The Notorious Lord Page 22

  ‘I know,’ Cory said. ‘In fact, Richard is so in love he can barely keep his mind on what he is trying to achieve. The more time he spends in her company, the less sense one gets from him.’

  Rachel gave a little gesture. ‘Then I do not see-’ She stopped. She knew that she was wandering into dangerous ground, but it was too late now. All half-truths and half-measures between them had to be at an end.

  ‘You do not see why I was jealous?’ Cory asked ruefully. ‘I dare say I have no cause, but that has nothing to do with emotion, Rae. I do not wish to share your attention with anyone.’

  Rachel felt a rush of powerful feeling. ‘You speak most convincingly,’ she said sharply, ‘but how am I to know that your protestations are true when this whole business has been a charade from start to finish-?’

  She broke off at the expression in Cory’s eyes. ‘Rae,’ he said, ‘there was no pretence. Never between me and you. Shall I prove it to you?’

  Cory took her hand in his again and it was all that Rachel could do not to wrench it away from him, so sharp was her awareness of him. She wanted to tell him that he was being foolish, to beg him to say no more, to retreat to the comfortable grounds of friendship. But it was far too late for that. She had already betrayed herself with her accusations of disloyalty. She knew she had given away the fact that she cared for him. And she knew what Cory’s next question would be. She waited, her breath coming quickly, lightly.

  ‘Why were you so upset when I told you about what had happened to me?’ Cory asked softly.

  Rachel did not meet his eyes. Her answer stumbled a little. ‘Cory, you are my dearest and my oldest friend,’ she said. ‘How could I possibly greet with equanimity the thought that someone had taken a shot at you? You may have that hardihood, but I do not.’

  Cory smiled. He was stroking her hand softly, sending little quivers of feeling along her nerves. ‘Are you certain that that was all it was?’ he pursued.

  Rachel’s gaze clung to his. Her senses felt cloudy, confused. ‘That is all it can be,’ she whispered.

  There was a moment of stillness, then Cory pulled her to him, his arms hard about her again. This time there was no attempt at comfort. This time his mouth took hers hungrily, almost angrily, as though he were trying to prove a point. The kiss was rough and demanding, overpowering with pent-up need. Rachel’s mind spun. The minute he had touched her she had been lost, aware of nothing but the hard muscles of his arms beneath her fingers, the heated, insistent claim of his mouth, the scent of him, the pressure of his body against hers.

  She forgot that they were in the phaeton, forgot that it was standing in full view of the track, forgot her scruples and doubts. Her heart was hammering and she could think of nothing but the absolute bliss and perfection of being in Cory’s arms, the overwhelming sensation of yielding to him, of coming home.

  Cory tossed her hat on to the seat beside them and with one swift movement pulled half the pins from her hair so that it slithered down her back in heavy chestnut waves. Rachel gave a little cry. It felt extraordinary, intimate, as though he had stripped her naked. She opened her mouth to protest at the disorder to her appearance, but before she could say a word Cory had tangled one gloved hand in the shining tresses and covered her mouth with his again, kissing her deeply. Rachel forgot all about neatness and gave him back kiss for kiss, adrift with an uncontrollable need for him, clutching at his shoulders to draw him closer, to taste and to tease and to demand from him a reaction as powerful as the one he aroused in her.

  She got it.

  Cory’s lips left hers and he took the lobe of her ear between his teeth, tugging gently. His breath feathered across the tender skin of her neck and sent shivers right through her body. Rachel’s senses spun. She felt his fingers on the buttons that closed her spencer. The coolness of the air about her shoulders told her that it had been shed. And then, without warning, he stunned her, made her senses reel. Quickly, gently, he scooped one of her breasts from the rounded neckline of her gown and bent his head to tug at the nipple, lick it back and forth, with expert skill. A short, high cry escaped her. She arched against his hands and his mouth and tumbled back against the seat, her body abandoned to his. His hands were hard on her waist, his mouth at her breast and she wanted to die from sheer, inexorable desire.

  The curricle jolted suddenly and Rachel almost tumbled from the seat. A flock of birds rose from the sheltering trees with cries of alarm. From the fields behind the hay barn came the sound of voices and the scrape of iron on wood. Sanity returned to both Rachel and Cory instantly. He let her go. His eyes were blazing and his mouth was a hard line.

