"Oh, yes! Yes, I do." Kate cried out with joy and relief.
To her astonishment, he nodded glumly and set his horse into motion. Kate's jaw dropped for a moment, then she crowded close to the gate, watching in fascination, wondering how far he was going to get before her answer registered with him.
The curricle had not advanced as far as the turning in the lane, when Harry sawed back so ruthlessly on the reins, the horse reared in the traces. Kate realized that she must finally have been infected with his lordship's puckish sense of humor, for she took an unholy delight in observing how Hellfire Harry, that most notable of whips, became positively cow-handed in his frantic efforts to bring the curricle around.
As the vehicle thundered back to the gate, Harry almost leaped down before he brought the mare to a halt. He rushed panting to her side.
"Kate! What . . . what the devil did you just say?"
Laughter bubbled up inside her. "I said yes, you silly man. Yes, I want to marry you."
Harry let out a war whoop. Seizing her about the waist, he raised her up and spun her about until they were both light-headed and giddy with laughing.
Then slowly Harry lowered her to her feet, the laughter stilling, the expression in his eyes causing the breath to snag in her throat. He captured her lips with a hunger, a longing she felt strike deep to the core of her own heart. Crushing her hard against him, he kissed her with a most tender ruthlessness, until even the gray day about her spun bright with promise and sunshine.
"Kate, Kate." He murmured. "You must know how I love you. How much I . . . I— Damn it, I meant to make a much better job of it this time."
"If you think you can do any better than this, my lord," she said huskily, the heat rushing through her veins. "I am certainly willing to let you try."
Seizing him by the collar, she brought his lips crashing down on hers again.
At the cottage's bow front window, the curtain stirred. Lady Dane peered out with a startled exclamation and then said tartly, "Maisie, your daughter is making love to Lytton by the garden gate. I certainly hope this means they are betrothed."
Mrs. Towers joined her mother-in-law at the window. "I rather think it does," she said as she saw Kate locked in Harry's arms. The smile Mrs. Towers felt curve her lips was an odd mingling of joy, relief, and melancholy.
Her ladyship folded her arms in rigid silence. At last as though the words were fairly wrung from her, she said, "All right, Maisie, how did you do it? Whatever did you say to that stubborn child?"
"Nothing, truly. I just talked to Kate a little about her papa, told her some of the wild things he had done in his youth."
"Wild? My Dylan?" Lady Dane stared at Mrs. Towers as though she had run mad.
Mrs. Towers squirmed. "Well, he did tell me he went to London once. He actually lost two shillings at whist and . . . and permitted a woman of most doubtful reputation to speak to him."
"Why, Maisie Towers, you lied to the girl!"
"No, I didn't. I only exaggerated," Mrs. Towers murmured. "Being only a bishop's wife and not his daughter, I am not quite burdened with as many scruples."
A glint of amusement and newfound respect appeared in Lady Dane's eyes. She gestured to where Kate and Harry lingered by the gate, yet lost to the world. "So what will you do now that you are about to part with your daughter?"
Mrs. Towers sighed. "I don't know. A small house in Yorkshire, perhaps with a hired companion."
Lady Dane cleared her throat. She said gruffly, "I don't suppose you would consider making your home with a most meddlesome and . . . and frequently lonely old woman?"
Despite her regal posture, there was a degree of humbleness in Lady Dane's request quite foreign to her nature.
After feigned consideration, Mrs. Towers replied, "I should be happy to come live with you."
Lady Dane seemed pleased, but so astonished by her response that Mrs. Towers hastened to explain. "You see, I know I would never have to have that dreadful Prangle woman into tea again."
Lady Dane laughed so hard, the sound carried even beyond the cottage walls. Kate caught sight of the pair at the window, and wondered what Mama could have said to occasion her ladyship such mirth. But even the knowledge she was being observed could not curb Kate's desire to have Harry kiss her again.
It was left to his lordship to playfully wag an admonishing finger at her. Then with a tender smile, he linked his arm through Kate's and they marched up the cottage path together to solicit her mother's blessing.
