Michael laughed. There seemed a strange mixture of disbelief and relief in the sound, with a tincture of light mockery that made her frown. This was a serious business! He rubbed his gloved hand along his jaw, and said, “You have dark secrets, Mrs. Chase? I can scarcely wait to hear them.”
Rosalind turned away from him, blindly watching the people strolling along the edge of the pond. “I never said they were dark. I am not ashamed of them. They are simply the sort of matters that true friends share.”
“Very well, then, Mrs. Chase. What are these—matters? I do truly want to hear them.”
She took a deep, steadying breath, and folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking—and to hold herself down, so she would not leap from the phaeton and run away. “I had a very specific reason for coming to London, you see. And it was not just to visit my friend. It—well, it had to do with you, in a way.”
“With me?”
“Yes. You see, Lord Morley, I wrote A Lady’s Rules for Proper Behavior, and I had heard that you were breaking them all over the place. I had to find out for myself, because…” Rosalind broke off before she told him all about Allen’s debts and her financial woes. One confession at a time seemed quite sufficient. She closed her eyes, and waited for his reaction.
His reaction was—silence. The other noises around them, of children laughing, water splashing, wheels grinding on the pathway, were amplified in the strange quiet.
Slowly, uncertainly, Rosalind opened her eyes and glanced over at Michael.
His handsome face was utterly expressionless as he stared straight ahead. Then, as she watched, he began to laugh. At first it was a strange, startled chuckle, but it quickly became a deep, rollicking guffaw. He bent over, clutching at his sides as if they ached with so much laughter. The horses shifted restlessly, and children turned to stare at them.
Well! Rosalind thought with a huff. She turned away from him again. Here she had told the man one of her deepest secrets, and what did he do? He laughed. Laughed!
She was not sure what to do now. She was not much accustomed to being laughed at.
“It is not so funny as all that,” she murmured. “Many people think I have important advice to impart.”
She felt his touch on her arm, gentle yet insistent, and she stared down to see his dark glove against the lace of her sleeve. She did not yet dare peer up at his face, for fear of what she might see there. She did not think she could face ridicule right now. Not from him. Not when she had dared to let herself begin to feel close to him.
“My dear Mrs. Chase—Rosalind,” he said. His voice was thick with his laughter, but there was no hint of mockery. He sounded beseeching. “Please forgive my laughter. That was unspeakably rude of me. No doubt against several rules.”
So he was making fun of her! Rosalind tried to shrug off his hand, but his clasp was too strong. “Really, Lord Morley…”
“No, no, I am sorry. It is just that I feel so foolish for not guessing this before. It all makes such perfect sense.”
Rosalind relented just a bit, ceasing her struggle to pull away. “What does?”
“How very proper you are, how insistent on following the rules. How you make certain every girl at your school has a copy of the book and learns to follow them, as well.”
“I do not make the girls read the book simply because I wrote it. It is very important that they follow rules for proper behavior in Society, so that nothing ill befalls them because of their youth and inexperience. There are many unscrupulous young men who would take advantage of that.”
“I know that you believe all that, Rosalind, and I admire you for it. Even a pagan like myself should behave properly, eh?” His hand slid down her arm to her fingers, which he lifted to his lips for a lingering kiss.
Rosalind shivered at the warm-cold sensations of that kiss, at the prickles of delight that went down to her very toes. He was indeed a pagan, a veritable Dionysus who tempted her to fall to his depths, to take off her shoes and run through the warm grass. To lie back in the golden glow of the sun and bask in kisses…
No! She could not think such things. Not right now. She removed her hand from his clasp, and placed it back on her lap. “Even pagans must behave with civility now and then, Lord Morley. Perhaps I will convert you yet.”
“Before I can convert you?” He leaned closer, and whispered warmly in her ear, “Neither of us were thinking of the rules last night on that terrace, were we?”
Rosalind felt a flood of red heat spread from her cheeks, down her neck into her very soul. That was verily the truth. The rules had been the very last thing she was thinking of last night. All she had been thinking of was him, his taste, his feel.
“A gentleman would not bring up such a thing,” she whispered back. She felt like such a ninny saying a prissy thing like that, but it was all she could think of. Her mind could not recall such mundane things as words and string them together in ways that made sense.
“Ah, well. I think we have established that I am not a true gentleman.” He sat back lazily in the phaeton seat, one arm casually stretched along behind her shoulders. “But I hope I do not have an evil heart. I would never wish harm to you, Rosalind, and I apologize if my actions have hurt you in any way. Both last night, and in my dealings with your book.”
Rosalind studied him closely. His dark eyes, usually alight with some mischief or delight, were uncharacteristically somber, his sensual lips downturned at the corners. He seemed truly sincere in his apology. “Thank you, Lord Morley.”
“And, since you have been so very honest with me, I have a confession of my own to make.”
A confession of his own? Rosalind felt the sudden chill of apprehension. Surely any confession of his would be far more scandalous than any of hers could be! “What is it you wish to tell me, Lord Morley?”
“First, that you should cease to call me Lord Morley. It seems ridiculous, when we are to know each other’s deepest secrets. My name, as you well know, is Michael.”
