Chapter Ten
Devil take the duke! He has completely spoiled my desire to seduce Lord Haviland.
—Roslyn to Fanny
“Woolgathering, Miss Loring?” the Earl of Haviland said mildly as he slowed his pair of spirited bays to a walk.
Slanting a guilty look at the handsome nobleman in the phaeton’s seat beside her, Roslyn shook herself from her brooding reverie. Her thoughts had been so distracted, she’d completely lost track of the conversation.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said, her face warming with embarrassment. “What were you saying?”
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’t my 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.
The curricle lost some speed as Arden negotiated the turn, but then he urged the grays faster. Roslyn clung to the side railing as the curricle bucked and shuddered over the uneven ground. Yet she could tell they were losing the chase.
She was certain of it when suddenly the bay horse plunged off the lane and disappeared into the woods.
Arden slowed the curricle when they reached the path the rider had taken, but the opening in the trees was too narrow for the curricle to negotiate. Having no way to follow, he drew his panting grays to a halt. They could hear the dull echo of hoofbeats growing ever more distant.
“Blast, blast, blast!” Roslyn sputtered, banging her fist on her knee in frustration.
“So explain to me why we were chasing him,” Arden said when she finally fell silent. “You believe he was the highwayman who held you up last week?”
“Yes, didn’t you see his right arm? He wore it in a sling.”
“And you found him in Lady Freemantle’s house?”
“Yes. At first I thought he was one of her footmen, but I caught him in her dressing room, in the act of rifling through her jewel case. I don’t think he had time to steal anything—he ran from me as soon he saw me—” Roslyn broke off suddenly to point at the lane in front of them. “Why are we just wasting time sitting here? We need to hunt for the thief,” she said urgently.
“Just what do you propose we do?” Drew asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“He was headed in the direction of Chiswick. We should at least inquire in the village if anyone has seen him.”
She reached for the reins, but Drew held them away. “No you don’t. I still haven’t recovered from the shock of you absconding with my rig. And I’m damned if I want you risking my horses’ lives again, or our own.”
He set his pair into a brisk, ground-eating trot, heading toward Chiswick, which calmed Roslyn enough for him to question her about the highwayman.
“Why did you think him to be a footman?” Drew asked as they drove.
Her brow furrowed. “I just assumed so because he was dressed in livery.”
Drew shook his head. “He wore a different color livery than the Freemantle servants. His coat was dark blue with gold trim. Her ladyship’s colors are burgundy and silver.”
“I didn’t think of that,” she said.
“So why was he in disguise?”
“I’m not certain. Perhaps he thought he could more easily sneak into the house if he could be mistaken for a servant.”
“But why take such a risk?”
“Because,” Roslyn mused aloud, “Winifred was too well guarded after last night’s ball?”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Drew conceded.
“He must have wanted her brooch. He didn’t seem interested in her diamonds this time, just like the last.”
“What the devil is so special about that brooch?”
“I have no idea,” she answered. “Its value is mostly sentimental since it contains a portrait of Winifred’s late husband inside. But I wouldn’t think Sir Rupert’s likeness would be of any interest to anyone but her.”
“Was the brooch in her jewel case?”
“No. After the holdup, she decided to keep it in a safer place, thank heavens. She would be devastated if it were stolen.”
“You realize that searching the village will likely be futile? I doubt he will have let himself be seen there—or anywhere else near here for that matter. Not with every farmer and tradesman in the district on the lookout for him.”
“I know, but I must do something.”
“What you should do,” Drew muttered under his breath, “is allow me to take you home.”
“Don’t you want to catch him?”
“Of course. But I dislike the way you keep putting yourself in dangerous, possibly life-threatening situations.”
Roslyn turned her head to stare at him. “You can’t honestly fault me for trying to prevent him from stealing my friend’s prize possession?”
“In fact I do. I admire your determination, but you could have been seriously hurt just now, not to mention that you could have lamed my horses.”
“I’m sorry, but I was desperate.”
“Have you ever even driven a pair before?”
“No,” Roslyn replied a trifle guiltily, “but I am quite proficient at driving one horse since I take out our gig frequently.”
“It isn’t the same thing. I shall have to teach you how to handle a pair.”
“No, you will not! I have had more than enough lessons from you, your grace, thank you all the same.”
“Stop addressing me as ‘your grace’ in that stately tone. We have gone far beyond such formalities. My name is Drew.”
