"Tell me," she said, when they had walked a little while in companionable silence, "how you became interested in the Beaufort experiments? It does not fit my perceptions of you at all."
"Oh, I am interested in many things. I attended a meeting of the Royal Society a few months ago and heard a talk about his work. Later I studied some of his papers."
"At a meeting of the Royal Society? How did you come to attend?"
"I am a member," he replied, simply.
"But do you not have to be invited to join? And is not the invitation based on original scientific discoveries?" She was amazed, and intensely curious. She knew little of the Royal Society, but was aware that it was a most select group. She had sent plant specimens to one member, a gentleman who was compiling a flora of England. Phaedra had trouble believing that this fop could claim to be a member of that august group.
"Doubtless, it was a mistake," he said with a wry smile. "But I have done some experiments on breeding better varieties of fruit, you see, and they elected me to membership on that basis."
"What fruits?"
"Oh, there were some rather interesting peaches and apricots that I encountered in Arabia on my way back from India. I brought the dried flowers home and was able to apply their pollen to the flowers on trees in my own succession houses. The resulting fruit is more cold hardy and larger than the varieties that commonly grow here. A poor effort, but mine own."
"Why that is perfectly marvelous, Mr. Farwell. I did not know you were interested in botany. Tell me more, please."
"It is not botany that interests me, but food plants. I have seen the efforts of horse and cattle breeders to improve their breeds and often wondered why the same principles should not be applied to plants. But I am a mere amateur and only dabble at it. His Grace reported my results to the Royal Society, and I am sure he overstated their importance."
Phaedra stopped in the middle of the path and looked up into his face. Since he had retained his hold on her hand, he, too, was forced to halt. "Reginald Farwell, Mary told me you were not at all what you seemed. I have noticed some inconsistencies in your behavior myself. What other surprises are there in store for me?"
"I will let you discover them for yourself, love. Look, we are only a few steps from the vista I wished to show you. Let us go on."
He started down the path and she kept pace with him. As they emerged from the trees, a large lake came into view. In its center was an island where stood a miniature castle, complete with turrets and battlements. Even through the light rain, she could see that the small building was exquisite.
"Oh, how lovely. But why a castle on an island? And so tiny. What is it for?"
"The present Duke's mother wished a castle and he, not willing to destroy the beauty of his home, built it here. It is not a real castle, of course, but a hollow shell. Inside is a single room, with tables and chairs and even a fireplace. You can see, if you look closely, that the doors are much out of proportion to the rest. They are cleverly painted to look as if their tops are part of the walls. Although it is rarely used now, it is maintained for its beauty. When the weather clears, Mary intends us to have a picnic there."
"Can it be seen from the house?"
"Only from Their Graces' apartments. The trees block the view from the other rooms. I understand that several venerable beeches were cut so that the lady could view her castle from her bedroom."
"I do not blame her for wishing to. Thank you for showing it to me." The rain had become heavier during their walk, and Phaedra suddenly realized that she was both wet and chilled. "Perhaps you will bring me here again on a warmer day. Right now, lovely as is the view, I must beg you to show me the way back to the house. I am becoming quite cold."
He put an arm around her waist. "Before we return, Phaedra, I must ask you a favor." His gray eyes seemed to glow as he gazed down at her.
"A favor?"
"Yes, a very large, very important favor. Will you?"
Curiously enough, she wanted to say yes, no matter the question. Clinging desperately to the last of her common sense, Phaedra said, "I cannot promise until I know what it is you wish."
"Will you say my name?" His forefinger slipped under her chin and lifted it. "Please."
She licked lips suddenly dry. "Mr. Far--"
He shook his head. "Reggie. Say it."
Phaedra jerked her chin aside. "Oh, very well. Reggie. There. Are you happy?"
"Not until you promise never again to call me 'Mr. Farwell' in that uppity tone. I vow, it hurts my ears like someone scraping fingernails across glass."
A giggle threatened, but she caught it before it could emerge. "I will try, as long as Mama does not forbid it."
"She will not." He took her hand again and turned her back toward the path. They had walked a little ways when he said, "Do you detest me so much, Phaedra?"
"I have never detested you. I will admit you did not at first seem to be the sort of man I admire. Once I came to know you better, I began to count you among my friends."
He pulled her to face him, so close she could feel his warmth. Before she could step back, he had his arms around her and was pulling her even closer.
"Mr. Farw--, Reggie, this is not proper. Oh, please, release me." She tried to push him away, without success.
"Look at me, Phaedra," he commanded.
She hesitated, then lifted her chin. Her breath caught, so intense was the fire in his eyes.
"My love, I keep telling myself to be patient, to go cautiously with you. But I cannot. Phaedra, I love you and I want you."
Aware of a strange feeling in her midriff, Phaedra stood very still as she attempted to sort her feelings. She was giddy and warm, despite the clement weather. Her thoughts seemed unable to settle, but kept spinning in her mind. The one that spun to the top most often was He is going to kiss me.
Right behind it was I want him to kiss me.