She nodded slowly, but in her mind she resolved to wait until after she heard his confession to decide what she would call him.
“It is really rather funny when you think about it,” he said, with an attempt at his usual careless grin.
“And it makes me feel quite foolish, like some bored schoolboy.”
A schoolboy? That was one thing Rosalind would never think to compare him to. But now she fairly itched to know what his secret could be. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging nod.
“One evening, at my club, I saw your brother and two of his friends, Lord Carteret and Mr. Gilmore. I believe you know them?”
Those two loobies. “Oh, yes. I know them.”
“We were talking, and the conversation came around to A Lady’s Rules. Your rules.”
“What about them?”
“Oh, just how they are everywhere, and everyone is so very eager to follow them. You see, I fear the young men had been tossed out of a rout because of some small infraction of the rules. I stated that that did not seem like fair dealing, and someone—I believe it was Carteret—proposed a small wager. Since I had imbibed rather freely of some excellent port that evening, and was feeling rather out of sorts, I agreed.”
A wager. Rosalind did not like the sound of that. Wagers always seemed to cause trouble, especially for her brother. She frowned down at her clenched hands. “What sort of a wager?”
He shifted uneasily on the seat. “That some people need not follow all the rules in order to be accepted, even admired, in Society. In truth, I have no excuse for doing such a thing! I was simply tired of seeing people like Violet behaving like automatons. Yet if I had known that this was your book, I never would have spoken about it.”
Rosalind sat in silence for a long moment, absorbing all this strange—nay, ridiculous—information. So this was why her sales had fallen, the popularity of her rules waned, because of a wager. She could scarcely believe it. “So it was quite all right to do harm to someone w
hen you did not know whose rules they were?”
“No!” he protested vehemently. “Of course not. I simply never considered that A Lady was a real person, with real needs associated with this book. Now I see that I was wrong about that. And I see what Lucas meant when he came to me…”
What Allen meant! Rosalind swung around to face him. “What did Allen come to you for? What did he say? I knew he wanted to visit you before returning to school, but surely he did not tell you…”
Michael held up his hand, as if to fend off her rapidfire questions. “Nothing very great, I assure you! He was simply worried about you, and feeling ashamed of himself. He came to talk to me about his returning to Cambridge. He felt sorry for causing you trouble.”
Rosalind sank back a bit against the seat cushions. She rarely allowed her temper to get the best of her—she would not let it now, no matter how much she wanted to hit him over the head with her reticule. “Tell me exactly what you and my brother spoke of.”
“He simply told me he had been having some—difficulties lately, and he feared their effect on you. He told me he has a few debts, and you had been worried about them.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I simply tried to be his friend, to reassure him that these matters can be resolved, that no lives need be ruined over them. I certainly did not encourage him in running up those debts in the first place. Please believe me, Rosalind, I want only to help your brother—and you.”
Rosalind gave him a short nod. She knew he meant no harm. They had come to know each other better in these last few days, and she knew he had no evil in his soul. But he did have mischief, and he did not realize that his very behavior, his very presence at that club, could influence young men like Allen.
“I know that you want to help,” she conceded.
“Allen is young, though, and impressionable. He should not be prattling about our private family business. I’m sorry he burdened you, especially when you were so very busy breaking the rules.”
“He did not burden me!” Michael protested. “And I told you I was sorry about the blasted rules. They don’t matter. Please, Rosalind. Let me help you, if I can. Let me make some amends for my foolish behavior.”
Rosalind was confused and suddenly very tired. Her head was beginning to ache, with that telltale throb over her left eye. She did not know how she felt about all of this—about Michael, about all of the whirlwind changes her life had encountered in the last few days. She was used to quiet and order, not wagers and confessions and idiot kisses! She needed to be alone, to think.
“I would like to return to Wayland House now, please,” she said.
He opened his mouth, as if to protest, but then shook his head. His fist clenched on the reins. “Of course, Mrs. Chase. But will you at least think of what I have said? Think of forgiving me?”
“Of course I will think about what you have said,” Rosalind answered. It was all she could say; her head ached in earnest now.
He nodded shortly, and pulled on the reins to guide the horses out of their shady shelter back into the bright light of day.
That had not gone as badly as he feared it might, Michael thought, as he steered the phaeton back onto the pathway. Yet neither had it gone all that well.
Rosalind was the most difficult woman he had ever met. Most ladies let him know, through means both subtle and decidedly not so, that they either appreciated his interest or just wished he would go away. With Rosalind, he was never sure. She was always so very still, so serene, so blasted polite. But sometimes her eyes would flash at him with a brilliant light, or she would stiffen in a fury of temper all too quickly contained.
Or she would kiss him with heated passion on a terrace.
He had known, from the time he encountered her alone in her office, that there was much more to her than what she showed the world. Their time together in these last few days had only proven him right. She was fiercely protective of her brother, of her school and the girls who attended classes there. She was intent on being respectable and proper at all times, that was true, but there was also a yearning for life deep inside of her. He saw it in her eyes when they ate ices at Gunter’s and watched the actors at the theater. She longed for excitement, for wonder, even though she would not admit that to herself.
