Miss Devon's Choice: A Sweet Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 5) Page 15

  “A room that is not a room, a door that is not a door,” he said, holding the paper out to her.

  Rebecca kept her arms wrapped around herself, though she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “I thought you didn’t like the idea of the treasure hunt.”

  He wiped the smile from his face, though it remained in his eyes. “It’s nonsense, of course. But now the riddle makes sense.” He unrolled the paper and looked down at it, narrowing his eyes in the semi-darkness. “I cannot read it, I’m afraid.”

  “Wait until the sun comes out again,” she advised, a shiver punctuating her sentence.

  Christian looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “You’re freezing, aren’t you? It’s no wonder, with the thin fabrics you women wear.” He made as if to remove his jacket, but his elbow slammed into the wood at his back. He released a pained breath.

  “D-don’t trouble yourself,” she said. “The rain w-will stop, then I’ll g-go in and change.”

  “It might last a while yet, carina.” Christian looked out the open side of the turret, where a bridge had been constructed to connect it to another make-believe castle-top. “Here. Come.” He opened his arms to her, his expression earnest, the concern in his eyes sincere.

  Rebecca, shivering so much that her whole body shook, didn’t stop to question his motives. Her dress was very thin and very wet, and all her running after him had left her rather tired. She moved into his arms, her cheek resting against the damp wool of his jacket. Though he was as wet as she, he was considerably warmer.

  His hands moved up and down her back, creating friction and warmth, her whole body shaking against his. Rebecca wished she could burrow closer. He was delightfully toasty compared to her chilly skin. She raised her hands enough to remove her bonnet, pushing it off the back of her head. This allowed her to nuzzle into his shoulder.

  Christian’s hands slowed, tracing circles over her back, and her shivers subsided. Relaxing into his hold, Rebecca closed her eyes and pretended, for just a moment, that she already loved him. Was the warmth spreading through her any indication of what that must feel like? How much more peaceful would it be, to be held in the circle of his arms, after giving him her whole heart?

  They’d known each other less than a week, yet she could already imagine the tenderness of feeling that love would inspire between them.

  His gentleness, his care for her well-being, had come as a welcome surprise the day he’d walked into the music room and played for her. Though she had hoped for her feelings to turn in his favor, it was in those moments she had dared dream he might one day feel the same. She’d never voiced the hope aloud, hadn’t even written it in her journal, but it rested quietly in her heart. She was well on her way to loving him, after all.

  “I am sorry we’re trapped here,” he said, his deep voice rumbling from his chest.

  “I am not. I rather missed your company yesterday.”

  Christian stilled and she leaned back, seeing his furrowed brow in the semi-darkness.

  “It’s true, Christian. I was sorry not to see you. Did your business in the village go well?”

  He turned away, his face toward the opening in the wall. “Well enough.”

  Rebecca leaned a little more into him, grateful for the warmth his larger form gave off. “I am glad to hear it. Did you like the village? I’ve always loved it. I visited earlier this week, to see the seamstress. Mrs. Chandler is a dear woman. She used to make my mother’s clothing.”

  He said nothing, only made a humming sound that committed to the conversation in absolutely no manner. Rebecca tried not to be disappointed, but she tilted her head back a little to study his profile again. He was very striking in appearance. What did he think of her looks?

  “I look like her. My mother. Everyone says so. Though she wasn’t as tall. She loved riding horses, like Christine—Mrs. Gilbert—loves riding them. She was kind to everyone, like my sister Julia. I hope you meet Julia someday. And my mother would read to me, sometimes for hours, in our garden. She didn’t even fuss if I forgot my bonnet. She loved all of us, even Horrible Horace, who really isn’t horrible. I thought he was, when we were younger. He was such a pest.”

  Rebecca stopped prattling and lowered her head when he looked down at her. She didn’t want to see if he was irritated, or bored. Speaking of her mother still pained her, sometimes.

