The Rogue's Reluctant Rose (12 page)

So overwhelmed was she by his very presence, that it was a moment before his words registered. With a gasp of outrage, Araminta spun on her heel and stalked back to the room, his laughter following her all the way down the corridor.

“Do come down for breakfast, Miss Barrington, once you are ready,” he called after her.

Reaching her room, Araminta stormed inside and slammed the door behind her, which served to relieve only a little of her anger.
The nerve of that man!
She fumed indignantly. She wondered how he managed to captivate, mortify and infuriate her in the space of a second. Just because he had no sense of how a gentleman ought to behave, did not mean that he ought to be allowed to take such liberties with her! No, she decided, if he thought for a minute that she would come down to eat breakfast with him, then he was deeply mistaken. Or perhaps she ought to go to breakfast with cool dignity, and speak to him with all the iciness his behaviour warranted. With great determination Araminta ignored that part of her that secretly relished the idea of seeing him again.

***

Walking back downstairs, Chestelton found that he had very much enjoyed his encounter with the captivating Miss Barrington. Very much so, in fact, though he would be damned if he knew what it was about the girl that had captured him so and would not let him be. She was prettier than many women, though not as handsome as some, and there was little in her appearance just then, following her illness, to inspire particular attraction. And yet he had felt desire course through him when he realised who it was who had had the impertinence to collide with him in the hallway. The sensation of that soft body pressed against him sent a thrill of lust through his body, and had she not scrambled away from him as quickly as she had done, she might have learned the extent of his enjoyment then and there.

He had been instantly taken in by her flushed face as she stuttered her apology, and the flash in her unique eyes as she recognised him. Her hair had been tousled in a way that brought to his mind long, pleasurable nights, and though her face had been pale, her large eyes had sparkled with life and innocence. Her lips, which had once again reminded him of roses, captured his attention as she continued speaking. He had been unable to resist teasing her when he’d noticed her delightful state of undress. He knew perfectly well that she was not as impervious to his charms as she would have liked them both to believe.

He had also felt a sense of relief to see her up and well. He had spent two sleepless nights pacing the floor of his study, clutching a tumbler of whiskey, until Becky had assured him that the young woman was out of danger. He had still been determined to call the doctor back when the fever showed no signs of abating, no matter the hour of night, but Mrs Becker had at last persuaded him that it was quite unnecessary. All that remained was for her to sleep and regain her strength. At least the old housekeeper had asked no questions, for he would have been hard-pressed to explain why his concern for the girl seemed to extend beyond what could reasonably be expected of him under the circumstances.

Try as he might, he was unable to forget the feeling of her limp in his arms, and the feeling of her waking up briefly, only to press closer into his secure embrace. The sudden sensibility he was feeling was an anomaly, he knew: an absurdity. It was nothing but his desire for the girl magnified because of her stubborn resistance to him.

But she was now a guest in his house, and her stay would be an extended one, if he had any say about it, and so his opportunity to free himself had come at last. The only way for him to tire of her, would be to have what he had been craving for so long, what he knew her to be craving also, though she refused to admit it even to herself. Jasper knew that he had to have her, had to feel her silky body against his, her eyes glazed with passion for him, crying out his name. He had to tangle his fingers in her long, dark hair in a moment of that most intimate of pleasures. He had to possess her. He had to seduce her.

***

Araminta looked over her appearance in the mirror once more, her critical gaze carefully scanning over every fold of her dress. Her hair had been brushed and pinned severely atop her head, which only highlighted the paleness of her skin, and made her look like a schoolmarm or a librarian. She had chosen the most demure of the dresses in the cupboard, a rust coloured gown, with a modest cut. She knew that the colour did not suit her, and she wanted to give Chestleton no cause to find favour with her appearance.

The only concession she had made to her toilette was to dab a bit of the lavender water from the cut-glass bottle on the dresser onto her wrists.

