The Seduction of an English Lady
Page 14
“I could help you,” he suggested carefully.
Her gaze slid away from his.
“I don’t want to frighten you, Rosalyn. I want you to trust me. After all, we are going to be together for a very long time,” he said gently.
She lowered her head, considering his words. Her glorious hair provided the curtain that hid her thoughts from him. He waited.
Silence stretched between them. She broke it by saying, “I needed something to help me rinse my hair.”
“The bowl of the pitcher is still mostly intact. I could fill it with water.”
“From where?”
“The bath.”
Rosalyn didn’t give him a yes or a no. Nor did Colin wait. He retrieved the basin from the wash stand, picked up a mostly intact piece of the pitcher’s broken bowl, and sat down. He filled the bowl with water from her bath. She watched every move he made, and he was reminded of the fox Loftus was trying to capture. Neither Rosalyn nor the fox trusted him…and yet he had their well-being at heart. He didn’t know why God had placed these two in his path. He only knew that as he’d helped the fox, he had to help Rosalyn—and he didn’t know from what. Like so many other matters in his life, he was now trusting his instinct.
The question was, could he control his own base impulses?
“Lean over,” he ordered.
She looked at him. He could feel her doubts. This was not the Velvet Hammer, as those in the Valley referred to her, but a woman far too aware of her own vulnerabilities.
And then she leaned over.
He poured the water over her head. “I’m certain it’s quite cool by now.”
“It’s fine,” she murmured and brought her head up. “Could you hand me the soap?”
She kept her knees tucked, but Colin caught a glimpse of her full breast. Her nipples were pink and hard. He handed her the soap and turned in the chair so he was looking in the opposite direction.
He’d never have made it as a monk.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he listened to the sounds of her washing her hair.
A minute later, she said, “I need to rinse.”
Dutifully, Colin refilled the pitcher bowl and poured water over her head twice. And one time, he really did make an attempt not to look. The sight of her wreaked too much havoc within him. It was as if he was sixteen again and not in control of his body’s reactions. He was randy, anxious, and driven. If he touched her, he knew he would not stop, and again he had the vision of making love to her—
Colin set the pitcher bowl aside and stood. He focused on the door and moved purposely in its direction. “I, um, think it’s best if I wait for you downstairs.” Maybe then he’d be able to think again. All the blood had left his head, leaving him dizzy and far too aroused for her safety.
Her voice stopped him at the door. “You mean what you say, don’t you? When you give your word, you aren’t lying.”
He looked to her. She’d glanced around the back of the tub to watch him. Her wet hair was slicked back, and he wondered why any man hadn’t noticed exactly what a true beauty she was.
“I try. Come downstairs for dinner when you are dressed,” he mumbled and then practically stumbled over his own feet, attempting to get away from her before he did something really foolish.
Rosalyn waited until Colonel Mandland left, shutting the door firmly behind him, before she sat back in the tub. The water was now almost cold, but she felt hot and something else…something she couldn’t quite name. Her stomach was all twisted into knots, and every inch of her skin seemed more aware of him than any other presence on earth. Yes, she could feel anything and everything when she was around him, even the air.
And she knew his reaction was the same.
Those kisses they’d shared had merely been the prelude. She understood this now with an intuition as old as time.
Rosalyn rose from the tub. She wrung out the towel she had used to protect herself and dried herself off with the fresh one.
Colonel Mandland had left, but he hadn’t wanted to. The thought made her smile. It also gave her a sense of power. True power.
“Colin.” The sound of his name pleased her. He was her husband, and the constant core of tension in her chest, which seemed to be with her when she was around him, eased. In the mirror over the washbasin, she caught her reflection. For the first time when looking in a mirror, she smiled.
“Colin.” Her husband. The man who promised to protect her.
Thoughtfully, Rosalyn began dressing. She wasn’t ready to trust him completely yet, but she was coming close. He’d not lied to her or misled her once. He had kept his promises—and that was worth a great deal to her.
She started to pin her hair back up…and then, remembering the expression on his face when he’d first seen her curls free, she changed her mind. These weren’t her mother’s curls. These were her curls. She twisted her hair and pinned it loosely in place. The style softened her face.
She wondered what Colin would think, even as she knew the answer. Nor did wearing the green dress dampen her spirits.
He waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. She heard him before she saw him. He was whistling tunelessly—or, remembering his singing ability, she realized he might have been on tune. She paused on the landing, where she could see him. He appeared lost in thought, but the moment he heard her tread on the step, he stopped whistling and came to attention. His sharp gaze went directly to her new hairstyle. He smiled approvingly, and her heart did a funny little flip in her chest.
Colin took her arm and guided her down a narrow hall away from the tap room. She glanced back and saw the parson in there drinking with some friends. He looked well enough along.
“I spoke for a private room for us,” Colin said. “They’ve already set the covers out. Do you like trout?”
“Yes.” Although when he was this close to her, she wasn’t hungry at all.