###
About the author:
Author Susan Carroll began her career in 1986, writing historical romance and regencies, two of which were honored by Romance Writers of America with the RITA award. She has written twenty six novels to date. Her St. Leger series received much acclaim. The Bride Finder was honored with a RITA for Best Paranormal Romance in 1999. Ms. Carroll launched a new series with the publication of The Dark Queen set during the turbulent days of the French Renaissance. Ms. Carroll was born in Latrobe, Pa. She spent much of her childhood in South Jersey where she graduated from Oakcrest High School in Mays Landing. She attended college at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, where she earned a B.A. in English with a minor in history. She currently resides in Illinois.
Discover other titles by Susan Carroll
Masquerade
Rendezvous
Escapade
The Painted Veil
Winterbourne
Christmas Belles
Brighton Road
Coming soon, The Sugar Rose---another award winning Regency by Susan Carroll. Continue reading for a sample chapter.
Chapter One
"Aurelia Sinclair loves Lord Justin Spencer."
Aurelia's green eyes widened in mortification when she realized she had absentmindedly scrawled those words onto the flyleaf in her latest volume of Byron's poetry. Bad enough to indulge in such romantic nonsense when she was only fifteen, but at the sensible age of three and twenty, she ought to know better.
Justin, she reminded herself sternly, had not ridden to Sinclair Manor this morning to propose marriage as a result of any passionate devotion. No, he came only to do what had been long expected of him by both the Sinclair and Spencer families. If Aurelia looked for any warmer emotion from him other than friendship, then she was a fool.
"Giddings will be showing Lord Spencer upstairs at any moment now." The reedy voice of her elderly companion, Mrs. Elfreda Perkins, startled Aurelia from her unhappy thoughts. "Are you ready, my dear?"
Thrusting the book deep inside her workbasket, Aurelia straightened, raising one hand to the back of her head. Not so much as a strand of silken auburn hair escaped the crown of tightly woven braids. She tugged at the high-standing frills of her lace collar and shook out the folds of her saffron morning dress, wishing she had worn her comfortable, plain gray serge gown. The gossamer yards of clinging yellow furbelows did little to enhance her figure. But then, Aurelia thought with a grimace as she placed her hands upon her plump waistline, the fabric had yet to be woven that could accomplish that feat.
"I suppose I am as ready as I ever shall be." Her heart did a nervous flutter.
"Good. Then I shall whisk myself out of here." Effie said, tittering. She raised her brows in a look that was meant to be arch, but gave her more the appearance of a surprised owl. "I should be infinitely de trop when Lord Spencer drops to one knee and asks a certain question."
Effie stood on tiptoe to give Aurelia a swift kiss before skipping out of the sunlit music room. Aurelia winced. She thought it bad enough that Justin's mama had dropped "just a hint" to Aurelia herself to expect his lordship's proposal directly after breakfast, but it seemed that everyone from Effie down to the lowliest cook-maid was also privy to the secret that his lordship was finally coming to the point.
The sound of footsteps on the marble landing outside the door alerted Aurelia to the nearness of Justin's approach. Quickly she sat down upon the high-backed red velvet sofa, dragging her embroidery frame from her wo
rkbasket in an attempt to appear as if nothing occupied her mind except for the altar cloth she stitched to donate to the church.
If you had an ounce of pride, Amelia Sinclair, she thought, you would refuse him. A man that comes to you at his mother's bidding!
But all such notions fled when the door swung open and she saw Justin's tall frame silhouetted in the entry. He grinned at her; his brown hair bleached light by the sun made a pleasing contrast to his bronzed skin.
"Good morning, Amelia."
Before she could reply, Giddings pressed forward into the room, an affronted expression crossing his stately features. He announced in his frostiest accents, "Lord Spencer, miss."
Her pulses racing, Aurelia half rose, extending her hand.
"And," Giddings continued in tones of strong disapproval, "Mr. Everard Ramsey."
Aurelia sank back, as dismayed as Giddings by the sight of the immaculately tailored, dark-haired gentleman who followed Justin into the room. How often had Justin regaled her with tales of Everard Ramsey, whose meticulousness in matters of dress was only matched by his recklessness at the gaming tables. But why was Justin's friend so perverse as to call upon her this morning of all mornings, when Justin meant to propose?
