A Lady's Prerogative Read online

  Natalie did not know what to say. Should she tell him she loved him? Did she? Upon such short acquaintance was it even possible? Or had the furtive glances and seductive stares they’d exchanged throughout the previous two seasons begun all this long ago?

  Could she attach herself to a man judged to be a pariah by society? A man who carried tainted blood? A sob escaped her.

  She did not want to cry.

  “I do not feel ill-used by you,” she said. “I think you an honorable man.” He could have taken her completely. She’d offered no resistance and probably would not if he chose to do so now.

  She felt his lips move, pressed upon the top of her head as he spoke. “I know you want a love match. I know you wish for a family. It is not possible.” He pulled her down to the ground, into his lap.

  “My father was not just an evil man, but a mad one. Something was broken inside of him. As a youth, there were times when I thought he ought to be locked away from other people. But he always returned to his own strange type of normalcy, and all seemed settled.” He rocked her as he spoke. “He could be violent, and he could be oddly tender. There were periods when he would work in his office, drafting bills and documents for Parliament as though the fate of the world rested upon his shoulders, and then there were other times when he would not come out of his bedchamber for days. As a boy, I was terrified of him.”

  Natalie understood. “You are fearful that his disease could appear in your own children.”

  He exhaled long and slow. “Yes. Or even in myself.”

  Blinking away tears, Natalie twisted around to look at him. She did not know very much about this. But just as her brothers shared similarities in appearance with their father, and she shared the good looks of her mother, she presumed it was possible to share other traits as well.

  “You will never have any children then?” she asked.

  “I will do what I can to help the tenants and the workers prosper on my father’s properties, but the title will go into abeyance upon my death.” She did not like to hear him speak of his own demise. His words made her overwhelmingly sad.

  To think he would never be a father nearly broke her heart. She remembered the gentleness in him when he’d handled Baby Bear.

  This was a travesty! No, a tragedy—for God help her, she loved him! She’d fallen in love with Garrett Castleton, the Earl of Hawthorne.

  Had she told herself she would feel thusly, a sennight ago, she would have been the first to laugh. Well, the joke was on her.

  Because she wished for nothing more, in that moment, than to place her hand in his and promise to love him and to help him, for the rest of their lives.

  “That is why I could not love you properly this afternoon. It is why I cannot offer myself to you as a proper husband.”

  He could not love her properly…Did he love her at all? He’d never said so.

  Was this merely a handy excuse on his part? A pretext for avoiding the parson’s trap?

  “A proper husband.” She repeated his words thoughtfully. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Garrett ran his fingers through her hair and began twisting it into a knot. Reaching down, he pulled something from his pocket, and she felt him slipping the pins back into her hair.

  “I could use a new lady’s maid.” She could jest. Otherwise, she might burst into tears. Today had been distressing. And now she felt his lips trailing along her nape. Oh, how he knew her weaknesses!

  Garrett settled her hat upon her head. “I would suggest foregoing the jacket.” He sounded far too practical. “I don’t want you fainting from the heat.”

  He turned her head so she would look at him again. “And if there isn’t a duke out there waiting for you, I trust there will be some other, equally lofty young man who will love you for yourself, who will give you babies and romance and everything you long for.”

  He was going to make her angry again.

  He could not love her if he was so eager to thrust her upon any other man who might happen along. Very well then. She was not so very needy.

  “Well, allow me to thank you then, for introducing me to la petite mort. For I now know what one of my demands will be before I commit to another betrothal.” She pushed herself away from him and donned her boots. Standing, she brushed at her skirt and then offered him her hand.

  He stared blankly at it for a moment before grasping it in his and allowing her to pull him up. Once standing, he held out his arm, but she ignored it and walked away from him instead.

  Striding through the dense trees, she couldn’t help thinking there was more than one type of petite mort. For a small piece of her heart seemed to have died just now. She would not cry. She would not.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Garrett followed her until they came into view of the house. Knowing she was safely returned, he allowed her to stalk off without him.

  She’d called him a gentleman on more than one occasion. She could not be more wrong.

  In frustration and guilt, Garrett shoved a hand into his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He needed to clean up and attend dinner as though nothing earth-shattering had occurred.

  He’d hurt her, but what else could he have done? He’d been honest. He’d offered himself but done so bluntly. He’d revealed the truth, in case she was under any misapprehensions regarding his situation. She was not. She was not dull of mind. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  After rechecking the baggage coach, Garrett located his waistcoat and jacket in the stables and proceeded to the main entrance of the house. Although the sun hung low in the sky, the persistent heat had left the estate unusually quiet. His heart felt leaden. He was covered in sweat and dust.

  And she’d let him touch her! The bastard that he was.

  He could no longer convince himself his emotions were fleeting. He wanted to make love to her, in truth, but he wanted more. Oh, hell, if he were going to be honest with himself he’d have to admit that he wanted to give her a permanent place in his life, to fall asleep each night knowing she would awaken beside him.

