She inclined her head. "What could you possibly wish to know?"
"Why, everything." His eyes twinkled. "For instance, did you always call him Mr. Moulton?"
"I—" Rosalinde had to consider that one. "I believe I did."
"Did you find him a handsome man?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I cannot imagine how this information will prove useful to you."
"I am merely attempting to get his measure." His eyes widened innocently. "To understand what sort of man you fancy."
"As I explained previously, Mr. Selby, it was not a love match." She reached for the book, but Mr. Selby's hand stopped her. It rested atop hers, his skin smooth yet masculine, stirring up unusual sensations throughout her chest and stomach.
"Julian," he said softly.
She shook her head to clear it. "What?"
"Call me Julian."
The fluttering in her stomach intensified. The situation was too intimate, his hand on hers, his eyes imploring her for an even further closeness between them. Yet she was unable to resist.
"Julian," she whispered.
His entire mien lit up. "And I may continue to call you Rosalinde?"
She merely nodded. The sound of her name on his lips made her weak. She wanted him to repeat it, over and over, adding a kiss each time…
Julian removed his hand, placing it atop the blanket. Much as Rosalinde missed his touch, she was grateful for the chance to gather her scattered wits.
"Tell me how you met Mr. Moulton," Julian insisted.
"He came to a local assembly," she said, "as he was acquainted with someone—I quite forget who it was now."
"He cut a dashing figure then. Making all the ladies in attendance swoon to the floor."
Rosalinde laughed. "Not precisely. Though he was definitely memorable."
"How so?"
"He sells clocks, and watches, and timepieces of every kind imaginable."
Julian's eyebrows shot up. "And he was late to his own elopement?"
She bit her lip to keep from smiling at his visible shock. "It is quite unbelievable, but yes."
His expression grew mischievous again. "I can only wonder how he wooed a beauty such as you. Perhaps he approached you and said, 'I cannot spend my time with any but you.'"
"I do not remember him being as clever as that."
He frowned. "I cannot imagine you spending your life with anyone who is not clever."
Rosalinde agreed with that assessment. She had thought being jilted by Mr. Moulton had been such a terrible event, only, spending these past few days with Mr.—with Julian had made her see just what a blessing the failed elopement had been.
"What about your betrothed? I would guess she is quite clever."
"You give her too much credit." His forehead wrinkled. "I did not wish to bother you with the news, but Frederick brought round word earlier that she had cried off from our engagement. In fact, she has run off to Gretna, with someone she has known since childhood."
"Oh no!" Rosalinde could not help but sympathize, but her heart leapt with joy at the thought that Julian was no longer betrothed. Not that it meant there was a future for them. But at least she could spend her time with him without being consumed with guilt.
"It is for the best." His lips twitched. "I am permitted to say that, because it is quite true. I am relieved, because I came to see how we were not at all suited."
"What sort of woman would suit you?"
"One who knows how to re-arrange a man's pillows," he said with a grin.
She narrowed her eyes. "It is a wonder you have not been smothered with one before now."
His laughter was infectious. "Ah, Rosalinde. I adore—This is the best convalescence I have ever experienced. What do you have to offer in the way of entertainment today?"
"I cannot think of anything else. You have grown tired of my reading to you, and I have regaled you with all the excitement the village has experienced. I have even confessed secrets no one but you has ever heard."
"I have a suggestion. I am sure you will enjoy it as well."
"What might it be?"
"A simple game of chance. Now do not glare at me with such suspicion."
"Gambling? It is highly improper. I believe Dr. Bentley had more sedate activities in mind."
Julian sat upright, rubbing his palms together. "Do not think of it as gambling. Consider it a lesson in calculating odds."
"Perhaps a different game," she proposed, frowning like a proper nursemaid might when presented with a difficult patient.
"Spillikins? I am not a lad of six, you know," he answered cheerfully.
Rosalinde flushed, giving him a warning glance. What a rogue he was! As if she were not uncomfortably aware he was not a mere lad.
