JORDAN Nicole (23 page)

Haviland’s wry smile held a great charm. “Nothing of much import. But you are obviously stewing over some problem. I trust it isn’t too serious?”

Not gravely serious,Roslyn thought ironically.It is only that the plan I so carefully made for my future has splintered in a dozen fragments.

“Is there anything I may do to help?” Haviland added solicitously.

“Thank you, no. I am just poor company this morning.” That much was true, certainly. Her mood matched the weather, which during the night had turned cold and dreary. Casting a glance at the overcast sky, Roslyn drew her pelisse more closely around her.

“Perhaps I should take you home,” the earl offered.

She made a determined effort to smile. “No, no, there is no need. Doubtless the brisk air will chase the cobwebs from my brain soon.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, my lord.” She made her smile genuine. “I didn’t mean to spoil our outing. This is actually a delightful treat for me.”

Haviland was silent for a moment as he directed his horses around a sharp bend in the country lane. “Your preoccupation wouldn’t have anything to do with Arden, would it?”

Roslyn tried to conceal her dismay. “Why would you think so?”

“I couldn’t help noticing last night that there seemed to be some tension between the two of you. You didn’t appear eager to dance with him.”

“Because he only asked me under duress.”

“Ah, so Lady Freemantle is throwing you together,” Haviland observed shrewdly. “She does have a lamentable tendency to play matchmaker.”

“Indeed,” Roslyn agreed, her tone tart. “It is driving me to distraction—and the duke as well.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t expect Arden enjoys being the target of her machinations, but I would say he is interested in you for your own sake. And I think perhaps you are not indifferent to him.”

Roslyn couldn’t bring herself to lie, so she remained silent. She could feel Haviland’s gaze measuring her.

“If you need me to intervene with Lady Freemantle,” he finally said, “just say the word.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Roslyn replied, warmed by his protectiveness.

But her problem was not one Haviland could help her with. She had to deal with this on her own—and she was doing a deplorable job thus far. Her passionate encounter with Arden in the moonlight last night had thrown all her emotions into utter confusion, along with all her best-laid plans.

To begin with, she’d been shocked by his proposal of marriage, even though she couldn’t put any real store in it. The duke couldn’t possibly want to marry her. And even if he did, she wasn’t about to accept. He had proposed for all the wrong reasons—because she would do better than anyone else. What sort of justification was that for marriage? Roslyn reflected with disgust.

If she’d thought for one minute that he could conceivably come to care for her, she might at least have hesitated a fraction of an instant before refusing him. But no, it was impossible to think of the elegant, cynical Duke of Arden losing his head or his heart to her or any other woman. He was the last man who would ever make a love match when he didn’t even believe in love.

Yet last night, Roslyn conceded, she’d been forced to admit her fierce desire for him—the illogical, vexatious, maddening desire she’d tried earnestly to deny ever since meeting him. And during a long sleepless night of tossing and turning, she’d had to acknowledge a more profound truth. Not only had Arden shown her the forbidden pleasure that awaited her if she surrendered to him. Not only had he filled her with an anticipation and craving for a passion beyond what she ever imagined. Much worse, he had made her question her own deepest longings.

Did she truly want to win Lord Haviland’s heart? Or was it merely a pipe dream that she had built out of an idealistic need for love?

Whatever the answers, she no longer felt in control of her destiny.

She wanted to curse the duke, and yet she couldn’t place the blame entirely on him. Her own wanton behavior was inexcusable.

Swearing mentally at herself, Roslyn shook off her dark thoughts and bestirred herself to give all her attention to Lord Haviland. For the next three-quarters of an hour, they indulged in amusing banter with the pleasant intimacy of old friends. It was the most comfortable she had ever been around him.

And that was a big part of the trouble, Roslyn realized with chagrin when his lordship returned her to Danvers Hall and took his leave of her. She felt little of the spark with Haviland that the Duke of Arden kindled in her with only a glance. Every time she was with the earl, all she could think about was Arden.

And her mind kept insisting on comparing the two of them. They were both dynamic, charismatic men, but only one made her blood sing and her stomach flutter. Only one made her lose all her willpower when he merely kissed her as Arden had done last night.

