“It’s almost as if he has sent emissaries on his behalf,” she told Covey.
“Is that wrong?” Her companion sat in her favorite chair and worked on a child’s dress she was smocking as a gift to a new mother in the parish.
“Not wrong, unusual. In truth, I’m a bit put out that he hasn’t called.” She dropped into the chair across from Covey’s. She’d spent the day packing with Bridget, and her head hurt from all the decisions that still had to be made. “Tell me, Covey, you haven’t said anything. Do you truly not mind moving?”
For the briefest second, Covey’s needle hesitated. She lowered her embroidery to her lap. “I think I’d best go up to my room and lay down.” She rose and took several stiff steps forward.
Rosalyn came to her feet, too. “That’s not an answer. I wish to know.”
Her friend drew a deep breath and released it before saying, “I understand that you have little choice in the matter, and my place, now with Alfred gone, is beside you. I can’t let you go off to Cornwall alone, can I?”
“I wish you’d been my mother.”
Rosalyn’s words were impulsive but heartfelt. Covey looked surprised, and then tears welled in her eyes. “My dear child, I wish I had been your mother, too. Then I would have seen that you had received all the love you deserved.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Rosalyn demurred, her pride once again pulling her back.
“No,” Covey agreed with the understanding Rosalyn valued in her. Her friend understood all too well. She didn’t know how. Covey never asked questions, and yet she knew.
“Good night,” Covey said softly and left the room.
Rosalyn returned to her chair and sat in deep thought until the candle almost burned itself out.
The next morning was cold and rainy. Rosalyn decided it was the perfect day to attack the attic. She had no idea what all was up there. Numerous trunks and miscellaneous small furniture items from different estates had been shipped to Maiden Hill over the decades and had been collecting dust. Her cousin George may not give a tinker’s care, but she wasn’t about to let something valuable to the family end up in Colonel Mandland’s hands.
One trunk held moldy tack. Another contained baby clothes, folded away for the future. Rosalyn wondered who had stored those here. She ran her finger over the delicate stitching of one wee outfit, and a longing for what she did not have threatened to overwhelm her.
She shut the lid to the trunk and turned to another. There she discovered a pile of the most gaudy clothing. These must have been costumes. One dress was red, yellow, and blue stripes, with huge flounces on the shoulders and hem. She shook it out and held it up against herself. Which one of her relatives had enjoyed dressing the part of a tart? Certainly not Aunt Agatha.
The thought of the crusty old woman in such a tight, ridiculous outfit made Rosalyn laugh. The sound was rusty, even to her own ears.
A footfall on the attic steps warned her someone was coming. Rosalyn quickly wadded up the dress and stuffed it back in the trunk. Bridget’s head popped up over the top of the steps a beat later. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but you have a visitor. It’s Colonel Mandland.” She whispered this last as if saying the name of a person of great importance.
So, at last, he had decided to come himself. Well, Rosalyn did not have time to spare. “I am not at home,” she said firmly.
“But, my lady, I’ve already told him you are here.”
“Then tell him I’m not.”
“I can’t do that,” the maid protested. “My lady, after you are gone, he’s to pay my wages. I had to tell him you were here.” She turned and ran down the stairs before Rosalyn could object.
There was nothing else to do for it than to go and meet him. Rosalyn wasn’t about to let him think she was hiding from him.
Going downstairs, she started to brush the cobwebs off her skirts and then stopped. What did she care what he thought of her? Let him see her at her worst. She didn’t even stop by her room to change her dress—although she did take a moment to glance at herself in a wall mirror and repinned her hair to tame the errant curls that were the bane of her existence.
She hated her curls. Her mother’s hair had been curly. Whenever her father’s family saw her curls they usually made a disparaging remark about her mother, so she’d learned to keep them hidden.
Now, looking in the mirror, she told herself that if her looking like a washerwoman didn’t set him back, nothing would. She went downstairs to the sitting room.
Colonel Mandland stood with his back to the door. He held his hat in his hand and appeared to be contemplating the empty hearth. In spite of the dampness of the day and a decided chill in the room, there was no fire. There was not enough money to burn too many fires, and they preferred the cheery coziness of the back morning room.
He must not have heard her come down the stairs, and so Rosalyn had a moment to study him. In truth, the room didn’t feel cold at all. His presence was enough to heat it up. Unbidden, the image of the baby clothes in the trunk rose in her mind. She had an instinctive urge to flee, but she was too late. He turned as if he’d known she was there all along.
He was wearing his best, and Rosalyn couldn’t help but admire what a fine figure of a man he was. His jacket of bottle green superfine was cut with the expertise of a good tailor. His boots did gleam, and he had recently shaved. The scent of his shaving soap lured her into the room.
Why hadn’t she taken a moment to change her dress?
He spoke. “I imagine my calling is a bit of a surprise to you.”
“I expected you at one time or the other. There are only so many people in the Valley who either can or will speak on your behalf.”
The colonel laughed, not taking offense at her skepticism. “Actually, I came because I had some questions about the house and would appreciate a tour,” he said, easily making her feel foolish…because she had expected another motive.