Julian lay back against his pillows, doing his best to look infirm, but the impish grin flitting about his lips did nothing to add to his sickliness.
"Is there anything more circumspect than playing an innocent game of cards with someone confined to a sickbed?"
Rosalinde opened her mouth to protest once more, only to find the expected objection had fled in the face of Julian's entrancing smile. She wavered for another heartbeat and then finally capitulated.
So this is how the serpent had beguiled Eve.
***
"Damnation! I vow you have a natural knack for piquet!"
Julian whistled admiringly as Rosalinde raked in her latest winnings, adding them to the already massive pile accumulated from the past two hours' play.
"I'm a quick study, nothing more," she demurred, not quite able to hide her exuberance. She could not remember when she had last enjoyed herself so much.
"The answer of a natural-born Captain Sharp," Julian teased. "I can scarce wait until we play for higher stakes."
"I don't know that you should be permitted to play for anything more than pebbles." She nonchalantly arranged her gain into a careful pile before pointedly looking at the three pitiful little stones on the table in front of Julian, all that remained of his initial stake. "I fear I would quite bankrupt you otherwise."
"I believe you are ready for another challenge."
Rosalinde chuckled. "Or you are grown weary of the unending losses."
"How you wound me," Julian said with a hearty laugh. "I merely thought you would be interested in another game of chance played these days in London—"
She expertly gathered the cards and began shuffling them. "Can you teach me?"
"Of course. After all," he said with a smile, "it is de rigueur once you journey to London."
"I doubt I shall ever have the opportunity to compete at that level." She fiddled with the deck of cards, grinning. "But perhaps I shall win my fortune here among the local gentry once you teach me this game that is all the rage."
"Perhaps we should raise the stakes," he said, watching her intently.
Rosalinde felt her pulse race, followed by a delicious quivery sensation in her stomach. "What sort of stakes?"
"A kiss to the victor, perhaps?"
Rosalinde's heart danced, unaccountably thrilled, since it was clear she would emerge victorious no matter who had given, or taken, a kiss.
She shook her head emphatically. "I think not, Mr. Selby. It merely proves my initial reservations about gambling were not groundless."
To her surprise, he grinned, as though he had predicted her response. To her further amazement, she found herself little liking that he knew her so well. Her rising temper countered her usual good sense.
"You think me fainthearted, do you?" Her chin tilted up defiantly. When he raised his eyebrows innocently, she blurted, "Fine! I accept these stakes."
"All right," he said, grinning again, "I shall teach you this game."
Her heart nearly plunged to her toes. No wonder he felt so satisfied! He had assured himself of numerous kisses, for he was bound to have played the game endless times in London. She, on the other hand, was at his mercy, knowing nothing and relying on his information.
&nbs
p; Once more her impetuosity had embroiled her in trouble. But she could not retreat from the stakes of the wager now.
Rosalinde set the cards in front of him, patiently awaiting his instruction.
"Ah, we shall require a different sort of implement."
"What sort?"
"I believe in London they are called 'dice'," he teased. "Only I have no idea what the local gentry call them."
"I believe they are called 'dice' here as well, Mr. Selby. Only a vicar's daughter does not have opportunity to call on them as frequently as do London rakes."
"Is that so?" Julian's lips twitched, but he returned the most angelic of gazes. "I daresay Frederick, the London rake who drives my carriage, would be able to oblige our need for gaming dice. Could I beg your assistance in retrieving them for me? As you can see…" He gestured eloquently to his leg resting comfortably on a mound of blankets and pillows.
Feeling a pang of guilt, Rosalinde immediately rose from her chair and headed towards the door.
"Inform Frederick I want the dice that have not been doctored." At her puzzled frown, he laughed. "I want to assure the odds are doled out more evenhandedly. I mean to win for a change."
"I daresay it will be a change," she quipped before she left the room.
