Karen Harbaugh (21 page)

“Yes, it is,” Rothwick cut in, gazing at her lips and smiling wickedly. Linnea felt her face flame. “I said I was grateful, did I not?” He pulled the bell-rope. “It will feel good to dress in a civilized fashion again, I think.”

She stared at him, frustrated. It seemed he would do anything to get what he wished, will she, nil she, and never mind what she thought or felt. She turned and hobbled furiously toward the door.

“And do tuck in your fichu properly,” he called after her as she grasped and turned the knob. “It is all askew.”

Linnea went through and slammed the door.

* * * *

As soon as Linnea left, Rothwick sat down on a chair by the window. Ye gods, but he was as weak as a kitten. He was better, however, and not nearly as tired as he’d been the day before. And he’d be damned if he was going to stay abed when they had guests! Especially when one of them was Sophia Amberley.

To tell the truth, he’d rather stay in his chambers than confront her again, for he did not want a repeat of their last encounter. But if her reaction at the inn was any indication, it would be best that Linnea not have to face her slights alone. After all, this had not been her fault. And who knew what Sophia’s influence on the other two guests would be?

Then, too, he was bored staying in bed, with nothing to stare at but the four walls and a windowed landscape with which he was now all too familiar. There was a limit to the number of books he could read, and there was nothing else he could do while in bed. He grinned a little, thinking of Linnea. Lord, but he had put her in a tizzy! There was something about her—perhaps her seriousness and wariness—that made him want to tease her unmercifully and bring a smile or laugh to her lips. Rothwick’s grin turned wry. Well, he hadn’t made her laugh this time, to be sure!

And there was the trouble. He wanted to make her trust him, but every time he was at the point of doing so, a devil seemed to take his tongue and either give her a prosy lecture or tease her to the point of wrath. Well, perhaps it was partly her fault, after all, and certainly Lydia’s! If his sister had not chosen all those tantalizing gowns, he would not be so inclined to want to take them off Linnea as soon as he saw her. And if Linnea had not insisted on keeping him in cotton-wool, he would be much less irritable and much less inclined to tease her or give her a lecture against which even he would rebel.

Rothwick sighed and stood up, this time slowly. His head had stopped aching today, but he needed to move with care. The sudden movement from the bed earlier had brought on a dizziness that had nearly overset him.

When Potter came in—upon Rothwick’s answer to his knock, and cautiously this time—he smiled at his master in apparent relief.

“The dark grey jacket, the blue waistcoat, and a black neckcloth, I believe, would be appropriate today, Potter.”

“Of course, my lord, very good.” He looked at Rothwick expectantly. “And a shave, sir?”

The earl felt his chin ruefully. “Most definitely a shave.”

Potter grinned. “Yes, my lord, I shall do so straight away!”

As the valet went to get the shaving implements, Rothwick sighed. He thought about his guests. For all that he was glad to be up and about, he wished he did not have to see anyone except perhaps Linnea. What a damned inconvenience it all was!

* * * *

Walking upon the garden path with a frown upon her brow, Sophia paid only absent attention to the ordered rows of flowers and shrubbery. Her mouth pouted in discontent as she thought of her plans. How inconvenient it was that Rothwick was ill! There was little she could do until he appeared, and how tedious it was to have to wait until he was well. But she was fairly sure that Bobs’s broken leg would take longer to heal than Rothwick’s influenza. Did not Lady Rothwick—That Woman—say he was recovering?

Lady Rothwick.... Sophia gnawed her lower lip in thought. Perhaps there was something she could do in that direction. Perhaps if Rothwick were shown what a scheming adventuress That Woman no doubt was, then he would be even more repentant when she spurned him at the end. Sophia’s face brightened. Yes, of course! He would be miserable tied to that woman and regret for the rest of his life that he had once preferred Lady Rothwick instead of Sophia.

Sighing happily, Sophia bent her mind on how to accomplish it. Well, there was Sir James Marlowe. She hesitated for a moment, feeling uneasy, then dismissed it. Sir James would do as she wished, she was sure. Did she not have a special charm over men, after all? She rarely had any difficulty at all getting gentlemen to do as she wished. Requesting Sir James to focus his attentions on Lady Rothwick should be easy. Having a great deal of finesse, he could easily move into her good graces, and he would...