She made Michael want to give her all of that excitement, to show her all the beauties that life and the world could hold. He wanted to share it all with her—and more.
He had guessed some of the secrets of her heart, it was true. Yet he had not guessed the one she had confessed today. He had never supposed, even for a moment, that she was the author of A Lady’s Rules.
Michael almost laughed aloud now to think of it! He should have known. It now seemed so very obvious. Rosalind was so intent on following those rules, on making certain that everyone else did, too. She had even given him a copy! But he had always supposed A Lady to be some elderly spinster, dreaming up dictates in her stuffy chamber and sending them out for Society to be crazed over. He had never pictured her as a beautiful redhead.
Michael glanced over at her now. She sat beside him on the phaeton seat, her posture perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap, a pleasant half-smile on her face. He felt a great rush of pride for her, for her ingenuity in writing that book in the first place, for her courage in going out in Society to defend her principles. He himself found a creative saving grace in his poetry; she had found it in manners, and she had done what almost no one else could do—she had made the ton behave.
No matter how much he had, and still did, hate mindless rule-following, he had to admire her for that. And for a hundred other things, as well.
He had to make her forgive him for that stupid wager! He had to make her see that it meant nothing, had to undo any damage he might have caused. He had only just found her. It would kill him to lose her now.
He turned the phaeton around a corner and down the street where Wayland House sat. They had only a few more moments. He had to secure her promise that he would see her again.
“Will you be at Violet’s soiree tomorrow evening?” he asked, slowing the horses to a mere crawl.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Of course. The duchess and Lady Emily also plan to attend. Lady Violet seemed so very excited about the event.”
“So she is. Our father rarely deigns to entertain, and as Violet is not yet ‘out’ she must take every advantage of any occasion. I would not wish to excite your anticipation about the amenities, though—our father’s cook concentrates only on what might charitably be called ‘plain fare.’ Trifles and cutlets and such.”
Rosalind laughed quietly. It was a beautiful sound, one he could have listened to for hours and hours. He would stand on his head, make funny noises, wear jester’s motley, do handsprings—anything to make her laugh.
Unfortunately, he had to keep his hands on the reins to keep them from crashing. But her one small laugh had already given him immeasurable hope.
“Oh, I can enjoy the splendors of haute cuisine every day at Wayland House, with Georgina’s French chef,” she said. “I look forward to your sister’s company, and to meeting your aunt, Lady Minerva Fielding. I am sure it will be an enjoyable evening.”
“If you are there, it shall be.” They drew up outside Wayland House. Michael thought he saw a curtain twitch at one of the upstairs windows, but he could not be sure. Probably Lady Elizabeth Anne spying again.
“Thank you for the drive, Mich—Lord Morley,” Rosalind said, excruciatingly polite. “The park was lovely.”
Michael could not let her go like this, with a proper thanks she would give to any stranger. Boldly, he took her hand, holding the warmth of it against the lapel of his coat, uncaring that she would feel the powerful thrum of his heart.
Rosalind stiffened, and threw a startled glance back over her shoulder, as if to see if anyone was watching them. Her fingers jerked in his clasp, but she did not pull away.
“Lord Morley, wha
t…?” she began.
“Mrs. Chase—Rosalind,” he said swiftly, aware that his time here with her was very short. “I am truly sorry about the wager, and about anything else I may have done to injure you. Please, I cannot be easy until I know you have forgiven me, or will at least consider forgiving me.”
She stared down at their joined hands, staring at them as if there must be some answer written there in their linked fingers. “I—I will think about what you have said,” she whispered. “Now I really must go.”
“That is all I can ask for.” Michael lifted her hand to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. They trembled in his, like some wild, frightened bird. “Don’t fly away from me,” he begged.
He placed her hand carefully back in her lap, then leaped down from the phaeton and came around to help her alight. She backed away as soon as her feet touched the pavement, not looking into his eyes.
“Good afternoon, Lord Morley,” she said, and hurried up the front steps to the door. All too soon, she had vanished behind the grand marble façade of Wayland House, more secure and distant than any vault.
But all was not lost, Michael vowed, as he climbed back up onto the phaeton. Not by a long distance. He had waited for too long to find Rosalind. He was not going to lose her now.
“So you are back!” Georgina called from beyond the half-open doors of the drawing room. “Come in and tell us about your drive in the park, Rosie.”
Rosalind, her foot already on the first step of the staircase, cursed inwardly. She had so hoped to slip away from everyone, to escape into her chamber and nurse her headache—and her uncertainties—in solitude.
Now that was not to be. She would have to escape from Georgina first, which was no easy prospect.
Rosalind pasted a bright smile onto her face, and stepped past the drawing room doors. She did not go far beyond the threshold, though. That would just be inviting trouble, and she would never escape.
Georgina and Emily were playing a game of cards at a table by the window, while little Elizabeth Anne played nearby with her dolls. Georgina gave a smug little smile that Rosalind suspected had nothing to do with the hand of cards she held.
Amanda McCabe Page 15