His embrace had been dominantly possessive, eliciting an erotic response in her beyond her control. The experience had shaken Roslyn to her core, and opened her eyes to self-doubt as well.

A doubt that had only been confirmed in the cold light of day. The moment she’d greeted Lord Haviland this morning, she’d understood why her pulse didn’t quicken at the sight of him. Why her heart didn’t race and turn somersaults in her chest at his nearness.

She felt affection and friendship for the earl, but not much of the delicious thrill she always felt with the duke.

Feeling a deep regret, Roslyn slowly made her way upstairs to her bedchamber. She wished her sisters were here so she could discuss her dilemma with them. Arabella would likely understand and be able to offer sage advice, yet regrettably she was still away on her wedding trip. And Lily was also away, in London.

Besides, Lily would be the last person to ask, since she was so adamantly opposed to marriage. Lily would say that she’d lost her wits—and Roslyn would have to agree. She had just tossed all her long-held aspirations, all her beliefs about what she wanted for her future, out the window.

Fanny would be happy to listen, of course, but Roslyn felt that she’d intruded on her friend quite enough in the past few weeks. And in any case, Fanny was in London, too, nearly an hour away.

Perhaps she should apply to Tess for advice. Tess fully appreciated her desire to make a love match and approved of her interest in Lord Haviland. But what would Tess say about a woman’s need for passion in her life?

Roslyn had never let herself dream of having a grand passion in marriage. She’d told herself she would be content with love and affection. But now she was beginning to wonder if she didn’t want passion after all.

One thing was becoming certain, though. She would have to end her pursuit of Haviland. It wouldn’t be fair to him to continue trying to rouse his interest and affection when she was so attracted to another man. It wouldn’t be fair to make Haviland fall in love with her, either, when she might never be able to truly love him in return.

Closing her chamber door behind her, Roslyn took off her half-boots and pelisse and sat upon the bed with her arms around her updrawn legs, her chin resting pensively upon her knees. She wanted to remain there for the rest of the day, stewing over her dilemma, but in a few hours she would have to face Lady Freemantle. Winifred’s invitation to tea this afternoon had practically been a summons.

Roslyn had considered declining but knew her friend might show up on her doorstep demanding to know what was wrong with her. And it would be easier to battle Winifred’s matchmaking efforts at Freemantle Park when she could threaten to leave.

As expected, Winifred wasn’t the least contrite about last night’s conniving. In fact, Roslyn learned to her dismay when she had settled in her friend’s ostentatious drawing room, the Duke of Arden had been invited to tea this afternoon as well.

“Winifred! You simply must stop this shameful scheming,” Roslyn complained. “It is utterly mortifying.”

Smiling, the elder woman shook her head. “In this case you are off the mark. It wasn’tmy scheme to invite you both here. Arden himself suggested it.”

When Roslyn’s jaw dropped, Winifred’s smile broadened. “Don’t looked so surprised, my girl. Anyone can see that the duke is taken with you.”

“That isn’t so.”

Ignoring her protest, Winifred glanced out the drawing room window at the gray sky. “I trust it won’t rain until after he arrives.”

Roslyn found herself gnashing her teeth. She had no idea why Arden would want to take tea with her, but she was very certain she didn’t want to see him again. Not after last night.

Did he wish to apologize to her for his scandalous attentions in the garden? Or perhaps he intended to renew his addresses to her, God forbid. He couldn’t do either in front of Winifred.

Yet it was more likely, Roslyn realized, that he had arranged a meeting this way so she couldn’t refuse his company. At least they would be chaperoned so there was no chance she would repeat her deplorable surrender. Even so, she wondered how she would manage to get through the next hour.

Her agitated thoughts were interrupted when Winifred mused aloud, “It is much chillier than I expected. Would you be a dear and fetch my shawl from my dressing room?”

Roslyn jumped to her feet, eager to have something to do to distract her. “Yes, of course.”

She quickly left the drawing room and went upstairs to Winifred’s bedchamber. The dressing room door was partially closed, but when she pushed it open, she came to a puzzled halt.

