Forsaking the Prize (The Wild Randalls 2)

He moved toward her door, drinking in the beauty of her pale throat and the brief glimpse of creamy smooth curve of breast above the cut of the fabric. Mercy was right to be concerned about Blythe’s sudden change of heart, but what a change it was. “Come to my room tonight and I’ll explain everything.”

Her expression grew wary. “We can talk now.”

“There is another matter I also wish to discuss. I don’t wish to be overheard.”

After a time, she nodded slowly. “Very well.”

Then she ducked back inside and locked the door. Tobias’ pulse raced. If she wore a gown like that tonight he would have a hard time keeping his eyes, and hands, still. He could remember every detail of their previous encounters. Her quick breath across his cheek, her body pressed against him. The taste of her lips.

He glanced down at the unfortunate tenting of his breeches. That had to go before he could return below. He shook his head. Miss Trimble was the better choice of the pair for a wife, with her four thousand and sweeter temperament. He stepped into his bedchamber and flung his wardrobe doors wide. He wished the task of choosing a replacement waistcoat could be a better distraction from the temptation that glimpse of Blythe’s skin offered. He’d need all the help he could muster to get through the evening.

Twelve

The discomfort of being stared at by the most severe members of the ton was nothing compared to the scrutiny inflicted by the casual sideways glances bestowed by Tobias Randall. Blythe shifted in her seat yet again. She was tired from her long day and found no enjoyment from the constant questioning looks he sent her way. Had he glimpsed her in a colored gown earlier? She’d brought a few of her older gowns from Walden Hall with her tonight, just to try out the idea of wearing them again. Yet she wasn’t sure she could.

“I trust all is well at Walden Hall,” Mercy said.

Blythe set her fork down and gave her sister her full attention. “Yes. Everything is done and Venables can have no cause for complaint. Finch will manage everything in my absence.”

Mercy patted her lips with her napkin and pushed her dessert away uneaten. “I feared you would stay on to welcome him.”

Blythe eyed the unfinished plate. Her sister usually had a steady appetite. It wasn’t like Mercy to watch her figure. “Venables has no need of me.”

Mercy stretched to pat her hand. “I wish he was a nicer person for your sake. At least now I’m spared the need to call at Walden Hall just to see you.”

“I am, too.”

Tobias bumped her foot under the table, as if to remind her that he’d told her Mercy would want her here. Annoying man. Up until now she was feeling charitable toward him. She ignored him and continued to eat her dessert, keeping up her end of the conversation when required. When the meal ended, she would slip away and leave them alone. Yet her heart raced that she’d promised to go to Tobias’ room later tonight. She hoped he didn’t have the wrong idea of why she would be there.

“Gentlemen,” Mercy said warmly when Blythe set down her silver. “We shall await you in the billiard room. I know how you both enjoy your games.”

Leopold laughed. “He thinks to best me tonight.”

“Who’s to say I haven’t been letting you win,” Tobias retorted with a quick grin. “Age before beauty and all that.”

Blythe pressed her lips together to hide her amusement at their competitiveness. Tobias was quite fond of teasing his elder brother and Leopold never failed to rise and take the bait.

She followed Mercy out, listening to the brother’s bicker with half an ear, and strolled along to the billiard room. When the door shut behind them, Mercy sagged against the wall.

Startled, Blythe returned to her. “What is it?”

Mercy waved her hand before her face. “I suddenly feel overcome.”

Blythe slipped an arm around her back and led Mercy to a nearby chair. “How long have you felt this way?”

She swallowed and made a face. “Just now, at dinner.”

Blythe counted back swiftly. Leopold Randall had been at Romsey Abbey for over a month. Long enough, perhaps, to make a fast marriage absolutely necessary. “What if?”

“It cannot be what you’re thinking,” Mercy murmured as she reclined on a lounge at Blythe’s prompting. “My courses have not altered.”

Blythe withdrew her handkerchief from her pocket and mopped Mercy’s face.

“I’ll be all right when I catch my breath. Don’t fret.”

“It isn’t like you to be ill, Mercy. How can I not be worried?”

Mercy smiled. “You always worry about everyone else, but I am sure it will amount to nothing. The discomfort has passed.”