A Madness in Spring (7 page)

“To make fun of me.”

“No, to dance with you. Why on earth would it be to make fun of you?”

“Because it was a waltz, and you knew I didn’t know how to dance a waltz and you would just go back and make fun of me to all your regiment friends.” Her voice was hot, her face burning at the memory.

“I had no idea you didn’t know.” He replied. “How could I?”

“I…” she faltered. “I…”

“I couldn’t know that. And you turned me down so cruelly it stuck my feet to the ground for the rest of the evening – I didn’t dance with a single girl. And I had plenty of chances, you know, because I was wearing my red coat for the first time.”

“I remember,” she murmured.

“I thought… I thought that if you didn’t want to dance with me when I was in my uniform you never would. I liked you,” he said, moving to stand in front of her. “You just couldn’t see it.”

“And I liked you,” she replied, feeling something wet on her cheek. “
You
just couldn’t see it. I was so worried when you joined the regiment. I wrote you all the time.”

“I never got any letters,” he replied.

“Ladies can’t write unrelated gentlemen letters, Adam,” she sighed. “I sent you articles.”

“Articles? You mean those packets of clippings from ladies’ journals that came with John’s letters? About how best to darn socks and dry wool?”

“Yes, those!” she sniffled. “John included them in his letters for me.”

“So… you didn’t want me to have holes in my socks at war?”

“I didn’t want you to be shot either, but sparing that, I didn’t want you to be miserable.” Her sniffle turned into a little watery laugh. “And when you went to your estate in the north, I gave you that entire packet of articles about sheep herding, remember?”

“I… thought you were doing that to show me how much I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “How bad I’d be at it.”

“Of course you would think that. Because I’m Belinda Leonard and to you, I’m the girl who is controlling, and mean, and holds a grudge for fifteen years and… just annoys.” Her voice became little, and she shivered against the cold creeping through her cloak. “That’s all I am.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t take the way he was looking at her, with such pity and confusion. She couldn’t take the way she was feeling, lost and cold.

She couldn’t take standing there any longer. So she didn’t.

“Belinda, stop,” he said, as she moved past him.

They’d found enough crocuses, surely. Or if not, hothouse flowers would have to do for Georgie’s party.

“Belinda, I –”

But she didn’t stop. She didn’t look back.

Not until she felt his hand catch her arm.

“What?” she said, turning. Her gaze caught his. He was startled. Struck.

“What?” she said again.

“I… oh, hell,” he breathed, pulling her to him.

And putting his lips on hers.

It was, without a doubt, the strangest experience of Belinda’s life.

Not because the kiss was bad. Although she had no means by which to compare it, she had a feeling it was rather wonderful. But the odd thing about it was, she didn’t feel it on her lips. Not at first.

She felt it at the base of her spine. That concave curve that usually held all her strength began to soften, become pliant. His hand managed to find that exact spot as he pulled her gently into him, and warmth spread across her skin.

Then, strangely, she felt it in her toes. Behind her ears. Her left elbow. All these places on her body, waking up for what felt like the first time, by the utter curiosity of his lips on hers.

And those lips, now that she could feel them, demanded things of her. Things she couldn’t identify but was willing to give. Without knowing it she opened her mouth, gasping for a small bit of air.

He dove in. His tongue pleading for hers. His other hand caressed the back of her neck, catching the little tendrils of curls there and making her want to moan.

The entire event was one of the most unique in her admittedly sheltered life.

It was thrilling.

It was amazing.

It was… frightening.

Too frightening. Her heart beat too fast. Her body was too warm. And her mind… her mind kept asking one question over and over.
What on earth are you doing?

This was
Adam
. Adam Sturridge. And somehow, someway, she felt like something was breaking. Shifting.

And she couldn’t let it.

“Stop,” she said, pulling away. To his credit he did, blinking back into reality – back into the middle of the woods, in the middle of a cold morning.

