An Adventurous Lady

by Valerie King

  “Coupled with your request, yes.”

  “Another case of plain speaking. Well, I suppose I did put the question to you.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She glanced about. “Have you been to Wildings before?” she asked.

  “Only once. Your great-uncle and I had a lovely quarrel, and I have not set foot on the property since.”

  “Would you care to see a little more of the estate? There is a grotto.”

  “Indeed?” He seemed surprised.

  “A very pretty one. It faces north, and the water is nearly as black as the sea on a moonless night.”

  He nodded in acquiescence, but there was a strange light in his eye. She realized she had blundered . . . badly. In her naiveté, she was thinking she was showing him some of the property. However, a grotto viewed as the sun was on the wane, and in the solitary company of a gentleman who had already stolen a kiss from her could be seen, and was, undoubtedly being seen, as an invitation to a little dalliance. How could she have been so foolish?

  ***

  Chapter Five

  Evelina walked beside Rotherstone as she directed him down a path through the apple orchard. “Did Sir Edgar tell you he has seen the map?”

  “Yes. He mentioned it.”

  She glanced up at him. “Are you not in the least curious?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps a little.”

  “Well, that is a beginning, I suppose, though I must confess I do not understand why you are not completely intrigued by the idea.”

  “That there may or may not be a smuggler’s treasure on my land?”

  “Of course.”

  “Perhaps because I am uninterested in the treasure generally, or perhaps I am still bothered that you came to me uninvited in order to beg to be allowed onto my lands.”

  “Yes, that was audacious of me,” she said brightly. Perhaps she should have been distressed that he had rebuked her again, but somehow she was not. Her spirit seemed to rise to his provoking remarks.

  “I have known any number of ladies like you; determined, placing your pursuits above everyone else, selfish in fact.”

  “These are hard words, my lord,” she said. “Is that how you see me, then? Determined and selfish?”

  “Is there any other way to consider your actions? You found a map, and somehow you now feel it perfectly acceptable to charge into my home. Ah, you are frowning now. You must know I am right.”

  Leaving the orchard, the path ended at a thick hedge running east and west. Evelina directed him to the northeast where a path was visible climbing up a low hill.

  Once on the path, he glanced at her. “You are not answering me, which tells me that you are in agreement.”

  “Of course I am not,” she said. She lifted her skirts a trifle as they began the climb. She had a new reason for regretting she had offered to show him the grotto, since it had rained recently the ground was still muddy in low places. Her leather slippers, of a fine York tan and tied prettily at the ankle with blue ribbons, were hardly serviceable for such a climb. However, she had said she would show him the grotto, and she would not turn back now.

  “The reason I have not yet refuted your criticisms,” she continued, “is because I am considering the initial accusation. I must confess I do not understand in full my own enthusiasm, at least not entirely, but perhaps it is very simple. I found the map in a house I now own, and therefore I ought to see where the map leads.”

  “You see it as your property, then.”

  “No,” she mused, minding her steps. “Rather, I see the map as my particular responsibility, though I cannot tell you precisely why.”

  She wished she could offer a greater explanation, but she did not know what else to say. She thought for a long moment, picking her way along the path, up the hill, her skirts still in hand. The map had come to represent something very important to her, if not wholly defined in meaning. She had spoken truly when she had told Rotherstone of her life before coming to Maybridge. Her existence had been very small; indeed, almost sheltered. Without funds, it had been impossible for her family to enjoy a wide variety of amusements, much less the pleasures of a vast acquaintance. Wildings had quickly become a place of grace and comfort in her life, but the map had emerged as a symbol of what her life could be. So powerful was this now that the mere thought of giving up the map caused her heart to constrict painfully. Somehow relinquishing it would be akin to returning to a time before Wildings.

  She decided to turn their conversation upon him. “I was given to understand that you actually ejected two tenants when you arrived at Blacklands.”

  “Do you always heed the local gossip?”

  “Generally there is some truth to be found in it, and since your discharge was spoken of as scandalous in the extreme, I hoped to hear your version.”

  “You mean to be large-minded, I see.”

  “Perhaps I do. Only tell me, how do you account for your actions?”

  “I had several reasons: drunkenness—no, not mine; inattention to planting and harvest times; houses in disrepair though funds were sufficient; refusal to adopt farming methods proven to increase yield; and mistreatment of laborers. I believe I had cause.”

  She turned and stared at him. “Is all this indeed true?”

  “I see I have given you a shock,” he said sardonically, a knowing light in his dark eyes.

  For the barest moment as she stared at him, her breath caught in her throat. Why was it she kept forgetting how handsome he was and how his black gaze seemed to cut through her? “Yes, I am quite astonished,” she agreed, bringing her senses to order. “I only wish I had some reason to disbelieve you but your frankness with me generally has made the use of lies quite unnecessary.”

  “How you flatter me,” he said.

  “What an enigma you are,” she returned. “Well, I do have some intuitive sense of you, especially having seen the current, meticulous state of your home, so I suppose I must credit you with speaking the truth.”

  “You sound quite disappointed.”

  She chuckled. “Very much so.”

