‘I’m not.’
She heard the teasing in his voice and flushed. ‘Where will we eat?’
‘There’s a spot behind the cottage or we can eat inside. I have a key. Whichever you prefer.’
‘Outside. It seems a shame to waste such a lovely day.’
He secured the horses and then took Rosalyn’s hand and led her around the side of the cottage. A small overgrown lawn lay behind the building, surrounded by tall bushes and trees. A rustic stone bench sat in one corner. Michael led her to the bench. She sat down and waited, wondering what to do or say next.
‘Are you hungry or should we walk first?’ he asked.
‘I am actually quite hungry. I only had tea for breakfast.’
‘Then we’d best eat. I’ll retrieve the food.’
Looking around, she saw nothing resembling a basket. ‘Where is the food?’
‘It should be in the cottage. There’s actually a more direct route here, but the longer ride is more enjoyable. I will get it.’ He turned and strode toward the cottage. Rosalyn rose and followed him.
He thrust a key into the lock and then swore when the lock refused to budge. The door suddenly gave way. A sheepish look crossed his face. ‘It wasn’t locked.’
‘I hope this doesn’t mean our picnic has been stolen,’ Rosalyn said.
He looked at her, his mouth curving in a smile. ‘We’ll just have to find something else to do to keep our mind off food, then.’ His glance drifted to her lips. ‘I can think of a few things,’ he added suggestively.
Rosalyn flushed in spite of herself. Keeping him at bay was going to be difficult if he persisted in those sort of remarks. ‘I’m afraid nothing will keep my mind off food when I am hungry.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Perhaps we should look for the food, my lord.’
He heaved a mock sigh. ‘I can see you’re determined to keep me in my place.’
They found the baskets in the small dining room. As Michael had said, the cottage was furnished very plainly, but its simplicity was inviting. It looked cosy and intimate, the sort of place one might go to meet a lover.
Her thoughts made her blush. What was wrong with her? She had never thought in such a manner before meeting him. And after his words near the stable, she’d best keep her thoughts on the practical.
She helped him carry the baskets over his protests that he could do it all. She found a cloth in one of them and spread it out on the ground. After removing her hat, she sat down on the cloth.
Michael joined her, then shrugged out of his coat. He rolled up his sleeves and leaned over one of the baskets to retrieve a dish. His wayward lock of hair fell over his forehead. Rosalyn swallowed at the sight of his bare, sinewy arms and the muscles stretched taut under his shirt. Perhaps a private picnic had not been such a good idea.
He removed another dish before she started out of her trance. She couldn’t sit here and gape at him. Cheeks red, she reached into the other basket and pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses, then plates and silver.
Michael set out the last dish and surveyed the spread before them. ‘Good lord! There’s enough food to feed Wellington’s army.’
She laughed at the expression on his face. ‘As long as we don’t have to eat it all.’
He uncovered a dish. ‘What will you have? There is chicken, ham, cheese and pickle, not to mention a cake and tarts. Shall I serve you?’
‘You served me yesterday.’ She reached for a plate. ‘What would you like?’
He leaned back on one elbow and grinned. ‘Anything. I’ll let you decide since you made me do so yesterday.’
Perhaps she should have let him serve. He watched her every move as she dished out slices of ham and chicken, chunks of bread, pickles and asparagus. The ordinary act suddenly seemed extraordinarily intimate under his half-closed eyes.
He sat up as she moved towards him. She handed him the plate, her hand brushing his as he took it. She started to yank her hand away, but he caught it, giving her a lazy, heartstopping smile. ‘This is very nice, Rosalyn. I like having you wait on me.’
Her startled eyes met his. His smile deepened. ‘Last night you looked like a goddess; today you resemble a lovely fairy suddenly captured by a mere mortal.’
‘Michael, this is ridiculous! I…I am not a fairy.’
‘But you are. Weaving a spell around me.’
‘Shouldn’t we eat?’
‘Only if you promise not to flit away.’
‘I have no intention of doing so.’
He slowly released her. ‘I hope not.’