A footman stood there in front of Winifred’s dressing table, pawing through her ladyship’s jewel case.

He froze at Roslyn’s unexpected entrance, then guiltily dropped the expensive diamond necklace he had been fingering.

Her first instinctive thought was that she’d interrupted a thief trying to steal Winifred’s jewels. Yet before she could say a word, the footman suddenly whirled and barreled past her out the dressing room door, his head bent low so she couldn’t see his face, only his ginger-colored hair.

Knocked askew, Roslyn nearly fell to the ground, and as she struggled to regain her balance, she realized the thief wore a sling on his right arm.

Good God! He had been wounded, just like the highwayman who had held up the Freemantle carriage last week!

Gathering her scattered wits, Roslyn gave chase, but he had already bolted out of the bedchamber. Picking up her skirts to keep from tripping, she ran after him. By the time she reached the end of the hall corridor, she saw him bounding down the sweeping front staircase.

“Stop him!” she cried out, hoping one of the servant staff would hear her and help her thwart his escape. “Stop that thief!”

Another footman was stationed at his post behind the stairs, along with the Freemantle butler, Pointon, no doubt because they were expecting the duke’s arrival any moment. When Roslyn shouted again, both servants recovered from their startlement and bounded after the fleeing thief just as he flung open the front door.

As Roslyn ran down the stairs, they caught him and dragged him back to the entrance hall. At the first contact, he gave a yelp of pain and clutched his wounded right arm, but then erupted in fury, swinging his good arm and delivering a hail of blows against his captors so that he eventually broke free.

Roslyn had almost reached the foot of the stairway when Winifred appeared, the shouts and scuffle having brought her out of the drawing room.

“What in heaven’s name…?” Winifred demanded in bewilderment as the injured thief made for the door again. Her words trailed off, though, when she caught sight of the ginger-haired miscreant. She abruptly froze, while her face turned white.

Yet Roslyn was too occupied to pay much attention to her friend. Instead she set out after the thief, reaching the doorway as he charged down the entrance steps. When he turned to his right, racing along the front of the mansion, Roslyn hesitated barely an instant before following, nearly tripping on the steps in her haste.

It registered in her mind that the duke had just driven up in his curricle while a waiting groom had gone to the horses’s heads. But she couldn’t spare the time to answer when Arden called out to her. She rushed past him and along the gravel drive, watching the thief sprint for the south corner of the house.

Her breath ragged now, Roslyn dashed after him, but when she turned the corner in pursuit of him, she saw with dismay that he had reached his bay horse that was tied to a tree branch. Roslyn muttered an oath as he hauled himself up onto his saddle with his good arm. He was getting away!

Whirling, she ran back to the front of the house.

Arden had jumped down from his curricle and was staring at her. “Roslyn, what the devil is going on?” he exclaimed.

“No time to explain!” she cried. “The highwayman…”

Without pause, she scrambled to climb up into the curricle’s seat and gathered the reins, hoping the duke would forgive her for commandeering his expensive equipage and pair.

“Stand aside!” she ordered the startled groom.

The instant he obeyed and let go the bridle, she snapped the reins over the backs of the spirited grays. The horses sprang forward, nearly throwing Roslyn from the seat.

With a gasp, she righted herself at the same time she heard the duke’s own muttered curse over the rattle of carriage wheels. Arden had somehow caught the seat railing and leaped on board the swaying curricle. He was clinging precariously to the side as they bowled along the drive.

Roslyn had difficulty controlling the grays, but she didn’t dare stop long enough to let the duke climb to safety. Ahead, the highwayman’s bay had broken into a gallop and was racing up the drive.

Arden cursed again as he finally pulled himself into the seat beside her. “Roslyn, for God’s sake, slow down!”

“No, I have to catch him!”

“Then give me the damned reins before you land us in a ditch!”

He seized them from her grasp and took control, and in a moment the grays recognized his expert hand and settled into a more even rhythm.

Yet the highwayman was still increasing the distance between them. And before the drive ended, he cut across a stretch of lawn to meet up with the country lane, giving himself an even greater advance.