"I had considered it," Aphrodite admitted, tilting her head so he could continue his kisses.
"And the handkerchief—"
"I could not use that device again. I needed something a bit more challenging. After all, women are always falling instantly in love when a man is wealthy, titled, and handsome."
"Much better that a jilted country spinster, entirely wary of men's motives and declarations, be the one who must learn to trust in love."
Aphrodite smiled, quite pleased with herself. "This is so much better than a bare-knuckle fancy, isn't it?"
"Since you mention 'bare'…"
She nearly shivered at the heated look he gave her. "Let me show you a lovely little secluded spot I discovered earlier while escaping my duties. I am certain we will both find it most pleasurable."
Chapter 2
Rosalinde trudged down the well-marked path towards home. The inn had been chosen as the assignation point because it was close enough that she could comfortably walk there, yet far enough away that no one would recognize her.
She sidestepped a muddy patch of road. She would have preferred having her serviceable pattens to keep her shoes from getting ruined, but what bride would have thought to bring such a practical item to her elopement?
"Nothing of this day has gone as I expected."
She had become accustomed to talking aloud during her mother's illness, doing her best to keep up a cheerful conversation, and now, a few years after her death, it was difficult to stop the practice. She liked to think it helped her sort out whatever situation she encountered.
Fortunately the shock of finding herself in Mr. Selby's embrace had rendered her nearly speechless. It would have increased her embarrassment tenfold otherwise.
"Why is it remarkably easy to put Mr. Moulton out of my thoughts, but a great deal more difficult to excise Mr. Selby?" She shook her head at the puzzle. "Hair that dark surely belongs to a devil, although I am certain the sparkle in his eyes owes more to mischief and merriment than mayhem. And that dazzling smile…"
Small wonder that it provoked improper thoughts of his lips pressed to hers. The exceptional fit of his breeches had not escaped her notice either.
She blushed, darting furtive glances to either side, even though no one was there to see her discomfiture. It was just one more reason she had to cease thinking of him. He stirred her in ways that seemed not quite fitting for a woman of three-and-twenty.
Lost in her musings, Rosalinde barely noticed the first raindrops as they pelted the already muddy country lane. The one that dropped right into her eye forced her thoughts back to the present. She impatiently wiped it away, clearing her vision just in time to see the skies open up.
"Go ahead and do your worst!" Rosalinde taunted, raising her fist to the sky. She waited, standing in the middle of the deserted lane, but to her amazement, the rain ceased.
Her triumphant laugh was cut short by a jagged streak of lightning. She ducked her head, mumbling a hasty prayer as the thunder continued to rumble in the distance.
Some minutes later, after wrenching her boot from the mud for what seemed the tenth time, Rosalinde heard another ominous thundering behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting another flash of lightning, but it was a coach, racing straight towards her. Her blood ran cold. The carriage continued its neck-or-nothing pace as if unaware of her presence, the hooves of the huge horses too easily devouring the muddy road.
With a strangled cry, she managed to move back from the racing carriage just in time to prevent being knocked to the ground. As it passed her, the carriage wheels heartlessly sloshed mud across her already soaked clothing.
She gasped. What else could possibly go wrong this day?
"Miss Hewitt! Are you quite all right?"
Mr. Julian Selby, the last person she ever expected to see, opened the carriage door and motioned her inside.
"What are you doing here?" she sputtered.
"I have come to deliver you home. Now get in." His gaze swept over her. "You're soaked already as it is."
The heat rose in her face once more. Her half-boot was stuck in the mud, her formerly pristine pelisse was striped with mud thrown by the carriage, and rain dripped from the brim of the straw bonnet plastered to her head.
Mustering the last of her dignity, Rosalinde answered stiffly, "I cannot ride in your carriage, Mr. Selby. I do not wish to sully it, nor to prolong your journey. Please, be on your way. I do not have much farther to reach my own destination."
