‘Forgive me. There have been some unpleasant issues that have arisen between our families since our fathers’ return from their last expedition. It would appear there were some duplicitous dealings.’
Lottie frowned as she tried to puzzle over what the Duke of Somersville might possibly have done. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s nothing I wish to lament over—not when I’m in such fine company.’
A pleasant rush of giddiness replaced her concern for the Duke. ‘Will you be in Oxfordshire long?’ she asked, trying not to sound as hopeful as she felt.
‘Now that I’ve found what I was truly hoping to find, I believe I may stay a little longer than intended.’
This time the understanding that he was indeed referring to her pushed all thoughts of the Earl of Westix and the Duke of Somersville from her mind. Surely it wasn’t anything a letter between friends couldn’t mend. Not when their fathers had been so close for so long.
The carriage pulled to a stop before the small rectory Lottie shared with her father. It was a lovely cottage, whitewashed with a thatched roof, and flowers grew beneath the windows, vegetables in a small garden beyond. Trees surrounded it on all sides, lending the home a modicum of privacy.
But, while she enjoyed the cottage, never had she been more disappointed to see it so quickly.
If this carriage ride opposite Lord Murray went on for the whole of her life she would not have cause for complaint.
‘I should like to see you again,’ Lord Murray said.
She longed to sit on the cushioned bench for ever, speaking to him thus. ‘I should like that very much.’
At least there would be tomorrow, or whenever their schedules allowed time to see one another.
The door to the coach opened, revealing the footman, standing in the ceaseless rain. Lottie flashed a shy smile at Lord Murray before quickly exiting the carriage so the poor man would not need to remain in the elements.
Once more the umbrella appeared over her head, and Lord Murray walked alongside her up the narrow footpath.
‘When may I see you next?’
The urgency of his question matched her own longing as she scrambled for an answer.
The next day was to be dishearteningly busy. As all her days seemed to be. There was tea with several ladies from her father’s parish, as well as preparing soup for those who had recently been struck with a sniffling, sneezing illness that had spread through the village. Then, of course, there was mending and housework and cooking.
The day would be full.
Except...
‘I go for a walk every morning,’ she said tentatively.
Of course on her walks she was entirely alone. Which would mean they would be alone together. But it was only one walk. Where was the harm in that? If discovered, they could easily say they had happened along the same path.
Lord Murray’s smile widened. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘At half past ten.’ She spoke quickly as they neared her door. ‘I usually follow the stream behind my home.’
‘I’ll find you.’
They stopped on the footpath, facing one another beneath the protection of the umbrella as the rain continued to drive down, pattering against the waxed fabric. For the briefest of moments the umbrella dipped lower as Lord Murray leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers.
She almost thought she’d imagined it, dreamed it with the extent of her hope, except that when he straightened there was a besotted grin on his lips.
‘Tomorrow, my beautiful Miss Rossington,’ he said, in a low, intimate voice that made her pulse spike.
‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed, and slowly backed away, opening the door to her home.
As she closed it behind her she could think of little else but how much the time between now and when she would see him would drag terribly.
Fate had brought them together once more.
* * *
Evander met Miss Rossington the following morning, where she waited for him in the dappled sunlight near a swiftly running stream. Her white muslin day dress was demure, with a modest neckline that showed off the graceful litheness of her frame, and her straw hat covered enough of her face to protect her from the sun. Her lovely blue eyes lit up when she saw him and she waved.
There was something about the way she looked at him, with her entire focus fixed on him, that made him realise no woman had ever made him feel as she did. Perhaps that was why he’d found an excuse to come to Oxfordshire and seek out the small village of Binsey.
He’d meant to do it sooner. Truly he had. Except there had been the estate to visit, to ensure all was running well while his father travelled about, and appearances to keep in his father’s absence. The Murray name was Evander’s legacy and needed to be upheld, no matter the burden to him. And it was one he gladly shouldered.
Besides, he was here now, with Miss Rossington, and wasn’t that all that mattered?
The forest was still damp from its thorough soaking the day before, but the clear blue sky overhead promised beautiful weather.
‘Good morning, Miss Rossington.’ He offered her a bow.
She laughed and caught his hands, drawing him upright. ‘Please do call me Lottie. You’re far too dear to address me as Miss Rossington.’
‘I should like that very much,’ he replied earnestly. ‘As long as you promise to call me Evander rather than Lord Murray. It’s so very stuffy with formality, isn’t it?’
‘Evander...’ She twisted her fingers, a habit of hers recalled from their prior meeting.
‘That’s better.’ He offered her his arm, giving way to the stuffy formalities he’d just disparaged. But this was a way to be closer to her, to breathe in her delicate, powdery floral perfume and let the warmth of their bodies whisper against one another.
‘That’s what I’ve always loved about the country.’ Lottie said wistfully, her face hidden in profile by her bonnet.
‘What do you mean?’ he pressed.
The bottom of her gown was damp from the dew on the long grass and small dot of pink showed against the muslin. Something like paint, as before when he’d seen her.
