Page 20 of A Lord in Want of a Wife (Daring Debutantes #2)

C edric did not touch her again, not even to kiss her hand. Not before she crept silently back to her berth. Not in the morning when she looked at him with eyes so full of wonder. And not again for the rest of the journey.

He was too afraid of betraying what he had done with her.

Someone would see that he couldn’t look at her without wanting her.

Someone would know that when he climbed into his berth at night, he still smelled her there even after her scent was long gone.

Someone would know that the sound of her name made him weak in the knees.

He had called it lust. Indeed, he still believed that for her it was true. She was too innocent to know the pounding demands of the body. One handsome, considerate man was as good as another. It was only that he was the first man to ever give her attention as a woman deserved.

But he, on the other hand, knew the power of lust. He had indulged it too many times. And if this infatuation was built upon lust, indulging it—as they had done—should dissipate its power.

It had not. He nightly relived how she had come apart in his arms. How she had discovered her body under his guidance.

And since he could not think of touching her again without revealing all, he resolved to stay far away from her. Strict absence, he reasoned, would cool the fire.

In fact, it made it worse. He left whenever she entered a room.

He took his meals with the sailors or on deck rather than sit at the captain’s table with her.

And so he longed for the briefest glimpse of her as he fled.

And he turned over the sight of her wan face, examining it in his memory as if it held the secret to a pot of gold.

This was not like any lust he had ever experienced, but he refused to give it any other name. If he did, then he would never be able to court and marry her sister. If he felt anything more lasting than lust, then the idea of seeing her every holiday or family gathering would destroy him.

So he labeled it lust. He avoided her as if his future depended upon it. And he courted Grace with the kind of determination he’d never felt for anything else in his life.

Her father noticed the change. Indeed, everyone probably did, but it was Lord Wenshire who asked him point blank for an explanation.

His answer was equally blunt, if not the full truth.

‘I mean to marry Grace. It does no good to encourage her sister’s interest.’

Lord Wenshire approved of the statement, but he was clearly skeptical. ‘You think Grace will have you?’

‘She has shown me favour,’ he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Grace no longer tortured him. Indeed, she had recently begun complimenting his work and smiling when they spoke.

Her father, too, now looked at him with approval. ‘I have been impressed with you these last months. I think your aunt did you a disservice with your Inconsistent One nickname.’

‘I am no longer a child. If I was inconsistent before,’ he said, ‘it is not who I am now.’ No truer words could be spoken.

Months at sea had brought out a new strength in him.

He appreciated the honest work on a boat.

No peasants were beaten here. No overseer exploited the ignorant poor.

They all worked together to move the ship from one place to the next.

‘You like this work.’ There was surprise in the man’s tone.

‘I do. And I will be a good steward of the ship and your daughter.’ He meant Lucy, but of course her father thought he referred to Grace.

‘If Grace wants you, I will allow it,’ he said.

Indeed, he went so far as to explain the details of Grace’s dowry—the ship and the proceeds of this cargo.

It was an extraordinary sum. One that would attract every fortune-hunter in England.

Which meant he had to finalise his arrangement with Grace as soon as possible.

He thought for a moment about pressing again for Lucy.

Perhaps an arrangement could be made. He opened his mouth to broach the possibility, but Lord Wenshire was there ahead of him.

‘I knew that your infatuation with Lucy was a passing thing. And now she has seen it, too. But Grace knows her own mind. If you can secure her, then I will wish you both happy.’

Is that what Lucy thought? That he had been toying with her?

He had been honest from the start. He had told her they could not wed.

And though his chest squeezed tight at the thought of her hating him, he knew it was for the best. She was out of his reach.

No point in belabouring that, no matter how much it hurt him.

And so he redoubled his efforts with Grace.

Except Grace would not be finalised. Indeed, though she was never impolite, she was also never fully warm.

And that, perhaps, would be how their marriage would stand.

There were worse things, he supposed. Indeed, he knew of several love matches that fared much worse than polite disinterest.

So he contented himself with trying to woo her while remaining distant from her sister.

They continued in this manner until the very last day when she agreed to join him at the captain’s table for dinner.

No doubt her father had helped in that regard.

Especially since everyone was aware of the timing.

They were to dock in London tonight. If he wished to capture her hand before she was beset by every fortune-hunter in London, then he had to secure her promise now.