***
Rosalinde walked through each room of the cottage, continuing her unsuccessful attempt to locate Julian's coachman. She stepped outside and nearly stumbled over the huge man who was on bended knee, whistling cheerily as he dug in the garden.
"Frederick?" she asked, incredulous.
The whistling instantly stopped. A few seconds later, Frederick stood up, sheepishly brushing the dirt from his clothing and hands.
"Ma'am."
Rosalinde stood transfixed for a moment, unable to comprehend that Frederick had been digging in the garden. But then her eyes beheld the changes he had wrought on the area her mother had loved so well, and that neither Rosalinde nor her father had had time to cultivate.
She walked around to see the neat rows of flowerbeds, lovingly tended and weed-free. She stopped and gazed admiringly at Frederick, who was nervously shuffling his feet.
"I hope I was not out of order, miss," he said hastily, "it's just that since I have no place to drive His—I mean, Mr. Selby, and I fancied doing a bit of something useful…" His voice trailed off as he watched for her expression.
"Oh, Frederick," she said with a catch in her voice. "I have not seen the garden in such a beautiful state since mother died several years ago."
She paused to regain her composure, moved by the coachman's generous gesture. "Would you mind showing me what you have planted? I do not believe I have seen the flowers over there for ages."
Frederick blew out his breath in genuine relief, as if gratified to show her his handiwork without having to apologize for his interest in gardening. "Well, those are just plain old delphinium grandiflorum," he answered with enthusiasm, unaware of a nonplussed Rosalinde halted in her tracks by the casual delivery of his botanical information.
"Frederick," Rosalinde said with a laugh. "However have you come by this vast knowledge?"
She could have sworn his ears pinkened, and his eyes darted about nervously before he answered her question. "Someone special taught me the bit I know."
"Someone special," she repeated. "Would this someone special be a sweetheart, by any chance?"
The man's ears turned bright red. Rosalinde didn't need to hear his answer to know she had guessed correctly. But why would he drive Julian's coach rather than serve as gardener somewhere? Clearly his talents would be better utilized. And had something happened to his sweetheart? She opened her mouth to ask, but thought better of it.
Frederick must have sensed her empathy, for he smiled and offered to give her a detailed tour of the small garden. Rosalinde listened with amazement as the burly coachman lovingly explained each flower's Latin name and special features. They finished at last by a small rose arbor. Frederick picked at a leaf, frowning as he did so.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No, I'm just worried about these roses, seeing as how they haven't been pruned in ever so long." He continued his inspection, apparently forgetting Rosalinde's presence.
Covering a smile, Rosalinde finally interrupted his examination. "Frederick, Mr. Selby asked if we might borrow your dice." Frederick's head snapped up at that. "And," she continued with a puzzled frown, "he added something about not wanting the doctored ones, whatever that means, and assuring his chances of winning."
Frederick's face split into a broad grin. "I'll wager he did, especially after his recent run of bad luck." He wiped his hands on a handkerchief before carefully extracting a pair of dice from a waistcoat pocket. He rattled them in a fist close to his ear, grinning as he listened to them. "Miss Hewitt, I hope I'm not out of order by suggesting something to you right now."
His cautious expression tugged at her heart. There was no logical reason to feel such a kinship with this gentle gardener, but she did. "Of course you are not."
He glanced over his shoulder and then motioned her to follow him to a nearby stone bench. "There's some things about casting the bones that Mr. Selby won't be able to teach you, if you take my meaning." He winked at her while she seated herself.
Rosalinde laughed with utter delight. "Oh, Frederick, you are a dear."
His cheeks reddened, but she could see how pleased he was by her comment. "Now listen carefully," he began in a conspiratorial whisper, kneeling by the bench and giving the dice an expert toss.
Rosalinde leaned closer, unashamedly eager to devour every single word of instruction. She could scarce wait to see Julian's face when she emerged the victor—and refused to demand his kisses as payment!
Chapter 8
"Damn!" Julian winced, his face contorted with pain.
