And Augustus had begun to think that somewhere was wherever his sister might be.
As grateful as she was to her brother for opening her eyes, and as touched at his concern, Selina soon cut off this discussion. She could not let herself believe that Richard had stayed at The Grange to be near her—not when he had turned down the opportunity to kiss her she had so blatantly offered him. At least, she had supposed it was blatant enough, though, knowing so little about Richard and nothing at all about kissing, perhaps she had mistakenly thought it so.
Perhaps Richard would need more encouragement than she had given him. She was, after all, a lady and mistress of her own establishment. Perhaps he had been too shy, too intimidated by her status, to be forward.
Or perhaps—this frightening thought made her fight to suppress it—perhaps he had some other motive in mind, which had nothing at all to do with her. But Selina could not speculate upon that without the ground opening to swallow her heart whole.
Unable to stand her quandary a moment longer, Selina stood abruptly, grabbed up a nearby bowl and shears, and set about the task of trimming Augustus's shaggy locks.
The next day, she was both surprised and disarmed when Richard paid her a compliment upon her hair. She had greeted him with a trifle more cordiality this morning. A very ... nervous cordiality. Sooner or later, she knew, she would have to discover why he had chosen to stay and when he would be leaving. She thought it must have been the change in her tone that had drawn the comment from him, for he had smiled at her at once and said, “The morning sun makes your hair shine like the finest mahogany."
Selina had taken great pains with her hair that morning, brushing it briskly for more than two hundred strokes and only giving up when she could not lift the brush any longer. But Richard could not be aware of that, could he?
His remark left her stammering, so the order she gave him came out with much less sting than she had been using of late. “If you would like, you could help me in the barn this morning."
His reply, “It is always a pleasure to serve a beautiful lady,” nearly took her breath away.
Selina's knees felt unsteady as she led the way into the barn. Richard reached past her and lifted open the sagging door.
“You ought to let me get someone out to repair this for you,” he said, heaving it back into place.
“Lucas can do it,” Selina said in the automatical way she coped with such issues.
“Ah, Lucas.” Richard's comment was accompanied by a teasing grin. “And when do you think he might get to this particular task?"
Selina knew she ought to take offense, but when Richard smiled at her in that way, she could not. She had missed his smiles. “I shall make a note on his calendar for tomorrow, and his engagement secretary will remind him."
Her good humor surprised Richard. He stared at her out of dark blue eyes that seemed to deepen in intensity. The sweet smell of hay seemed to surround them, the warmth of the barn.
For a long time, Selina returned his stare, wishing she knew how to provoke a man into declaring himself. She could not be certain Richard was timid. He did not seem to be shy in the way that Romeo was, but what other consideration could restrain a man? Richard's compliments had been uttered without a trace of nervousness. Why, then, did he refuse to kiss her?
Selina felt a desperate need to know once and for all if he wanted her.
Richard broke their locked gazes before she did and cleared his throat. Flustered by her lack of success, Selina felt her temper start to rise.
But she would not let it get the best of her today. She would not!
“What would you have me do in here?” Richard asked after a pause.
“You can help me pitch hay for Caesar and Clarissa."
He raised his brow and grinned. “After all I have been doing, this sounds positively like a holiday."
Selina felt a blush stealing its way up her neck, which would surely give her away if he saw it. Her leniency, if he could only see, was more in the nature of an invitation. She asked Richard to fetch the pitchforks and join her up in the loft. Grasping her skirt in one hand, she climbed the rickety ladder to be ready to receive the tools when he passed them up.
Richard did so, then scaled the ladder in three great steps, making the loft sag with each one. Alarmed by the dips, Selina hoped fleetingly that the ancient structure could hold both their weights, but it seemed to settle once he stood at the top.
The barn ceiling was too low for them to stand perfectly erect. It had not been built for giants. Bent in the middle, Selina began to fear she had chosen a poor spot to flirt. Feeling awkward, she speared hay and tossed it down.
