The Rebellious Twin Read online

  How beautiful she looks, thought Lucius, sitting there, her small, delicate white hands busy at their task. Her expression was peaceful, as if she accepted without complain the hapless circumstances of her life.

  “I left early, Miss Clarmonte.” He knew he shouldn’t, but anger welled within him and he had to express himself. “It’s an outrage you weren’t there.”

  Her tinkling laughter filled the air. “But I was not invited. You knew that.”

  “It is still an outrage.” Loosening his cravat, he slung himself into a chair next to the settee. “I cannot understand why they would not invite a lady of your quality. Why, you are more genteel, more intelligent — “

  “‘Tis all in the luck of one’s birth,” Sara Sophia interrupted with a slight shrug. “You, sir, were born to a life of wealth and privilege, whereas I have never possessed more than a few farthings and have no idea who my parents were. But please don’t concern yourself. I accept who I am.” She bent her head over her stitching. “I shall be leaving soon. I have two offers of employment as a governess. Now ‘tis just a matter of picking which one.”

  Lucius bit his lip and stared upward, unseeing, at the climbing cherubs that decorated the baroque chimney piece. “I have enjoyed our rides,” he finally said.

  “So have I.”

  “No, really … Damme!” He leaped from his chair and started pacing. “I have never enjoyed riding so much, is what I meant to say. What I mean is — “

  “Lord Wentridge, please do sit down.” When he returned to his chair, Sara Sophia dropped her embroidery into her lap and regarded him thoughtfully. “When I first met you, I thought you were extremely arrogant.”

  “I was. I am still, but not with you.”

  “Oh, I know.” Her expression softened. “On our rides by the river I got to know you better. I could see that underneath that satirical facade of yours hides a man who’s compassionate and kind.”

  He tilted his brow and looked at her amusedly. “I can name a lady in London who doesn’t share your opinion.” He laughed ruefully. “Actually several.”

  She ignored his attempt at wit. “You said you enjoyed our rides. May I tell you why?”

  “Yes, of course, though you could not possibly know — “

  “Oh, I know all right,” she said with a wise little smile. “It has been said of me that I am honest, sometimes unnecessarily so, but that’s my nature and I cannot change.”

  “Nor would I wish you to.”

  “Then I’m glad you understand.” Sara Sophia’s took a deep breath. “Dear Lord Wentridge — “

  “Lucius.”

  “Lucius, then. I, too, have hugely enjoyed those morning rides we take, and stopping to rest on the river bank and just talking. Those are moments that have become so precious to me I can think of nothing else.”

  “I, too, can think of nothing else.” With an eagerness unlike him, Lucius slid from his chair to kneel beside her. Gently he lifted her small hand and covered it with both of his. “I want you, Sara Sophia” he said, desperation — despair — resignation ringing in his voice. “I am mad for you. I think of nothing but you day and night.” He unfolded her fingers and kissed the open palm of her hand.

  Sara Sophia pulled her hand away and laid her palm gently along his cheek and gazed into his eyes. “This can never be,” she said softly, “you know that.”

  “I want to marry you.”

  “Never. You know we cannot.”

  “I know no such thing,” he vehemently replied. “I shall inform my parents you will be my bride. If they refuse to understand, they can keep their bloody fortune. We’ll run off to Gretna Greene.”

  Sara Sophia sadly shook her head. “You have led a rich and satisfying life. Why would you want to waste the rest of it on a nobody like me?”

  “Rich life?” Lucius laughed ironically. “Oh, yes, I was the rake of London. Gambling … drinking … other things I am not so very proud of. You’ve made me see how empty it all was.”

  Firmly she shook her head. “No, Lucius, this is the end of it. That’s what I meant to tell you. No more early morning rides together — no more conversations by the river. They would be too tempting for the both of us. I am not a suitable girl for you and I shall never be.”

  “Do you know what irony this is?” Lucius asked. “Over the years, I could have married half the belles in London. Not that I flatter myself — my wealth and title were what they were after. I turned them all down. Now, for the first time in my life I have fallen truly in love, but can we be together?”