“I know what your name is. But that doesn’t mean I care to use it.”
“Why not?”
“It would signify too much intimacy between us.”
He didn’t point out that they had already been a great deal more intimate than merely using their given names, since he didn’t wish to remind Roslyn of their acrimonious parting last evening. Instead, Drew cast her a sideways glance, surveying her. She had to be chilled. Her afternoon dress of gray twilled silk was not meant to withstand a windy drive on such a stormy day.
He drew the horses to a halt and handed her the reins. “Don’t you dare drive. Just hold them for a moment.” Taking off his coat, he slid it around her shoulders.
“You don’t have much sense, chasing after him without so much as a shawl.”
“I don’t care about my comfort. I just want to find the thief so he will stop terrorizing Winifred.”
Drew bit back the sharp remark that was on the tip of his tongue. It exasperated him that Roslyn would chase after the thief with no thought to her own safety, even though he had to admire her courage and her determination to get to the bottom of the mystery and protect her friend, Lady Freemantle. But he knew she wouldn’t rest until she had her way.
In a few moments they arrived in the small village of Chiswick, which boasted a market, a posting inn and tavern, a blacksmith, and a church, in addition to several shops. Drew escorted Roslyn into each one and took over the questioning. But the result was just as he’d expected. No one had seen any sign of the thieving footman; his trail had gone completely cold just like before.
Roslyn was not happy to admit defeat. “This is so frustrating,” she exclaimed as Drew handed her up into his curricle. “He has escaped twice now.”
“I know, but we’ve done all we can do this afternoon.” Hearing a distant roll of thunder, he glanced up at the darkening sky. “I need to return you to Freemantle Park. There’s a storm brewing, and we don’t want to be caught in it.”
“We can’t simply give up,” Roslyn protested. “I doubt he will stop trying until we apprehend him.”
“I’m not giving up,” Drew assured her as he turned his horses back toward the Park. “But there are smarter ways to conduct a search than chasing about in this haphazard fashion.”
“What ways?”
“We start by identifying the livery he was wearing.”
“How can you possibly identify his livery?”
Drew delayed answering momentarily while he urged the grays to a brisker pace. The wind was blustering now and the scent of rain was rife in the air, and he wanted Roslyn safely back before the storm hit.
“I’ll hire a Bow Street Runner to investigate,” Drew said then. “Think about it. He had to have acquired his attire somewhere. He may very well be employed as a footman in some noble household. And if not, it will still put us closer to discovering his identity if we can learn where his costume came from.”
She frowned thoughtfully. “That might indeed work. But I want to speak to Bow Street myself. You have done more than enough already.”
“I don’t mind in the least.”
“Perhaps not, but this is not your problem.”
“I am making it my problem.”
“Your grace,” she said, her tone exasperated, “Winifred is one of my dearest friends, and I wish to handle this problem on my own.”
Drew’s mouth twisted wryly. “Didn’t any of my lessons sink in? Your authoritarian manner is likely to put off your suitors,” he chided lightly. “You should be playing damsel in distress instead.”
“So you can play the silver-armored knight?”
“Quite. It’s good for a man’s self-esteem, letting him feel heroic once in a while.”
Roslyn rolled her eyes. “There is only one difficulty. I have no desire to attract you—or to have you for my suitor.”
“I know. Which I find rather amazing. How many women would reject the hand of a duke?”
She gave him a quelling look. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”
“And I don’t wish to discuss my involvement any further. I’ll pay a visit to Bow Street as soon as I return to London. Now just say a gracious thank-you, sweeting, and hold your tongue.”
“Very well, thank you, your grace,” Roslyn said grudgingly.
“That wasn’t gracious enough,” Drew observed. “I can be of help to you and you know it.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Very well, you win. I would appreciate your help.”
Drew regarded her with satisfaction. After their tumultuous parting last night in the garden, he wanted very much to have Roslyn smile at him again. “That is much better—”
He had only completed half the sentence when a sudden crack of lightning split the sky on their left, followed swiftly by a ferocious clap of thunder. His high-strung horses shied violently at the boom and lunged forward, jerking the curricle behind them.
Drew swore under his breath and tightened his grip on the reins, struggling to hold the grays, yet it was difficult when a gusting wind began buffeting them. And when a second jagged streak of lightning was accompanied by more explosive thunder, the pair panicked and bolted into a gallop.