Reggie's left hand lifted to stroke her cheek, then moved to the back of her neck, his fingers spearing into her neatly coiled hair. One by one he removed the pins holding it. Before she could protest--if she had wanted to do so--her hair went spilling down her back.
"Lovely." His hoarse whisper seemed forced from his mouth. Again his fingers sifted through her hair, and this time they caught and held. He tipped her head up and held it immovable. And then he bent to touch his lips to hers, softly at first, then with more pressure.
As his mouth moved softly against hers, she relaxed against him and opened her lips. His tongue against her own caused the giddiness to flare into a blaze that threatened to consume the last dregs of her doubts. She lifted her arms to encircle his neck.
The kiss was endless. Phaedra lost all sensation save those of his hard body against hers and his tongue seeking all the secrets of her mouth. When he finally lifted his head, she went on tiptoe, wanting to protest the deprivation. Her lips were hot and swollen. Her body tingled. Her eyelids were so heavy that only with great effort could she raise them to look into his face.
"Say yes, Phaedra," he said, husky-voiced. "Say you will marry me."
Yes. The word hovered on the tip of her tongue. Quivered there, ready to fall off. Until common sense once again reasserted itself. "I cannot, Reggie. Not until I have had time to think about the feelings I have just experienced. I cannot be sure they constitute love," she said, with enormous regret.
His arms loosened and he stepped back, smiling. "From your response, my darling Phaedra, I imagine your feelings would more properly be called desire. It is a good beginning to love, you know."
"I do know it, Reggie. Desire is not enough, though, to base a marriage upon," she said, each word painful to speak.
"No, it is not. How wise you are. And how foolish I am. If you are not sure yet of your own feelings, it is unfair in me to force you to a decision."
With the taste of him still on her lips and her hands remembering the feel of him, Phaedra could not resist saying, "You will, I hope, keep reminding me of what desire
feels like, will you not, Reggie?" She had to smile at the astonishment in his face. "I should not like to forget, and who knows? Constant reminders might speed my decision."
She dodged away as he reached for her again. "Oh, no sir! Not that constant. But at least once a day, I should think. I have a very short memory, you see."
"Baggage! Perhaps I should withdraw my offer. You are, madam, quite without morals, I see." His smile belied his words, and he again tried to catch her in his arms. She skipped out of his reach and started walking up the path.
"No, but I am cold. Come Reggie, take me back to the house and find me a fireplace." She held out her hand to him and he took it and tucked it under his arm. As they walked up the path, she asked him, "When am I to receive the next installment in the story of the real Reggie Farwell? I can hardly wait."
"When you receive your next reminder in the delights of desire, love, and not until. I should not wish to hand you too many surprises in one day. Will you ride with me in the morning?"
"I should love to, but Mary is to take me to the village school. I would not wish to disappoint her. I think it is wonderful that she and the Duchess care so much about educating the children of the estate."
"Another time, then." He sounded...disappointed?
Surely not.
The rest of the short walk back to the house passed in conversation about the school the present Duchess had founded to educate the children of the estate's tenants. Originally confined to male students, it had been recently expanded to include girls.
"Mary has quite a social conscience," Reggie said. "She insists upon teaching at the school whenever she is in residence. The Duchess resisted allowing girls to be taught the same curriculum as the boys, but Mary insisted. She said that the girls' minds were as worthy of improvement as any boy's and that if she could not teach them the same subjects, she would not teach at all.
"Some of the mothers objected, for they wished their daughters to be trained exclusively in the housewifely arts, but she convinced them otherwise. Her latest campaign is to convince the parents to allow the children to stay in school longer. Most of them quit when they are ten or eleven and old enough to be of significant help at home."
"That is too bad. Can the parents not see how much better off they would be with a better education?" Phaedra said. "I am glad to know, Reggie, that you do not believe the lower classes are unworthy of education. Papa has always made sure his dependents have a chance to learn to read and write. Should the opportunity arise, I intend to do the same."
"I hereby offer it to you, Phaedra. Come to Oakhurst and educate my tenants."
Again she was forced to dredge up her rapidly weakening common sense. "One proposal a day is all that you are allowed. Ask me again tomorrow."
Chapter Twenty
The rain continued. Phaedra visited the village school in the morning of the second day and was duly impressed. Someday she hoped to have the opportunity to follow Lady Mary's example. That afternoon she had just settled in the library with a novel she had been longing to read when Reggie entered.
"Do you play billiards?" he said, without pausing to greet her.
"Why...why, no, I do not." She stuck one finger between pages to mark her place. "I am not even sure what the game entails."
"I'll teach you, then. Come."
She followed him to the ground floor and along a corridor to a large room at the back of the house. In its center stood an enormous table, a wide lip forming its edge, its heavy legs ornately carved. The strangest thing about it was the woven leather bags hanging below the lip, at each corner table and in the middle of each long side.
Reggie motioned her inside and pushed the door almost shut. She raised her eyebrow and he smiled. "It's not quite closed. Your reputation is safe."
"Barely. I gather that is a billiard table?"
"It is. And this--" He picked a long, tapered stick out of a rack against the wall. "This is a cue." He demonstrated its use by tapping one of the colored balls scattered on the green felt tabletop. The ball rolled a few inches, and stopped.