  “No,” she finished for him in a voice so unbending his heart sank because he knew she meant it and would never change. “Your parents would never approve of me. You think now that you would be happy with just me. You would, for a while, but later, after love’s first bloom had faded, you would resent me for having robbed you of your fortune, your title, all that you hold dear.”

  “Not true,” he stoutly declared, but she shook her head.

  “I shall be leaving soon, to work as a governess. Until I go, please, don’t come riding early any more. If I see you on the path, I swear I shall turn and go the other way.”

  “Of course,” Lucius answered in a voice full of pain. “If that’s what you want.” He paused to collect himself and rose to his feet. One corner of his mouth curved into a slight smile. “I have just one request.”

  She looked up at him, misery in her eyes. “I would do anything for you.”

  “Except marry me,” Lucius answered wryly. “Will you kiss me? Is that too much to ask? I shall never love again, you know,” he said as he drew her to her feet. “Just once. One kiss that must last me a lifetime.”

  Her silence was her acquiescence. He drew her close. His breath came fast as he ran his fingers through the softness of her silky hair and over the milky softness of her cheeks. He had kissed many a woman, but only as a prelude to his own selfish needs. How different this was. He could feel himself trembling, but he didn’t care. With a groan, he crushed her to him and covered her lips with his, his heart hammering in his chest. He felt her eager response. They clung together, as if melted into one, until he felt her hand push gently on his shoulder. He broke away, burning with desire, aching with the need for more, but she pressed her fingers to his lips and whispered, “No more. It breaks my heart, but we are done, Lucius.”

  How could he ever let her go? “I love you, Sara Sophia,” he said, “my heart will be forever empty without you. We could have had so much together…” He could say no more because his voice broke. He felt a surprising moisture in his eyes — Good God, what would they say in London! — and, embarrassed, turned away.

  “I shall leave for London in the morning,” he said, his back to her.

  “But there’s no need — “

  “Yes there is.” He turned to face her, his mask of cynicism restored. “Things do get rather dull in the countryside. London calls. For the best, right? Farewell, Miss Clarmonte. I shan’t trouble you further.” He left her then, agonizingly aware he had left his heart behind.

  *

  In the morning, Clarinda walked the mile to the stables at Hollyridge. “Ye could ride Lady Rissa’s horse,” Morris had told her when she passed by Graystone’s stables, but her heart rebelled. If she could not ride Donegal, she preferred to walk.

  At Hollyridge, Clarinda found Sara Sophia hard at work brushing one of the thoroughbreds. “Lord Stormont isn’t riding today?” she asked.

  When Sara Sophia turned to face her, Clarinda was shocked to see her face, pale to begin with, was a sickly white. Her eyes were red and held a stricken expression, as if something terrible had happened.

  “Dear God, what is wrong?”

  Shoulders sagging, Sara Sophia replied, “Lord Wentridge — Lucius — is leaving as we speak. He’s returning to London. I doubt he’ll ever return.”

  “But why? You two were getting along so well.”

  Sara Sophia managed a tremulous smile. “Too well, I’m afra
id. I love him with a passion, you know, and last night he told me he loved me. But what could we do? I had to tell him…” Sara Sophia fought back tears. “I shall never see him again, and that’s so hard.”

  “I am so sorry,” Clarinda said, putting her arm around her friend.

  “Don’t be. I shall be fine.” Sara Sophia pulled out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “My whole life, I’ve been happy to be who I am. Only now” — she gave a desperate little laugh — “if only I could have been born somebody. Not a princess, or a duchess, or a countess — just a viscountess would have done, or even a baroness would have suited. Just somebody, good enough for Lucius’s family.”

  Clarinda nodded in grim agreement. “I would wager they would have accepted even the daughter of a knight, if Lucius insisted. But as it is…” She regarded her disconsolate friend with concern, searched desperately for something uplifting to say. “Try not to feel bad. I’m sure you’ll meet someone else some day and you’ll forget all about Lucius.”

  “No, never,” Sara Sophia declared as if her heart would break. She pulled back her shoulders and put on a brave face. “Ah, well, I am what I am and nothing will change it. Will you ride Donegal today?”