It was all Drew could do to maintain control as the curricle went careening down the country lane. He had just started to slow the frightened horses when one of the wheels hit a pothole with a loud crack, jolting the vehicle so hard that both he and Roslyn were nearly thrown from their seats.
Drew caught her and clung precariously as the curricle canted at a dangerous angle. They were dragged behind the racing pair for a hundred yards or more, until at last he managed to haul the horses to a trembling halt.
“Are you all right?” he demanded of Roslyn.
“Yes,” she said shakily. “What of the horses?”
Tossing her the reins, Drew jumped down and went to their heads, trying to soothe them. “They’re unharmed, but the wheel is shot.”
The metal rim had come off and the wooden wheel had splintered in fragments, so that the axle was almost touching the ground. The wheel would have to be repaired before the curricle was functional again.
In any event, outracing the storm was out of the question, for already they were being pelted by stinging raindrops.
He was debating whether to walk back to the village or search for the nearest farm when the heavens suddenly opened up. In seconds they were drenched by a torrent of icy rain.
Drew immediately set to work unharnessing the horses, and when another lightning bolt shook the ground, Roslyn climbed down from the curricle and pointed at a shadowy structure set back off the lane.
“There is a cottage,” she shouted. “Can we take shelter there?”
“Better than remaining here,” Drew responded over the din. The cottage would offer nominal protection from the lightning and slashing rain at least.
Roslyn helped him to unbuckle the leather straps of the harnesses, but for her safety, Drew led the nervous horses through the deluge.
It was slow going. They could barely see in the downpour, and her shoes were not made for trudging over uneven ground made treacherous with mud.
The lightning struck dangerously close again just as they finally reached the cottage. The small dwelling was built of stone with a thatched roof, Drew saw, and boasted a shed for livestock against one wall.
“I recognize this place,” Roslyn shouted again. “It belongs to the Widow Jearson, but she may not be here. I heard she is visiting her granddaughter for her lying-in.” Stumbling forward, Roslyn dragged open the door to the shed. “Yes, I was right. She has a pony and cart, but they are both are gone. There is room for your horses, though.”
Drew led the skittish grays inside while Roslyn quickly shut the door behind them to keep out the fierce gusts of rain. As he took stock of the shed, she leaned back against the door in obvious relief, her breath a little ragged. Through the dim light slanting through the one window, he could see she was soaked to the skin, with her hair plastered to her head. His coat had been useless in protecting her, but at least she was now safe from the ferocity of the storm.
There was only one stall, but it would serve to hold the horses, Drew decided, and there was even a forkful of hay in the manger to keep them occupied. He removed their bridles and turned the grays loose, but to his surprise, Roslyn followed them inside.
She had rummaged in a cupboard and found some rags, which she proceeded to use to wipe down their soaked hides.
“You don’t have to curry my horses, sweeting,” Drew said, relieving her of a rag.
She flashed him a damp smile. “I feel obliged, since they suffered enough abuse at my hands for one day. And it won’t be good for them to be put up wet.”
It didn’t totally surprise him that she would place the animals’ comfort and well-being over her own, but it did surprise him that a lady of her breeding would know how to properly care for blood horses.
“Where did you learn to groom?”
“My sisters and I had to care for our own mounts for the past four years, since our step-uncle wouldn’t let his grooms assist us.”
Drew found his jaw tightening at the reminder of the late Lord Danvers. The miserly curmudgeon had treated his step-nieces like supplicants, not only forcing them to work for their livings and become teachers at their academy, but to perform the tasks of menial servants.
“We didn’t mind,” Roslyn added when she saw his frown. “And Lily thrived on it. She would much rather spend her time in a barn than a ballroom.”
When they had finished, the grays not only were much drier but had calmed down significantly. They stood quietly munching hay, even though rain still drummed fiercely upon the roof and outside thunder rolled and lightning crackled.
Roslyn, however, had begun shivering in her wet clothing.
“Let’s move to the cottage,” Drew said. “It will be warmer there.”
“The doors may be locked,” she replied skeptically.
“Then we’ll break in. You can’t stay here in this condition.”
Leaving the shed, they made a dash through the rain for the front cottage door, which indeed was locked. Drew had to pry open a window in order to gain access. He climbed inside, then ushered Roslyn in through the door and slammed it behind her.
