by Amy Sandas
“No, thank you.” She answered without even pausing in the act of shaking her shawl free of loose bits of grass that clung to it. She draped the length of wool over her arm and then lifted her gaze back to his face. Coughing lightly, she pressed the back of her hand over her mouth as her eyes danced with humor.
“Goodness, you look positively dumbfounded. Hasn’t anyone ever said no to you before?”
Dumbfounded? He cleared his throat. “Not in recent memory.”
She lowered her hand and the flash of her grin drew his attention. The woman was unfortunately attractive when she smiled like that.
“I am thrilled to offer you a new experience then.”
She was teasing him.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“Are you expecting another escort?” he asked with a bit of annoyance in his tone. “Sir Randolph perhaps?”
Her eyes widened comically. “Who?”
He wished he hadn’t mentioned it. It didn’t matter to him if she was waiting for a mysterious beau. “You said his name as you awakened.”
She appeared to hold back a laugh. “He must have been a remnant of a dream since I haven’t met anyone one by that name. To clarify my refusal, my lord, I am not heading back to the house quite yet.” She looked past his shoulder to where the hill sloped downward into a lightly wooded landscape dotted with sheep. “I would like to explore a bit more.”
Rutherford heaved a sigh. Her amusement was curious, but it seemed he would be forced to play escort after all. Suddenly, his stomach felt terribly empty. He had not eaten before heading out that morning and was looking forward to some of cook’s wonderful smoked salmon.
“Lead the way, Miss Terribury.”
She laughed and eyed him with an earnest glint in her gaze. “Truly, it is not necessary for you accompany me. I am capable of traversing the dangerous Essex countryside on my own.”
“That may be so, but Grandmother would have my head if I did not insist.”
She shrugged then, but her lips retained a sort of half smile. “Well, I would hate for such a thing to be on my conscience. I have heard stories of the renowned Lady Rutherford.” She started across the small clearing as she spoke, as if she expected he would fall into step beside her. He resisted her assumption for a moment before he started after her, his long stride bringing him to her side just as she turned to cast him a curious glance. “Is it true your grandmother keeps a legion of loyal knights available to do her bidding no matter how great or small?”
He reached behind his back and grasped his wrist in his hand as he gave a shallow nod. “They are very cleverly disguised as common footmen.”
He kept his gaze trained forward on the landscape ahead, determined to set a swift pace. He would accompany the woman, but he had no intention of dallying about.
“And does she have spies located throughout the realm,” she pressed, “providing her with intelligence to rival that obtained by the king?”
“She does.” He nodded again. “No one ever suspects the gossiping old hens who sit in corners of ballrooms gathering tidbits of information.”
“Yes, I can see your reluctance to go against such a daunting opponent,” she commiserated.
She had been keeping stride beside him in an easy rolling gait, seeming to have no trouble with the spirited pace, but just then she stopped abruptly and turned to look at him with a brightened expression. Her turnabout was so sudden he nearly stepped right into her. As it was, he did have to reach out and grasp her elbow to keep from knocking her over with his forward momentum.
Barely registering he had nearly sent her sprawling into the grass, she grinned with a wicked little twinkle in her eye. “We should arrange a meeting between your grandmother and my mother. If anyone can convince my mother to back down from her obsessive plight, it might be Lady Rutherford.”
Though her expression was full of mischief, he could not mistake the taut thread of hope in her voice. Was it possible he was in the company of one of those strange young women who possessed an honest reluctance to marry?
He shook his head. “Grandmother would be more likely to join forces with Lady Terribury than turn her off her pursuit.”
Her lovely lips drooped into a moue of disappointment, the sparkle fading from her mossy eyes. He almost felt a moment of pity for the girl having been unfortunate enough to be born a Terribury. No mother in the entire breadth of England rivaled Lady Terribury in dogged tenacity when it came to finding husbands for her daughters.
Having escaped Lady Terribury’s pursuit more times than he cared to consider, he did not doubt this last daughter would be married.
Just not to him.
She shrugged and gave a half-hearted smile. “We shall have to keep the ladies apart then. And I shall keep searching for a way to call Mother off.”
With a listless sigh, she turned, and as her shoulder bumped lightly against his chest, he realized he still held her elbow. Feeling an involuntary rush of hot awareness, he released her quickly to grasp his wrist behind his back.
They walked for a short while in silence. He had no desire to engage in further conversation about the girl’s personal situation. It was none of his concern, and as a rule he strictly avoided any topic that even slightly involved his long-time adversary. Yet without consciously deciding to do so, he found himself asking, “Is your mother aware you do not wish to marry?”
“She should be. I express my aversion to the state of matrimony at least ten times a day.” Her delicate snort of derision expressed countless years of pent-up exasperation. “But she has learned through six daughters to only hear what pleases her. You can well imagine how quickly my declaration flies off into the wind.”
He slid her a sideways glance and took note of the way she had folded her arms across her chest with her notebook pressed against the swell of her breasts like a small shield.
