more easily. Before she could stop him, he ran his hands up her calf and slipped her stocking from her leg himself. When he handed the soggy length of fabric to her, she snatched it back, her face reddening to an interesting shade.

Oliver took a place beside her on the bench, rather stirred by undressing Elizabeth. He’d quite like to continue in a more private venue and without her son standing a short distance away.

She turned away as she squeezed the water from her stockings and laid them beside her to dry in the weak sunlight where he couldn’t see them. He smiled with understanding at what her timidity revealed. His actions had affected her composure. She wasn’t quite as disinterested as he had first supposed.

She licked her lips before she spoke. “There are rumors circulating about my purpose in being at Romsey.”

“There is nothing unusual in that. Servants spread gossip about their employers every day. Even Skepington’s reputation was largely made up. For instance, they had not mounted heads on the staircase walls.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “But I digress. Do go on,” he urged.

“Heads?” She pressed her fingers to her brow. “Before I came to Romsey, Leopold had done much to help us. He saved us, I am certain of that, but it wasn’t hard to miss the speculation in my neighbors’ eyes. When I became Lady Venables’s companion, I thought having a position would prove them untrue. I was in an honest position and paid a wage. George and I needed the security of a roof over our heads.”

“I am glad you were looked after so well,” he said, because he thought he must say something to keep her talking to him. Eventually, she’d come to the heart of the problem.

“Because of Leopold’s extravagant generosity in coming so quickly after his return and my move into the abbey as a paid companion, it seems my brother-in-law is all too willing to believe the worst of the gossip and has expressed doubts about my character.”

“There is nothing to doubt in your character,” he replied immediately. “The fault lies with Turner. He wouldn’t lift a finger to help anyone when I knew him before and I doubt he’s changed.”

Elizabeth faced him and her expression hardened. “There are whispers that Leopold’s generosity came with a scandalous price that I gladly paid. My character has been tarnished by false accusation I cannot refute to the teller because it’s just gossip.”

“He thinks you my brother’s lover?” Oliver couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “Turner is a fool. My brother would never do something so dishonest with a friend’s wife. He’s far too virtuous for any villainy concerning you.”

She huffed and faced the stream. “It’s easy for you to laugh. Nothing ever bothers you. You’ve never cared how people regard you.”

He sobered quickly at the pain in her voice. Elizabeth had the same fears as any woman he’d known. Their reputations were all the value they had. He understood now why her emotions were so stirred. The worst she had done was return his kisses. He tried not to smile at the memory and sought a way to ease her discomfort. “Were you supposed to have enjoyed my brother’s phantom attentions? I imagine with the duchess in the picture too it must have been quite a wild romp.”

Her mouth dropped open and then her hands covered her face. “Oh my. The duchess will be furious when she hears the tale.”

He eased closer until their shoulder’s touched enough that she could lean against him if she wished. “I’d say she is already aware of any gossip and has dismissed it. She’s in a unique position to know the truth and has quite rightly ignored the wild rumor. Leopold wouldn’t be anywhere but in her bed.”

Elizabeth straightened, her cheeks flaming. “How can you possibly say such a thing to me and not expect me be shocked? You must think me a woman of low morals, too.”

“If you had no morals, you would have assumed I was offering to marry you yesterday.” He drew in a deep breath as disappointment filled him. For a moment, he had actually considered it a good idea, but she had dismissed it as impossible.

Elizabeth stiffened. After a moment, her blue eyes slid to the side to stare at him. “I knew you could not be serious. Why discuss an absurdity?”

“Absurdity or not, I made an offer, which you rejected out of hand. I doubt many women faced with similar circumstances and desperate for a way out would allow such an opportunity to slip from their grasp so easily.” He shrugged. Her indifference to his suggestion hadn’t bothered him at the time but discomfort filled him now. “I suppose I would make a terrible husband. However, there are other things I’m quite good at in private. Pleasures that you have not been indifferent to so far.”

Her lips clamped together and she did not offer a response to his discreetly made suggestion that she’d enjoyed kissing him. Oliver leaned back against the rock behind them and studied her profile. For a woman who liked chatter and expected a response to her words, he would be a terrible husband. But there were other aspects of life he could easily take up without burdening her with his constant presence. One of them he knew Elizabeth already liked. Touch. He set his hand flat against her back, out of sight so her son could not see should he glance away from the swirling waters.