At first she had decided that nothing in the world would persuade her to set foot in the breakfast parlour, icy politeness or no. However, after wrestling with herself for a while, she had come to the conclusion that that would only serve to show Chestleton how much he had managed to unsettle her. No, hiding in her room would only give him pleasure and she refused to let him believe he had any serious effect on her. The best way to offend a man like that would be to show him that she thought so little of their encounter that she felt no shame in sitting down to breakfast with him.

Araminta knew what Jasper Devereaux was about, because where young women were concerned, he was always about the same thing. It was one of the reasons she was determined to leave as soon as she possibly could, which had to be soon now that she had recovered from her fall. However, while she remained in his presence, she would make sure to be as unappealing and drab as she possibly could. She would not throw away her future and that of her family, on a frivolous seduction.

A treacherous voice at the back of her head whispered that any seduction undertaken by the Marquis of Chestleton would be far from frivolous. The voice cruelly added that if only Araminta were honest with herself, she did not object to the idea all that much. The very thought brought blood rushing to her cheeks as she pushed away a mental picture of tangled limbs and stolen kisses, though her idea of the thing was quite vague, based on what she had once read in a particularly risqué book smuggled into school by one of her schoolfellows, and circulated industriously about.

Setting her chin stubbornly, Araminta surveyed her austere appearance in the mirror. She was willing to admit that the marquis was not unattractive, and he could perhaps be charming when he wanted to. But this only made him all the more dangerous. Nodding in approval at the figure in the glass, Araminta made her way down to the breakfast room.

***

Chestelton was already there when she arrived, and a sumptuous breakfast was waiting for her, spread over the large table. He rose as she swept into the room.

Chestleton’s eyes travelled over her quickly when she approached the table and the corners of his thin, sensuous mouth quirked in amusement. All politeness, he drew out her chair for her, and helped her sit, just barely brushing her shoulders with his fingers as he drew in her chair.

“Ah, my dear, I see you have decided to change your attire after all. I am a little disappointed, but I must say, you look quite ravishing,” he said, savouring the last word like a fine wine. He watched with amusement as her own mouth twitched briefly, before her face returned to looking impassive. One look at her choice of gown had been enough to tell him what game she intended to play. She would dress like a governess and act like a saint, and pretend that nothing at all remarkable had occurred between them.

Oh, yes. He knew what game she meant to play. Chestleton liked games — and he always played to win. Particularly when playing at cat-and-mouse.

“Lord Chestleton,” she began, once the butler had placed a silver tea pot before her. With an elegantly practised movement, Araminta poured herself a cup of tea and helped herself from a hotplate of scrambled eggs, which a servant had brought for her.

“Yes,
Miss
Barrington?” he murmured, exaggerating the honorific mockingly.

Araminta’s eyes flashed at him in annoyance, though the rest of her face remained still. “I don’t believe I have thanked you for bringing me in out of the rain. It was very generous of you to do so, and I am grateful. But I am recovered now, as you can see, and I feel it would not do to impose upon you any longer.”

He regarded her steadily for a moment, and she fought not to shift uncomfortably, feeling sure that he was somehow reading her mind, that he would see right through her ploy. At last, he smiled, his polite reserve perfectly matching hers.

“Not at all, Miss Barrington. I did as any gentleman would. And you are certainly not imposing. Perish the thought, my dear.”

Araminta nodded slightly. “Thank you. All the same, I would very much like to return home.”

“And collapse before you are more than half-way there? Oh, no. I will have none of that, my dove. You say you are fully recovered, but I can see, even from where I am, that your hands are shaking.”

Araminta glanced down at her hands, which had been holding the silverware. His observation was correct, though Araminta was sure that he knew as well as she did that her hands shook out of anger at being denied a way out from under his roof.

“Lord Chestleton,” she began, voice rising slightly, “I am an unmarried young woman, and you are a bachelor. We cannot, in all propriety, live together in this house for any length of time. It would not do. Why, it would scandalise the
ton
!”