She scooted back to her side of the cloth, heart pounding, heat flooding her cheeks. What was he trying to do to her? Certainly he was flirting; there was something more dangerous, more sensuous in his manner than she’d ever noticed before.
She helped herself to the food, wishing he’d pay attention to his plate instead of to her. She sat back, hardly knowing what she’d put on her plate.
She took a few bites. The food was good, and she was hungry. They ate in silence, the sounds of birds and the nearby stream providing a pleasant accompaniment. Finally, Michael reached for the bottle of wine. He opened it, then poured two glasses. He handed her one.
She took it, pleased her hand did not tremble. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all.’ He took a sip of his wine, then set the glass down. ‘Rosalyn, we need to discuss last night.’
She spilled a drop of wine, her cheeks hot. ‘There is nothing to say. I dare say we were both carried away by the garden and the moonlight, that is all.’
‘So you think our passionate kiss was the result of smelling the roses or some sort of madness induced by a full moon?’
‘Well, yes, something like that. It should never have happened.’
He set his wine glass down and looked at her with a great deal of speculation. ‘An interesting theory. And why should it not have happened? Despite your attempts to deny it, there is some attraction between us.’
‘We have a bargain, an agreement. We…we can’t afford to do that sort of thing.’
‘Can’t we?’
She made a helpless gesture. ‘Michael, please! Why must you be so difficult?’
He suddenly smiled. ‘Because you get so delightfully confused.’ He rose in an easy movement. ‘Shall we walk for a bit?’ He held out his hand.
She took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. His abrupt change of subject did nothing to restore her equilibrium. At least he seemed to have decided last night was a mere aberration. Which was exactly how she viewed it.
They left the lawn surrounding the cottage and strolled towards the stream. ‘Shall we sit?’ he asked, indicating a grassy spot under a tree.
‘Perhaps a walk would be better.’
He deposited himself on the grass and leaned back against the tree, legs stretched out before him. ‘But I’d rather sit. And I don’t want you wandering off by yourself.’
‘I have been on my own for some years.’ Rosalyn sighed and finally sat beside him, careful to avoid the slightest contact with any part of him. Not that she could keep her eyes from straying to his well-muscled thighs encased in tight buckskin breeches. Or from noticing his strong lean fingers as they plucked a blade of grass. Her whole body tingled with awareness of his masculine presence.
He suddenly turned to look at her. ‘So you think our kiss was nothing more than moon madness?’
‘I really do not wish to discuss it.’
‘But I am curious. Shall we determine if your theory is correct?’
‘No. We should not.’ Her voice did not sound at all convincing as he moved closer to her. She froze as one arm circled her back. His other hand tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes. His own eyes were warm, a half-smile hovered on his lips.
‘If your theory is correct, this should have no effect at all.’ He bent his head and kissed her.
She should have struggled, pushed him away as his lips moved over hers. Instead
, she sighed and melted into his embrace as if she’d been waiting all day for this very moment. He ran a trail of kisses down her throat, pausing to nibble the pulse at the base of her neck, then lifted his head. ‘What is your conclusion?’ he asked, his voice husky.
‘I…I don’t know.’ She made a supreme effort to regain control of her traitorous body. ‘Our…our agreement.’
‘To hell with the damned agreement.’
This time he pulled her hard against him, his mouth crushing hers.
Her arms went around his neck, pulling him closer, knowing now she had wanted this. Her lips parted under his, allowing him entry to explore the warm recesses of her mouth. His hands came up to pull the pins from her hair and her hair tumbled around her shoulders.
He lifted his head for a moment, but only to lower her gently to the ground. He braced himself on his elbows above her and stroked her cheek. ‘You are beautiful.’
She closed her eyes, the intensity of his gaze burning through her. He fumbled with the hooks of her bodice and then deftly unbuttoned the shirt she wore beneath her habit, pushing it aside. All rational thought fled when the warmth of his hand caressed her tight, swollen breasts.
His mouth moved leisurely down her neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses. He moved lower and when his tongue swirled over a peaked nipple, she gasped and arched against him.