“I don’t think Mrs. Jearson will mind if we take refuge here,” Roslyn said breathlessly as she stood drenched and dripping, “but she won’t be pleased that we’ve damaged her home.”
“I’ll repay her, of course.”
The interior was cold and dark, since minimal light seeped in through the shutters. But it was spotlessly clean and quite comfortable—or it would be once they got a fire going in the hearth.
There were two rooms, Drew saw. The main one that served as living quarters and kitchen, and a smaller one to the rear that was obviously a bedchamber.
“The accommodations are not what a duke is accustomed to,” Roslyn said, moving to the kitchen. “Mrs. Jearson is a pensioner of Sir Alfred and Lady Perry—she was nanny to their children, but she has no other income.”
“It will do well enough,” Drew said with all honesty.
In truth, he was just as pleased that the widow wasn’t here. He hadn’t planned this debacle, but he was glad to have the chance to be alone with Roslyn. He not only wanted to clear the air between them, he wanted time to persuade her to accept his proposal of marriage.
Drew shook his head in sardonic amusement. The fact that he actually welcomed being caught in a chilling rainstorm so he could further his matrimonial goals was solid proof that he had gone a little daft.
A fire had been laid with logs, so he knelt on the rug in front of hearth to light the kindling, while Roslyn lit a lamp in the kitchen.
The glow helped present the illusion of comfort. The storm continued to lash the small cottage—wind shook the shutters and rain pounded on the roof—but inside the sounds were hushed.
“I don’t want to light the stove,” Roslyn said while searching through the cupboards, “since hopefully the storm will pass soon and we can be on our way. But I could make some tea at the fireplace.”
“Can you?” Drew asked.
“Yes. There is a canister of tea here and fresh water in an urn.”
“I meant, do you know how?”
“I am capable of boiling water, your grace,” she replied, her tone dry.
His mouth twitched. “I don’t doubt you are a woman of many talents,” he said as he sat in a wooden chair to remove his sodden boots. “But I wouldn’t expect you to know much about cooking.”
Across the room, Roslyn shrugged. “We were raised to privilege, but we had to learn any number of new skills once we lost our home and fortunes.” Glancing up, she regarded him across the room. “You seem surprised.”
He was indeed surprised. He couldn’t imagine his imperious mother deigning to make her own tea over an open fire, or grooming her own horses either.
But Roslyn seemed efficient as she filled the kettle and hung it in the hearth to boil.
Then remaining there, she held her chilled hands out before the struggling fire. Even over the snapping flames, Drew could hear her teeth chattering, and she was obviously shivering.
“You had best take off your wet gown,” he said casually as he pulled off his second boot and started on his stockings.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyebrow lifted in a perfect arch. “You cannot be serious.”
“Do you think I mean to ravish you? When you look as appealing as a bedraggled cat?”
She studied him silently, a worried frown creasing her brow.
Drew kept his expression bland. He had meant to set her at ease regarding his lascivious intentions, but even with her looking like the pitiful victim of a shipwreck, he still felt an uncommonly powerful attraction for her. And seeing her soaked and shivering brought out his protective instincts, along with other less-nurturing urges that were strong and powerfully male.
“There should be some blankets in the bedchamber. You can swathe yourself head to toe.”
“Thank you, but I will be fine as I am.”
“You would rather freeze?”
“I think perhaps I might.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be foolish. I have seen your charms more than once, angel. Taking off your gown would hardly be a worse offense.”
“Please, do not remind me. Last night was a mistake. It should never have happened.”
Drew couldn’t disagree more. Last night had certainly not been a mistake—and he meant to make Roslyn understand that.
“I am crushed,” he drawled. “My first proposal of marriage ever, and you fling it back in my face.”
“Because you weren’t at all serious.”
“I beg to differ. I was deadly serious.”
Roslyn’s short laugh held little amusement. “You were only trying to demonstrate your prowess. You are devastatingly adept at lovemaking, and you wanted to prove how easily you could seduce me. It meant nothing to you.”
“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” he said in a low voice.
Instead of answering, she faced the fire again and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop shivering.
“Roslyn,” Drew said again, “go take off your gown before you catch your death. I promise I won’t ravish you.” At least not without invitation.
“No. Last night was bad enough.”
“You’re afraid Haviland will learn we are here together, but I won’t tell him, I promise.”