  “What happened to her?” There was warmth in his deep voice, a warmth that reached deeper than his arm around her had managed. And there was curiosity.

  Rebecca smiled sadly and drew her legs up closer to her body, wrapping her arms around them. His arm remained around her shoulders, but she had warmed enough that she knew she ought to move away from him.

  “Mother fell ill one winter. She said it was nothing. A cold. But she grew worse. There was a fever, and then one morning she didn’t wake up.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eleven.” Rebecca closed her eyes and leaned forward, dropping her chin on her sodden knees. “It was just after Christmas. Mother had given me a stack of books she promised we would read together.” Her voice cracked on the last word, necessitating she clear her throat and swallow several times. Rebecca refused to cry. But she’d never mentioned the books before. Not to anyone.

  When her mother died, everything changed. Her sisters, where Rebecca would previously have turned for comfort, were also grieving and struggling with their own broken hearts.

  Christian shifted, moving around just enough to reach out, his gloved hand brushing against her cheek. She raised her head up, trying to smile, but it faltered quickly when she saw the sorrow in his eyes.

  “Did you read her books? It must’ve helped, having something from her,” he said.

  Rebecca didn’t move. She hardly dared breathe, though she made her answer. “I never read them,” she whispered. “I couldn’t. Not without her.”

  His eyes darkened and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Mi bella, mi dispiace molto.” He spoke the words against her forehead, his tone causing an ache in her heart. “I am sorry, Rebecca. We are not so different,” he whispered. “My mother, her name was Alessandra. She was the daughter of an Italian wine merchant.”

  Rebecca held her breath, hardly daring to believe he would confide in her. “What did she look like?” she asked softly, fearful of ruining the moment with too loud a voice.

  “I cannot remember her very well. I know her hair and eyes were dark, like mine.” He leaned back against the wall. “I was five years old when she fell ill.”

  “What do you remember about her?” She kept her voice gentle, watching him carefully. His mask had slipped and seeing what lay behind it mattered greatly.

  He was silent for several moments, then a sad smile twisted his lips. “I remember her singing to me. Her voice was beautiful, and her songs were sad. Italian love songs. Peasant songs.” He sighed and looked down at Rebecca, his eyes shining in the darkness. “She sang even when we both became sick.”

  “You were both sick?” Rebecca studied the shadows on one side of his face, the dim light on the other.

  He stared at her incredulously. “The small pox.” He raised a hand to gesture to his cheek. “You did not notice?” A hard smile that was more a grimace appeared.

  Her cheeks warmed. “I noticed,” she admitted quietly.

  His shoulders tightened and he dropped his hand back to his lap. “We both caught the disease,” he continued, his voice flat. “It was agony. My whole body itched, the sores broke and bled, even inside my throat. I spent days and nights crying. Fevered. Freezing.” He shuddered. “My mother sat beside me and sang. Even when her throat closed up, she sang. Until my fever broke. Only after that did she go to her own bed, to rest. But it was too late.” His voice cracked on the last word and he fell silent, his jaw clenched and working back and forth against the emotion.

  Rebecca’s heart ached for him and she dared, ever so slowly, to lean against him again. It was very little, but it was al
l the comfort she could give. There were no words to soothe such heartache, that she well knew.

  After a long silence, his body began to relax again. “My father said it was despair and loneliness that took her. She’d come to England as his bride, but no one accepted her. She couldn’t speak English very well. She wasn’t refined enough. They laughed at her. Shunned her.”

  “That is terrible,” Rebecca murmured, tears pricking at her eyes. “Society can be very cruel.”

  “It killed her as surely as the pox did,” he said, sounding more tired than bitter. “My father dreaded what it would do to me. I was still weak, so he took me away, to my mother’s family. We lived with my grandfather in the country, until war made my father fear for me once more. I was fifteen.”

  “An age where boys run off to war,” Rebecca said, her thoughts momentarily shifting to her own brother. Harry was only fourteen.