  ‘So, are we friends now?’ he asked.

  Consternation shook Rachel. She knew that she had responded to him in full measure, wanting nothing more than to lose herself forever in his arms. She kept her head bent and adjusted her dress and reached for her spencer with short, jerky movements. After a moment Cory helped her. His own hands were shaking. Rachel noted the fact and felt an aftershock of love and helpless need. She folded her arms tightly. She felt chilled.

  ‘Rachel…’ Cory said, and there was a note in his voice that brought her gaze up to meet his. She twisted her fingers together in her lap.

  ‘I do not think that we should have done that,’ she said.

  She heard Cory laugh a little unsteadily.

  ‘Certainly not here and now,’ he agreed. His hand came down hard on her clasped ones, compelling her to look at him. ‘But that was not what I asked,’ he added. ‘I asked if your feelings for me were those of mere friendship.’

  The rose colour flooded Rachel’s face as she realised that she needed to meet his demands with her own brand of courage. She tilted her face up so that she met his gaze very straight. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I do not think that we are friends now. I do not feel particularly kindly disposed to you at the moment.’

  Cory’s expression eased. He almost smiled. ‘So what do you feel for me, Rachel?’

  Rachel pulled at the seam of her glove, almost splitting it in her agitation. ‘I must admit…I have to confess to a shocking attraction to you,’ she said. ‘It worries me and I do not like it.’

  She saw the shadow of a smile deepen on Cory’s face. ‘You do not like it or you do not like me?’ he enquired. ‘Please be specific.’

  Rachel bit her lip. ‘Oh, I like you, Cory. That must be demonstrably obvious to you! I was not fighting you off-’ She stopped and her voice fell. ‘But I do not like feeling like this about you.’

  ‘Friendship can change,’ Cory said. ‘It can grow and develop into something different…’

  Rachel felt her throat close with nervousness. Such sentiments did not reassure her, for where could her friendship with Cory go now? To explore a mutual attraction might be exciting beyond belief and just the thought of it made her heart leap, but it would leave a true companionship in tatters, for at the end of it all there was nowhere for them to go. They wanted different things. They always had and they always would.

  She looked up and met Cory’s silver gaze. ‘I do not know what to think,’ she said.

  Cory turned her face up to his, his gloved fingers spread against her cheek. ‘Yes, you do,’ he said. ‘You do know what to think. Tell me now,’ he invited softly, as his eyes held hers. ‘Tell me exactly what you think.’

  Rachel was thinking that she ached for him and wanted no more than to be back in his arms. She did not need to speak. He read the truth quite easily in her face. She saw his gaze go to her parted lips and his eyes darken, and she turned her face full up to his under the caress of his hand. Her invitation was unmistakable to both of them. His head swooped down and she closed her eyes. She felt his lips against her throat and the line of her jaw, pressing little kisses on her skin that felt as though they burned her very soul. When he finally guided her mouth to his, Rachel gave a gasp of pleasure and opened for him in wanton delight. Her mouth moved beneath his, responsive to the onslaught of his relentless tongue, eager to sa
tisfy the clamour of her senses. She had no idea of how long they clung together, but then she felt Cory ease away from her and she almost cried out in frustration.

  He was looking at her with a mixture of desire and disbelief and the old amusement.

  ‘And after all that you want us to be friends?’ he said. His voice was husky and he shook his head slightly as though he was finding it as difficult as she to believe what had happened. He picked up the reins. ‘All the same, I must take you back, sweetheart, or I will pick you up and carry you into that barn and make love to you here and now.’

  Rachel pressed her fingers to her lips to repress the gasp that his words provoked. The image burned in her mind, excluding all other thoughts. She struggled with herself and after a few moments was able to regain a little composure. Cory was deliberately avoiding looking at her now and she understood why. The air was so tense between them that it would take a minute spark to set off the entire conflagration. Instead he concentrated on turning the carriage with inch-perfect precision and set off back up the track to the Woodbridge road. For Rachel the scenery passed in a complete blur. The only thought in her mind was that she had enjoyed Cory’s caresses beyond reason. She felt shocked and vulnerable and passionately excited. It was an utterly new experience for her and it held her silent all the way home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘I have to ask you your intentions, old fellow,’ Richard Kestrel said to Cory Newlyn that night at the Regatta Ball.