  He laughed outright. “What a baggage you are to speak to me so. I am your guest, you know. You ought at least attempt to be civil.”

  “You have Sir Edgar to blame if I am not,” she said, turning around, picking up her skirts and once more continuing her ascent. “He recommended that if I hoped to gain your support with my treasure hunt, I must speak forthrightly with you, and, if the truth be known, I rather like it.”

  He grimaced. “I can see that you do, but as for Sir Edgar’s advice, I shall punish him later for having set your bulldog’s teeth into me.”

  “Oh, what a dust you are kicking up. If I desired to draw blood, I promise you I would do more than tell you what you already know.”

  “I begin to think I was quite mistaken in you. Sir Edgar said you were unusual, but I believe even he did not know just how much.”

  “Did he say so indeed?” she queried, pleased with the compliment, or so it was to her. “I like your friend very much. He is just what a gentleman ought to be.”

  “Yes, he is,” Rotherstone agreed.

  “He told me you rendered him some sort of assistance.”

  “Scarcely anything. A roof for a time. Something I could easily spare.”

  “And are all your kindnesses extended by such a measure? What you can easily spare?”

  “You would like to think so, no doubt, and I certainly do not intend to boast of my good deeds in hopes of altering your opinion.”

  “This is fun,” she stated, climbing a rise of stones that led into the grotto.

  He grunted. “Making sport of me?”

  “That, too, I suppose,” she responded, turning to flash a smile down at him, for he was now several steps below her. “I was, however, referring to the ease with which we are conversing. I am rather put in mind of the first night we met. That is, how we chatted all the way back to Wildings.” She winced inwardly. She should not hav
e referred to that event, for she hardly wanted him thinking about the kiss he had forced on her, one that she had received far too willingly.

  She was, however, too late, for he caught up with her quickly and took her elbow. “The rise is steep. May I assist you?”

  She glanced up at him, saw the glitter in his eyes and knew full well what he was about. “I think not,” she responded archly, but it did not help that she immediately tripped over the next mossy stone step. If he had not been holding her elbow, she would have plunged onto her face. “Oh dear. I suppose now I must thank you.”

  “Yes, you should, and I must continue to hold your arm. It would be quite remiss of me to do otherwise.”

  “Oh, very well. I did not expect the stones to be so slippery.” He released her elbow and offered his arm, which she took. However, she lifted her chin to him by way of warning. She had no intention of allowing him to take advantage of her again.

  The grotto appeared around a bend in the path, a pond settled against a natural stone wall. Over the embankment, vines hung low, almost kissing the water. The pool, as she predicted, was black, especially in the growing twilight. She released his arm immediately and moved away from him.

  “Are there legends attached to these waters?” he asked.

  Evelina pondered his question. “You mean has this pool been known to heal lepers or to offer up magical swords or perhaps to shelter a water nymph or two?”

  He nodded, smiling broadly.

  Evelina sighed. “I fear not, though I should have liked it very much were there some mystery or secret attached to the pond. Alas, I have heard of none.”

  He drew close, standing just behind her. He leaned over her shoulder. “Is it perchance a place meant only for lovers?”

  She heard the subtle shift of tone, and her heart picked up its cadence. His breath against her neck sent a shiver down her back. She must, she absolutely must, keep him properly settled in his place. “As it happens,” she returned cheerfully, stepping away from him. “I believe it is. Should a lover prove false, one is allowed to have him dunked a score of times, until he is property chastened, which is to say drowned.”

  He was not deterred and moved swiftly behind her again, snaking an arm about her waist. “Surely not,” he whispered. “Not in such a pretty grotto.”

  What a beast he was. She slid away and turned toward him, holding up an imperative hand. “You shall not kiss me again, Rotherstone. I shan’t permit it.”

  The smile that had been playing over his lips deepened suddenly. “Not even were I to promise to consider your request of yesterday? A kiss can be very persuasive.”

  “Oh,” she groaned, “that is quite unfair of you. Blackmail and nothing less.” She recalled that she had actually been contemplating such a course the very day she had initially called on him at Blacklands. Had Sir Edgar not been present at the time, she believed she might have even offered one. Yet somehow these circumstances seemed very different to her. In the beautiful grotto, she suddenly felt quite vulnerable.

  “You ought to think on it,” he said, advancing toward her again. This time, she remained facing him.

  “To do so would be utterly improper,” she said, but something inside her began giving way. He was quite handsome, and his voice always seemed to work so magically on her senses.

  “Are you certain?”

  “No . . . that is, I meant to say yes.”

  He took a step toward her. “But it would be a very pleasant way to negotiate what you desire.”

  She felt a sudden urge to run from the grotto. What a terrible man he was to beset her in this fashion. On the other hand, would it be so terrible to acquiesce? After all, were she to get him to agree to let their party march about his grounds for an hour or two, she was convinced she would be able to find the buried treasure. She backed up slowly.

  “Are you certain?” he wheedled.

  “You should have only one motive in agreeing to my request—to be of use to your neighbors, your community.”

  He remained silent.