Mindful of her prongs, Richard followed suit, taking his place behind her.
Selina had bent and scooped five times before she became aware of the fact that Richard had done nothing. Glancing back, she was annoyed to find him leaning on his pitchfork, one arm crossed on top of the other, and a curiously intent stare upon his face.
“Richard?” she prodded him.
With a start, he came to attention, and a smile spread slowly across his face. “Pardon?” he said.
“I believe you were woolgathering.” She tired to sound disapproving, though his smile had set her pulse to beating wildly.
“Not at all,” he said, that with still lazy smile. “Simply appreciating the view."
Before she could react, down below, Caesar gave out a great bellow, which shook the rafters. Feeling the loft rattle beneath her, Selina caught at an ancient support. Her startled expression made Richard give a laugh, which angered and thrilled her all at once.
“Why, you!”
She grabbed her pitchfork and flung a load of hay in his face, as she had done to Augustus countless times to stop his impudence.
Richard threw up one hand to protect himself, but not before a shower of straw had rained down upon his head and shoulders.
Her sudden giggle raised a light in his eyes. “I shall have to take my revenge,” he said.
Caught in that light, Selina had not felt such fright since she had last searched under her bed for a goblin. Her voice trembled. “You wouldn't dare.”
“Wouldn't I though?"
The gleam in Richard's eye had set her pulse to thumping. Trying to beat him to the punch, she launched another clump his way, mantling his head. A hysterical shriek of laughter nearly escaped her before she clamped one hand over her mouth.
The spark in Richard's eyes turned to thunder.
As if thunderstruck, Selina stood paralyzed while he removed his tight-fitting jacket and stock and shook out his hair. Bits of hay and errant weeds were sticking out of his dark locks.
“You, my girl,” he said in a villainous whisper, “are in a great deal of trouble."
Selina turned, meaning to make a dash for the ladder, but Richard moved much too quickly for her. His pitchfork of straw hit her squarely in the face. It smothered her eyes and lungs, and she coughed, sputtering.
Another shower sprinkled her, landing hay in her mouth.
“Th-thtop!” she pleaded, laughing and trying to pull the pieces from her tongue. A slither of hay slid inside the neck of her gown, and she groaned at the itch. “Pleathe, thtop."
“I'll th-thtop,” Richard teased, “if you swear a pax."
“Pax! Pax!” she declared, not meaning one word of it. Selina bent as if to shake the hay from her hair, but snatched up her weapon instead.
She barely saw his attack. He moved so rapidly, he had her pitchfork in one hand, her waist wrapped in his other arm sooner than she could breathe.
“I knew I shouldn't trust you,” he growled near her ear. “Not with a temper as hot as yours."
“I wasn't angry,” Selina said, panting and laughing.
“No?” His smile was only inches from her lips. “Now, that would be a change."
Abruptly, Selina became aware that his other arm had encircled her, too. Richard had dropped the pitchfork, but he had not released her.
“Don't you trust me now,” she asked breathlessly, letting her gaze move down to his chest where his shirt gaped open and back to his eyes.
Exultantly, she recognized the same excitement she felt in his.
“Should I let you go?”
His meaning was murky, his face poised on a slant with hers. She could feel his heated breath against her lips.
Still uncertain, Selina paused. Then she gave a reckless shake to her head.
He moaned. “Oh, give it up, Richard. She's much too lovely."
He joined his lips with hers, fiercely at first, but then they softened into a cloud. Selina was floating, floating in his arms, while the hay swirled about them, and then she realized that she truly was suspended for he had swooped her up off the floor.
He laid her down in a soft stack of hay, then came to rest beside her, one leg crossed with hers. “Selina ....” he breathed her name like a sort of prayer. “Selina, you've been so hard to resist."
Joy shot through her on a trembling wave, cresting near her lips. She wanted to cry out with the pleasure his hands were working.