‘I love how everything here is much more relaxed.’
She looked up at him, revealing her face once more. Bright blue eyes, fair skin, full red lips. He was struck anew with the force of her beauty.
‘Charles always speaks of the rules in London and they sound terribly suffocating,’ she continued.
‘Indeed, they are,’ Evander agreed. ‘I would never be allowed to walk with you as we are now. Alone. It would ruin you.’
‘I’m glad we’re here, then.’ She smiled up at him.
‘As am I,’ he replied.
And indeed he was. Glad that he had found Lottie after far too many months of thinking of her, and that they were now alone, somewhere he might once more sample the sweetness of her sensual mouth.
Though their kiss had been brief the day before, it had not left his mind—the softness of her lips, the heady sweet scent of her, the incredible yearning it awoke within him.
‘And how do you find Binsey?’ she asked. ‘After all the fine places you’ve been.’
‘I can honestly say there is nowhere else I’d rather be.’
‘Not even travelling around the world like your father?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve never had the desire for a Grand Tour. Not when there are so many things to see to in England. I believe I shall leave the rest of the world to him and enjoy my time here in Binsey. Tell me, what is it that occupies your days here?’
Colour warmed her cheeks beneath her bonnet. ‘It’s a far simpler life than what you’ve told me of life in London. I care for my father and see to his parishioners, whom I take tea with and help care for should they be in need of anything.’
‘I doubt i
t’s as simple as you claim.’
‘Well, there are the gossips to contend with.’ She gave him an exasperated look. ‘You would be surprised how much havoc bored women can wreak.’
‘Oh, I understand entirely, as there are far too many bored women in London.’ Evander grimaced, thinking of how the ton could destroy a reputation with a string of well-placed gossip. ‘What do you do for yourself? For pleasure?’
She gave a self-deprecating laugh and put a hand to her face, obscuring it. ‘I’m afraid my life here is rather dull.’
In truth, he was surprised at such a response. He’d assumed a woman of her wit and charm would have droves of friends to meet up with, for sewing circles and ribbon curling, or whatever it was that ladies did with one another.
‘But you paint,’ he said, by way of encouragement. He’d gone on about London and Scotland for an age at the ball all those months ago. He wanted to learn more about her.
Lottie blinked. ‘How did you—?’ Her gaze caught on the slight pink stain on her skirt and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise...’ Her entire face went as pink as the small stain. ‘Yes, I... I am apparently a very clumsy painter. Just watercolours.’ She lifted her shoulders and shook her head. ‘It is nothing terribly exciting.’
‘I think it sounds fascinating,’ he replied. ‘What did you last paint?’
She paused and bit her lip. ‘A sunrise,’ she replied at last. ‘I woke one morning before the sun had fully risen and found the sky stained with the most brilliant colours. A blaze of red-orange at the centre and mixes of purple and pink, with gold tones colouring blue-bellied clouds. The trees were but shadows in the foreground, as though giving way to the splendour.’
Her gaze fixed on the clouds now, as though she was seeing what she described. Evander certainly was, in his mind’s eye. In the discussion of her painting, he’d found a passion awoken. She might downplay her pastime, but it was of great import to her.
They neared the place where he had met her—where they would soon part ways.
‘I should love to see your paintings sometime,’ he said.
She blinked her eyes open and twisted her fingers against one another. ‘You would?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Before he could stop himself, he reached for her flushed cheek. ‘I want to know everything about you.’
Her lashes fluttered downward as his fingers gently caressed the softness of her skin. They were close enough for him to recall the sweetness of her mouth, the headiness of that moment of their first kiss. He shouldn’t, he knew. Not when they could be happened upon by those gossips she had mentioned.
Except that as he began to pull away she lifted her chin and rose up on her toes to press her smooth lips to his.
He closed his eyes and met her with a chaste kiss that set his heart pounding. After all, he hadn’t kissed her. She had kissed him. His mouth captured hers, guiding her towards a deeper kiss, a delicate brush of their tongues that made her gasp and left him aching and hard.
It was then he knew the kiss must end.
‘I wish to see you again,’ he said.
Her brow furrowed. ‘I’m afraid I stay rather busy.’
She looked at the ground, and for a fraction of a moment Evander feared she might tell him she could never see him again. The thought of being deprived of her brilliance would be a devastating blow.
‘But I walk this path every day.’ She lowered her lashes and turned her head away, hiding her face behind the delicate wall of her straw hat.
He put his fingertips under her chin and lightly brought her face, and her attention, back towards him. ‘Then I shall meet you every day so that we might walk together. If you will allow me to, of course.’
Her eyes searched his and he fell headlong into the endless blue. ‘I would love nothing more.’
Before he could stop himself, he kissed her once more, eager and swift, before bowing his departure and promptly exiting, lest he never leave. It was far too easy to bask in the company of Miss Lottie Rossington.