“I see,” she said. “A tour.”
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“I will have Bridget show you around.”
“But I would rather have you give me the tour,” he answered. He took a step toward her.
Rosalyn resisted the urge to step back. What was it about this man that made her feel edgy and anxious whenever he grew too near? His storm blue eyes seemed to see too much, their intensity disturbing to her peace.
“I am actually busy at the moment,” she said. “Bridget would be a much better guide.”
“Why don’t you like me?” he asked.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She feared he could hear and know how nervous she was. “I don’t dislike you. I’m busy.”
“Any other woman in your circumstances would be pathetically grateful for my offer.”
“I’m neither pathetic nor grateful.”
“I know. That’s what I like about you. I understand pride. However, you have created a very difficult situation for me.”
She crossed her arms protectively in front of her, uncertain where he was going with this. “I don’t see how.”
“Lady Rosalyn, because you have turned up your nose at my offer, I am considered a failure in the Valley. You’ve made an impression on everyone. No one wants you to leave, and they believe it is up to me to see that you stay. Even my niece Emma is disappointed in my efforts so far. She is quite a fan of yours.”
“Emma is a good, sweet child,” Rosalyn answered and then couldn’t resist adding, “but what effort have you made? All I’ve met are your friends and former tutors.”
“Would you have received me if I had come?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to receive you today.”
He grinned. “I know.” He traced the brim of his hat with his index finger before saying slyly, “I’m not as bad as you think I am.”
“I don’t have any thought about you one way or the other.”
“So it’s my father’s profession that has set you against me?”
Rosalyn felt h
e was trying to trap her—and he had found her weakness. She was aware of the class differences between them—aware…and not so aware.
He moved closer, so close she could see the flecks of blue in his eyes. “We don’t suit,” she said, her voice faint.
“Mmmm,” was his noncommittal answer. Heinched nearer, and she was reminded of standing in Lord Loftus’s sitting room arguing, except this time, her knees felt a little weak, and there was a dizzy sort of humming in her ears.
“We don’t,” she reiterated, more for herself than him.
“Not at all,” he agreed. His gaze dropped to her lips. He smiled. “Well, parts of us do.”
Rosalyn licked suddenly dry lips. “Parts? Do what?” she asked. When he looked at her this way, it was hard to think.
“Suit,” he reminded, his deep voice intimate. “Parts of us do suit. Lady Rosalyn, I learned a long time ago that lying to myself never served any purpose. I sense you hold the same belief. You may not like my lack of background or that my father was a simple cobbler. You may not even like me. But you can’t deny there is something between us.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she whispered.
“Yes, you do.”
Rosalyn could have ordered him out, could have informed him he was being rude or forward. That even though he hadn’t touched her, he was taking liberties. But she knew such orders would fall on deaf ears.
Here was a man who made his own rules.
And she discovered it was a very attractive quality, one more potent than any other.
The next thing she knew, he leaned down and kissed her.
Chapter Five
Kissing her was madness.
Colin swore to himself he didn’t know why he was doing it—except that it seemed right and natural.
The fact she considered herself too good for him hit his pride and made him a little crazed, as did the fact that he was attracted to her. In so many ways she was such a country mouse. Obstinate, fearful, defiant…headstrong, intelligent, forthright…and a surprisingly good kisser.
Her lips melded against his. Her mouth was still closed, a sign she’d not been kissed often. He could understand. Right now, she looked a fright, all covered with dust and cobwebs. Yet something about her attracted him.
He had this overwhelming need to make mind-numbing love to her right on the floor, if need be. He pressed. She did not resist. He touched her lips with his tongue…
The spell broke. For both of them.
Colin opened his eyes and discovered hers were wide open, too.
They stared at each other, turned cross-eyed, and broke apart.
Lady Rosalyn practically ran to the other side of the room. He brought his hand up to his mouth and realized he could still taste her. Slowly he turned, anticipating some sort of spinsterish chastisement.
Instead, she stared at him, her razor-sharp gray green eyes wide in surprise. “Why did you do that?”
“Why did you let me?”
“I didn’t ‘let you,’ ” she responded. “You took.”
He had. He wouldn’t mind taking again, just to see if his imagination played tricks. Pointing at her with his hat, he accused, “You didn’t mind.”
Her chin came up. “I was offended.”
“Liar,” he said without heat. He took a step forward. “Here, let me kiss you again and prove that you are not as impervious to me as you wish to pretend.”
“You stay right there,” she said, moving to place the settee between them. “Don’t touch me. Perhaps in other places women fall into your arms, but I won’t.”
“Another challenge.” He frowned. “How will you know what you will and won’t do if we don’t kiss again?”
She made an impatient sound. “This is not a game. But that is how you perceive it, isn’t it? You’ve been biding your time, sending one person after another to plead your case. You probably think this is some jest. You believe I have no choice and you can force me to your will.”
“Lady Rosalyn, I am no lothario. It is true that I sent others on my behalf. But be honest. If I’d come myself, you would have thrown me out.”
