Tempted by the Windflower (House of Devon Book 6)

by Sue London

  Nash found him in the tack room and leaned against the door jamb. “Good thing Fredrickson wasn’t about.”

  Freddie glowered up at his blond friend because the damn man was smiling. There was no point in trying to deny what Nash was talking about because the heat between himself and Miss Flowers must have been evident to anyone who was paying attention. He bent back to the task of polishing the leather.

  “Was that the saddle she was using? You seem quite... involved with it.”

  Freddie stood and set the saddle in its spot along the wall. “No, it is Lady Emily’s. I worry that the straps might give out, considering how hard she rides Gryphon.”

  Nash snorted as though Freddie said something amusing but sauntered into the room, running his hand over the highly polished saddles. “You might want to clean up a bit, maybe take a nap.”

  Freddie frowned. “Why?”

  “Well, since you ran off you missed the part where they asked if you could accompany their stargazing party this evening.”

  “They asked?” Freddie felt unmoored, as though something fundamental in his life had shifted. Apparently Miss Flowers wasn’t the only one having trouble finding her feet.

  “Yes,” Nash said. “They asked. Or perhaps I should say she asked, but told her father it was because of your grasp of Greek. That was convincing enough for him, apparently.”

  Freddie very much wanted to go stargazing with Miss Flowers, but it also seemed like a terrible idea. It was easy to get separated from your party in the dark. “I probably shouldn’t.”

  Nash put his hand on Freddie’s shoulder and shook him a bit. “Oh ho, but Fredrickson already said yes.” Now the damn man couldn’t help himself from laughing. “Just don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.”

  That, Freddie thought, still left quite a few too many opportunities.

  ***

  Rosalind’s heart nearly stopped when she stumbled into Mr. Marshall. She didn’t think it was the saddle that made her knees weak so much as his hands on her waist. He’d lifted her down from her horse as though she were a feather. A quite adored feather, if the flare of appreciation in his eyes had been any indication.

  Now she was anxiously waiting to see if he would join their party before they walked out to the field for a lesson on observing the stars. Two footmen were already standing with them, holding lanterns and the Devon siblings talked softly among themselves, shuffling their feet.

  It was late enough in the season that the nights were chilly. The grass would undoubtedly be covered with dew before dawn. Rosalind was snug in her pelisse but wondered if she ought to have worn a shawl as well.

  Her father cleared his throat and began to speak. “How many of you here know how to tell the difference between a star and a planet? No, Rosalind, you don’t get to answer this question,” he teased, even though she hadn’t raised her hand. “The clearest, of course, is how they move in relation to the other lights in the sky. But if you don’t have a number of days to observe them just remember that they...” In his professorial style he waited to see if anyone volunteered the answer before he provided it. “They twinkle! You can see the stars twinkle just using your eyes, and the planets don’t.”

  “Oh!” Lady Emily said. “Like the poem!”

  “The poem?” Lord Jonathan asked. Her father was delighted that the eldest Devon son joined them for this outing.

  “In Rhymes for the Nursery! I’ve been reading it to Nicolas and Francis. Twinkle, twinkle little star.”

  Lord William scrubbed his chin. “I think we had that book, too.”

  “Well,” Mr. Flowers said with a smile, “then you all knew the answer and didn’t realize it!”

  Rosalind loved watching her father like this. His two happiest places were behind a telescope and speaking to young people, trying to ignite their minds with curiosity. Rosalind didn’t care for speaking to groups and was happiest with her books and calculations.

  “I didn’t know the answer.”

  Even though he spoke softly his voice jolted her from her musings and she turned to see he was standing nearby. “Oh! Mr. Marshall.”

  He gave her an odd smile. “Just Marshall.”

  “I’m very glad you could join us.” She smiled, but the time passed awkwardly and he finally nodded to her.

  “Of course.”

  She was trying to remember what she meant to say to him, then realized she had a book clutched to her chest. She thrust it out at him. “It’s Greek,” she said, as though that explained everything.

  “All right,” he said carefully, as though he were humoring a lunatic. He tugged the book from her fingers as they’d decided of their own accord not to let go at the last moment.

  “I can read the math,” she said, “but not the rest of it. I probably should have asked someone to interpret it for me before now, but I’d known most of the formula from other sources.”

  “I can’t read it in the dark,” he pointed out.

  “Wel, no, obviously, of course not.” She laughed nervously. “I only thought you might read it while I was here and at least tell me if any of the text gave more illumination than the math itself.”

  Her father had finished his introductory lecture for their night and the group started walking through the field to set up his beloved Dolland microscope and let the Devon siblings take turns looking at the night sky.

  Rosalind found herself walking at the back of the party with Mr. Marshall. They didn’t speak, merely trudged along behind the cheerful siblings who now peppered her father with questions on his favorite topic.

  Chapter Six

  This was, Freddie thought, either love or insanity. Because he didn’t mind being in a gathering when Miss Flowers was beside him. It helped, perhaps, that she didn’t seem to have much interest in inane conversation herself. Although she had the body of a dryad she clearly had the mind of a governess.