“Belinda,” he breathed. “I…”

“I should go,” she said, immediately turning on her heel.
Run
, her mind told her.
Flee, as fast as you can
.

“Wait, we should talk –”

“There’s nothing to say,” she replied, scurrying away, propelled by her fear. “I must go.”

And for once, he let her.

A
dam was at a complete loss when Belinda left him in the middle of the east woods that cold spring morning. He was bewildered, bewitched, and befuddled too – not to mention concerned for her. But a small part of him could not help being relieved.

He needed to be alone with his thoughts. And it was obvious that he had lost the ability to think around Belinda Leonard.

He could only assume she had the same desire for time alone, because when he made it back to Sturridge Manor – after taking a long,
long
walk through the grounds and finding a grim appreciation in the morning’s chill – it was to find that Belinda had already departed, leaving a concerned Francesca asking what had happened.

“Nothing,” he replied shortly. “Ah, we… we didn’t find any crocuses.”

“Then why are your trousers all wet?” she asked.

He looked down. His buff-colored trousers bore the telltale dark spots of damp at his knees.

“Because I fell,” he answered distractedly as he moved past.

“Why did Belinda leave though? What on earth did you say to her?” Francesca kept pace with him, worrying her shawl. “We are supposed to meet Georgie and I don’t know –”

“Haven’t you and Miss Gage caused enough mischief lately?” he said, more brief than he had ever been in his life. And then, without a word, he pushed past a gaping Francesca and climbed the stairs.

He spent the rest of the morning in his rooms. Although, they weren’t really his rooms. Not anymore. Although John and Francesca had both said they would always keep them just for him, he didn’t live here now. He lived in just barely not-Scotland. He thought briefly of running. Just packing up his belongs, getting on his horse and heading north. In truth, he didn’t even have to pack, he could have his things sent to him. He honestly had no business still being here, and absolutely no business kissing Belinda Leonard.

Didn’t he?

They had been tricked, that was it. Tricked into liking one another. A few days of wild fantasy, introduced by scheming matchmakers and blown far out of proportion by their own imaginations.

Which was why he’d been so eager to go on party planning trips with the ladies. Why Belinda had worn her blue dress today – because she knew she looked best in it, and wanted to appear at best advantage.

But wait… Belinda had worn that blue dress often in the months since he’d been there. Specifically, when she’d known he’d be at the house during her visits. If she truly hadn’t liked him, she wouldn’t have cared about appearing at best advantage.

And what about all the things she’d said to him in the woods. Things he’d considered a nuisance – her eagerness to help, to organize, to know how to do things right… she’d wanted to help
him.

She’d wanted him to have dry socks during the war.

She’d wanted him to succeed at raising sheep.

And she tried to show him the right way to remove snow from crocuses. Not that he needed instruction of course, but for the first time he thought that maybe, maybe she didn’t do it to aggravate him.

She did it because she cared.

And he’d cared too.

When John had first invited him to come down for the winter, he’d been excited. Of course he was eager to see his brother and Francesca and to meet the baby – not to mention avoid the worst of an almost Scottish winter. But what had made him rub his hands together with glee was the thought of seeing Belinda Leonard. Of finding ways to raise her hackles and make her look at him with those intense dark eyes. Of the fun he would have watching her cheeks pink and…

It all seemed so childish.

It was something a boy would do to hide his feelings. And he was well past his boyhood.

Maybe the prickling sensation that came over him ever time he heard the click of her steps in the halls of Sturridge Manor was not anticipation of a skirmish of words, but anticipation of just seeing her.

The way her neck curved when she cocked her head to one side.

The way she looked to the left when she thought he was being an idiot but couldn’t say anything in mixed company.

The way she looked to the right when she thought he had made a good point and had absolutely no idea how to respond to it.

The way she’d kissed him that morning.