She looked down the road, her shoulders sagging at the utter untruth of her statement. Yet anything was better than spending time with him in her current bedraggled state. Resolutely she turned away from the carriage and took her first step on the trek homeward.
Her bare foot sank deep into the mud, her shoe still mired in the surrounding muck.
Her lip began to tremble. This was the last straw in an extremely trying day.
***
Julian's boots hit the road with a squelching sound. "Come, Miss Hewitt," he urged, his hand outstretched.
He saw how bravely she refused to give vent to tears but she would not take his aid. Impulsively, he picked her up in his arms, glad when she threw her arms about his neck, even if it was only to hide her embarrassment.
He carefully deposited her in the carriage before turning to retrieve her half-boot. The stubborn thing would not budge. He gave it an extra-strong tug, finally freeing it, but the force of it sent him flying backwards. He dropped into a puddle, throwing rain and murky water everywhere, his beaver hat soaring into a nearby ditch.
Julian grinned and then thrust her shoe aloft in a victorious fashion.
Rosalinde laughed out loud before clapping her hands over her mouth, but her laughter would not be contained. She gave in, letting it escape in great whoops, holding her sides as she laughed with utter abandon.
Julian threw his head back and laughed heartily, too. He, the most eligible bachelor in all of England, was sitting in a mud puddle in the middle of nowhere in the midst of a torrential downpour, and his heart was near to bursting with love.
Life had never been so grand.
***
"The rain continues coming down in sheets, Miss Hewitt. We shall have to return to the inn."
He saw Rosalinde frown at his cheerful pronouncement before peeking out the carriage window once more.
"Perhaps it shall let up soon," she answered, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.
"It is possible. But it grows darker by the minute, increasing the likelihood the horses will turn up lame if forced to traverse this road. And poor Frederick, up top, fighting off the chill winds—"
"Very well," she finally conceded. "I should not wish any harm to befall the poor man." She bit her lip nervously. "But, once we return to the inn, I shall stay in the carriage until the rain has stopped."
She sat up straighter against the mud-stained cushions as if to demonstrate her determination to observe the proprieties at all costs. Julian bit back a grin at how delightful she looked with the dab of dried mud on the tip of her nose. And the thin streaks on either side of her pursed lips—they almost looked like kitten whiskers.
Julian stretched his mud-spattered legs in front of him, trying to ignore his very drenched posterior. "Why should you stay in the carriage, Miss Hewitt? It could be dawn before the rain ceases."
"You may not be known in this area, sir, but I am. And it would more than cap my disastrous day to be found alone in an inn with a stranger."
"A stranger?" Julian clutched his heart as if she had dealt him a mortal wound. "Just when I felt we were getting on so well."
To his satisfaction, her lips twitched. "You know good and well that unmarried females cannot spend the evening with an—" She gulped, eyeing him uncertainly. "Are you unmarried?"
"At present, yes." Julian beamed. "But that shall change in the very near future."
"Of course." He could not help but be encouraged at the slight
sound of regret in her voice. "You can see then why I must remain in the carriage. I may return home, with none the wiser, and you may continue on to wherever it is you are bound."
"It seems an admirable plan."
It also guaranteed his stubborn bride-to-be would catch her death if she spent the night in the cold with drenched garments. He had to try another tack. Fortunately he had years of experience dealing with headstrong females, namely his sister Felicia and his Great-Aunt Uproar.
"As for me," he continued, "I mean to settle in front of a fire—a great, huge blazing fire. With crackling flames so enormous they fair singe the hair from my head." He closed his eyes, giving an exaggerated sigh of contentment. "And once I am quite dry, I shall wrap my hands around the largest glass of brandy that can be found, bringing its warmth deep into every corner of my soul."
At Rosalinde's involuntary whimper, Julian peeked through one barely opened eyelid. He quickly closed it before continuing his quest to melt her resistance to his offer of aid.