He chuckled, and his deep contrabass voice brushed across her senses like dark velvet. For a moment, she felt her resistance waver. “The
ton
, or your
beloved
Sir Timothy? But I am sure that he will be most understanding, given your current circumstances. I wouldn’t worry, however, Miss Barrington. If it is a chaperone you want, then take Becky by all means. That way we can all be sure that your virtue is very, very safe indeed.”

His eyes suggested otherwise, and Araminta narrowed hers. Two pink spots appeared on her pale cheeks. “Very well, then,” she said, as if issuing a challenge, and she began to dig into her breakfast with a most unladylike gusto. She felt sure that her mother and her Aunt Worthing would have been horrified if they could see her, but if that was what it took to keep the marquis and his sinful voice away from her, then that was what she would do.

Chestleton watched her with amusement, and when she had eaten her fill, he leaned back in his chair.

“I am pleased to see you possessed of such an
appetite
, Miss Barrington.” His tone had been nothing if not polite, yet something in his manner hinted at things debauched.

“I am sure that your pleasure, Lord Chestleton, is furthest from my mind,” she replied primly.

“And yet please me you do.”

Feeling scandalised, and doing her utmost not to show it, knowing that it would only give the marquis further amusement, Araminta excused herself from the table, and hurried back to her rooms, where she spent some time at the window seat, looking longingly out at the lawns. The rain had stopped, and the sky looked as though it might clear.

A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie.

“Enter,” she called out absently, and Mrs Becker appeared, smiling warmly upon seeing Araminta so much recovered.

“Good morning, Miss. Why, you are looking much better, if I may say so.”

“Thank you, Mrs Becker.” Araminta smiled also. The old housekeeper reminded her greatly of Kitty.

“His lordship sent me, Miss. He enquired if you would care to venture out of doors now that the weather has improved.” The housekeeper’s face took on a disapproving expression as she continued, “Now, I don’t think it is at all a wise thing to do. You were delirious only two days ago. However, Lord Chestleton seems to think that you might wish to ascertain the well-being of your horse.”

“Nightstar?” Araminta had been about to refuse, having no desire to venture anywhere in the company of the infuriating man who had now become her captor, but the temptation to see Nightstar was too great. Something told her that Chestleton had known she would feel that way. “Yes, thank you, Mrs Becker. I would very much like to see him. I am certain that it would do no harm to walk out to the stables and back again.”

Mrs Becker’s expression suggested otherwise, but she nodded and procured a shawl for Araminta, before leading her through the house and across the lawns. The air was fresh and smelled of rain, which Araminta found a relief after having been indoors for what felt like three years instead of two days. The atmosphere inside felt charged with Lord Chestleton’s presence, and she was glad to be outdoors, where she could escape it.

“His lordship said that he would await you in the rose garden, Miss Barrington,” Mrs Becker informed her, just as Araminta closed her eyes to take another breath of fresh air. Araminta’s eyes flew open at the reminder. She had somehow dared hope that he would not bother showing her to the stables himself. She had no doubt that he had better things with which to occupy his time. Faced with the prospect of his company yet again, it now seemed a foolish hope.

Araminta had always enjoyed the rose garden at Dillwood Park. Visiting Mary as a child, they had spent some very happy times trying to evade their nurses and sneak into the garden, where they had not been permitted without supervision. When the roses were in full bloom, their heady scent lingering around the little stone walkways and benches, it had seemed like the most romantic place in the world, a fairyland filled with princes and magic and true love. Araminta had been sure in those moments that someday, her very own handsome price would come for her, and they would fall in love on sight, and live happily together in his castle. She had decided that his castle would have a rose garden just like this one, and that they would walk in it every day.

Now, Araminta felt so far removed from that happy, fanciful, little girl, that it was as if they were strangers. Thanks to the cruel circumstances which had left her with no other choice, she no longer had the luxury of marrying for love, and thinking about it now,
here
, made her throat tighten and her eyes prickle.