“Please don’t take offense. It is a compliment, I assure you. I have an…instinct that tells me we are of similar mind.” Christ, he sounded like a looby. An instinct? He had to concentrate to keep his gaze on her face and not wander over her body. She was shorter than the women who usually caught his interest. The top of her head would only reach his collarbone.
She stared at him, her gaze assessing.
“Tell me about your shell collection.”
“I don’t have a shell collection. It was a lie.”
He drew back. “Why did your sister lie?” Blast it, he thought Miss Georgette had been charmed by him. What the devil was the matter with him? He couldn’t set a foot right with any of these sisters.
He didn’t understand siblings, apparently, and why should he? Though he grew up surrounded by people who loved him, he was an only child. He didn’t have other children to relate to until school, and he’d started that later than other boys. He felt as if he was missing an integral piece of information. What was it like to grow up with so many siblings? How did it affect them? Had she ever felt lonely or did always having her sisters about become bothersome?
Patrick used to loathe silence growing up, but being surrounded by adults all the time, he was expected to be quiet. But sometimes he’d just wanted to shout, to fill the empty halls with noise, even if it was just an echo of his own voice. Then he could pretend he had a brother.
And here she stood, having had eight other voices to shout back at her. Did she know how lucky she was? She appeared rather annoyed by Miss Georgette’s actions.
She pressed her lips together.
“Don’t spare my feelings. Please. My pride can take it. I’m usually well liked.”
“By whom?”
“All the gentlemen here and the many friends I have at home.”
“Are you certain?” She arched a brow.
Her skepticism needled at his ego. “Yes.” He ground out.
He may as well stick to frankness now. Charm had got him nowhere with her.
“I have made it my duty to treat everyone with respect. I am well liked because I practice kindness.”
“I suspect it’s because you’re rich.”
“So are—” He bit off the rest of his sentence. She was not rich. Was that her point? His friends only liked him because they were all cut from the same cloth? “You don’t know me.”
“Likewise.”
“But I’d like to know you,” he confessed.
“Because I’m unique, and so very different from the usual women you surround yourself with?” Her tone dripped with condescension. Really now, she could trade places with the Duchess of Kentworth with that tone.
“But what if—now I know this will be difficult for someone such as you, so likable and all—I don’t want to know you?”
He stilled, the shock of her words screeching in his mind like the brakes on a runaway carriage, grinding and snapping until all movement stopped.
The dust cleared and there his ego was, trampled on the ground.
Well.
She straightened. The guests were returning to the castle. She held up the shell, squinting as she compared his eyes to it. “They really do match. You should keep this and show it to the hordes of women who admire you in London.
She held it out to him and reflexively he took it. She turned away, her back straight, her hips swinging as she lopped across the lumpy sand.
He ground his teeth, not yet able to pick himself up after that thorough set down. He tossed the shell into the water. He didn’t need to be reminded of the color of his eyes. He didn’t need to be fawned over by a woman, but damn it, he wanted her to like him for some unfathomable reason and he would not rest until he’d earned her regard.
Chapter 3
Josie could feel his attention on her all the way back to the castle, but she didn’t gloat. He’d made a point to be honest with her. He wanted to know her. No one had ever said such a thing to her. Certainly no man had ever claimed he wished to know her.
What was there to know?
She wanted to feel better about their interaction, but instead her words stuck in her mind like a song one couldn’t stop hearing to the point of madness. In the moment, she’d thought herself clever, but now she sounded shrewish.
More curt than clever.
The party was going riding, and Josie’s first thought was to decline. She wanted to read the book she’d pocketed in the library, Soul Kissing, and see what it was about, but then Luna caught her eye.
Josie liked animals, but she had no desire to sit on one. The horse seemed of the same mind once she used the mounting block to climb into the saddle. They’d just barely made it out of the main castle grounds before she lost all sense of balance and the horse rejected her completely.
And Lord Selhorst was right there to witness it, as if karma was gifting him with her downfall.
Right into a mud puddle.
Josie looked up from the ground, first to glare at the obstinate horse that sauntered away with a jaunty trot, and Lord Selhorst heroically leapt down from his steed to help her to her feet.
He pulled her up as if she weighed no more than a fallen leaf.
“Th-thank you,” she stuttered, needlessly wiping her skirts with muddy gloves.
“Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride.” She gave him a point for not laughing at her outright. His only evident emotion was concern.
“I’ll help you return to the castle.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“Josie! Are you hurt?” The duchess, Violet, rode near dressed in a lovely scarlet riding habit that might match the color of Josie’s cheeks. Everyone now gathered around, still atop their docile horses while her intrepid beast was chomping grass on the side of the road.
“I am well. But I think it best I stick to my strengths and not ride that horse, or any horse, for the sake of my sanity.”
Violet nodded in understanding.
“I’ll escort her back,” Lord Selhorst volunteered to Josie’s dismay.