  He wanted to show her his home and have her opinions in the rebuilding of Maple Hall. For she would not sit idle while he made all the decisions and then executed them. She possessed an energy that needed a productive outlet. Her father was correct in his assertion that she would make an excellent countess. Ravensdale had not, unfortunately, considered the implications of his daughter becoming the Countess of Hawthorne.

  It was unusual for the earl not to think the entire situation through to its natural conclusion, for if he’d done so, he never would have made the suggestion. He would not wish childlessness upon his daughter. Or worse.

  Then again, perhaps Garrett had misunderstood the earl that morning.

  Likely the earl would call him out if he knew what Garrett had done.

  He’d touched her intimately. Had it been a mistake? It had not been all about his own lust, had it? His breath caught. God, but the way she’d moved, the sounds she’d made. Touching her, tasting her, had been better, by far, than he could have imagined. Awakening her passion, seeing Lady Natalie Spencer relax her sensual inhibitions had been a revelation.

  In his mind, he replayed their moments together in the meadow. He remembered her eyes, unfocused and fluttering as she relinquished control and moved with him. He remembered the soft moans and cries that escaped her lips, lips that had been his to taste and invade. He remembered the feel of her skin, the silken moisture as he touched her where no one before him had.

  Now, she knew some of it.

  She knew there ought to be evidence of passion between herself and the one she would eventually marry.

  But thinking of some faceless man, not the Duke of Monfort, but a younger, warmer man, touching her, caressing her as he had, left a cold sick feeling inside him.

  He both looked forward to and dreaded spending one last evening in Natalie’s company. He must keep himself away from her. He mustn’t allow his gaze to follow her
the entire time. One more evening, and he would be free to set himself to work. And to set himself to forgetting.

  Mr. Winston opened the door before Garrett could do so himself. How the devil had the butler known he was there? Looking about, Garrett searched for a small window that Mr. Winston might have used to watch for visitors. “Marcus is awaiting you in your chambers, my lord,” he said. “Dinner is formal this evening.”

  Garrett nodded. “I wish to speak with the earl. Is he in his study?”

  “He is. Can you find your way, my lord?” Another group of guests had just returned for the day, and they looked to be carrying several items that would need the butler’s attentions.

  “Of course, Winston.” Garrett followed the corridor toward the office where he’d met the earl on previous occasions. He’d personally informed the earl he was leaving the next morning. And thank him for his hospitality. He would not be asking permission to court his daughter. He would not.

  As he neared the entry to the study, however, Baby Bear came dashing out, leaving the door ajar. Voices carried outward into the hallway. The sound of his own name stopped Garrett from turning and leaving immediately.

  “I can only be grateful,” Lord Ravensdale’s voice boomed, “that Garrett Castleton is leaving us tomorrow, young lady.” Was he speaking to Natalie? He must be. “You have shown no regard for propriety where that degenerate is concerned.”

  Garrett could barely make out Natalie’s response. “He is not a degenerate…” Garrett’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. She ought not to defend him.

  Lord Ravensdale continued, “I have allowed his presence here as a concession to the numerous times he assisted me in business. But I will not have him dallying with my daughter. I will not have him anywhere near my daughter, is that understood, young lady?” Why would he take this up with Natalie? Why did he not call Garrett out on these matters?

  “You need not worry on that account, Papa,” she said. Wise girl.

  Garrett had obviously been wrong in his interpretation of Lord Ravensdale’s words the morning of the irrigation tour. Even so, it hurt. What exactly had the earl told him just a few days ago? A good lady at his side…Perhaps the lady he needed at his side could be found in the country. Of course, the earl had not been referring to his own daughter! It was just that Garrett had spent so much time thinking about her, he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Of course. Garrett felt foolish for voicing his thoughts to Stone. Stone must have felt pity and not wished to embarrass him. He’d been quick to discourage—of course!

  But Garrett had begun to believe the Spencers were different from the rest of the ton. The rejection left a bitterness in his heart. He was disappointed but also angry with himself for caring.

  Damn! He was done with all of it.

  Garrett turned on his heel, not wishing to hear anything further, and strode toward his chamber. His time here was over. Tonight promised a full moon. He would leave right away. By God, he would not play games with these people any longer.

  ****

  After being duly chastised by her father, Natalie was more distraught than before. Unable to face anyone, she asked Tinsdale to tell her mother she would not be attending dinner that evening. She would have a tray brought to her room. She told Tinsdale she’d taken too much sun that afternoon and needed to retire early.

  She could not face him.

  She had known, yes, she had known about his father, about the insanity. But none of it had stopped her heart from falling in love with him.

  And he’d not once admitted to feelings of affection for her. Since that very first night of his arrival, she’d made herself available to him. She’d thought herself so wise, when in fact she’d been quite the idiot. She had thought to experience a thrill, find some excitement for herself. But instead she’d only brought more—no, not more—but true heartache upon herself. For she now knew Garrett as a man of sensitivity and honor. He was more than a rake—more than the son of a scandalous murderer—he was flesh and blood male. He was Garrett!

  She loved him. She wanted him. She needed him. He would deny all of this.