He stroked through her hair, fanning it out among the hay, then brushed her cheeks and nose and forehead with kisses. Selina gave a blissful sigh.
The sound made him pause, and he frowned. “Selina, there is something you ought to know."
Do not say anything that will make you stop.
He seemed to read the message in her eyes, for he ceased talking and kissed her lips again, a slow, sweet kiss, which she hoped would never end.
The prickle of hay broke through her dreaminess and made her squirm against him.
“Wait, love,” Richard said in a husky tone. “You had better stop wriggling, or I shall not be able to answer for myself."
Afraid that he had mistaken her movement for wantonness, Selina protested shyly, “It is the hay. It is making me itch."
“Oh.” He chuckled and looked down at her dress. His laughter ceased. “Then, let me remove it for you."
Something in his tone sent a tremor rocking through her. But she held still for him. His motions were chaste, cautious, and delicate as one by one he lightly plucked the hay from the front of her garment. His fingers never lingered in any spot for too long, but Selina still felt their tender caress. With his every light touch—on her collar, her waist, her breast—she felt anticipation rising. By the time he had removed most of the hay, she was trembling from head to toe with wonder.
Some force she could not deny pulled her into a sitting position. She lifted her hair to expose her neck. “There are more here,” she said, throwing the fall to one side.
Richard moved behind her. She could both hear and feel him, but he was hidden from her eyes. A gentle brush of his fingertips raised gooseflesh on her neck, and she shivered with pleasure. Then, as his lips followed their path, she closed her eyes.
“Selina.” Her whispered name sounded somewhere near her ear. “Selina, you must promise me one important thing."
“What?” She could barely speak for her thrills of delight.
“You must promise me that you will not—” he punctuated each word with a soft kiss—"that you will never marry Mr. Romeo Fancible."
A wave of humor rolled through her body, melting her inside. Without a moment's hesitation, she languidly promised, “Very well, I shall not."
“Good girl.” With those words, Richard turned her by the shoulders until she faced him again. His own breathing was shallow and quick. His lips were parted.
Focusing on his lips, Selina sank back into the straw. She drew him after her.
The loft gave a dip. After a pause, they both ignored it in favor of something more interesting. The aura surrounding them seemed to have some magical force that would protect them. Adrift in that aura, Selina dreamily shuttered her eyes as Richard's body weighted hers down.
Another dip, this time with a loud creaking of timbers. Then a lurch.
Selina's eyes shot open just as Richard gathered her to him. He jerked her to his chest as the loft collapsed beneath her.
Startled and screaming, she felt her back hit the floor of the barn, felt the weight of Richard's body as it crashed upon hers. Though her teeth had been rattled by the crash, the hay they had both been lying on had broken their fall. A cloud of dust swirled around them, making her cough, but when the air cleared, she saw Richard's concerned eyes.
He gathered her nearer in his arms, if such a thing were even possible. “Selina, are you hurt?"
Carefully—suspicious of her lack of bruises—she tested each limb, then her back and her head. Widening her eyes, she gave her head a little shake. “No, I don't think so,” she said. “But my barn certainly is."
Richard's lips quivered. Selina felt a surge of joy just waiting to escape. With a flood of relief, they both gave into laughter. Richard toppled on his back, rolling her over with him.
Selina found herself propped on her elbows on Richard's chest. He did not seem to be uncomfortably crushed.
“Selina Payley, you are the woman of my dreams."
Selina looked down at his gleaming eyes, and her heart nearly burst at what she saw. Shyly now, still uncertain as to how to proceed, she let her instincts guide her. She raised a hand to touch his cheek. He closed his eyes as if in pain.
“Am I too heavy for you?” Selina struggled to remove herself, but his arms lashed more tightly around her.
“Heavy? No. Tempting? Yes."
When he opened his eyes again, she could not deny the fire she saw inside them. Frightened, but reassured at the same time, she could only squeak, “Tempting? Me?"
