Chapter 22
The picnic luncheon was finally over. It had been uncomfortable and distressing for her, sitting next to Horace. His behavior toward her was on the verge of insolent, and she was certain he’d said several things that were far too risqué for her ears—not that she understood them but she could tell by the glint in his eyes.
Was this her doing? Had she given him cause to believe she was eager to be his mistress? How could her plans have gone so awry!
Escaping Horace—he’d become embroiled in a conversation with some other guests—Tina made haste to join Charles and Anne at the riverside, where a jetty jutted out into the water. Several rowing boats were tied up and awaiting those who wished to partake, and already groups of guests were setting out, making a pretty scene of bright gowns and waistcoats and ribbons on straw bonnets, while parasols cast shade over delicate complexions.
Anne was being assisted into a boat by Charles, when Tina touched her brother’s arm and, drawing him aside, murmured that she wanted to speak to him.
“Speak to me about what?” Charles said grumpily, watching Anne being rowed away without him.
“Charles, you know Horace better than anyone. Is it true? Have he and Lady Isabelle been lovers?”
Charles stilled. “Who told you that?” he said quietly.
“Horace told me.”
He looked momentarily too surprised to speak, and then his face darkened. “He shouldn’t have. A lady’s reputation is sacrosanct and . . . well, he shouldn’t be talking like that to you. I’m going to have a word with him.” He turned about, seeking Horace among the crowd.
Tina was pleasantly surprised at his protective attitude—she’d been afraid her brother might take Horace’s side and disregard her feelings. But then again, she couldn’t allow him to become embroiled in anything he didn’t properly understand, not without explaining matters to him, no matter how difficult and embarrassing that explanation may be for herself.
“Charles, wait. I-I think I may have given him the wrong impression,” she said woodenly with a sideways glance. “Lately I’ve been . . . it’s just that he might have thought I was angling to be his lover, too.”
Charles stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Actually, I was trying to persuade him that I would make him a perfect wife, but he seems to have got it into his head that I want to be the perfect mistress.”
He shook his head at her. “Why would you want Horace to marry you?”
“I love him,” she said.
“No, you don’t! And besides, Horace would make a terrible husband. He would never be faithful, Tina, and he has mistresses and women . . .” His mouth closed in a prudish line. “I think I’ve said enough.”
Tina blinked. “No, I don’t love him, you’re right, but I do have to marry him, Charles. The family . . . that is, Father . . .” Her voice trailed off. How could she explain to Charles that they were destitute? He would be shocked and horrified, and apart from that, she’d been told not to tell him, that he wouldn’t be able to cope with the news.
However the Charles facing her now was no callow youth. He was a man. And he looked as if he would shake the truth from her if she didn’t speak it very soon.
The words came bubbling from her lips, all about Father’s money problems and their having to sell the heirlooms and then Tina’s decision to marry Horace, and Lady Carol’s encouragement. The cold hard fact that this weekend was to be her last chance to secure him before it was too late for them all. By the time they returned home there would be no home to return to.
Charles listened, his face turning to the color of ash, and when she was finished he stared at her with eyes that were far older and wiser than they’d been a moment before.
“They should have told me.” He groaned. “I’ve been going off to clubs, thinking everything was all right, when . . . Good God, how could I not have known!” He turned away but turned back almost immediately. “Do you really think marrying Horace will put everything right, Tina? If you do, then you’re a fool. He might be my best friend, but I would never let you marry him. He would make you miserable, and nothing is worth that.”
Tina watched him walk away, feeling sick and upset, the beginnings of another headache drumming against her skull. Suddenly she couldn’t bear to be here with everyone enjoying themselves. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to be completely and utterly alone.
She turned and began to run along the path by the river, losing herself in a grove of shady trees, running until she could no longer hear the voices or the careless laughter.
Richard saw her running from his position up on the pathway that looped down to the river. Immediately he cut off the path and across the lawn, in the direction she was going, hoping to reach her before she got too far ahead.
What on earth had sent her into such a mad dash? Was she in danger, or had Gilfoyle hurt her in some way?
Richard lengthened his stride. Tina’s pale gown appeared between the trees, gone one moment and back again the next, and he began to worry she might vanish completely. He began to run, too, his heart thumping, his blood pumping, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth hurt.
There she was!
She’d slowed down to a walk, and then she stopped altogether, standing disconsolately, with her head bowed. She looked absolutely despairing, and with a burst he made the final sprint to reach her. She must have heard his approach because suddenly she spun around.
“Tina,” he breathed, and then she was in his arms, her mouth on his, her face hot and damp with tears. He wasn’t sure who made the first move, and he didn’t care. This felt so right he couldn’t have stopped himself if they had had an audience of hundreds. They clung together, and she was returning his kisses, passionately, as if she couldn’t stop herself, either. As if she didn’t want to.