"After that, I will have the grandest, most succulent slab of beefsteak brought in, along with potatoes swimming in a sumptuous mushroom gravy—a gravy so thick it will make that mud I wallowed in seem watery by comparison."
There was another rumble of thunder, except this time it was inside the coach. Was it Rosalinde's stomach or his own?
Julian sat up, his exaggerated yawn turning into a smile as he saw Rosalinde yawning as well. "Of course, after a meal such as that, there is nothing more to do but stretch out on the softest mattress and cradle one's head in a down pillow, drawing the blankets up and drifting off in a peaceful slumber."
Rosalinde's heartfelt sigh nearly undid him. He knew how much she needed, and deserved, every comfort he had described. One more nudge was needed…
"Did I forget to mention the bath? The hot, steaming water soaking the aches from one's joints—"
"Stop! Please, cease this torment." Rosalinde looked at him with drooping eyelids, but there was still a spark of spirit in her. "You may stay in the carriage this evening."
Julian laughed heartily, eliciting a reluctant chuckle from Rosalinde as well. "Surely we both can partake of these delightful necessities without undue harm. Let me ponder this a moment."
He frowned, pressing his fingers to his lips as he sought a likely resolution to the dilemma. "I can't very well say I am your long-lost brother, finally returning from war. Or can I?" he asked hopefully.
"With our dissimilar appearances? I'm afraid not," she answered with a weary smile.
"A cousin, perhaps?"
Rosalinde considered that possibility before reluctantly shaking her head.
Julian wrinkled his nose. "No. Well, I shall toss you over my shoulder and claim I found you lying by the roadside. Now this has definite possibilities. You could awaken in my arms, deliriously asking the innkeeper, 'Where am I?' Better yet," he sat forward, warming to his tale. "You lost your memory of your identity because you were knocked down by a runaway carriage, only recalling who you are in the morning."
"Just in time to realize I am in a dire predicament," Rosalinde added with a wry twist to her lips.
Julian leaned back against the cushions. "Perhaps your memory returns after your dire predicament is over."
"It still does not remove me from my dire predicament, Mr. Selby."
He scowled playfully, crossing his arms. "Surely a young miss in the midst of a dire predicament can address her carriage mate less formally."
Rosalinde gave him a mock glare in return. "Surely that same young miss's predicament will worsen should she not address him formally. Mr. Selby."
"Well, now that the formalities have been resolved," Julian teased, "we must return to settling the arrangements for this evening." He frowned again, deep in thought. "Of course! It is the only possible solution."
She raised her eyebrows, tiredly awaiting his answer.
"We shall be wed," Julian supplied with a self-satisfied grin.
Chapter 3
"You're mad!" Rosalinde's expression was a mix of concern and compassion. "You have apparently caught some sort of brain fever."
Julian merely shook his head and laughed again. He had rushed things, after all. Only his madcap family indulged in—and even encouraged—such impulsive behavior. It was no wonder Rosalinde regarded him as a prime candidate for Bedlam.
Probably best to leave the tale of the family curse for another time.
"No, I meant we shall announce we have recently wed but were unable to continue on our bridal trip due to the horrid weather."
Rosalinde considered the suggestion for several moments. "But what shall we say when we are no longer wed in the morning?"
"Excellent point. Perhaps you lose all memory of the wedding ceremony—"
She held up a hand. "If you can promise me separate bedchambers, and can deliver all of the heavenly things you described earlier, I will participate in whatever farce that will procure them."
She closed her eyes as though she could bear no more and rested her head against the wall of the lurching carriage.
Julian's heart softened a mite more, for Rosalinde was exhausted, and no wonder, after all she had endured that day. But he would see to her every comfort this evening, and hopefully every evening thereafter.
Seeing her head jouncing uncomfortably, Julian quickly abandoned his seat and moved next to her. At her startled retreat, he gently urged her head against his shoulder. "Rest, Miss Hewitt."