What would he do? The conclusion to which Sophia came made her feel rather odd. He would run off with her, of course, thereby showing Rothwick that his wife was unworthy, no more than a trollop. Sophia bit her lip again, this time in consternation. Surely she did not have to sacrifice Sir James to such a thing? Perhaps Richard could do it. But she shook her head. No. He was a graceless gudgeon and had no finesse whatsoever. He would botch it, and all her plans would be for naught. It must be Sir James. She sighed, shaking her head. How unpleasant pursuing justice was, to be sure!

“A sigh, my dear Miss Amberley? In such a lovely garden, too.”

Sophia whirled around. She had thought herself quite alone in the garden. “Sir James! You startled me.” Her heart was beating quite fast—with surprise, she was sure. “I thought you might have left already, for I had heard your clothes have been washed and mended.” And indeed he was looking quite handsome in his newly cleaned clothes—or would have been, of course, if he were not so brown. But it was not his fault that the Indian sun was so harsh.

“I am sorry, ma’am,” he said, but his voice was more caressing than apologetic. “I cannot seem to break my habit of walking quietly. All that hunting in India, you see.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Sophia replied. “But this is not India, and I think you must change your ways a bit.”

“Ah. Shall I stomp about, then, ma’am, before I approach the prey—er, person?”

Sophia laughed. “Prey, am I? Well, let me tell you, sir, I am not so easily caught!” She cast a glance at him through her eyelashes. “And why is it that you see me as something to be hunted?”

“Sheer instinct, of course. The Hindus believe that one lives many lifetimes in the form of animals of increasing intelligence, until one becomes human. I think my last life must have been as a hunter of some sort.” He flashed a wide white grin at her.

Averting her gaze, Sophia thought that he must indeed have been a hunter—a large cat, perhaps a tiger or, better yet, a panther. A silent panther.

“So you think of people in general as prey of some kind?” she replied.

“No, not all. I am afraid I am quite particular in my tastes.”

They walked along the path, silent for a few moments, for Sophia could not think of what to say. She was flattered that he should think of her as someone to be pursued. But as prey! She shivered. She did not know if she liked that—it was, to say the least, unsettling. It made her feel as if Sir James would suddenly pounce on her, and she was not sure if she would like this or not.

“Perhaps we should return to the house,” Sir James said in a solicitous voice. “It seems you have a chill.”

“Oh, no, I assure you I am quite warm,” Sophia said hurriedly, for she did not want him to leave just yet. “And walking in these lovely gardens is so very pleasant on such a day as this, do you not agree?”

Sir James smiled at her, and an admiring look appeared in his eyes. They had stopped by a rosebush, full of flowers that scented the air with their perfume. He picked one and held it to his nose, then held out the flower to her. “Very pleasant indeed, Miss Amberley.”

Sophia smiled and relaxed, deigning to take the rose, and began to walk again. What nonsense she was imagining today! Comparing Sir James to a panther, indeed! He was quite ordinary—except for his tendency to flirt (and that was not a bad thing, after all) and his resourcefulness. She paused before saying: “And what particular sort of people would you... pursue? What of someone like, oh, Lady Rothwick, for example?”

The man beside Sophia bent a thoughtful gaze upon her. “Oh, I suppose she might do. I would have to cultivate her acquaintance before I knew.”

“Poor lady! I am afraid she must feel quite alone, despite being newly married, and no doubt feeling full of ennui. It cannot be pleasant to have Lord Rothwick ill, and the house so scarce of company. What is she to do in such a large, empty place? I am certain the neighbors have not come to call yet. I cannot help thinking she must be wanting some company. Indeed, perhaps it was a fortunate thing for her we happened on Staynes at just this time.” She noted they were walking toward some tall hedges, and a sense of unease rose in her. As they were now, they were in plain sight of the house, and thus she needed no chaperone. Perhaps they would not approach the hedges.

“Yes, I imagine it should be fortunate,” replied Sir James.

Sophia looked at him suspiciously, distracted from her unease. She thought she had heard just the slightest tremor in his voice. Was he laughing at her? But his expression was quite bland, and he only raised his eyebrows questioningly in response to her gaze.