  Perhaps he wanted her—well, no perhaps about it. He’d very obviously wanted her on more than one occasion. Even her limited experience didn’t keep her from knowing that.

  But he did not need her. And he did not love her.

  Changed into nightclothes, Natalie lay back upon her bed and closed her eyes.

  Surprisingly, in her mind’s eye, she pictured one of the portraits of Aunt Eleanor’s brother. Arthur? Yes, it was Arthur.

  This day felt like a lifetime.

  When she and Lady Sheffield left Garrett alone, she’d known he’d nearly been overcome by his emotions. What must it have been like to grow up without a mother? And then, seeing her artwork, Natalie had felt as though they’d all been given a glimpse of her soul. Garrett had likely experienced both joy and pain. Perhaps one day he could experience only joy—and pride—when in the presence of his mother’s work. Right now, it was too raw. Especially with the death of his father so recently.

  Did Garrett mourn his father at all? Natalie did not think so. He must have mourned his father long ago, at a much younger age, when he’d realized the extent of his father’s depravity. What a horrifying childhood!

  Garrett’s words regarding his father had been blunt. “He could be violent, and he could be oddly tender,” he’d said. “As a boy, I was terrified of him.”

  He’d also told her he could never be a proper husband to her. Or anybody, she supposed. He would let the title go into abeyance. Tears, ah, at last her tears came. He would not allow himself to sire an heir. There would be no little boy running about with wicked black eyes, wiry strength, and a small dimple at the corner of his mouth. She pictured Garrett as he must have looked as a child.

  And then bolted upright as something struck her. What was it? What was it?

  Something about those drawings; something about those portraits.

  Natalie needed to look at them again. Donning her dressing gown, she slipped into the hallway and headed for the stairway that would take her to the third floor.

  Was her mind playing tricks on her? She needed to see now!

  She dashed up the stairs and ran to the end of the corridor. The sight that met her upon bursting into the room, however, sent disappointment coursing through her. Garrett’s items had all been removed and the furnishings once again covered with clean white sheets. Oh, damnation! Of course! Garrett had already removed them. Where were they now?

  On his baggage coach. She belatedly remembered seeing the large trunk strapped onto the back of the coach when returning from her ride. How stupid of her not to have thought about that first. Breathless, Natalie retraced her steps, descending all the way downstairs this time, and slipped out one of the back doors to head toward the stables.

  As luck would have it, everybody was either dining or serving dinner. The stable hands must be taking their meal as well. Nobody witnessed her foray outside in such a state of dishabille. She ought to have gone back to her room and pulled on one of her day dresses, she admitted to herself, but this could not wait! She picked her way barefoot over the driveway and around to the back of the stable.

  Yes! There it was. She stepped up and untied the knot securing the trunk to the carriage. Since it hadn’t been locked, the lid opened easily, but she couldn’t reach inside. It was too high. Hitching up her gown, she climbed all the way onto the carriage and stepped into the half-empty container. Where were they? She dropped to her hands and knees and shuffled the dresses around in search of the drawings.

  There they were. She flipped through them until she found it.

  She hadn’t been mistaken!

  But what did it mean?

  And then before she could contemplate her discovery, the lid of the trunk dropped. Sharp pain felled her as it struck the top of her head, pushing her down into the trunk. Stunned, she curled face down into the musty-smelling dresses.

  Nat
alie lay still for a moment but for the hand she moved to rub the back of her head. With cautious fingers, she felt around in her hair where the lid had struck. Finding a wet and sticky spot, she flinched. She must be bleeding. Natalie didn’t like blood. Especially her own. The smell inside the musty old trunk wasn’t helping matters.

  Even lying down, she felt dizzy and nauseous. Air. She needed air.

  The lid must have been propped open precariously and then been unbalanced by her weight, causing it to close. But when she pushed against it, it did not move.

  She pushed harder. It didn’t budge.

  “Hello!” she cried out. Surely there was somebody nearby? “Hello,” she called out louder.

  Panic crept into her. “Hello! Help me! Somebody!”

  Her breathing felt shallow. She tried to take in a deep breath but could not. Oh, dear God, is this trunk airtight? Terror threatened to engulf her completely as tears overflowed. She pressed her entire body against the lid of the trunk but to no avail. She pushed with all her might. Again.

  Again.

  By now she was sweating profusely and gasping for breath. “Hello! Help me!” she yelled over and over, her voice growing hoarse.

  She imagined Garrett opening the trunk to discover her dead, lifeless body within. She imagined her family and how they would react once learning of her death. They would not blame Garrett, would they?

  Of course, they would! Especially after the words her father had spoken to her this afternoon! Her father would kill him! But he mustn’t!

  Oh, dear God, she mustn’t die! She mustn’t allow Garrett to be labelled a murderer!

  Her panic crescendoed as terror took root. Such a stupid thing to happen! Tearful calls for help turned to forlorn cries.

  Sobbing, she collapsed into the bottom of the trunk with her knees tucked beneath her. Exhaustion and the pain of the blow to her head thankfully stole her consciousness.