“Haviland, among others. It is highly improper for us to be here alone like this, even if we had little choice.”
But Drew’s attention was still focused on his rival. “You haven’t told me how your drive with him went this morning. Did you even go?”
“Yes, I drove out with him,” she said slowly.
“After I specifically asked you not to?”
Roslyn turned her head to stare at him. “You cannot possibly be jealous of Haviland.”
He wanted to deny it, but even to his own ears his tone held irritation and impatience. Curse it all, of course he could be jealous. Roslyn wanted another man. Lord, how he hated the idea.
Before he could reply, another wracking shudder ran through her, which only added to his growing ire. When she clenched her teeth together to keep them from clacking, Drew had had enough.
“Roslyn, my sweet, take yourself into the bedchamber and divest yourself of those wet garments before I do it for you.”
She eyed him for a long moment before giving an exasperated sigh. “You probably would, wouldn’t you?”
“Most assuredly.”
She didn’t quite stalk into the other room, but she was clearly not happy about having to obey his order.
During her absence, Drew took the opportunity to remove most of his own soggy clothing—his cravat and waistcoat and shirt—and hung them on wall pegs to dry. In the interest of propriety, he left on his drawers and breeches, no matter how cold and clammy they were, and crossed to the hearth to warm his chilled body before the growing blaze.
But even that, apparently, was too risqué for Roslyn. When a brief while later she emerged from the bedchamber with her feet bare and a quilt wrapped around her shoulders, she came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes widened as she surveyed his partial state of undress, the blush staining her cheeks revealing her discomfort.
“I f-found a blanket for you,” she stammered. “You should cover yourself.”
“I will be happy to.”
When he made no move toward her, though, she slowly crossed to him and handed him the blanket. Drew draped it around his shoulders as Roslyn quickly turned away. His loins had hardened at the thought of her naked beneath that quilt, but when it parted slightly, he saw that she’d kept on her chemise, even though the lawn fabric was wet.
She was carrying her sopping gown and other undergarments, however, and hung them on wall pegs before casting him a wary glance as if to ask, “Now what?”
Drew was very aware of the sudden tension in the air, just as he knew she was.
She was also still trembling with cold.
“Come warm yourself at the fire,” he said, feigning indifference.
She obeyed with obvious reluctance—and then jumped when he reached up touch her hair. “What are you doing?”
“Taking down your hair. It’s still dripping wet. You need to dry it if you hope to get warm.”
Her indecision was understandable; she couldn’t remove the pins from her hair and still keep hold of the quilt.
She stood stock-still while his fingers searched for the pins that held up the heavy gold mass, then smoothed the damp tresses down her back. “There, that should help.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, glancing up at him.
Drew sucked in a sharp breath. The light thrown by the flames cast a golden glow over her beautiful face. She was temptation itself, and he wasn’t able to resist.
Slowly he lifted his hand to her face, letting his thumb trace her jaw.
“I th-think I had best make the tea,” Roslyn said shakily.
“The water isn’t hot yet.”
When he moved his fingers to her lips, she drew in a sharp breath, too. “You promised….” Her protest was no more than a whisper.
His smile was tender. “I said I wouldn’t ravish you, and I won’t.” But ravishment implies lack of consent, he added silently to himself, and I promise your consent won’t be lacking.
“Sit here on the rug,” he said aloud, moving his hands to her shoulders to nudge her down. When she complied, he knelt behind her.
Roslyn went rigid. “Drew….”
“Hush, sweeting. Let me warm you.” He slid his arms around her, along with his blanket. “You’re half frozen.”
Leaning closer, he eased her down so that they both lay on their sides, her head resting on his left arm, his bare chest pressed against her back, his loins cradling her derriere. Although her quilt still separated them, he knew she could feel his body heat.
He felt an inexplicable heat inside him as well, despite the chill of his flesh. It was possibly madness, what he was contemplating, but instinct drove him, not reason.
Gazing into the crackling fire, Drew found himself smiling at the irony. After so many years of eluding matrimony, he was about to make the choice irrevocable. He intended to make love to Roslyn here and now. To claim her for his bride.
His surrender seemed somehow fated, though, and shortly Roslyn would feel the same way. She was willfully deceiving herself, Drew reflected. She felt a mutual passion for him, he was certain of it, even though she stubbornly continued to deny it.
And before they left this cottage, he would prove it to her conclusively.