  And he had to admit that he’d perhaps read too much into her nearness earlier. She’d not said or done anything so far this evening to make him think she was pining for him as he was for her. She’d handed him a book in Greek, meaning she really had wanted him for his language skills.

  It was for the best. A gently born lady wasn’t for the likes of him. An abandoned orphan who was lucky to have a position as a groom in the duke’s stables. He probably couldn’t afford to buy her a dress as fine as the one she was wearing with three years wages.

  But she was beautiful. And delightful. And he felt a pull towards her that he’d never felt before.

  “Oh!” She stopped and grabbed her foot. “I think there’s a rock in my slipper!”

  He put his hand out to steady her. “Why are you wearing slippers out here?”

  She frowned. “I thought they would be fine on the grass.” She shook the slipper and looked at it disapprovingly.

  Freddie considered picking her up and carrying her across the rest of the field, but that would likely be commented upon. One of the footmen noticed they were lagging and Freddie waved him off. “Rock in her shoe.”

  The footman turned back to the party.

  Freddie felt a thrill and foreboding. This was how easy it was to have a few moments alone with Miss Flowers?

  She was still holding onto his arm as she hopped on one foot trying to put her slipper back on. He found her touch just as affecting as it had been in the stables.

  “Do you need help?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, although she was a bit breathless from her hopping. She finally slipped the shoe home and set her foot down gingerly.

  “Better?”

  “Much. But I’d best not try to run to catch up with them.”

  Well. Even if not pining for him she certainly didn’t mind his company. He couldn’t help teasing her. “Do you want me to carry you?”

  She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide, but didn’t answer. He realized her hand was still on his arm. He could barely make out the figures from the rest of their party up ahead, and there was
no light here. It was highly improbable that their party could see them at all.

  He stepped closer. “Or is there something else you want?”

  ***

  Rosalind truly did have a stone in her shoe. She knew he would never believe her and probably thought she’d stumbled into him earlier on purpose, too, but she wasn’t coquettish like that. But for those moments lead to this? To have him look at her like a starving man discovering a feast? She had to bless the fates.

  He was close, so close she could feel the heat of him. Could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She knew he wanted to kiss her, but still he waited.

  She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him instead.

  At first it was a gentle brush of lips. Chaste but thrilling all the same. Everywhere he touched her she felt tingles, but especially on her lips.

  Then his arm went around her waist and he bent to kiss her in earnest, his tongue sweeping gently across the seam of her lips. She’d heard her sisters talk of this kind of kissing but she’d never experienced it herself. Based on their discussions she hadn’t thought she wanted to, but now there was Marshall, and kissing him wasn’t just something she wanted, it was something she needed.

  She parted her lips and it was like the first time she’d realized the vast infinity of space. There were stars and galaxies and constellations contained in his kiss. It was as though all of the possibilities of the universe were laid out before her, not only about him, but herself.

  He drew back, his breathing ragged. “We must rejoin the group.”

  What group? The group could go hang. She’d spent the last four years of her life studying the stars and she’d never thought to find infinity in a man’s arms.

  But Marshall threaded her arm through his and towed her toward the center of the field where her father had already stopped the party and was explaining the different parts of his telescope. As they drew near his arm fell away from hers and she immediately missed his warmth.

  She’d heard her father introduce new students to a telescope dozens of times and didn’t need to listen closely in order to monitor if he needed her. What consumed her mind was the man standing next to her. A servant, yes, but also an educated man. He still had her Greek text clasped in his hand. She wished her sisters were here. It almost made her laugh to think that, as she spent so much time trying to escape their attentions at home. But surely Rachel would have some practical advice to impart, and Regina was much more familiar with finding a man attractive.

  She glanced over at him again. Is that all this was? Attraction? Could the principles of chemistry be said to be at work here? Simply because he acted as a reagent upon her system didn’t mean anything deeper would come of it. Did it? She wasn’t sure. She felt driven to know more about him. She wanted to memorize the lines of his hands, know why he’d studied Greek, find out why he worked as a groom and whether he hoped to improve his circumstances.

  She realized she’d been staring when he looked over at her and frowned. He tipped his head toward her father in silent admonishment to pay attention. Rather than comply she smiled at him. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the lecture.

  What she had learned in her studies was that science was first and foremost based on observation. And experimentation. She had the rest of a fortnight to decide if her attraction to Marshall was purely chemistry or something more refined.

  Chapter Seven

  She was killing him by inches. He wasn’t sure if she meant to, but his death was just as assured. Their kiss had been, well, there weren’t words. Transcendent. Carnal. Glorious. Feeling all of her curves pressed against his body was the closest he’d been to heaven on this earth. But it was wrong and dangerous.

  Then she’d had a footman fetch him to discuss her book. He’d barely had time to look at it before he was summoned. Then there he was, a groom, sitting at a table in the duke’s library explaining various passages she pointed to while her father and the duke sat nearby, drinking cognac and discussing philosophy. He’d been both thrilled and mortified by the opportunity.