His shirt had come loose from his breeches. She slipped her hands beneath it and ran her hands over his smooth, bare skin, revelling in the feel of the hard, taut muscles beneath. Her touch seemed to inflame him more. He groaned and his mouth moved back to possess hers.
Then he pulled up her skirt, his hand coming to stroke the silkily soft skin of her thigh above her stocking. But when his hand moved further to touch the sensitive cleft between her thighs, he suddenly pulled his hand away and rolled off her, pulling her skirt down.
Confused and ashamed by her own behaviour, she lay there, eyes closed until she felt his hand brush her cheek. ‘Rosalyn? My sweet, did I hurt you?’
She opened her eyes to find him braced on one elbow, his face hovering over hers. A lock of hair hung over his forehead and his eyes were filled with concern.
‘No. Please…move,’ she whispered. He did so, leaving her feeling strangely bereft. She sat up, her face suffused with heat, attempting to compose herself.
Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the buttons which refused to cooperate. How could she be so foolish? If he hadn’t stopped when he did, she would have let him make love to her. Not only let him, eagerly welcomed him.
Michael leaned over and gently pushed her hands away. ‘Allow me.’ With deft fingers, he fastened the buttons. She stared down at his dark head, aching with the need to touch him again.
He finished and stood up, and tucked his shirt into his breeches. Then he reached down to pull her to her feet. She could not look at him, afraid to see the look of contempt on his face. She pushed a strand of hair away from her face with fingers that still shook. How was she ever going to pin her hair up? Her hairpins lay scattered on the ground. She bent down to retrieve them, only to find Michael there before her. His hand brushed hers, and she hastily straightened up.
‘I had best help pin your hair up, since I was responsible for its destruction,’ he said. His voice was matter-of-fact.
She finally glanced at him, stunned by his calm. He sounded as if nothing had happened between them. But then, nothing had. He had made it painfully obvious he did not want her.
‘Turn around,’ he said.
‘Turn around?’ His words finally sunk in. ‘I…I can manage my hair.’
‘Isn’t it difficult to do without a maid?’ he inquired.
He wanted to discuss the finer points of dressing a lady’s hair now?
‘Well?’ he asked. He seemed to really want to know.
‘I suppose to do it properly it can be. However, I have done it before.’ She frowned at him, not really wanting to attempt to pin it up with him watching her. It seemed a curiously intimate motion. But she could hardly return to the house with it tumbling past her shoulders. One look at her hair and wrinkled habit and everyone would guess what else they had enjoyed besides the picnic.
She turned her back to him and gathered her hair up, twisting it into a knot away from her neck. The next thing she knew, Michael was behind her.
‘Let me help you. You have grass in your hair.’ He plucked her hands away, untwisted the knot, then ran his fingers down the length of her hair as if to comb out the tangles. She froze, the feel of his fingers sending a languorous shudder through her being. Good Lord, what was he trying to do to her?
‘You have beautiful hair. I noticed that the first time I saw you.’
‘Di-did you?’
‘Yes.’ He lifted her tresses from her neck. ‘What do I do next?’
What? ‘Um, I…I usually gather it into a knot and then pin it on top of my head.’
‘Like this?’ She felt him knot her hair, then hold it while he fumbled with the hairpins.
‘Yes.’ The feel of his hands in her hair was producing the most exquisite sensations. She closed her eyes, praying she wouldn’t do something rash such as throw herself at him, begging him to finish what he had interrupted.
He finally dropped his hands away. ‘I don’t think I am particularly talented at this. It looks rather lopsided. Perhaps I should try again.’
‘No!’ She nearly leaped around to face him. ‘I…I am certain it is fine. And after I put my hat on, no one will even notice.’
‘If you are certain.’ He eyed her critically.
‘Oh, yes. Thank you. I think we should go. Isn’t it getting rather late?’ She looked up at the sky as a cool breeze brushed her cheek. While they’d been occupied with other activities, heavy grey clouds were darkening the sky. ‘I am afraid it might rain.’