  “He didn’t want me to join the fight or be pressed into service. Said he couldn’t bear for his Alessandra’s child to die when she had given so much to see me live.”

  “He sent you back to England,” Rebecca said, her eyes widening. “But he stayed behind?”

  Christian nodded, weariness in every line of his body. He lifted his head, meeting her eyes, and there was enough light for her to see the hopelessness swimming in his. “He died six months later, leaving me stranded here. I asked to go back to Italy, but my grandfather refused to allow it. My duty is here, in England.”

  “Christian.” She wished she was braver, wished she had the right words to say. “I cannot imagine how that must feel. But your parents, they loved you so much.”

  “So much that they both left,” he said, his twisted smile reappearing. “Left me to carry on in a foreign country, where I am despised almost as much as my mother was.”

  “That cannot be true.” She reached about in her mind for a way to argue against his statement. “Your English, it’s perfect. No one would guess you have any other heritage.”

  “It wasn’t always,” he retorted, shifting slightly away from her. “My time at Eton taught me to speak like an Englishman or suffer the consequences. Oxford taught me that I would never be accepted. I am a half-breed. Not English enough, not enough noble blood in my veins. Besides that, I am not the fine physical specimen society would have me be.”

  Rebecca blinked, incredulously taking in his broad shoulders and long frame. “Oh?” The word came out a squeak and she hastily continued, wincing at the higher tone of her voice. “Your health seems perfectly adequate.”

  His eyes darted to hers and she realized, seeing the clear brown depths, that the storm had moved on enough for her to see his every feature. And he doubtless could see her blush.

  His deep laugh rumbled through the wooden turret. “I do not understand you, carina. How much of this is an act? You always seem so sincere.”

  The Italian word, spoken to her twice now, had the ring of an endearment. At least, her heart gave an odd sort of thump when she heard it. “I promised you I would be honest,” she answered, raising one shoulder in a shrug. “And I see nothing wrong with you.”

  Christian shook his head, his expression closing once more. “I was told once, in plain terms, that no Englishwoman would ever have me. I am too foreign, too ugly, and reaching beyond my pedigree. Even though I will inherit, my title will not be enough to still society’s gossip and disdain.”

  A cold stone settled in Rebecca’s stomach. This is how he came to look for a wife. This is why my father is marrying me to him. He doesn’t think there is any other way. Rebecca looked out of the turret, her heart sinking when she saw blue in the sky once more. Their time holed up together was about to come to an end.

  The man sitting beside her was injured, severely and deeply, by those who had loved him and those who despised him.

  Could she even hope to repair the damage that had been done to him? She didn’t know much about love herself. She read about it in books, she caught glimpses of it when she visited Lucas and Virginia or saw her sisters with their husbands. But her knowledge was all second-hand and limited.

  “You see,” Christian said, his deep voice interrupting her contemplation. “Love is dangerous. It has no place in my life. It is better that way, carina. Better for us both.”

  Shaking her head, Rebecca held his gaze for several moments before replying. “I cannot believe that, Christian. I will not.”

  “At least speak of it no more.” Each word spoken had a tired quality to it, and Rebecca knew she should resist speaking further of her desire to love him. It would be the polite thing to do. Yet, it wouldn’t be honest.

  “I cannot promise you my silence will last for any amount of time,” she said at last. “I think my feelings on the matter must be as important as yours. But, I will relent for now.”

  “Thank you for that,” he answered, one corner of his mouth rising along with his eyebrows. “Let us speak of something else.”

  Rebecca spoke almost delicately. “I can agree to that. For the time being.”

  He chuckled. “The rain has stopped.”

  “I know.”

  “We ought to get you back inside, so you can get warm and dry.”

  His words gave her a little lift of optimism. A man who felt such concern for another couldn’t be completely closed off to deeper feelings.