“I still may,” she responded coolly, and he found himself liking her. She knew how to give as good as she got. “Besides, that was not a very good kiss.”
Her boast caught him up short. “It wasn’t?”
She shook her head. “Inferior.”
“You expected better?” he goaded.
“I’ve known better.”
He almost burst out laughing. “Now that is a lie,” he said baldly. “In fact, I’d wager the deed to Maiden Hill that you have never been truly, really, madly kissed in your life.”
“Madly kissed?” She snorted her disdain, a soft feminine sound. “What nonsense. And of course I have been kissed.”
“No,” he corrected, “you’ve been pecked.”
“Pecked?”
“Yes, pecked,” he answered knowledgeably. “You know, a closed lip, dry mouth brush on the cheek. The sort of thing a grandmother shares. Pecked.”
Her nose scrunched in distaste in the most adorable manner, and he discovered for the first time she had a dimple. Only hers was not like those cheruby dimples indenting the side of rosy cheeks. No, her dimple was beneath the corner of her mouth, on the lower right side. An out-of-kilter dimple, completely unique and utterly her.
“I’ve been more than pecked,” she informed him haughtily.
“I didn’t find any evidence of the like.”
Her brows came together. “You smash your lips against mine without warning or request and then have the audacity to complain it wasn’t a proper kiss? You don’t deserve a kiss of any sort.”
“Now wait a minute,” Colin said, holding out his hands and thoroughly enjoying himself more than he had in a very long time. “I wasn’t complaining. You were.”
She shook her head. “I was not.”
He pressed his lips together, letting her know he wasn’t going to argue. And her irritated response was exactly all he could have wished. She started for the door. “Our interview is at an end. Good day, Colonel—”
He hooked his hand in her arm and spun her around. Before she could protest, he kissed her, only this time, he didn’t hold back.
To his surprise, neither did she.
Her lips opened to him. Her body fit his.
He put the arm of his hand holding his hat around her waist. God, how long had it been since he’d had a woman? Too long—and yet, this wasn’t just lust. There was something more here. She tasted different than others, smelled different, more enticing, more appealing. Kissing her might not be enough.
And she was not indifferent to him. Oh, no, she was as hungry as he was…
She pushed herself out of his arms and, without missing a beat, slapped him so hard against the side of the face that he dropped his hat.
Colin had been hit harder in pub fights during his misspent youth, but this was unexpected, and she almost knocked him over.
Her eyes were bright with indignation. Her chest heaved; her color was high. She looked magnificent.
“I may have deserved that,” he admitted. He bent to pick up the hat.
“Yes, you did.” Her fists were still clenched at her side.
“I’m not sorry I did it, though,” he confessed. “ ’Twas worth the price.”
Her anger abated as quickly as it had flared, and in its place was confusion. She shook her head, as if trying to clear her thinking.
In a flash of insight, he said, “It’s not the kiss that upset you, was it?”
Lady Rosalyn took a step back. “I think you need to leave.”
He didn’t. “I threaten you now more asking questions than I did kissing you.”
“I’m not threatened, Colonel Mandland, I’m annoyed. What I think and feel is none of your business.”
“It is now,” he answered. He tapped his thigh with his hat. “I’ve decided to make it my business.” He started backing out the do
or, knowing the time to leave had come. “You are a mystery, my lady…and a good kisser. I shall pay a call on the morrow.”
“I won’t be at home,” she declared, her eyes sparkling with challenge.
“Yes, you will,” he assured her, “and if you aren’t, I’ll wait for you.” He turned and walked straight out of the house, pleased to have gotten in the last word.
Outside, Oscar had waded into Lady Rosalyn’s flower beds again. So much for the trick of dropping the reins on the ground and expecting him to stand still. Colin mounted and started down the drive but then stopped. He looked back at Maiden Hill.
It was a proud house. Its mistress was proud, too. He understood pride. He knew it was often a way to protect one’s heart.
Perhaps this marriage thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all?
He put heels to horse.
Rosalyn was furious.
How dare that arrogant military man walk into her house and manhandle her? And then pretend he knew her better than she did herself?
The worst part was that he was right. She was afraid. She hadn’t realized how afraid until he’d kissed her the second time. For one glorious moment, she had wanted to let herself believe he could care.
Then she’d remembered. She’d recalled the times she had wanted to think others cared as deeply for her as she had for them. Her first hard lesson had been the one her mother had taught her. She had thought her mother loved her, until her mother had run off with another man. She had wanted her father to love her. Instead, he’d drunk himself to death over a broken heart. His daughter’s love had meant nothing to him.
Following his death had been years of being trundled off from one relative to another. “What are we going to do with poor Rosalyn?” had been the watchword.
She’d wanted to believe those aunts and cousins could care for her. She’d been starved for love in her life…until she’d realized that no one loves an orphan.
And so Rosalyn had learned to make her own way—until today.
Colonel Mandland’s kiss did threaten her because it made her realize how much was missing in her life.
The Seduction of an English Lady Page 6