The inn’s private room overlooked a pretty little stream. The sun was setting, and the last light of the day gave the world a warm, golden glow. Covered dishes were already on a small table set for two, and the food smelled delicious. Her appetite returned.
Colin pulled the chair out for her, saying to the serving girl, “We’ll serve ourselves.”
The girl lit the candles, curtseyed, and left the room, closing the door behind her. They were alone.
“Do you prefer wine or cider?” Colin asked.
“Wine, if it is good.”
“We’ll find out,” he said, showing her the bottle. “Looks French, but one never knows. I’ve had vinegar that was bottled as French wine.”
Rosalyn didn’t know what to say. He was themost handsome, worldly man of her acquaintance and the only one with the ability to make her tongue-tied.
Fortunately, Colin didn’t seem to expect conversation from her. He poured their glasses and offered one to her. “To our marriage.”
“May we both get what we want,” she whispered.
His eyebrows rose. “What does that mean?” he asked quietly.
Rosalyn shifted uncomfortably. “You want the Commons seat.”
He leaned forward, his glass still in the air, waiting to touch the brim of hers. “You keep reminding me of that. But what of you, Rosalyn? What do you want?”
His question caught her off guard. What did she want?
She’d entered into the marriage for Covey…or had she? Mayhap she’d always known—from the moment he’d first proposed their arrangement in Lord Loftus’s sitting room—that she would end up here one way or the other.
“You’ve asked a difficult question,” she said.
“But an important one.” He clicked his glass against hers. “Drink up,” he ordered.
She sipped the wine. It was surprisingly good. He served. His movements were fluid and economical. His fingers were long and tapered, his knuckles large. Capable hands. Like his mother’s. Or, since he looked like he could wield a sword as easily as a serving knife—a gentleman’s hands.
T
he trout was fresh and moist. Baby peas and carrots were also offered. Being the wife of a man of means had advantages.
“Is the hunting party still here?” she asked by way of conversation.
“They dine out tonight,” he told her, refilling her wineglass. “The inn will be quiet until they return.”
She nodded, conscious that meant they would really be alone. She drained her drink.
“Easy,” he warned. “If you keep this up, I’ll fear you are trying to avoid me through drink.”
Rosalyn did feel a bit light-headed, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. “I never thought I would marry,” she said and then wondered why she had blurted out such an admission.
“Why not?” he asked. Was he still on his first glass of wine? Or had she drunk it all?
She decided not to check. “I was fine alone,” she answered blithely.
His intent blue eyes studied her a moment over the brim of his wineglass. “I like this new style to your hair.”
Her cheeks grew warm. “It’s too curly,” she demurred, shifting her gaze away from his.
“I think your hair is one of your best assets,” he told her, his voice so warmly seductive that Rosalyn almost dropped her fork. She set it down.
“You are flattering me.”
“Ummmhmmmm,” he agreed.
“Men don’t flatter me, not usually,” she answered. “Why are you?” But she had an idea why, an image of his bare chest this morning springing to her mind.
Colin picked up her fork, speared a piece of trout, and held it up for her. She leaned forward and ate it off the tines.
“I flatter you because you are beautiful,” he said. “In fact, I don’t understand quite why you’ve wanted to hide your beauty. You’re contrary to every other woman I know.”
Rosalyn didn’t know how to react. Defensively, she said, “When people see my hair, it reminds them of my mother.”
He set down her fork and leaned his arms on the table. “What is the matter with that?”
She reached for her wineglass. “In Father’s family, everything.” She put her lips to her glass but didn’t take a sip. If anyone should know the whole story, it was her husband. “You didn’t marry that well. My grandfather was a candler in Norwich. Are you surprised?” she challenged.
“Not really,” he answered. “And I’m the cobbler’s son, remember. We all have to come from somewhere. It’s what we do with our God-given talent that matters.”
Rosalyn set down her glass. Her husband was a freethinker…and she liked it. “Yes,” she agreed. “The story is my father saw Mother making a delivery one day and was so struck by her beauty that he followed her. From that day on, he paid court until she agreed to marry him.”
“I imagine his family did not take the news well.”
“That is an understatement. You’ve heard my mother ran off?”
He nodded.
Of course. That story always made the rounds. She folded her hands in her lap. “I was always reminded that my father didn’t marry well. Mother disgraced not only herself but also the family. Since she wasn’t there to pay for her sins, they took it out on me.”
“What of your father? Didn’t he protect you?”
“My father found solace in the bottle and died three years later.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“So, after that you lived with relatives?”
“One right after the other. Aunt Agatha, the one George wanted me to join in Cornwall, was my least favorite of a distasteful lot.” It was Aunt Agatha who had complained the most about her hair. Rosalyn had been sixteen when she’d been sent there, a lonely girl who’d already seen more of life than she wanted. She lowered her hand to her lap. “Society can be cruel to those who don’t meet expectations.”
“If one lets them,” Colin countered. “You’re lucky you look like your mother.”
No one had ever said that to her before. “What makes you say so?”