  Rebecca’s mother, she knew, had loved Mr. Devon when they married. But when he failed to return her feelings, failed to even care about her, everything changed. Julia had told her about it once, when Rebecca asked why their father didn’t mourn as they did. At the time, she’d been horrified by the very thought that a man could refuse to love his wife.

  Thinking on it now, her own desperation to care for Christian might not end well. Even if she cared for him, if her feelings grew in magnitude, she would open herself up to greater pain should he never return her affection.

  But he will, she told herself firmly, leaning slightly into his side, as though seeking his warmth. In reality, she sought any connection with him she could gain. He must. He has such a gentle heart, for all that he hides it so well.

  After another moment of quiet, Christian leaned out onto the bridge between the tree towers, holding the paper he’d found to the light to read it. He replaced the paper, so if anyone else was lucky enough to come upon it they would have the next riddle, then he descended the ladder and waited for Rebecca to join him. Coming down was a little more difficult than climbing up, given that her skirts were not made with ladders in mind.

  Rebecca took his arm after both feet were firmly on the ground again.

  “Hearth and home is where the treasure lives,” he said, repeating the riddle to her. “But you must have lofty thoughts to find where it’s hid.” He sighed. “I have no great fondness for riddles.”

  At least he’s in a better mood than he was when I found him. For the present, she counted it a victory.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Getting Rebecca and himself back into the house without being seen had proven a challenge for Christian. Even though they were betrothed, the two of them being alone together in the tree would do nothing for their reputations. Having come to Kettering and Annesbury Park to avoid scandal, keeping tongues from wagging was of paramount importance. There was also the matter of his letter to consider. Should their agreement be absolved, he had no wish to further damage her status. He found a side-door for Rebecca to sneak through and he waited a quarter of an hour before entering the house by a different route.

  The rest of the day passed more slowly. Though Christian spent time conversing with the lords, on matters related to their personal holdings instead and the economic needs of the country, his thoughts were never far from Rebecca.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t forget the feeling of her in his arms. She’d fit against him perfectly and having her tucked to his side had done something to him. Marriage would mark him as his wife’s protector in all things for the rest of his life. Sheltering her from the cold a
nd the storm suddenly made that task seem more pleasant than daunting.

  Christian went out to exercise Ajax the next morning and saw Thomas Gilbert riding toward the main house. He raised his hand, hailing the man.

  Gilbert veered his horse from the house to Christian’s footpath. “Good morning, Easton,” he greeted, a wide grin on his face. “We are well met this morning. I have come to extend an invitation to you and your betrothed.”

  “Really?” Christian’s heart gave an odd little tug. It would be his first time to escort her anywhere, other than to and from meals. The idea of getting away from Annesbury Park for a few hours held great appeal. “What sort of invitation?”

  Gilbert dismounted with practiced ease. “Doctor and Mrs. Hastings arrived yesterday evening. Julia is very eager to see her youngest sister. Will you come spend the day with us? Of course, you’ll have to return to Annesbury Park for dinner, to avoid stirring the aunt’s suspicions.” The gentleman’s grin never dimmed. He seemed to enjoy the clandestine nature of the event.

  “I would be happy to accompany Miss Devon to your home.” Christian looked back up to the house. “And I will do my best to escape undetected with her.”

  Gilbert chuckled. “I’ll let Christine know you’ve accepted. She’ll make certain you are both comfortable during your stay.”

  Given Mrs. Gilbert’s treatment of him at the card party, Christian wasn’t entirely certain she’d willingly be a gracious hostess to him. To keep his word in aiding Rebecca’s visit, he was prepared to brave her unearned displeasure.

  “When would you like us to arrive?” Christian asked, bending to scratch Ajax’s chin.

  “As soon as you are able. The sisters haven’t been together for nearly a year.” Gilbert’s smile sobered and he tapped at his thigh with the reins. “This is important to them, Easton.”

  Though he had no siblings of his own, Christian frequently missed the cousins with whom he’d grown up. Spending every summer until his fifteenth birthday in their company had created bonds that he hoped had lasted into adulthood.