He’d been lonely in not-Scotland. He’d been cold and working hard and spending most of his time with his land steward and sheep. Eighteen hours each day, his mind was on building the estate anew, but in those few moments before he drifted to sleep or blinked awake there was always wisp of blonde hair drifting across his brain. A wry set of a perfect mouth.

Holy hell.

Just how long had he been in love with her?

Francesca and Miss Gage may have interfered, but they were not wrong. Not at all. In fact, they might have been the only people with working eyesight. Exactly when his annoyance turned to affection might not ever be known, there was a more pressing question.

Specifically, whether or not Belinda was in love with him.

And while, based on how she had kissed him back in those woods, he had a fairly good guess, the only person who could actually answer that, was Belinda herself.

So, the next morning, he crossed the east woods and headed up a small section of Main Street, then up the little lane to Croftburr, to ask her.

Belinda Leonard had absolutely no notion of how she got home after the crocus-saving mission was aborted. She couldn’t cut across the east woods as she normally did, because that would have been retreading her steps, and putting her squarely in Adam Sturridge’s path again. So she must have gone into the house, left a note for Francesca – or perhaps she saw her, she had no easy recollection – and headed out on foot by the main drive. It would have taken her an extra half hour to make it back to Croftburr by that time, but at the speed she was walking, she likely made up the time.

Once there, she answered half a dozen inquiries from the housekeeper by rote (yes, they would be having the last of the salted pork for supper that evening; no, she did not want yellow tallow candles tonight) and immediately went up to her rooms to change.

She had her own garden to tend to – or at least, to supervise the removal of snow. Then she had to plan menus now that they had run out of the salted pork stores from the winter. Perhaps she should begin organizing the seasonal cleaning and airing out of the summer rooms a few weeks early.

There were a great many things to do, and she was not going to let one startling kiss from a person she’d never really considered kissing before take her off schedule. After all, she’d already let Georgie Gage and her party put her off schedule for the planning committee – why, the Hemshawe Fair was only a few short months away! No – she must not allow something so foolish to overturn her entire life.

It wasn’t even just the kiss. It was everything she had said. A shocking flow of words that spilled out of her, without her realizing she had said them. Without realizing that she had felt that way.

It was just about the most embarrassing thing Belinda could imagine – and her imagination was very good. But as long as she went about things as normal, everything would be fine. And nothing would change. It would be like it never happened.

So she paid no mind when Francesca and Georgie each sent notes, wishing to inquire about her health.

She paid no attention when her uncle came down from his study, wondering why the solarium was being opened and aired out when there was still snow on the ground.

And she most certainly did not jump at every single knock or bump or errant noise made throughout the day.

Thus, it was after a night of very little sleep – because she was kept awake by making several lists in her head, and nothing more – that Belinda decided she was utterly in the right. As she was acting like everything was normal, therefore everything
was
normal.

And she firmly believed that, right up until Adam Sturridge walked into her home.

She was in the breakfast room, tucking in to her plate of eggs and toast with her usual, normal gusto when the butler entered.

Sir Henry, Mr. Adam Sturridge is here to see Miss Leonard. I put him in the front drawing room.”

Belinda’s fork clattered to her plate.

“Mr. Sturridge?” her uncle replied, folding down his newspaper. His moustache twitched in amusement. “What have you done now, Bel?”

“Nothing.” Her voice did not sound like her voice. “Nothing at all. What ever do you mean?”

“You and Mr. Sturridge are always at odds. I reckon he’s here to squabble with you about something.”

“No, Uncle, I…” She clamored to her feet, pushing her plate away. “I cannot see him just now. I’m very late for… the Hemshawe Fair and Harvest Festival Committee. Pray, give Mr. Sturridge my excuses.”

She was out the door before her uncle could put up any protest, and six steps down the hall before she stopped herself. She couldn’t go up to her rooms this way – the front parlor was right by the main stairs. She doubled back and tiptoed up the servants’ staircase. And she was four steps away from her bedroom door when she stopped herself again.