"I venture that is why the game is called 'hazard'," Rosalinde answered with prim satisfaction.
"It certainly is for me," Julian grumbled, for there was no mistaking the mischievous expression in Rosalinde's eyes. How had she managed to best him at this game as well? He'd best cancel his memberships at all his clubs in London upon his return. Clearly his luck, not to mention his skill, had deserted him.
Rosalinde appeared to chuckle under her breath as she toted up her winnings. Must she recount yet again? And so carefully, not to mention loudly? Exasperated, Julian nearly groaned at the number of kisses he should have been enjoying at that moment.
He lay back against his pillows, sighing melodramatically. "I shall submit to your kisses now. It is my fate as the loser, after all."
At Rosalinde's sharp intake of breath, Julian raised his head. "You need not be concerned that I shall not pay my debts of honor."
"It never had occurred to me, Mr. Selby, that you might be unwilling to settle up," Rosalinde answered, her eyes dancing merrily. "But, to put your mind at ease, I shall decide if—I mean, when, I shall call in your debts of honor. It is the fate of the winner, after all."
Julian sighed. How had his foolproof plan misfired? After the kiss they had shared, and the outpouring of passion, he had intended to enjoy even more of her kisses. But, to his dismay, he was further from his goal than at the outset.
"How many have you won?"
Her lips were tilted up in a merry smile as she continued doing the sums on a piece of paper. "I believe there are twenty-four."
"You are certain you do not wish to reduce that number?"
She shook her head. "Now do not thrash about or I shall be forced to re-adjust your pillows."
Finally! He watched as she approached the bed. It seemed wise to move to the side, and he even patted the empty space, so that she would sit next to him. She gave him a warning look, but he answered as innocently as he could muster, "You should not be required to strain your back to ensure my comfort."
"Your concern is appreciated."
She sat down and he fought to keep his hands to himself. She was the picture of perfection, her golden tendrils
framing her sweet face, her eyes exhibiting the passion she refused to acknowledge. He shifted slightly, glad his raised knee would keep his own rising passion from exhibiting itself to her. She leaned forward, ever so slightly, her mouth parted. He felt her breath against his lips and closed his eyes, relishing the moment—
"Rosalinde?!"
She stood up abruptly, a horrified expression replacing her beatific smile. Julian turned his head to see what had caused Rosalinde to turn such a pale shade of green.
A trio of somberly dressed women stood in the doorway, glaring at the tableau in front of them.
***
Rosalinde nearly groaned. Of course she would have to be caught out in her shameless pursuit. And by the church widows no less. She should have known her streak of luck was bound to come to an abrupt halt. How fitting, too, for the formidable women were most unbending when it came to indecorous behavior. They were a potent reminder of how easily she forgot herself when Julian Selby exerted his charm.
Thankfully they were not aware what stakes she had just won. She glanced at Julian, but was not comforted by the devilish look in his eyes. She feared he just might make such an announcement—and in a woe-filled voice as if to gain their sympathy at being so ill-treated.
Before he could attempt such a disaster, Rosalinde pasted a bright smile on her face, tucked the devil's bones in her pocket, and introduced the church widows to a broadly smiling Mr. Selby. It almost seemed as though the women simpered when he declared himself gratified to make their acquaintance.
"Rosalinde," Mrs. Pettibone declared in her usual forthright voice. "I know you have a great deal of duties to attend to, and I hesitate to ask you for your assistance…"
Rosalinde could not detect a hint of hesitation in Mrs. Pettibone's demeanor or her words, but she leapt at the opportunity to restore herself to her usual role of respectability. "I am always glad to be of assistance, Mrs. Pettibone. Surely you know that."
"Yes, well, we are having some difficulty with the traditional plum cake recipe. For the village fair," she added in explanation for Julian, tossing him an undeniably blinding smile. Rosalinde bit back a laugh at the unusual sight—until she saw the engaging grin he returned upon the woman.
Falling for His Duchess (The Curse of True Love Book 3) Page 6