In answer, Richard rolled her off again, his body melding with hers. She felt his fingers at her bodice, felt them loosening it.
With a low moan of pleasure she could not conceal, Selina arched in his arms.
A man cleared his throat, and she froze.
“Rusticating, cuz?”
At the sound of a weary drawl, Richard went rigid against her. His eyes flew open.
“Well, deary me,” the stranger said. “Here I was, thinking you had been waylaid by thugs and held to hostage, when you was playing at husbandry with the dairymaid."
Rage, cold rage, stared back at Selina from Richard's eyes. But the stranger's remark had slapped her in the face. She could feel her cheeks burning. She covered them with both hands to cool them, as Richard pried himself off.
She was fumbling with her bodice, which was only mildly disturbed, when he reached down a hand to yank her up.
He would not let her turn away, but made her stand close beside him, her head hanging so as not to reveal her face, as Richard greeted the newcomer.
“Wilfrid.” Richard's tone was enough to make anyone cringe. “You will apologize at once to Miss Payley."
He was trembling. Out the corner of her eye, Selina could see his features quivering, whether from unanswered lust or the purest rage, she could not tell. But her own knees had nearly lost the strength to hold her up.
“Miss Payley? Oh, my heedless tongue! But, my dear, you must forgive me!"
Sensing insincerity, Selina slowly raised her gaze to take the stranger in and received a shock. The most frivolous dandy she had ever beheld stood just inside the door to her barn, bewigged, rouged and patched, in the finest silk hosiery, pink inexpressibles, a polka dot waistcoat and lavender overcoat. He smirked, then raised a fan to cover his lips.
“But what was one to think when my dear cousin Linton goes disappearing? Then, when I post down in breathless horror of finding him dead, I am surprised, nay shocked, to discover him rolling about in a crumbling barn. I heard the crash, you know, as I was walking about trying to knock somebody up at the house, which, by the way, appears to be quite unattended. Your servants, ma'am, should be reprimanded for leaving it so open to theft. But where was I —
“Oh, yes.” He tapped his fan to his chin. “I heard this quite alarming crash coming from the barn, and naturally ran to investigate. Richard—” the dandy mad
e this aside in a lowered voice—"I hope this can be put down as proof of my fond attachment to you, for I scarcely heeded my own safety in doing so. Nevertheless, you can imagine my relief at finding not only that there were no ruffians inside, but that you were indeed alive and in such obvious good health—"
The dandy raked them both with his eyes, not missing a detail of their dishevelment—their loosened clothes, the remnants of their hay fight. “That, I hope, at least, will excuse my very poor manners."
Selina jerked her chin into the air. She would not be insulted by a dandy. No matter that his clothes were so much finer than hers. No matter who he was.
Richard's cousin.
Richard's voice cut across this thought. “Wilfrid, what are you doing here?”
Richard's anger had only slightly mellowed. She could hear it in the biting quality of his voice.
The tone she had never heard in it before almost made him a stranger to her.
Linton. This Wilfrid person had called him Linton.
“Richard—” Selina drew herself up even though she wanted to sink beneath the earth. She hoped the tremor in her heart did not reach her voice. “Who is this gentleman, please?"
He made a move towards her as if to take her hand, but she hastily stepped away.
Looking stunned by her gesture, Richard hesitated, then bowed. “Miss Payley, may I present a distant cousin of mine, Sir Wilfrid Bart?"
Sir Wilfrid Bart, she heard, and her world shattered. His rank, his dress, his insufferable smugness proclaimed him to be far above her own station.
But the dandy was making her a leg, and she had to keep her shock from showing.
“Miss Payley.” The insinuation in his voice slid over her like oil. “Any friend of my dear cousin Linton's is a friend of mine."
The repetition of Richard's true name made her want to flinch, but Selina held her head stiffly.
“And you, sir,” she said to Richard in a frosty tone, “would be the Earl of Linton.” She prayed he would deny it, that she could believe him if he did.
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