He grinned. “Because you don’t look like your cousin Woodford or any of the relations I met in London from your father’s side. Their noses are all twice the size of yours.”
His bald statement stunned her.
“You’re right. I don’t. I never have.” The admission was freeing. Laughter suddenly bubbled up inside her. She couldn’t stop it.
Colin began laughing with her, as if he enjoyed her amusement.
She thought of her cousins, of the things that had been said to her and whispered behind her back all her life. Things that had cut her deeply. She laughed harder. And then there was her father, who’d barely recognized her presence and the things she had tried to do to make him care. Her laughter grew louder. Harder. Until suddenly, laughter turned to tears.
Rosalyn broke down. Deep, heart-wrenching sobs doubled her over. She couldn’t stop them. They came from a place deep in her soul that no one had known about…not even herself.
The tears she had spent her life refusing to shed could not be denied now. They poured from her, steaming from her eyes and choking her throat.
She turned from Colin, embarrassed to have lost control over her senses.
But she couldn’t escape him. He came around the table and knelt in front her. His arms circled her shoulders.
She tried to turn away.
He would not let her.
In the end, she didn’t have the strength to fight. Not anymore.
Had it been the wine? Or the sympathetic ear that had made her break down?
She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She put her arms around Colin’s shoulders and sobbed against his jacket like a child.
“I just wanted them to like me,” she managed.
“I know,” he cooed, sitting on the floor and bringing her down into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her. “We all want that.”
“They didn’t. They never cared.” The hurt rolled through her, bringing fresh tears in its wake. She soaked his jacket and shirt with them.
Colin rocked her gently. “They are behind you now. They don’t matter.”
Rosalyn pulled back slightly. “But they are family.” Her nose was running, and her words sounded nasally.
He shrugged. “Family can be important if they are kind and have good hearts. They can also be destructive if they don’t.” He pulled her cloth napkin down from the table, and she thankfully blew her nose.
“I wasn’t raised to believe that,” she said. “My family was all I had. I didn’t even have a home to call my own, or even a trinket of my parents. George took it all.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t count anymore. Now you have Mrs. Covington.”
“She’s not really family.”
“She is. Friends become the family of our choosing.” He took the napkin from her, chose a clean corner, and wiped the tearstains from her cheeks. “Family is our link to ourselves,” he mused, “and in a way it is a pity. I was blessed with a good one. You weren’t so fortunate, but that doesn’t mean you have to let them hurt you.”
“All they’ve done is take care of me. I shouldn’t be ungrateful.”
“All they’ve done is ignore you,” he contradicted. “They’ve made you feel an unwelcome burden. Being angry at their treatment is right and natural.”
His words were cathartic. He was right. Being shuttled back and forth amongst bickering family and being criticized for her every fault had hurt. Deeply hurt.
“You’ve lost both your parents,” he continued. “I understand your sense of loss. I miss mine. I didn’t realize how much until I returned to Clitheroe and was around Matt’s family. If I, an adult, find it hard being an orphan, what must you have felt?”
Rosalyn sat in the haven of his arms, but the guilt that had been her constant companion for so long refused to dissipate. She discovered she was reluctant to let it go. She’d carried it for so long, and she was accountable for some of it.
“My mother is alive,” she confessed. Not even Covey knew her secret.
“My mother is alive,” she repeated.
Colin accepted the information without reaction, and she realized he didn’t fully understand what she meant.
“My mother lives here, in Scotland, with her riding instructor. I’ve received letters from her.”
Now he understood. “Have you written back?”
“No.” She dropped her gaze to the knot in his neck cloth. “I would never contact her.”
“Why not?”
The question stunned her. “Because she disgraced the family. She left my father.” Fresh tears threatened. She swallowed them back before adding, “She left me.”
Anger mixed with shame. “They are married now. I have two sisters and a brother.”
Colin reacted as if he didn’t know what to do with this information.
“I wouldn’t see her,” Rosalyn said. At his continued silence, she emphasized, “Ever.”
She waited, daring him to criticize her. Turning one’s back on a parent was a sin. It was unnatural.
It was painful.
He must have sensed her sorrow. His hands covered hers in her lap, and he laced their fingers together.
Rosalyn looked down at their joined hands, and the hardness in her chest dissolved.
“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “However you choose to handle it is your decision and no one else’s.”
“Since I’ve moved to the Valley, she writes me every year,” she said. “She wants to come see me.”
“If you don’t want to see her, you don’t have to.”
“Sometimes I wish I could see her,” Rosalyn confessed. She glanced up at Colin to gauge his reaction. Anyone else of her acquaintance would have a very definite opinion about such a matter.
However, in his eyes, she saw only acceptance. Whatever decision she made was hers.
And in that moment, she began to fall in love.
Funny, she’d never believed it existed, and yet here it was, shimmering in front of her, more beautiful than the poets’ praise, more real and vibrant. Whether she had believed in it or not, it had always existed. She’d just never seen it—before Colin.