  Clarinda wished she could comfort her friend, but realized, bleakly, there was nothing more she could say. “Indeed, I shall ride Donegal.” Despite herself, her gaze wandered towards the mansion. “It is my fondest wish that Lord Stormont stay away.” Sara Sophia began to laugh, causing Clarinda to ask with mock indignation, “What? Is that funny?” Underneath, she was happy to hear her friend laugh again.

  “I know you too well, Clarinda. You like Stormont better than you care to admit.”

  “What’s the point even if I did?” asked Clarinda. “Mama has decreed no man except Lord Sufton can come courting. I am under strict orders to stay away from him.”

  “Stay away from whom?” came a male voice.

  Stormont. He had startled them both. There he stood, crop in hand, looking absolutely smashing in his plain but exquisitely tailored riding clothes. Clarinda was so taken aback she didn’t know what to say until she decided, why not the truth?

  She drew herself up with dignity. “I am to stay away from you, sir. Do not ask why.”

  A muscle twitched in Stormont’s jaw, the only sign that he could be annoyed. With a raise of his brows, he said, “Quite all right, Lady Clarinda. I daresay, this estate is so huge, and there are so many places to ride, that we can easily arrange separate paths. Are you planning on riding Donegal today?” She nodded. “Which way?” he inquired pleasantly.

  “I think … perhaps I shall take the path that circles around the estate.”

  “Fine. I shall take the path by the river.” He bowed nicely and looked about for the groom. “Fetch Sham’s saddle, will you, Pitney?” he called. “Good day, Miss Clarmonte, Lady Clarinda. May you enjoy your ride.” After a smart bow, he disappeared into the stable to get Sham.

  Clarinda stared after him, finding herself keenly disappointed.

  “Do you feel bad you can’t ride with him?” asked Sara Sophia.

  “I could say no,” said Clarinda. A pain squeezed her heart as she thought of him. “But that would be a lie.”

  Chapter 9

  Morris was feeding a horse in the courtyard of Graystone Hall’s stables when he heard a noise, looked up, and blinked in surprise. “Yer back already, Lady Clarinda?”

  Horrid old man. Rissa glared at him. “I am not Lady Clarinda. I am Lady Clarissa and I have come to ride Dublin.”

  “Sorry, mum.” The old man looked confused. “So shall I get him for you, or — ?”

  “Of course, get him, and put the saddle on him, and whatever else you’re supposed to do.”

  Rissa tapped her foot as she stood waiting, snapping her riding crop impatiently against the side of her never-before-worn black riding gown. This was Clarinda’s doing. Everyone knew a lady of class and refinement would never dream of saddling her own horse. Not her beloved twin, though. Judging from Morris’s confusion, Clarinda, who cared nothing for the appearance of things, was crass enough to do it herself.

  “Give me a boost,” she commanded Morris after he had readied Dublin for the ride. As she settled into the side saddle, the gelding snorted, threw his head back and danced about. Alarmed, Rissa clung to the saddle and let out a yelp.

  Morris grabbed the reins and settled the horse. “Careful, mum, Dublin’s a mite frisky today.” He frowned. “Ye don’t have the experience riding like Lady Clarinda does. Per’aps ye shud ride old Buttercup.”

  The gall! Fury almost choked her, but Rissa managed to declare, “That won’t be necessary, Morris. Now stand back.”

  How anyone could find pleasure in riding on an animal’s swaying, sweaty back was beyond her, Rissa mused, as she carefully guided Dublin along the river path to Hollyridge Manor. If it weren’t for the necessity of keeping her mission a secret, she would never have thought to ride Dublin. She had no choice, though. She had planned this out last night — in the middle of the night, actually, when, half-asleep, she had been struck by a startling revelation. The old gatehouse — the locked oak door — Westerlynn’s keys!

