Ros raised a brow in surprise. ‘Your father told you all that?’
‘Not in so many words, but from remarks Mama has made over the years, her sense of disappointment and her eagerness to involve Lord Torbay in the search for Annabel, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. Papa thought that Mama would come to love him but she never did, and so in his disappointment he buried himself in politics instead.’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose you cannot blame him for not liking any of us very much.’
‘I blame him absolutely for not liking you. You are nothing like your mother or sister.’
‘Annabel is the way she is because Mama made her so. It is not entirely her fault. If you are told twenty times a day, from the moment you are old enough to understand what is being said, that you are pretty and irresistible, it stands to reason that you will come to believe it.’
‘I think it imperative that you have a frank discussion with your sister as soon as she wakes in the morning. Just you and her, and demand all the particulars regarding her disappearance. Don’t allow her to prevaricate or pretend that she doesn’t remember. We both know that she will remember most of it very well. Besides, my instincts tell me that it is a conversation that’s long overdue.’
She blinked up at him in frank astonishment, but did not pretend to misunderstand him.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I had intended to talk to her anyway but I will ensure that I do so before we are likely to be interrupted.’
‘Good, that’s settled then.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘I have something for you.’
He placed a rubber ball in her left hand. ‘What is it?’ she asked, looking down at it in confusion.
‘The start of your rehabilitation. I spoke to a doctor friend regarding your hand—’
‘You did what?’ Her eyes blazed with a combination of embarrassment and indignation. ‘You had no right.’
‘Excuse me if I disagree. Someone must take care of you since you pay precious little attention to your own welfare, and the rest of your family don’t seem consider your comfort, so you will have to make do with me.’ She swallowed several times, opened her mouth to speak, to protest, but no words came out. His actions had confused her but not nearly as much as they had confused him. ‘Your fingers have atrophied because you don’t use them,’ he said briskly. ‘The only time you clench your hand is when you are angry and the pain gives you something to focus upon.’
She looked astounded. ‘You have noticed that? How odd.’ She sounded pensive rather than angry now. ‘No one else ever has.’
‘My doctor friend is convinced that you could recover completely with the right treatment, but of course you already know that.’ He held up a hand to prevent her from interrupting him. ‘He would need to see you in order to make a full diagnosis but in the meantime he advises that you exercise those fingers.’
‘It hurts too much,’ she said, looking away from him.
‘Nothing worth having comes easily. Besides, it hurts because your fingers have nothing to push against to ease the tension when you clench them.’ He closed them gently around the ball. ‘Now try.’
She sent him a murderous look. ‘I don’t suppose there is the least possibility of your minding your own business,’ she said.
He chuckled. ‘None whatsoever.’
‘You really are insufferably interfering.’
‘It’s high time someone took an interest in your welfare.’
She met his gaze, all anger gone from her expression, gave an impatient little huff and then did as he asked. Her eyes clouded with discomfort but she looked surprised when the full amount of pain she had anticipated did not materialise.
‘Again,’ he ordered.
‘Has anyone ever told you that you are impossibly bossy, too?’
‘Too many times to recall. Now, stop looking for excuses and do it again. There will be plenty of time to hurl abuse at me later.’
‘And you can be sure that I shall do so,’ she replied with a glare.
Ros grinned. ‘I should be disappointed if you did not.’ He watched her repeat the process with the ball, biting her lower lip in concentration and determination. It seemed that when Jemima set her mind upon a course of action, she gave it her all. He wondered if that applied to absolutely everything she did. Damn it, he couldn’t allow himself to think about her in those terms! ‘Good girl,’ he said, when she had squeezed the ball several times and looked mildly triumphant. ‘Twenty times, four times a day.’
‘I suppose you are going to check up on me to ensure that I don’t throw the ball in the nearest hedge.’
‘You may depend upon it. And if you do happen to misplace the ball, I have others.’
‘I am perfectly sure that you do, but I may decide that it’s a waste of time.’
‘I would advise against slacking,’ he said with mock severity. ‘The penalties will be severe and I’m not sure you will like them.’
She tilted her head and sent him a considering look. ‘Is that so?’
She allowed the ball to slip from her fingers, watching him the entire time. It rolled off along the terrace. Ros shook his head at her, gathered it up and handed it back to her. And then, on a whim, he pulled her into his arms.
‘Wait…stop it. I don’t think—’
‘You think too much. Sometimes it’s better simply to feel. Besides, you only have yourself to blame for this situation. You have no business looking at me in such a provocative manner and deserve to be punished for it.’
‘And you are the one to deliver that punishment, I suppose,’ she challenged, seeming not unhappy to be captured in his arms.
‘Absolutely. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it properly.’
She gave another of her endearing little huffs. ‘Get it over with then.’
Ros seized the moment, aware that she might change her mind at any moment. His lips closed over hers, firm and assured as he savoured the sweetness of her mouth. She didn’t respond, she probably didn’t know how to, but he sensed her burning curiosity to know more. The same determination that had seen her through the experiment with the ball. He groaned around their fused lips as he considered the likely outcome of this potentially dangerous situation, were he to allow it to develop that far. He couldn’t, of course, and he would release her before matters got out of hand.