She gasped as he caressed her spine, curving his fingers to the contours of her body, studying, memorizing while he could. She softened a touch, leaning into his hand, and turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. “You should stop. You’re leaving.”

“You’re leaving, too.” His hand curved around her waist and her eyes widened at his daring. His lips lifted as desire filled him with impatience. “And this is far too pleasant to halt just yet, isn’t it?”

The speed of her breathing increased; her eyes grew slumberous and soft. “What do you think you’re doing, Oliver? This is madness.”

He squeezed her bottom. “You said no to my proposal with absolute assurance, but you’re not asking me to end this with any confidence now. What do you really want, Elizabeth? More of this, or none at all?”

He slid his hand farther around her back, fingers following the curve of her waist and up until the fullness of her breasts began. Just an inch more and her breast would fit his hand. He’d gauged the size as a perfect fit for his palm before and he longed for proof now. Her breath caught, but she didn’t move out of reach. Her eyes were wide, her breathing hastened.

The look in her eyes confirmed his suspicions. She desired more of his touch and kisses, but wouldn’t say so out loud. Reluctantly, he removed his hand from her body, sat forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, and stared at the water until his desire for the woman beside him ebbed. Upstream, George peered at the water in blissful ignorance of Oliver’s behavior. Soon, they’d need to return to him and perhaps he should be ashamed of tempting the widow. But for now he and Elizabeth had a moment’s more privacy to be completely honest with each other.

“I want you in my bed, Elizabeth. I want to run my hands over every inch of you and commit you to my memory.” The truth tumbled from his lips with more blunt force than he’d like but he preferred to be honest with Elizabeth about the desire she stirred in him. “If you’re willing, my door will be unlocked tonight and every night until I leave if you’d care to continue our intimate discussion in more privacy than this. There is no need to say anything now. Think on it and come to me if your answer is yes.”

Silence stretched as he listened to Elizabeth breathe. Her breath churned, her hands twisted in her lap. The long wait for any form of response drove him to look at her. She stood immediately and their eyes met. “George caught a fish.”

When she snatched up her stockings and shoes, caught her skirts in her hands, and fled back to her son without a backward glance, Oliver trailed after slowly, watching the pair’s merriment over George’s success while he buried his disappointment. He had insufficient information to judge his success or failure, but he suspected she might never come to him. She would deny her impulses for the sake of her reputation and propriety. She would cling to her morals and let the pleasure of a new adventure slip away.

When the boy displayed his catch proudly, Oliver smiled and said all the right things to make him happy. But he was very well aware that Beth kept George firmly between them for the rest of their time together. On the path back to the abbey, she refused the support of his arm as she struggled to walk with her wet skirts hindering her progress. Oliver feared it was a metaphor for their relationship.

Chapter Sixteen

BETH PUSHED OPEN the door of the east wing and quietly closed it behind her, heart racing. It was a relief to have traversed the abbey without coming across anyone, servant or master. Her planned explanation for roaming the halls of the abbey because of a nagging hunger was a thin excuse at best. Access to the kitchens was in the opposite direction to Oliver’s bedchamber, after all, and so her excuse would not have stood prolonged questioning.

The corridor before her was dim and silent. Beth rubbed her damp palms over the day gown she’d slipped on and squared her shoulders. She was not going to wonder about Oliver Randall for the rest of her life. As the duchess had remarked once, a widow might indulge if she was careful and Oliver’s blunt suggestion had reassured her that her distraction with his nearness wasn’t entirely one-sided.

At the stream, when he’d made his offer to become her lover, she had been so shocked and startlingly aroused by his suggestion that she hadn’t been able to form a coherent response. All she’d thought of at the time was that Oliver was remarkably good at seduction for a man who had been locked up for ten years of his life. Or was it because of that seclusion that he’d turned his attention to an easy mark? With her, Oliver had not needed to flatter or tease to get what he’d wanted. He’d merely stated his desire to become her lover and let her choose for herself.