  Of course! She had sat bolt upright in her bed, her mind racing. The secret room was in the gatehouse tower. The more she thought, the more excited she became. Not only was the tower the obvious hiding place for the fortune, but the best part of all, it was not part of the house and could be accessed from the outside. She would not even have to invent some ruse for getting herself inside the old mansion! All she had to do was go to Hollyridge, circle around until she found the deserted gatehouse, open the oak door with the key, and … Ah! Her heart skipped a beat, just thinking of the fortune that could be awaiting her inside.

  The only problem was, how to get there. She could walk, she supposed. It was only a mile to Hollyridge, but after she got there, she would be compelled to creep about that huge estate, through brambles and thickets and thick forest, and heaven-knew-what. Much easier by horseback. Besides, if she were caught walking, she would have no excuse, whereas someone on horseback could ride where they pleased with impunity, simply claiming they had lost the path.

  Only she hated horses. For a time, she had debated whether she could bring herself to ride Dublin, but curiosity won, plus the compelling appeal of Lord Westerlynn’s final words on this earth: A fortune awaits Sara Sophia.

  Not Sara Sophia, me, Rissa thought as she turned Dublin from the river path to cut directly to the estate. For a while she carefully guided Dublin through the thick forest that backed the estate, the horses’s hooves muted on the forest floor, over dips and hollows, hillocks and mounds, all upholstered in spongy moss. At last she came to the area she hoped would be closest to the gatehouse. She was right. As she rode Dublin out of the woods, she was pleased with herself for having guessed so closely. Directly ahead, she spied the top of the old gatehouse tower that stood not far from the rambling estate, the bottom of its ancient gray stone walls only slightly visible beneath the overgrowth of shrubs and thickets. Ivy vines grew up the tower’s surface, clear to the leering gargoyles beneath the parapet three stories above.

  Rissa slid off Dublin to the ground. Heaven only knew how she would get back on the wretched animal, but she would worry about that later. She tied the reins to a tree branch, then reached down the bodice of her riding gown. She shoved aside her gold necklace and pulled out the two ancient keys, warm from their resting place between her breasts. Clutching the keys tightly, she looked carefully around. It wouldn’t do at all if someone saw her. Not much chance of that, though. This part of the estate appeared deserted.

  When Rissa was positive there was no one else about, she made her way to the gatehouse where a large, sturdy oak door was built into an arched recess. It was so old and weathered it looked as if centuries had elapsed since last it was opened. Rissa looked up. From the parapet on the tower above, one of those horrid medieval gargoyles snarled directly down at her, its stony eyes c
learly signaling, If you trespass you die! She fought the urge to flee, telling herself she could not possibly leave now, not when she was so close to finding the fortune. “You had better open,” Rissa muttered as she slid the key into the lock. She turned the key. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. She turned it again. Nothing. She pulled the key back, just a trifle, tried again, and — oh yes! — with a screeching creak the ancient bolt released.

  She had unlocked the door! In triumph, Rissa caught her breath. But suddenly she wondered, what if she found something dreadful inside? What if there were hideous skeletons lying about, or some evil force waiting to harm her, or bats flying out at her — only didn’t they do that just at sunset?

  She felt a shiver of panic. How could she cope with acting on her own like this when all her life she’d been surrounded every waking moment by nannies, governesses, lady’s maids and tutors? She was more frightened now than she had ever been in her life, yet a driving force compelled her to continue. There could very well be a fortune inside. My fortune. With bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest, Rissa pressed down on the latch and pushed. Nothing happened, it was stuck. She had to use her shoulder, backed by all her strength, to shove open the ancient, squeaking door.

  *

  “Why, Lord Stormont, what a surprise.”

  Clarinda drew Donegal to a halt. She was heading home after her ride and had slowed her mount to a sedate gait when she heard clopping hooves along the path behind her and instantly knew who it was. “Fancy finding you here,” she said, tongue in cheek, as Stormont rode up beside her. Pointedly she added, “Especially after we agreed to take separate paths.”

  The corner of Stormont’s lips pulled into a slight grin. “You knew I would find you.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  He swung off his horse and reached for her reins. “Get down. I want to talk to you.”

  “I see no need,” she said, flinging her hair back.

  His eyes raked her boldly. “Well, I do. Come, get down.”