He absolutely would, he told himself as his arms closed around her svelte body more tightly as he pulled her against him, savouring the feel of her breasts pressed against the lapels of his coat. But not quite yet.
The decision was taken out of his hands when Lady Torbay stepped onto the terrace, calling Jemima’s name. He released her at once and a respectable amount of space separated them by the time his hostess joined them. Hopefully she would not notice quite how heavily they were both breathing.
‘This is not over,’ he warned her, almost growling with frustration.
‘It should never have started,’ she whispered back, no real conviction in her tone. ‘You caught me unawares.’
Keep believing that, my sweet.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Lady Torbay said, sharing a curious glance between them, ‘but Riley is about to leave and I thought you would like to wish him good night.’
‘You are not interrupting,’ Jemima told her, walking with Lady Torbay in the direction of the drawing room with her head held high, shoulders rigid with tension. They left Ros to saunter along behind them and he did so with his hands clasped casually behind his back, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself when he noticed that Jemima still held the rubber ball in her withered hand. ‘I would indeed like to bid Lord Riley adieu.’
Chapter Fourteen
Since Lord Riley and Ros decided to leave together, Jemima bade both gentlemen farewell simultaneously. Clearly, Ros was in no particular hurry to prove that whatever had happened between them earlier was, in his words, not over. Jemima tried not to take offence, both at his arrogant assumption that
she would permit him to take liberties again or that he could recommence so doing at his leisure. Perceptive as he was, he probably recognised that she was confused, worried about her sister, and so very tempted! Never had she felt more alone, more in need of a broad shoulder to lean on.
She thanked Lord Torbay and Olivia for their kindness, which had come without any strings attached and with no expectation of recompense. She made her way upstairs, exhausted after her long day. A day of firsts. She had stood up to her father, been entertained by an earl and countess—and she had been kissed by a disreputable and highly desirable viscount who had shamefully exploited her moment of weakness. Except that he had not, and Jemima was honest enough to make the admission, if only to herself. Ros had sensed a need in her that she had been unaware she possessed and she had no one but herself to blame for her resulting confusion.
Pushing thoughts of Ros to the back of her mind, she reached Annabel’s room and quietly opened the door. A different maid was sitting with her. She looked up when Jemima walked in and smiled.
‘No change, miss,’ she said. ‘The poor lamb is sleeping peacefully.’
Poor lamb indeed! ‘So I see,’ Jemima whispered.
Since there was nothing she could do for Annabel, Jemima left the room again as quietly as she had entered it and was a little taken back to find yet another maid in her chamber, waiting to help her undress. Unaccustomed to such luxury, Jemima submitted gratefully to her ministrations. She closed her eyes as the girl unbraided her hair and gave it a brisk brushing. Jemima washed her hands and face and slipped into the unfamiliar lawn nightgown that the maid held out for her. She then slid between crisp linen sheets, sighing with a combination of pleasure and exhaustion.
The maid had left her with just a single lantern alight, which Jemima extinguished. She lay on her back, staring up at the bed’s canopy, bone weary but with her mind too full to allow for sleep. The situation with Annabel and Quinn was delicate, and could have consequences at the highest level if it was not handled with diplomacy. Annabel’s chances of making a good marriage had been irredeemably harmed by her stupidity and Papa’s career hung in the balance. But none of those matters troubled her for mind for long. Nor did her private plan—a plan she was still adapting—to draw Quinn into a trap. Only Ros suspected that she was thinking along those lines, but she had no intention of admitting it or of confiding in him. He would only attempt to stop her, and she was tired of being told what to do.
But she was not tired of thinking about Ros, who was quite the most compelling, the most fascinating gentleman she had ever met, capable of rousing her to anger one moment, to blinding passion the next. She clenched her fist around the rubber ball she still held and smiled at his determination to have his way—to know what was best for her. It was impossible not to respond to his disarming masculinity, his natural air of authority, or to feel the full force of the compliment he paid her by taking an interest in her wellbeing. She would fight him tooth and nail every step of the way if he insisted upon telling her how to behave, of course, if only because it was not in her nature to submit to authority, graciously or otherwise. Besides, she sensed that few people challenged his dictates and he found the experience…well, challenging.
As to that kiss—a kiss that had been cut frustratingly short by Olivia’s arrival—now that had been highly educational. She felt anew the vortex of desire it had engendered and shivered as a series of delicious chills spiralled through her, leaving her feeling frustrated, disadvantaged and unfulfilled. She had lived contentedly for eighteen years without knowing such utter bliss existed, and felt quite out of charity with Ros for starting something that he couldn’t possibly expect to finish. Could he? God forbid that he supposed she would be as easy to seduce as her sister had proved to be. Even so, she reminded herself with the suggestion of a smile, he had started it, and had told her quite forcefully that it was not over. Now Jemima would know no peace until she discovered what came next.