Justin, however, did not appear in the least discomposed by Ramsey's untimely arrival. As he turned to greet his friend with every evidence of pleasure upon his handsome countenance, Aurelia struggled to suppress her own sense of bitter disappointment.
"I tried to keep the fellow out," Giddings said in an overly loud whisper. "But when he came tooling into the yard, he saw Lord Spencer's horse and knew that you were receiving."
"Thank you, Giddings," Aurelia said quickly, fearful that Ramsey would overhear. "Would you please see to refreshment for my guests?"
"Certainly, miss." The old man made a dignified exit, muttering how a nice glass of arsenic would do for some persons who had not the wit to realize their timing was most inopportune.
Aurelia directed a weak smile at the two men. "I fear Giddings grows more eccentric with age "
Completely disconcerted by this unexpected turn of events, she shook hands with Justin before turning to murmur a greeting to Mr. Ramsey. She had taken a marked dislike to the man, although she had met him only the night before at supper. The London dandy had inspected her across the table through his quizzing glass, studying her until Aurelia had been provoked into saying sweetly, "Pray, Mr. Ramsey, are you feeling quite the thing? My own dear papa was always wont to stare in just such a glazed fashion when he was about to suffer an attack of the gout."
The man hadn't even had the grace to blush, but her remark had had the effect of making him turn his gaze elsewhere, although she had the uncomfortable feeling that he followed every word of her conversation with Justin, her dinner partner. After such an encounter, she would have thought that calling upon her would be the last notion to occur to Mr. Ramsey.
Ramsey executed a brief bow, his hooded blue eyes containing a hint of mockery. His perfectly formed jawline, his high cheekbones, his dark, arched brows gave the man an expression of carefully schooled arrogance. "I see my visit has taken you quite by surprise, Miss Sinclair." He produced a folded fan from the pocket of his silk waistcoat. "You left this at my aunt's last evening, and she insisted I see it returned to you."
"What! The orderly, efficient Miss Sinclair forgetting her belongings." Justin chuckled. "That is most unlike the Reely I know."
Aurelia smiled at his teasing, but she felt her cheeks turn pink. Would she ever be able to persuade Justin to stop calling her by that dreadful childhood nickname?
"Thank you, Mr. Ramsey," she said, her hand clamping around the ivory handle. "But you need not have put yourself to such trouble, returning the fan immediately. Especially when I am sure you must have so many more important matters to attend to this morning."
"Here in the wilds of Norfolk, Miss Sinclair?" One of Ramsey's dark eyebrows shot upward. "No, I assure you I have no pressing business whatsover. In fact, my entire day is at your disposal."
He strode further into the room, stripping off his yellow kid gloves, giving every impression of intending to make a very long stay. His blue eyes glinted with what Aurelia would have called pure mischief if it had been anyone else but the sophisticated Mr. Ramsey.
Justin pressed a small parcel into her hands. "A trifling gift," he said, "but it is something I know you like above all things."
When Aurelia undid the string and the tissue wrapping fell away, she discovered a box of chocolates. Sweetmeats were ever a weakness with her, but her stomach was so knotted with apprehension and frustration, she had difficulty regarding Justin's gift with any sort of enthusiasm. Did Justin truly believe that was what she valued most in the world, sweetmeats? It was obvious the insufferable Mr. Ramsey thought so from the way his cynical eyes shifted from the box to her waistline. In sheer defiance, she popped one of the sweet confections into her mouth before proffering the treat to the gentlemen, both of whom declined.
Ramsey held up his hand, feigning a shudder. "No, thank you, Miss Sinclair. So early in the day! Incidentally, I do hope you do not find our calling thus soon after breakfast inconvenient?"
Hardly that, Aurelia felt like snapping. She had only been waiting five years for Justin to declare himself, ever since her father's death had left her orphaned. It seemed that, thanks to Mr. Ramsey, she must perforce wait a little longer.
"Inconvenient? Not at all, Mr. Ramsey," she forced herself to reply. She focused her attention upon Justin; affording him her most gracious smile. "It is prodigiously good to see you at any time, Justin. Pray, be seated."