“That won’t be neces—”
He plucked her up by the waist, and with dizzying speed, she was now atop his horse, a stout gray hunter. It would be impossible to fall off this horse. She could throw herself left or right and simply land on more horse. He hefted himself up behind her, speaking to the others, and then before she could take a full breath, they were off. His arm came around her and he nudged her back into the ravine of his thighs. Large, muscular thighs, larger than both of hers combined, in tan buttery soft kidskin.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the ribbons of flexing muscles as he directed the horse with only one hand on the reins and the power of his legs.
She started to see spots so she sucked in a breath, the dampness of the mud seeping through her skirts and cooling her fevered skin.
Her frequent blushes around this man must be a permanent rash by now.
Would she ever feel normal again?
“You’re quiet,” he said as they approached the stables.
“I’ve nothing to say.”
“I don’t like silence. I had too much of it as a boy.”
“You said you had many caregivers.”
“Yes, but adults enjoy silence. Children do not.”
“You’re not a child.”
He chuckled. “No. But silence still bothers me, unless I’m reading, of course. But reading isn’t silent.”
Josie frowned at that.
“My head is filled with visions, voices, music, when I read. Do you agree?”
She tipped her head in thought. “I suppose.”
“You suppose? I expected a response with a bit more conviction.”
She stiffened, fighting off the pleasurable feeling of leaning back against his broad chest. But he held her there. “If you would like to know me, don’t make assumptions about me.”
“Then tell me what you are thinking.”
“Why should I? Why do you c
are?”
He remained silent behind her. But then he heaved a great sigh. “I’m simply trying to have a conversation with you. We both like to read, apparently. I’ve read a great many books in my time in university and out of it, but I’ve had no one with which to discuss those books.”
“Poor you,” she muttered. “How terrible that must be. Who will listen to you talk about books?”
“I wanted to hear you talk about books. Not me.”
All the moisture in her mouth evaporated. He slid out of the saddle with practiced ease and then held up his hands to her.
Was she…supposed to fall into him?
A groom waited, holding the horse’s reins, peering at her with expectation.
She glanced down, the distance seemed far greater than it ought to be between her perch on the horse and the bruising ground she already met with once today.
“I’ll catch you. Have no fear,” he said.
But her heart drummed on, too fast, too loud. She swallowed. And then she let herself fall, her eyes snapping closed as his hands caught her at the waist, and he slowly lowered her.
Her boots touched the ground and she peeked up at him. He stood so close to her, all she could see was the edge of his jaw and then—she inhaled—chocolate, coffee, a hint of bacon.
Her knees went weak and she fell into him. His arms came around her, and for just the briefest eyelash wisp of a moment, she let herself feel good in his hold.
Then she pushed out of his hold, brushing her unruly hair out of her face with a muddy glove, leaving behind a damp streak on her cheek.
She blushed. Of course she would. She couldn’t stop blushing around this man.
He offered his handkerchief and she took it.
“Thank you. I’m not having the best morning.”
“It would seem so.”
She wiped her face, cursing herself and taking peeks at him, but his expression was stoic. What must he think of her now? He must be revising his opinion about her intelligence. Indeed, it seemed to abandon her when he was present. She made an utter fool of herself every time they engaged each other.
Josie winced as she examined the handkerchief in her hands, the initials PRM stitched into the corner.
“Patrick Richard Madden,” he said.
She glanced up at him. Of course, they were his initials. “And who stitched this? Your mistress?”
His jaw tightened. “You’re trying very hard not to like me. Why? We could be friends, we could be—”
“We are most definitely not friends, my lord. And just because we both have an affinity for reading doesn’t mean we could be. We’re as different as night and day.”
Ugh, I sound like an utter witch.
But Josie couldn’t seem to stop her tongue. Words poured from her, insulting, unkind, and with them, the emotions she was trying to hide. She was afraid of him, of her reaction to him, because she couldn’t control it. He made her feel all these strange new emotions.
She balled up his handkerchief in her fist.
He drew back. “Forgive me, Miss Marsden.”
“Don’t apologize again, please.”
“If I may ask, what is it you don’t like about me?”
“What—I—you’re arrogant,” she said, fumbling for words.
“Arrogant?”
“Yes.” She was only digging herself into a bigger hole, but what was she supposed to say? “My lord, you set me on fire with your gaze. Please desist.”
“I’ve been trying to find common ground with you. I’m not sure how that came off as arrogance.”
“It’s”—she waved her hands around his frame—“it’s your energy. You likely don’t know you’re even doing it, but I assure you it’s there. You command every space likes it’s yours.”
“You mean the library?”
“Yes, it isn’t yours.” Lud, but she was acting absurd. He’d absconded with her wits. She couldn’t stop her mouth any more than she could stop a runaway horse. Had she left her brain behind when she’d been tossed into that muddy puddle? She clenched her teeth, determined to remain silent if she could not control the insanity spewing between her lips.
He smirked. “It isn’t yours either. We are both guests and the library is open to all of us.
I know that.
She wasn’t going to say the words aloud. She wasn’t certain what would come out.