She smiled and then sagged against him. He sighed with contentment, grateful to have her near, and to provide her with some small measure of relief.
***
The amenities at the inn proved more heavenly than Mr. Selby had portrayed, but not for his lack of descriptive abilities. Rosalinde could not remember when her every desire was catered to, for she was used to providing comfort rather than receiving it. She might have felt guilty to be so indulged if she hadn't considered it a reward for all the aggravations she had endured that day.
And, she decided, submerging herself one last time in the fragrant bathwater, any guilt was best reserved for the odd dilemma in which she was entangled. Here she was, stranded in an inn with a man after being jilted by another!
Fortunately, Mr. Selby had done everything possible to preserve her reputation. As he had promised, there were not many out and about that evening, not with the wild weather that had caused them to seek shelter. And, Rosalinde thought with a grin, since she had willingly played along with Mr. Selby's ruse of being his very ill wife—coughing desperately into the hanky covering her face—none had recognized her.
Mr. Selby had further guaranteed her privacy by cheerfully remarking how fortunate it was he had already developed an immunity to his wife's ailment, seeing as how it was so dreadfully contagious, although sadly her endless coughing required she have her own bedchamber. He would never catch a wink otherwise.
She reluctantly rose from the hip bath. After donning the change of clothing from her battered portmanteau, she reflected on the dilemma Mr. Julian Selby presented.
Propriety, not to mention common sense, demanded that she remain aloof. Her return to her normal, staid existence would be a great deal easier if she avoided further contact with this man who elicited such inappropriate responses from her.
He was soon to be wed! The woman must be a paragon, judging by the joy displayed on his face when he mentioned her. Rosalinde sighed. It was yet one more reason she could not indulge her impractical interest in Mr. Selby's company.
Still, it was not easy to set him out of her thoughts. He had made her laugh, despite her many troubles that day, and his gallantry had been a sorely welcomed boon—something she had not experienced much while caring for her dying mother. As a round-the-clock nursemaid, she had had little time for suitors, and they had had little interest in her.
Until Mr. Moulton arrived.
How long ago her elopement seemed now. In truth, it was more like a dream, or the actions of someone suff
ering from a brain fever. Her usual good judgment had somehow become a scarce commodity, which was why she could not permit herself to dine with Mr. Selby.
She would stay in her room, denying her inconvenient yearnings for the man, and striving not to despise the future Mrs. Selby.
***
"Miss Hewitt. I am glad you decided to join me."
Rosalinde kept her hands from fluttering, but her heart could not be dissuaded from responding similarly. Not when Mr. Selby smiled as if she had bestowed a wondrous gift on him.
"I wanted to thank you for your kindness," she admitted, "as well as your generosity. Were it not for you, I would still be mired in mud, or fast on my way to catching a cold."
What she would not confess was how she needed a respite from uncharitable thoughts about his betrothed. Spending time alone had given her too much time to ponder the fortunate woman's perfection, as well as Rosalinde's inability to measure up to it.
Mr. Selby continued to beam at her. "It is a delight to share my dinner with you."
When he took her hand, graciously leading her to her chair, Rosalinde thought her heart might stop beating entirely.
He was certain to treat all females in such a gallant fashion, she reminded herself. Best to turn her attention to the succulent dinner he had ordered, as well as the excellent claret accompanying it. He had seen to every detail while ensuring they would enjoy their meal free from prying eyes.
"I hope it meets your expectations," he said.
"It greatly exceeds them. I shall count this as the highlight of the entire day."
"Even more than my lolling about in a mud puddle?"
She smiled. "That is a very close second. I am not like to forget that."
He laughed with utter delight, and it warmed Rosalinde's heart. Conversing with him was so enjoyable, which made it too easy to wish this really was the first stop on their bridal trip.
"Obviously you have been to London, Mr. Selby."
"Once or twice," he answered with a smile. "It is where I reside."
"I have always wanted to go there."
Falling for His Duchess Page 2