He met her again the following day, and the day after that, and the one following that. On and on he met her until three weeks had gone by.
In that time, he learned a lot about Lottie. Like how she and Lord Folton had become so close, how he’d been there to comfort her when her mother died. Admittedly the platonic way Folton cared for her made Evander find the other man less distasteful, despite his father the Duke of Somersville’s selfishness against Evander’s own father.
And Evander finally got to see her paintings—a blend of drawing and watercolour paints—after much encouragement. She had downplayed her skill considerably. Every painting she showed him was lifelike—as though it had been taken from reality and imprinted directly onto the page.
Evander shared details about his own childhood as well—how he and his sister had been close, until their father had struck her and Evander had stepped up to put a stop to it. He’d been promptly sent away to school, and when he returned, he found the occupants of the house cold and reserved in their reception of him, including his sister Eleanor.
He’d never spoken of it to anyone before that day, but somehow confessing it all to Lottie on one of those sunny mornings when they walked along the stream was so easy to do. There, amid the overgrown grass and wildflowers, he shared his heart. And she accepted him for exactly who he was.
That was why he fell in love with her. Or rather one of the many reasons why he did. She sparkled more greatly than any enticement London had to offer. Her wit made him laugh, and anything that made her solemn tugged at a tender place he hadn’t known existed within his heart.
He had become so enamoured of her he had postponed the meeting with his father’s steward to go over his report on the estates—something Evander had never once done since he assumed the task after completing his time at university.
She was beauty and kindness, altruism and grace, wit and sensuality—on and on the list went, with every reason why she was so remarkable.
He realised one morning, when he was bidding her farewell, that their small kiss had blossomed into something deeper, more intimate. She gave that delicious little hum in the back of her throat, as she always did, and held tight to him as their mouths parted to stroke tongues. Evander’s body was on fire with longing, but it was more than that, something far purer than simple carnal lust.
He didn’t want to leave Binsey. He didn’t want to leave her. The world that had meant so much to him only a month ago paled in comparison to the resplendent joy of her company. He wanted a lifetime of her.
The realisation dawned on him in a moment, and he did not shy from what had been unearthed in his own heart.
Love.
He straightened with the intent to tell her. She pulled him back towards her with a little whimper of protest and arched into him.
‘Lottie,’ he said raggedly.
Her eyes flew open. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t want you to stop kissing me. I wanted—I want—so much more.’ She flushed shyly and looked away. ‘Do you think that’s terribly wicked?’
‘Nothing about you is wicked.’
Truer words had never been said. No innocence rivalled that of Miss Charlotte Rossington.
He longed to draw her towards him, to tug off her bonnet and smooth his hands down her glossy hair in reassurance. And in the same moment, he had the nearly overwhelming urge to show her exactly what ‘wicked’ entailed.
‘Even if I like your kisses?’
She licked her lips, the gesture unintentionally erotic.
‘Even if I find myself imagining what more there is between a man and a woman.’
His groin twitched in reply. He shifted his stance lest she see exactly what she did to him.
‘Especially all that.’ He hesitated only a moment before speaking the words that had been in his heart since he’d first spotted her
that first rainy day when he’d come to Oxfordshire. ‘I mean to make you my baroness, Lottie.’
Her eyes went wide. ‘You...want to...?’
‘I want to marry you,’ he said, with all the vehemence of young love. ‘I will see your father to ask formally, of course. That is...if you want to marry me.’ The sense of confidence which had guided him down this path faltered. ‘Do you?’
Lottie smiled up at him. ‘Of course I do.’
Her reply, while positive, was not as exuberant as he’d hoped and cast doubt on his joy. ‘Are you certain? I would never wish you to agree without your full heart.’
‘You have my full heart.’ She took his hand and pressed it to the centre of her chest.
Except that it wasn’t her heartbeat he felt beneath his palm, but the round plumpness of her breasts. It was all he could do to keep from shifting his touch upon her to cup them, caress them, until that little hum at the back of her throat gave way to a moan.
‘It’s only that I don’t wish to leave my father.’
She released Evander’s hand and he withdrew it from her bosom with great reluctance.
‘I’m all he has.’
‘I will be purchasing the Huntly Estate, where I’ve been staying,’ he replied, grateful he’d already spoken to Lord Enders about the possibility the prior week. ‘He is a good friend, and knows I have a strong reason to remain in Oxfordshire.’
Before he could say another word Lottie gave a cry of joy and threw her arms around him. She kissed him again and again and again, until his head swam.
‘I am so eager to wed you.’ She nuzzled her lips against his neck, just below his ear. ‘To walk proudly on your arm, to share my life with you. To experience all the things that exist between a man and his wife...’
Good God.
‘I shall speak with your father tomorrow morning,’ he said, in a low, intimate voice.
And that was exactly what he did—as soon as it was appropriate for the vicar to receive a caller with the intent to formally request her hand, so that Miss Charlotte Rossington could become his wife.
How to Wed a Courtesan--An entertaining Regency romance Page 3