He knew, of course, that Lucy would be there, too.

That would make things awkward, but eventually, they would become brother- and sister-in-law.

They would have to find a way to get along.

Might as well start that now. The dinner was very good, and that gave the evening a congenial air.

And though he was excruciatingly aware of Lucy throughout the meal, Cedric gave her no more attention than he gave the moon outside the porthole.

The conversation was pleasant as everyone discussed their plans once they arrived in London.

Everyone, that is, except Cedric. His plans would depend on Grace.

Then, once the meal was done, Cedric escorted Grace to the deck to gaze at the moonlight. Well, he looked at the moonlight. She kept scanning the sails.

Best make his case quickly before he lost her attention.

Catching her hand between his, he began to reiterate the things she already knew.

He explained that upon his father’s death, he would become an earl, which was a title that was respected throughout England.

His wife, of course, would be a countess with equal consequence.

He was honest about his financial prospects, but reassured her that with her dowry, they would have an excellent life. Especially since he would honour his vows to her and treat her and their children well. That was his vow to her as he began to sink down on one knee before her.

She stopped him, using his grip on her hand to keep him standing. ‘What about my sister?’

He froze, his mind blanking. ‘Uh…’

‘She will have a dowry, too. A large one.’

He flinched. Was it possible? Could he wait for Lucy to come of age? His heart lurched in his chest. ‘You have been gone from England a long time, my lord. Neither of us knows what awaits us when we land.’

His sister’s letter ran through his thoughts. He’d read it so many times, it was committed to memory. Of course, he’d imagined that he’d arrive home to find that everything had miraculously changed for the better. Just as he’d imagined the damaged roof coming down on their heads, killing everyone.

Unfortunately, Cedric was well versed in playing the odds.

He knew his father would not change. Which meant that his sisters were in a miserable situation.

Worse, the moment the word was out about Grace’s dowry, every fortune-hunter in England would appear at her door.

He couldn’t risk the competition much as he might want to.

‘I have made my choice,’ he said through the constriction in his throat. ‘Miss Richards,’ he began, but he couldn’t force the next words out. And his knees appeared to be locked. Why wouldn’t they bend?

‘I need more time,’ she said, her words rushed. ‘I need to learn your customs.’

‘I can teach you whatever you need to know. And if not me, then my mother.’ He nearly choked on that last bit. His mother would not treat a half-Chinese bastard well, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

Time to drop to one knee. Time to propose. But his legs would not bend, and he kept thinking, what if he waited? Could he hold off disaster another year? Could he wait for Lucy?

And in his hesitation, he lost Grace. ‘This is a very great honour,’ she said, her words stiff.

‘But I need more time.’ Then, despite the fact that she wore a dress, she escaped his grip and scampered up the sails.

She had to hike her dress up an indecent amount, but she did it anyway, no doubt to hide in the crow’s nest.

Thank God it was dark, though he knew several people had watched the scene unfold. They did not see her bare legs. Nor could they mark his red face.

He had been denied. His last hope for his family snatched away.

He had tried gambling for coin, but that was a miserable, hateful existence. He had tried to work for it, but the East India Company was not the place for a moral man. And so he had done what generations of gentlemen did. He had tried to marry the coin. And even that had been refused.

The weight of his failure turned to acid in his gut. Why had he hesitated? He knew Lucy was lost to him.

He abruptly spun around and headed to his cabin. The captain tried to catch his eye, his expression sympathetic. He wanted none of it. He would not accept sympathy from a lowly captain. He was a future earl! And he should not have to beg for his bride!

He spoke to no one after that moment. He paused briefly to think of Lucy, but even her company was not welcome. Nothing could soothe the fury building in his heart. Nothing would stop the coming explosion.

Only one choice then. He had to leave as soon as they made port in a couple hours.

He burst into his room, slowing just enough not to brain himself on the spice crates.

Damn it, he was going to have to drop to his knees to grab his meager belongings from beneath his bed.

He did so, cursing the delay. And when he had finally prepared everything so that he could leave as soon as they made port, he climbed back onto his berth, scooting backwards for his pillow, and lay down with his satchel on his lap.

Or rather, he landed in the lap of the one person he couldn’t bear to think about much less see. Or touch. Or lie in her lap.