“Is it not the natural state of a woman to yearn for wedded bliss?” he challenged, already guessing what her reaction would be.
She gave another snort of derision, this one not so delicate. “Not this woman.”
“Why?” he pressed, finding himself curious to know why she failed to fit the pattern he had come to expect of young women making their debut.
“For a thousand trivial reasons and one that really matters,” she muttered in a voice shadowed with dejection yet firm with resolve.
Rutherford scowled. He had never been one to enjoy riddles.
Having left the circle of trees at the top of the hill, they were now traversing down a gentle but uneven slope through an ancient forest grown thin except for the wizened trees that spread out in a random pattern across the side of the hill. They were not following any kind of path and the grass was a thick carpet beneath their feet. In the near distance, sheep wandered about in the sparse rays of sunlight, their low bleats blending softly with the pastoral scene.
Though Rutherford had slowed to take in the details their surroundings, his companion did not. She continued out ahead of him, her booted strides confident and comfortable in the rolling grass. Her attention was directed all about her much as it had been last night at the dance, as if she wished to soak up as much of her surroundings as she could.
“Do you know where you are going, Miss Terribury?” he queried, coming to a halt.
She turned to throw a jaunty smile over her shoulder without slowing her steps. “Of course not. This would not be much of an exploration if I did.”
“I have no desire to get lost in the dangerous Essex countryside,” he drawled, intentionally restating her earlier description.
She stopped then and turned to him with an impertinent gleam in her eye. “Do not worry, my lord. I have an excellent sense of direction. We shall not get lost.”
They were several paces apart, alone in the middle of the quaint country scene except for the distant sheep. Their gazes met in the shared moment of humor and he felt something strange pass between them. A silent, barely noticeable
breath of accord.
As if she also sensed it, she drew in a heavy inhalation, tightening her arms around the notebook. Her easy smile faltered and she tilted her head as if she were trying to detect something in his expression or demeanor.
He was not accustomed to being studied so blatantly. He did not realize how relaxed he had become until he stiffened against the intent focus her gaze.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked suddenly. “Something that must remain just between us?”
“I would rather you didn’t,” he countered in as dry a tone as he could manage. He resumed his long stride, assuming the issue closed. But as he passed by her, he saw she was smiling as if she had expected such a reply.
She easily fell into step beside him. “I believe I shall tell you anyway. Though I do not doubt you would argue it is a simply lack of interest on your part, your manner implies a firm air of personal discretion.” She paused before continuing thoughtfully, “Considering we only just met and could consider ourselves adversaries, I admit it is odd that I feel compelled to disclose something so vital to me. But I feel like I can trust you not to take advantage of the information.”
He kept his focus straight ahead as they reached the bottom of the hill and met up with a narrow but well-trod path leading gently onward. He felt her sliding glance and suspected she was waiting for him to acknowledge her words or argue against them. In truth, he should bring a swift end to the current course of their conversation. Instead, he found himself holding silent.
Seeming to accept his silence as an agreement, she proudly stated, “I am going to be a published novelist.”
It was not what he’d expected to hear, and in his surprise he found he had nothing to say.
She turned her head to look at him fully. “What? No chortle of condescending amusement? No patronizing pat on the head for such a delightfully dreadful little feminine hobby?”
He arched his brows. “Should I be amused?”
“Amused, disdainful…or you could go into fits as Mother does whenever I bring up the subject. She seems to believe a young lady of quality has no business writing for the masses. More than that, she sees such an endeavor as disgraceful. All the more reason to see me settled down with a husband who will effectively put a stop to such absurdity.”
The anger and frustration behind her words was unmistakable. He sensed the girl had been holding it in for some time.
“Hence your desire to avoid matrimony.”
“Precisely,” she replied with a stern nod. “How many of your acquaintances would allow their wife to pursue such a goal? If I marry, my life would simply become an extension of my husband’s. The continuation of my writing will depend upon his good will and then only in stolen hours when I am not expected to tend to his great house and birth his fine children and host delicious parties for all of his wonderful friends.” As the tone of her voice grew more animated with the release of emotion, her stride grew longer and swifter, tossing her skirts around her legs with each step. “I am going to be a novelist,” she declared firmly, “and I cannot do that if I become a wife.”
The path they followed had narrowed as the forest around them thickened with pine trees and fresh undergrowth. Her steps had taken her out in front of him once again, and in the next moment, she turned abruptly back to face him, blocking his advance.
Becoming accustomed to her impetuous movements and wishing to avoid the unwelcome rush of awareness he had felt when he had nearly toppled her over, he had anticipated such a maneuver and came to a ready halt with a few paces to spare.
Judging by her tense expression, she was not finished with her confessions.
“No one knows this,” she stated with a note of impulsive excitement, “but I have already had my writing published. Multiple times. Short works of fiction with various periodicals.” Once she began, her words tumbled swiftly from her lips, as if she had been dying to declare herself and intended to take full advantage of the current opportunity. “But none of it has been under my own name and I am tired of hiding behind a pseudonym. I am proud of my work regardless of those who would ridicule its nature.”