‘You’re undoubtedly right.’ He didn’t move. ‘Do I have grass in my hair?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I thought you would like to perform the same office for me. Pull out any grass, brush your hands through my locks, remove any evidence of our day’s activities from my person.’ His mouth quirked.
‘No, I…I think we’ve done enough of that sort of thing for today.’
‘Will you at least see if all the grass is gone?’
He was utterly mad. They could stand here until dinner at this rate. She moved closer to him. He did have a piece caught in his thick hair. She reached up to remove it, feeling his breath on her face. He stood perfectly still until she stepped back. ‘There. It is gone. Michael, we really must go.’
‘Very well.’ His voice sounded peculiar again. He retrieved his coat and shrugged himself into it, then in silence they walked back to the cottage, careful to avoid contact with each other.
Chapter Fifteen
To make matters worse, the clouds began to gather; by the time they neared the stables, light raindrops had started to fall.
Michael dismounted first and then went over to help Rosalyn down. He resisted the urge to let his hands linger on her waist, but instead quickly released her. She jerked away as if bitten by his touch.
They hurried back to the house, as the rain began to pour. Michael cursed himself. What in the devil had possessed him to practically seduce Rosalyn under the tree? He’d planned to take her on the damned picnic, talk with her, flirt with her, perhaps steal another kiss, not tumble her on the ground like a wench from a tavern. Then, in his clumsy efforts to help her rearrange her clothing and hair, he’d undoubtedly made a fool of himself.
He stole a glance at her. Her face was pale and quiet, and he had no idea what she was thinking. Her hair was falling out of her hat in a charming but rather untidy disarray. He’d never be hired on as a lady’s maid if that was the best he could do.
Caroline was coming down the staircase as they entered the hallway. ‘I saw you coming from the drawing-room window,’ she said as she reached the bottom step. ‘I thought I should warn you. Papa is
here!’
‘Good God!’
‘He arrived only a hour ago. He is most impatient to meet Rosalyn.’
‘Oh, no,’ Rosalyn said faintly.
Looking over at Rosalyn, Michael saw her face had lost all colour. He touched her arm. ‘He won’t bite.’
‘Really, he will not, Rosalyn,’ Caroline said with a quick smile. ‘Come, you only need to change and then you’ll be quite presentable.’ Caroline took her arm. ‘I know he will quite adore you as we all do!’
Rosalyn looked stricken. She cast Michael a helpless glance as Caroline led her away. He gave her a reassuring smile.
Then Caroline stopped and turned back to him, her eyes full of mischief. ‘I suggest you change also, Michael. You have grass in your hair.’
The Duke was standing near the long French windows in the drawing room when Michael entered. By now, the rain poured down in sheets. His aunt sat on the sofa next to Helena Randall. Beth and Lady Cummings sat together at a table playing cards. They gave him a curious glance when he entered, then turned back to their game.
Eversleigh turned as Michael reached his side. Tall and erect with a harsh, handsome face, he hardly looked his fifty-some years. He was still thin after his illness, but Michael was relieved to see his colour had returned.
‘What brings you here, sir?’ Michael inquired as he joined his father.
Eversleigh raised a brow. ‘A desire to meet your fiancée. Since you do not seem inclined to bring her to Eversleigh, I thought I’d best come here.’
‘Are you certain you’re fit to travel?’
‘I am not quite on my deathbed yet,’ he said. ‘Where is Lady Jeffreys? I have been assured she does exist, but I’ve yet to see her for myself.’
‘She went to change from her riding habit.’ Michael glanced toward the doors. Where the devil was she? Nearly a half-hour had passed since they had arrived at the house. The idiotic notion she decided to escape through a window crossed his mind, then was just as quickly dismissed.
The drawing-room doors opened and, to his infinite relief, Rosalyn appeared with Caroline. Dressed in a simple rose gown, her hair now properly arranged, she looked cool and composed as Caroline brought her forward. Only her hand going to her locket before she swiftly brought it to her side betrayed her inner nervousness.
A Bargain With Fate Page 18