  ‘My intentions?’ Cory dragged his gaze from the sight of Rachel dancing with Caspar Lang and fixed his old friend with a look of enquiry. ‘My intentions about what?’

  ‘Don’t be dense, old chap,’ Richard said. ‘Your intentions towards Miss Odell, of course. I would not like to think that you were cherishing any dishonourable aspirations in that direction.’

  Cory gave him a hard stare. ‘I fear I do not quite understand you, Richard. Are you quizzing me? You have heard the phrase concerning the pot and the kettle, I take it?’

  Richard drove his hands into the pockets of his evening suit, thereby spoiling the elegant line. ‘You may be as indignant as you wish, Cory, but my concerns are with Miss Odell. With no brother to protect her-’

  ‘I have acted the role of Miss Odell’s brother for the past seventeen years-’ Cory began, only to break off as Richard laughed.

  ‘Yes, and forgive me, but recently you have exchanged that role for the one of Miss Odell’s protector,’ Richard said, ‘in a completely unfraternal sense.’

  Cory stiffened and then, seeing there was no mockery in Richard’s face, relaxed slightly. ‘Devil take it, Richard,’ he said, ‘has everyone noticed?’

  ‘Pretty much everyone,’ Richard confirmed gently. ‘Which is why I have to ask the question. You are in danger of damaging Miss Odell’s reputation if you continue.’

  ‘Surely you cannot believe that I would have dishonourable intentions towards a lady I hold in such high esteem, the daughter of a colleague I respect?’ Cory said incredulously.

  Richard shrugged. ‘I do not doubt you, old chap. But then I am not a gossiping old tabby who likes to make trouble for others. Nor,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘am I as bored and spiteful as, say, Lady Benedict, and looking for a target for my malice.’

  ‘Damnation!’ Cory expelled his breath sharply. He had not foreseen this. He knew that he could not, with honour, allow Rachel’s reputation to be questioned. He could not even bear the thought of it. He rubbed a hand across his forehead.

  ‘I am trying to give Miss Odell a little time to become accustomed to my suit,’ he said.

  ‘Time?’ Richard placed his empty wine glass gently on the table. ‘You have had seventeen years, old fellow. Thought you generally worked quicker than that.’

  Cory smiled faintly. ‘I suppose I asked for that. Once again I suggest that you look to your own situation before you criticise mine.’

  Richard laughed. ‘Touché, Cory.’ He drew a step closer. ‘Did Justin tell you that he had found a witness to the attack on you, by the way? A poacher, name of Simm, saw a figure running away from the scene that night. Naturally he did not reveal himself since he had a brace of Justin’s pheasant under his arm at the time.’

  Cory laughed. ‘So I could have perished for all he cared! Did he get a good look at my assailant?’

  Richard shook his head. ‘Did not even know if it was a man or a woman. But he saw two people-and saw them take the road towards Benton Hall.’

  Cory’s lips pursed in a soundless whistle. ‘Benton? Then it does centre around Lady Benedict?’

  ‘It would appear so.’ Richard shook his head ruefully. ‘But what we need-and have not got-is hard evidence in place of supposition. And until we have it-’ he clapped Cory on the shoulder ‘-you should watch your step, old chap.’ He laughed. ‘Enough business for one night. Since you are not yet betrothed to the lovely Miss Odell, I shall take this opportunity to dance with her…’

  He pressed a full glass of wine into Cory’s hand and strolled away. Cory watched him approach Rachel, saw the tilt of her head as she smiled up at him, felt the now-familiar physical wrench of jealousy, and smiled wryly to himself. He had never thought of himself as a possessive man. He had never been possessive until there had been something as precious as Rachel that he wanted to possess. All the other things that he had ever pursued in his entire life were as nothing in comparison.