"I told you, did I not, Ev," Justin said, "that Reely would not be like one of your London belles, still languishing in bed at this hour of the day."
"One of my London belles?" Everard said so softly, Aurelia nearly did not catch the remark.
Justin glared at him, before favoring Aurelia with another of his heart-stopping smiles. He seated himself astride the reading chair, leaning his arms with careless grace upon the back of the book rest.
Was it truly so absurd, Amelia thought wistfully, to hope that Justin did not view the prospect of marrying her with complete repugnance, that once wed, his childhood friendship with her might develop into emotions a trifle wanner? Was there any chance at all?
But her contemplation of Justin was seriously disturbed by Mr. Ramsey, who had chosen not to seat himself. What must the man do but pace about, examining the appointments of the room through his quizzing glass. As he regarded the faded Tree-of-Life wallpaper, the worn carpet, Aurelia almost wished she had elected to receive the gentlemen in one of the coldly elegant drawing rooms decorated by her mother. But of all the parlors in the rambling manor house, this was the one she had always considered peculiarly her own, where she felt the most secure. The massive fireplace mantel was not a showpiece designed by Adams, Gibbons, or anyone of note, but was constructed of good, plain oak, as were much of the room's furnishings. Best of all, the room had no mirrors to reflect back to her the imperfections of her less than willowy form.
Aurelia tossed her head. As if she cared a fig for Mr. Ramsey's opinion. Let him turn up his nose at her taste in decorating if he wished.
"I believe Trueblood strained a fetlock on our canter over here," Justin was saying. "I consigned him to the care of your head groom but I could hardly credit it. You still have old Harley working down in the stables. Why, he must be upward of seventy years old by now."
"Oh, at least." Aurelia was vexed to discover she could not concentrate on Justin's words, so uncomfortable was Mr. Ramsey making her. After he trailed his fingers along the keys of the ancient rosewood pianoforte, his inspection of the room brought him over to the fireplace, in such close proximity Aurelia had to gather in her skirts to keep them from being trodden upon by his immaculate black Hessians. His cream-colored kerseymere trousers brushed up against her billowing yellow silk. With such closeness, Aurelia could not help remarking how his n
avy coat with mother-of-pearl buttons molded perfectly to his frame. Although he was not as tall and muscular as Justin, it was obvious the man had no need to resort to padding to fill out his shoulders.
"Don't you remember that, Reely?" Justin's impatient voice cut into her thoughts.
"What? I didn't quite hear you," she said. Embarrassed that Justin should find her so inattentive, she nervously ate another chocolate.
"I was speaking of the time old Harley nearly took a switch to me, the time I stole a ride on your father's best hunter."
"Truly, Justin, you were always involved in so many pranks, it is difficult for me to remember them all."
Justin looked remarkably handsome as he threw back his head in a hearty laugh, but Aurelia was unable to enjoy fully the effect. The devil take Mr. Ramsey! If he must ruin everything this way, the least he could do would be to sit down and direct his supercilious stares from some forgotten corner. She noted with dread he was now examining the collection of China jade figures assembled on the mantel.
"This fellow looks rather like a rabid bulldog. What is it for, Miss Sinclair? To ward off evil spirits?"
"If it is," she said, "it obviously does not work."
The corner of Ramsey's well-formed lips quivered, a ghost of a smile tipping his mouth. Then his features hardened into their customary sardonic expression.
Justin yawned. "Oh, do sit down, Ev, and let us talk about something else besides bric-a-brac."
"I should be only too happy to oblige," Ramsey drawled, "but I do not recall that I was ever invited to have a seat."
"Why, Mr. Ramsey, I—" Aurelia began indignantly, then halted in confusion. She had all but shown him the door when he arrived. Even considering her disappointment, such behavior was inexcusable.
She began to frame an awkward apology, when Justin interrupted, "Don't be such a cod's head, Ev. You needn't stand on ceremony here. Don't you know your aunt is Aurelia's godmama? Why, both the Foxcliff and Spencer families have been acquainted with Reely forever and ever."
The Bishop's Daughter Page 20