"How interesting," Phaedra said, letting her tone show her real opinion.
Reggie chuckled. "The game is a bit more exciting than that. The object is to send the balls into the pockets." He went on to demonstrate, showing no little skill. Almost every ball he struck dropped into a pocket, sometimes after careening across the table and back several times.
"Would you like to learn?" he said as he sank the last ball.
"Yes, although I doubt that I would ever attain your skill."
"I am an excellent instructor." He handed her another cue and showed her how to hold it.
The next two hours tried her patience, her strength, and her resolve. Phaedra discovered that using a cue required strong fingers, that leaning over the table to stroke the ball required long legs and a limber back. She also discovered that pretending she could not understand Reggie's instructions meant he would wrap his long arms around her, lay his warm, hard hands over hers, and show her with a delicious intimacy exactly how she was supposed to move.
The first time she knocked a ball into a pocket, she squealed with glee.
"Keep going," he told her. "See how many you can sink before you miss."
The next ball must have hit a bump in the felt, for it ran straight for a few inches, then careened off to the right. "Pooh! I can see that I need much more practice."
He took his turn then, and sank one ball after another until the table was clear.
"You are showing off," she accused.
"But of course. Isn't that what a gentleman must do, when in the company of a lovely lady whom he wishes to impress?"
She deliberately fluttered her eyelashes. "Are you flirting with me, Mr. Farwell?"
"No more than you, Miss Phaedra." Catching her hand, he lifted it to his mouth. Instead of kissing the air a small space above her knuckles, he turned the hand and pressed his mouth to the soft skin just below her palm. His lips opened and his tongue laved the skin, hot and wet.
Phaedra drew in a long, slow breath, feeling the thrill of his touch clear to her toes. "Ohhh."
"You taste so sweet, like some exotic fruit." His words were rough, as if dragged across a harsh surface. He turned his head, looking directly into her eyes. "Marry me, Phaedra. Soon."
Unable to speak, she shook her head.
Slumberous eyelids hid his thoughts as his head dipped again. This time his kiss filled her palm, sending alternating waves of heat and cold up her arm. She fought to prevent her fingers pressing against his face, clenched her other fist to keep from sliding her fingers through his thick, wavy hair. When he straightened and set her hand free, she felt as if he had stolen something precious from her.
"I think, my dear. That we had better join the others. The atmosphere in this room has become somewhat...dangerous."
In full agreement, Phaedra let him usher her from the room. She walked beside him along the corridor and up the stairs. Even with some distance between them, she imagined she could feel the heat of his skin, smell the faint spiciness she now associated with him.
The experience again left her shaken and thoughtful. Unable to separate her emotions from her intellect, she found herself wondering if, after all, mutual desire might not be sufficient grounds upon which to build a marriage.
In her more rational moments, she knew it was not. She must be satisfied in her own mind that there was more than their physical yearnings for one another to carry them through a life together. She had to admit that his company was always pleasing, even when they argued. Even worse was the admission that she felt incomplete when he was not with her.
The next day Reggie again sought her out in the library. Although she had advanced only to the second chapter of the book she had so desired to read, she willingly set it aside when he entered, looking as if he had just come from outdoors.
"Good afternoon. Have you been riding?"
"Not today. I walked over to the village wit
h Mary this morning, and met a fellow I knew in India. We became lost in reminiscence and the time slipped away from us." He handed her a slim book bound in red leather. "As I was coming home, I remembered this and wondered if you might like to read it."
Curious, Phaedra opened the book. "Through the Eyes of a Stranger? What is it about?"
"I would rather you discovered for yourself. I must go."
Before she could object, he had departed. She stated after him, wondering what had caused his shortness. Men! Mama warned me that sometimes they pass all understanding. Curious, she turned to the first page of text.
More than two hours later she closed the book, having read straight through without a pause. It was an entertaining account of the author's visits to several less populated parts of India, with amusing anecdotes and colorful descriptions of places visited. The information imparted to her a vivid picture of the way people in the far off land lived from day to day. She had frequently found herself chuckling over the humorously told tale of the author's misadventures in a strange land populated by people who spoke unfamiliar tongues. Somehow he had managed to make himself understood well enough to discover how they lived their daily lives. Or had he made it all up? No, she could not believe that, for there was a ring of truth in the well-written prose.
She turned to set the book on the table beside her chair and saw Reggie seated across the room. He seemed to be watching her closely.
"What a delightful book," she told him. "I thoroughly enjoyed how amusingly the author relates his adventures. Do you suppose that he really did go on the tiger hunt and manage to fall onto the beast's back as it was caught in the net?"
"I guarantee you he did, and has scars to prove it. Even enmeshed in the net, the cat was able to give him a good scratch on the leg. Had the village headman not risked his life to run forward and sink his spear into the tiger's side, the author would probably have been mauled to death. The net, you see, only slowed the tiger; it did not stop him. It took many men with spears nearly half an hour to kill the beast, finally. In the meantime, the author was bleeding on the ground, quite disappointed to be excluded from the party."
A Sisterly Regard Page 25