He raised a brow. “No witty rejoinder?”
She shook her head.
“Then why don’t we return to the castle?”
She tuned on her heel, ignoring the arm he offered. Her heavy hem caught under the heel of her boot and as she stepped, she nearly tripped, a terrible ripping sound filling the air. She froze, her hand going to the back of her gown where she could feel the top of the giant tear.
He stepped toward her, presumably to help, but Josie lifted her chin and marched on. There was no cold draft on her legs so the tear wasn’t complete through all the layers, only the outer muslin. She didn’t want him to touch her again. Her body was still too acutely aware of his. She could still feel the squeeze of his hands on her waist as if he still held her.
She heard his sigh, but though it was ill-mannered and childish, she ignored him. They trudged up the hill to the castle and parted in the back hall without a word said.
Josie’s mind churned with things she wanted to say—thoughts and reasons for her ridiculous behavior.
But she kept her mouth shut all the way to her room until she paused at her door, only then remembering Jeanie had not joined them on their riding excursion.
Mrs. Kemp entered the hall and startled, probably surprised to find a mud creature.
Josie grimaced. “I had a wee accident while riding.”
Mrs. Kemp strode to her and inspected the damage. “Don’t you worry, dear. I can mend it right as rain. I’ll send Daisy to ready a bath and collect the dress.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kemp. I’ll be in Jeanie’s room.”
Jeanie might possibly be the outlet for Josie to vent all these troubling thoughts upon, so she could be rid of them and find her sanity once more.
She kicked at her heavy skirts and crossed the hall to Jeanie’s door.
“It’s me, Josie.”
“Come in,” Jeanie said through the door.
Josie entered, knowing she looked as disheveled as she felt.
“Goodness, what happened?” Jeanie exclaimed.
“The horse threw me!” Josie cried. She wiped her face with the handkerchief, remembering she’d balled it in her hand.
“Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride,” Josie admitted, and the metaphorical pain was not entirely the horse’s fault. She was partly to blame. She’d made an utter ninny of herself in front of Lord Selhorst. Her face stung with the force of her frequent blushes around him.
“It happened in front of everyone, and Lord Selhorst escorted me back. Look at my dress!” Josie held up the back and displayed the large rent in the fabric. “Can you fix it?”
“I’m not certain the mud will wash out,” Jeanie replied with dismay.
“Mrs. Kemp assures me she can have it right as rain,” Josie said.
“Of course I can fix it,” Jeanie added, but her expression was not reassuring.
A maid knocked before entering with Josie’s dressing gown and took the filthy dress away.
Josie plopped down on the foot of Jeanie’s bed and sighed. “Out of all the gentlemen to see me struggle. Ugh.”
“You said every one saw it occur.”
“Yes, but what irritates me most is Lord Selhorst.”
Jeanie blinked at her. “He irritates you?”
Josie scoffed. “Absolutely. He thinks he’s so superior.” Though he was. He had everything Josie had been denied.
“I thought he was rather nice,” Jeanie muttered.
“To you, perhaps,” Josie fumed. Another damn blush climbing her face. She was so aggravated with her overheated flesh, she might take to carry
ing one of Luna’s potions to sedate herself. Was there something that had a cooling affect?
“Every time I go to the library, he’s already there,” Josie went on. The words rushed forth like stomach contents, uncontrollable. “And he makes a comment about whatever book I’ve chosen. Apparently he’s read everything ever written.”
“We only arrived yesterday,” Jeanie said with skepticism. “How many times have you gone to the library?”
Josie cocked her head. Had it only been two days? It felt like much longer. “Well I had to return some books, and then I thought I’d collect a few to take to my room to read at night.”
Jeanie raised both brows. “And?”
“And what?”
“Lord Selhorst happened to be there for these occasions?”
Josie scowled. “He acts like he has more right to be there than me.”
“Perhaps he likes books as much as you do, and you both have something in common on which to build.”
Josie narrowed her eyes. “Build what?”
“A relationship.”
Josie tossed her head back, falling onto the bed and covering her face with her hands. Her cool palms felt rather nice on her burning cheeks.
“The party has only just begun,” Jeanie went on. “Try to be amiable if nothing else.”
Josie sat up with a scowl. “I am amiable, but it’s obvious to me he likes to feel superior to others by talking about his time at university and all the great novels he’s read, that I as a penniless woman would know nothing about.”
Jeanie sighed. “He didn’t say that to you.”
“He didn’t have to,” Josie said, defeated and mopey. And then she folded her arms petulantly.
“You’re jealous,” Jeanie returned.
Josie straightened, a zing of self-righteous anger yanking her from the dungeon of doldrums. Jealous? Well, of course she was. He was a beautiful male specimen who could turn her mind to mush, and what’s more? He had money and was afforded a top rate education just for being born to the right family. Envy positively scalded her insides. Was that the source of her madness? Sheer unadulterated resentment?
“If you both love knowledge, try to focus on that. You might have more stimulating conversations than you would with any other gentleman.”
The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series Page 3