“What Lady Rothwick needs,” continued Sophia, “is companionship. Do you not think so?”

“Unless one is a hermit, one usually prefers the company of others.”

“Well, then! Perhaps you should think about cultivating hers.”

“I?” Sir James turned and looked at her in apparent astonishment.

“Why not? You are a personable gentleman. I think she would welcome your attentions.”

He stared at her for a few moments, an indecipherable expression crossing his face. “I am gratified you find me personable, Miss Amberley. But, alas, I am afraid you forget I am soon to leave. Cultivation of anything is most difficult from a long distance.”

Sophia felt her heart sink. “Are... are you going far away, then? I thought... I thought you might stay near for a while. Oh, not here at Staynes, to be sure, but not so far that you cannot come to call.”

Sir James smiled slightly. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

“What... what would persuade you, then?” Sophia said, looking down at the rose she held in her hand. His voice had been intimate, and she was suddenly afraid of looking at him. She felt a finger under her chin, making her gaze rise to his.

“A kiss, Miss Amberley.” His smile had widened, so that his teeth showed white against his sun-darkened skin. It left her breathless, at once alarmed and excited.

“I, I—No. Really, Sir James, what you suggest is quite beyond the bounds of propriety,” she said as primly as she could. But somehow Sophia could not take her gaze from his face. There was an intent, almost feral look in his eyes.

“I am afraid I am quite unfamiliar with the bounds of propriety. The lack occurs, you know, when one has been away from one’s home country for so long.”

“D-does it? I... I suppose you should learn, then, Sir James.”

“Perhaps you can teach me.”

She should have moved away from him, but she felt she could not. Convulsively she clutched the rose in her hand, and a thorn pushed through her glove to her skin. “Oh! Oh, I am afraid I have hurt myself!” There, she thought, half relieved that the pain had cleared her mind. That should distract him. He cannot want to kiss a lady who may bleed upon his freshly washed clothes. Sophia was finally able to look away from him and noticed that they were behind the tall hedges, quite hidden from the house. She really should not be here with him. What if someone should notice?

“I am sorry.” Sir James took her hand in his, turning it so that she could see the blood staining her York tan glove. Slowly, carefully, he pulled off her glove. He slipped one finger off at a time, and Sophia could not help staring at him as he did so. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the cut. His clasp was warm as he wiped the blood away. He lifted the palm of her hand to his lips and kissed it. He smiled at her. “It is the least I can do, is it not?” He kissed again, this time on the inner, soft part of her wrist.

Sophia watched, unwillingly fascinated. He lifted his head, looking at her, and there was something compelling in his gaze. He had green eyes, she noted. Green like a cat’s.

“Kiss me, Sophia.”

She said nothing as he came closer and then could not say anything even if she chose. Sir James’s lips were soft upon hers, then more firm. She gasped, and his kiss grew deeper. Sophia had allowed a few select admirers to kiss her before, but never had she been compelled to—or at least felt she was compelled to take a kiss. And those past kisses had never been like this.
You shouldn’t, oh, you shouldn’t,
whispered a conscience she had forgotten some years ago.
Oh, no, you definitely should not,
her mind echoed, and her arms finally responded. She pushed against his chest, but he did not let her go until her arms weakened at last and she succumbed once more to his lips. Only then did he draw away from her.

Putting her fingers to her lips, Sophia stared at Sir James. He smiled at her, but his gaze settled upon her lips, as if he thought to kiss her again. No. She could not let him do that again. It was not in her plans. And if word of this ever got back to anyone in the house, she could not follow through with her scheme to make Rothwick regret anything at all. She put up her chin.

“Are you persuaded now, Sir James?”

For one moment Sophia thought an angry look sparked in his eyes, but it was so fleeting she could not tell. There was only his smile, and she could not discern anything from that.

“Persuaded? I think so.”

“And you will come to call, and cultivate Lady Rothwick’s acquaintance?”

His smile grew wider. “Why not?”

She gave her most brilliant smile in return. “You are so very kind, Sir James. Lady Rothwick will appreciate your attentions, I am certain.” She took his arm, and they turned away from behind the hedges. Sophia looked about her and saw that there was no one near, nor did she see anyone at the windows of the house.