In spite of himself, Rutherford was impressed by her obvious passion and conviction. But her last comment struck him oddly. He raised his eyebrows. “Ridicule?”
She paused, eyeing him intently for a moment before she clarified. “I write gothic romance. Novels of high adventure and dark suspense.”
He snorted in surprise. “That drivel?” It was rare he spoke without thinking, and he saw right away he had insulted her, though it had not been his intention. Her blunt way of offering up her thoughts on a platter must be contagious.
She stiffened immediately in response to his thoughtless comment. Her squared-off shoulders and stiff spine indicated pure defiance, but she kept strict control of her features, even to the point of offering him a tight little smile.
He was impressed.
“Have you ever read a gothic novel, Lord Rutherford?”
“Of course not.”
“How then did you come by your assessment of the genre?”
“Well, everyone knows—”
“Who is everyone?” she interrupted tartly. “Stodgy gentlemen who only read literature deemed to be of the highest cultural, political or moral significance? And what exactly would they know about novels filled with adventure, mystery and romance?”
He decided it best not to answer such a question. After he remained silent for a moment, she harrumphed softly and tipped her head in a thoughtful pose.
“I would think a gentleman of your significant years would know better than to judge something prior to even experiencing it.” She sighed and gave a casual wave of her hand, as if dismissing the conversation before she turned and continued down the path. “It would seem ignorance is not limited by age or class,” she added over her shoulder.
Rutherford glowered at her back as she confidently strolled away from him.
Had she just called him old? And surely she had not implied he was ignorant.
He often prided himself on his open mind and modern way of thinking. He wasn’t as unconventional as Blackbourne, by any means, but he was in no way ignorant.
And at thirty-six, he certainly was not old.
Chapter Six
While he stood there trying to absorb her well-aimed insults, Miss Terribury had continued through the forest and was now out of sight. With a huff of irritation, he started out after her. This was not how he had intended to spend his morning.
She didn’t even turn her head to acknowledge him when he fell back into step beside her. Though her stride was still swift and determined, her skirts did not whip quite so furiously about her boots. And after a while, even her steps eased to a more comfortable pace. If her emotional state could be ascertained by the fierceness of energy she displayed with her movements, he would hazard to guess she had calmed from her prior passion.
He wasn’t so sure, however, that she had forgiven his thoughtlessness in scorning something she clearly had a great love for. It bothered him that she might class him amongst others who would deride the pursuit she had committed herself to.
They walked on for several minutes without speaking before it obviously got to be too much for her and she broke the silence. “Now you know why I wish to avoid marriage. Tell me, my lord, why do you resist such a very basic duty to your title and family? Is it not vital that you take a wife and produce heirs to ensure the continuation of your esteemed line?”
There was a note of bitterness in her tone and she phrased the question in a way that was a clear challenge to his honor.
Further retaliation against his earlier affront?
He decided to allow the maneuver.
“I have every intention of fulfilling my responsibilities,” he answered with firm assertion. “On my own terms and in my own time.”
He had known his entire life what was expected of him, what his role was in the world and how important it was that he live u
p to his family legacy. Under his grandmother’s strict tutelage, he had been diligently molded to represent the title and family with all the pomp and protocol the position demanded. The second he had learned of his parents’ death, he had ceased to be the little boy who ran through the woods with his hound, climbed trees and stole pastries from the kitchen. He had not questioned the path of his life and had taken up the reins of his title and his responsibilities in perfect stride. He had been groomed for it since birth.
It had not been until he was slightly older that he’d realized how little it mattered what he wanted personally and he’d questioned the unending dedication to duty. He’d decided then that he would commit himself to meeting the expectations of his title, but he would keep one decision for himself. The choosing of a bride.
“Ah, I see,” she replied softly, though he did not know how she could have any idea what it was like to have one’s entire life plotted out for you practically from the moment of your birth.
He turned to look at her and saw empathy softening her expression. Without their usual sparkle of humor, her eyes reflected a depth of thought and feeling he hadn’t noticed before.
He recalled her own struggle in resisting the expectations of her mother and society.
Perhaps she did understand to some degree.
He cleared his throat and turned his gaze forward again.
The forest had grown thicker and the atmosphere was darker beneath the heavier branches of coniferous trees. Instead of the clean scent of bright sunshine, everything smelled of moist earth and green growing things. A large log lay across the path, and before he could offer assistance, she leapt up onto the log and turned to face him. The added height put her almost at eye level with him. Her intelligent gaze was far too direct. Despite the briefness of their association, she had already managed to surprise him more often than he preferred with her open manner and unabashed inquisitiveness.
She tilted her head and there was no artifice or manipulation in the smile that curved her lovely lips. “I am curious to know what would drive you to rebel against your grandmother’s wishes and the duties of your position. What is it you are looking for?”