  Evelina could not help but wonder again why Rotherstone disliked his neighbors so very much. “I wish I might understand you better,” she said suddenly. She saw that she had surprised him in saying so and continued, “Though I do not comprehend the animosity between you and your neighbors, do you think it possible it is time to forgive them for whatever misdeeds they might have committed against you?”

  His eyes darkened. As black as they were, they grew blacker still. She took another step away from him. She felt his rage as he clenched and unclenched his fists, striving to master his feelings. “Tis no concern of yours,” he said at last, drawing in a deep breath.

  Evelina was stunned. She had expected him to complain of some slight or other. Instead, she could see that whatever circumstance had set him against Sir Alfred and the others had not been of an insignificant nature. She tried to recall anything that her neighbors might have said that would indicate just why Rotherstone felt so aggrieved, but nothing specific came to mind. How little she knew of him after all.

  “You are right, of course,” she said. “I am being impertinent.”

  “Impertinent is too mild a word.”

  She decided to press him. “But what of obligation? I am convinced it is your duty to allow us to find the treasure if we can.”

  “I do not think much of duty, especially when it involves my neighbors.”

  “Do you never tire of your solitary existence, living as you are, alone in your house?”

  “I am not alone,” he answered in his most reasonable voice. “I have Sir Edgar with me, and I am thinking of getting a dog.”

  She could not help but chuckle. “Will you not at least think on what I have said? I believe it might do you some good.”

  “Perhaps I shall.”

  She did not see anything in his expression that gave her hope, but she chose to be hopeful anyway. “Good.”

  “For now, however, all I wish for is a kiss.” She gasped and would have protested, but he spoke hastily. “I promise to give you a quite generous compensation.” His smile was utterly wicked.

  “And what would that be?”

  “If you allow a kiss, I promise to take your request seriously.” When she tried to begin her arguments again, he stopped her. “No more, my lady, for I fear you are blushing too charmingly to make me think of anything else of the moment but your kisses. If I may say so, you appear just like a water nymph among these ferns and boulders.”

  “You are being quite absurd.” She moved backward, fairly certain of the pond’s edge. “I will not kiss you no matter what your offer.”

  “Do you not want to find the treasure?” he asked in all innocence.

  “What a devil you are to tease me so when you know I do.”

  She took another step and another, and suddenly he grabbed her arm. “Whoa,” he said.

  The next moment, she felt her foot slide away beneath a sinkhole of mud. “Oh,” she said aloud as she grabbed for his shoulder.

  “I have you,” he responded, pulling her toward him and out of harm’s way.

  “My slipper is ruined,” she said. Mud rimmed the entire heel up to her ankle.

  “Sit down,” he commanded, pointing to a large rock nearby, one she had sat on many times over the past several months. She often came to the grotto to be very quiet and to enjoy the day. She had never thought in a million years she would be here with Rotherstone, who was now bent on one knee as though offering a proposal of matrimony and lifting her ankle to examine the hapless shoe.

  “Not so very bad,” he proclaimed, removing his handkerchief from the pocket of his coat. She was about to order him to refrain from staining his kerchief, but then she thought better of it. He deserved to have his kerchief ruined for so torturing her and fairly forcing her into the muddy bank.

  He wiped the slipper gently until most of the dirt was gone, then carefully folded the kerchief up and returned it to his pocket. Only then did she realize tha
t he was holding her leg and now rubbing her ankle. “Were you injured?” he asked, looking up at her.

  She blinked as all thought and certainly all ability to comprehend his question deserted her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your ankle. When you slid backward, did you twist your poor ankle?” His fingers swirled over her skin in a truly terrifying manner, for she suddenly wished he would never stop.

  “N-n-no,” she stammered, watching his fingers. They looked like little snakes moving over her skin, sneaky little things that were keeping her from putting two thoughts together, until suddenly one hand slid up her calf.

  She was on her feet in an instant. “Rotherstone,” she cried. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Nothing you would not like,” he returned, also rising.

  She cast him a scathing glance and tried to turn away, but once again he caught her about the waist. Her heart hammered in her chest as she met his gaze. He leaned very close. “If you allow a kiss, I will consider your proposition. I will allow you to offer every argument you can think of without once coming the crab. One kiss and I will promise to listen to you.”

  This entire speech had been breathed most unhappily against her neck. She did not know which was worse, the exploring fingers against her ankle or his breath on her neck. Both sent chills up and down her body and gooseflesh popping up everywhere. He was a terrible man, just as all her neighbors had said, but how was she to have known he was terrible in just this way. She understood now that he was a seducer of maidens, and yet she was not pulling away from him.

  “Well,” she murmured slowly. Was she actually contemplating his offer? Oh dear, what was she thinking? This would not do. She tried to stop the next words from leaving her mouth, but she was wholly unsuccessful. “I suppose one kiss would do no harm, and . . . and I suppose I owe it to my neighbors to do all that I can . . . and . . .”

  He waited for no further invitation but took her nearly as forcefully in his arms as he had that first night. His lips were on hers, a hot flame of passion that so took her by surprise that she drew back and called his name. “Gage,” she whispered.