She blamed him for her state of confusion. She had a curious nature and hated not to see anything she did through to its conclusion. She turned over, snuggled down into a comfortable position and fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
Jemima woke with the dawn, feeling rested despite the fact that she’d had insufficient sleep. She stretched, thinking it would be easy to become accustomed to such luxury, and decided against ringing the bell. A maid would insist upon helping her to dress and she was well able to fend for herself. It would be quicker that way. There was a bathroom with doors from her room and Annabel’s on the opposite side. She made use of the modern facilities before dressing in a gown that was not hers but which had been placed at her disposal. It fastened at the front and she managed to lace herself into it easily. With her hair brushed and tied back with a ribbon, she was ready to accost her sister before anyone else was likely to disturb them.
She found Annabel sitting up in bed, eating porridge. She looked pale, more vulnerable than Jemima had ever known her to be, and gave Jemima an uncertain smile.
‘How do you feel?’ Jemima asked.
‘Strange. I don’t know why I am here or what happened to…’
‘She was hungry,’ the attending maid said, removing the empty bowl from Annabel and handing her a cup of tea, which Annabel drank very quickly.
‘Better now?’ Jemima asked with as much sympathy as she could muster. ‘Drink some water,’ she added, handing Annabel a glass from the table beside the bed. ‘The doctor said you were to drink plenty of water.’
‘Doctor?’ Annabel looked confused. ‘What doctor?’
‘Leave us for a while, if you please,’ Jemima said to the maid.
The maid collected up Annabel’s breakfast things and left the room.
‘Right,’ Jemima said, taking the chair at the side of the bed. ‘We need to talk.’
‘That’s a very pretty gown.’ There was a desperate edge to Annabel’s voice. ‘I have not seen you wear it before. Where did you get it?’
Jemima recognised a delaying tactic when she saw one and refused to be put off. ‘Never mind the gown. We don’t have long. Lady Torbay will come to check on you soon and Papa will be here this morning.’
‘Papa?’ Annabel’s face lost what little colour a good night’s sleep had afforded it. ‘Why would he—’
‘Don’t play games, Annabel, not with me. This situation is too important.’ Jemima sighed, striving for patience. Had she really supposed that Annabel’s indiscretion would make her willing to confide in a sister whom she did not like? Jemima should have realised that she would become even more evasive than normal. Plain speaking was called for. ‘He knows you have been with Quinn these past days.’
‘You told him?’ Annabel dealt Jemima a scathing look. ‘How could you?’
‘Oh, Annabel, this is not some minor rebellion that can be kept from him. Even you must realise that you have been used to destroy his career. To destabilise the government.’
‘Nonsense! Fergus and I are in love.’
Jemima shook her head. ‘Is that what he told you?’
‘It’s what I know. Besides, you exaggerate, as always. All Papa cares about is his career, and Fergus would never do anything to jeopardise it, even if he could.’
Jemima swallowed down her impatience, aware that Annabel would believe what she wanted to believe and that it would take a great deal of persuasion to make her see the truth. ‘He can and he has. You are Papa’s pride and joy. How do you think he will respond when he learns the full extent of your indiscretion?’
Tears swamped Annabel’s eyes. ‘I cannot help it if I am in love. I don’t expect you to understand.’ Jemima understood better than her sister would ever know. It would be so easy for her to fall in love with…No! She must not think of him. Not now. ‘I don’t see why silly politics that I will never understand should stand in the way of my happiness.’
Jemima knew that it would be a waste of breath to attempt to have Annabel take res
ponsibility for her actions. ‘What happened when you met Quinn on the heath?’ she asked. ‘Start from the beginning and tell me the truth, even if it doesn’t show you in a good light. I shall know if you hold anything back.’
Annabel gave a mutinous shake of her head. ‘Why should I tell you anything? You will only glory in my misfortune and make sure everyone knows about it.’
‘You are mistaking my character for your own. Believe it or not, I feel sympathy for the situation you find yourself in. The worst thing I can accuse you of is poor judgement. But someone has to try and find a solution to this farrago and I am sure you would rather tell me the particulars than reveal them to Papa.’ She squeezed Annabel’s hand and tried to summon up sympathy for her foolish sister’s plight. ‘I promise you that I will only tell him as much as he needs to know. Now then, Quinn knew you were going to be on the heath that day and wanted to see you. What did you suppose would happen? Did you intend to elope with him?’
‘No, of course not! It’s just that…well, we were anxious to have a few precious moments alone together and it seemed like the ideal opportunity. You can have no idea what it is like, how frustrating it can be, to be in love and not be permitted to tell anyone.’ Can I not? ‘I had to endure watching all manner of women batting their lashes at Fergus when we met at social gatherings, and I wasn’t able to tell the world that he was mine.’
‘Agony, I am sure,’ Jemima said briskly, doing her best to hurry her sister’s account along. ‘So you managed to walk away from everyone by telling Lady Barlow that you needed a few minutes’ respite. Quinn found you and then what?’
Annabel giggled, which killed the fledgling sympathy that Jemima had managed to dredge up. There was nothing remotely amusing about this situation. ‘We…well, it doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say that I was about to return to Lady Barlow’s dull picnic when someone tried to grab me from behind.’
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