  Mr. Flowers turned to him. “Have you read Plato in the Greek?”

  “Y-yes, sir. Some.”

  “In the dialogue Charmides how do you take the interpretation of sophrosyne?”

  “I’ve not read it, sir.”

  “Oh, then you should. Quite excellent.” Mr. Flowers turned back to his conversation with the duke as though the comment had been quite incidental.

  Freddie knew, however, that sophrosyne was the ideal of character. Temperate, modest, pure. Disciplined. Mr. Flowers was perhaps not quite as unobservant as he seemed. That made any attention paid to Miss Flowers that much more dangerous.

  They would be gone soon, he reassured himself, easily within a week or two. Few guests lingered for months at the estate unless they were relatives. The thought of her being here for months and not be able to touch her, to kiss her again? Such a pain couldn't be borne.

  “What about this one?” she asked, leaning closer as she tapped on a passage beneath a rather lengthy equation. He could smell the citrus scent on her hair. She had it in a simple chignon again. She didn’t seem to tend toward the fussy. Her gowns were simple and practical, if made with expensive fabrics. Her only jewelry was one locket that swung distractingly when she leaned forward, and then nestled above her cleavage when she sat back. He found himself jealous of a small oval of gold.

  She turned her head to look up at him and he realized he’d not answered her question. It was quite possible she was ruining Greek for him, because he would never be able to read it again without thinking of her. Without remembering this time in the library, or their kiss the night before, after she’d shoved this book into his hands.

  He turned his attention back to the text and tried to ignore how the scent of her wound around him like a witch’s spell. A spell made of lemons and mint. It was intriguing that a girl named Miss Flowers would eschew floral scents.

  Somehow he survived the evening of reading passages for her and humbly took his leave of the group. He was so keen to leave that he forgot to ask if he could study her book some more, leaving it open in front of her.

  ***

  Rosalind thought that her first experiment had gone well. He was nervous in the duke’s presence, but otherwise fit as well as she did in this environment. Not that she thought her life would be full of studying in ducal libraries, but if such an opportunity were to come to pass then he would not be an impediment. A distraction, certainly, but not an impediment.

  She wondered if he was a groom because he loved horses or it was just happenstance. She’d known a number of women in London who lived for their time in the country because they were horse mad. They talked constantly of galloping and jumping, with a whole lexicon of terms she’d not yet deciphered. She imagined Lady Emily would be like that when she was older. Rosalind couldn’t imagine ever being such an enthusiast, at least not for riding, but she found all creatures fascinating. Having a husband who loved horses would not be an impediment, either.

  As she was not a horse and stable girt it was surprising, really, how quickly she’d come to adore the scent of leather and wood smoke that clung to him. And something else that she suspected was saddlesoap.

  In her world men usually smelled like bergamot or lemongrass. Honestly it was difficult to say whether it was the men or women of the ton who were fussier about their appearance. She’d managed to avoid most social occasions and dreaded that in a year or two she was expected to make her bow and attend balls. She had no interest in drinking watered down ratafia and dancing with popinjays. Leave all that to her middle sister Regina.

  She suspected she would be a wallflower like her sister Rachel. Except that Rachel had somewhat hoped that a gentleman would take an interest in her. For Rosalind, now that she understood attraction, it would be an endless parade of men that simply bored her. Boring, conceited, entitled men.

  Much better to marry a man that intrigued her. Challenged her
intellectually. Not that Marshall had done anything other than correct her pronunciation once but based on how little he spoke up in front of the Devons it was a sign that he would not back down on points of accuracy, and that was something she appreciated.

  She dove back into the trunk of texts she’d brought with her to see if there was anything else she could entice him with as she considered what other experiments she needed to conduct.

  Chapter Eight

  This time the footman brought a book and left it with a knowing smile. Gods, if the footmen were talking then soon Reeves would know and then, well, then he was done for.

  He opened the book and found a brief letter inside.

  Marshall,

  I thought that you might find this book of poetry interesting if you read Latin.

  Regards,

  Miss Flowers

  He was familiar with Ovid but had not read the Heroides. Within a few pages his cheeks were burning. She’d sent him a book of love poems! But not of the flowery, idealistic type. Oh no. This was a series of diatribes of women wronged by their lovers. What was he to make of it?

  Then he found a passage delicately bracketed. Had she marked it?

  But do you, if your heart is touched with any natural care for me, Orestes, lay claim to your right with no timid hand. What! should anyone break open your pens and steal away your herds, would you resort to arms?

  Did she expect him to pursue her? Was she mad? He was a groom. She was a lady. He was further from her in station than Ovid was from her in time. He set the book down as though it had bitten him. Then he realized that he didn’t want anyone to find it. Not that anyone else in the stable could read Latin, but who knew who they might take it to? He stuffed it under his mattress.

  Hours later Henry, one of the stable boys, scampered up to him as he was grooming Lester. Terrible name for a horse, worse than Foster. But his opinion generally wasn’t sought for horse naming duties.

  “Miss Flowers asked if you could join her at the bridge.”