  Cory watched Rachel take Richard’s hand and they walked over to the set of country-dances that was forming. He admired the gentle sway of her pale blue gown. Tonight Rachel was pin neat again, and he was willing to bet any money that it was in part a reaction to the violent disorder in which she had found herself that afternoon. Her hair was arranged in a complicated series of knots and curls, her gown was demure and fastened up to the neck with a row of tiny pearl buttons. But this afternoon he had loosened that hair and felt it wrapped around his hand in all its provocative glory, he had seen beneath the layers with which Rachel so tidily covered herself. He had touched that soft skin that no one else had ever touched. He knew… His body tightened unbearably at the memory.

  Cory turned away and concentrated on Rachel’s predicament rather than his own. He loved her. He would not expose her to scandal. He would give himself a week more to woo her, but then he would have to make his declaration before the entire world, whether she was ready or not.

  He drained the glass of wine. He felt as green and uncertain as a youth in the throes of his first love affair and it was completely disconcerting. He had no certainty that she would accept him.

  It was the strangest thing to find herself courted by the man she had been accustomed to think of as her dearest friend; stranger still to feel her resistance dissolving into something warm and exciting and intimate, that melted her heart and set her concerns at naught. Rachel was under siege and the seduction was so subtle, so gentle, that she was already halfway lost before she even noticed it.

  Cory brought her flowers, wild roses snatched from the bushes that ran rampant beside the Winter Race, and sprigs of yellow gorse that she grumbled pierced her fingers. He took her driving and persuaded her to go boating on the river. He escorted her to the Woodbridge assembly and danced with her three times. He made her laugh. He sat talking with her whilst the sun went down and the ducks whistled and called on the river and the shadows merged into dark.

  He did not kiss her once.

  Rachel knew that he wanted to. It was implicit in the way that he held her when they danced or when he helped her down from the curricle. Once, she had been talking about her reading of the texts about the Midwinter Treasure and had looked at his face, seen that his gaze was devouring her and had stopped abruptly. They had stared at one another and Rachel had seen the heated desire in his eyes and her smile had faltered as she felt the now-familiar weakness invade her senses.

  ‘You are not listening to me!’ she had said.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Cory had said charmingly. ‘You are quite rig
ht. I confess that I did not hear a word that you were saying.’

  Rachel had blushed and Cory had laughed and kissed her fingers, and she had known that he had wanted to do a great deal more than that.

  Friendship was special, Rachel realised, but love and friendship together was proving a deeper and more perfect experience than she had ever imagined. It threatened to steal her very soul. Yet at the back of her mind was one last thought. It whispered across her happiness when she least expected it, and cast a long shadow. For Cory Newlyn was the man everyone swore was wedded to his pursuit of antiquities, the adventurer, the traveller, always on the move, possessed of a restless spirit. And she…she wanted nothing more than the calm and peace of home, and these two opposites would never be compatible, not in a thousand years.

  Oddly, it was one small incident that happened at a dinner at Saltires that finally brought the whole matter to a head. The meal was over and the ladies had retired to the drawing room to take tea and play a few desultory rounds of cards whilst they waited for the gentlemen to join them. Rachel had been sitting out that hand of whist and had lost interest in following the progress of play. She got up to inspect Lady Sally’s bookcases instead, and was soon quite engrossed in a copy of The Faery Queen. Only the sound of Cory’s voice, as he re-entered the drawing room with Richard Kestrel and Sir Arthur, roused her attention.

  ‘I should be delighted to go up to London to discuss organising an exhibition of our finds at the British Museum, sir,’ Rachel heard him say. ‘It would be a great honour. Whilst I am up in town I need to make some arrangements for my forthcoming expedition to Scandinavia.’

  ‘Some marvellous finds at Uppsala,’ Sir Arthur enthused. ‘You must write to me and report on them.’

  Cory bowed. ‘I should be pleased to, sir. I hear that they have a boat burial of the type we hoped to find here at Midwinter. I shall be most interested to view it…’

  Rachel’s blood ran cold. For a moment it seemed that Lady Sally’s drawing room, the most warm and pleasant place imaginable, was as cold and barren as the Arctic wastes. Cory’s words repeated in her brain with the emphasis of hammer on metal: I need to make arrangements for my forthcoming expedition…