Several hours later, Roma was reluctantly entering the carriage her aunt had sent to fetch her. After sternly lecturing her unctuous bailiff, she had devoted a good part of the afternoon to updating the household accounts and inspecting the gardens. Activities she had performed on dozens of occasions without undue thought, but which today had taken an inordinate amount of effort. Her unruly mind simply refused to concentrate on the tasks at hand. And even when Mrs. Stone had bullied her into taking to her bed for a few hours of rest, she had found herself tossing with a restless dissatisfaction.
It was concern for William, of course, she had told herself severely. Being back at Greystead only more forcibly reminded her of her dearest brother and the strange manner of his disappearance. It also reminded her of her dismal failure to locate the smallest trace of a clue.
At last she had been driven into rising and dressing for the evening ahead. In an effort to distract her thoughts, she had allowed her maid to arrange her fiery curls in an elegant knot atop her head and to dress her in a gown of ivory satin with velvet trimmings in a becoming emerald shade.
Now she felt decidedly self-conscious as they rolled across the short path from Greystead to Rosehill. She had no desire for Lord Carlton to presume she had attired herself in so fashionable a mode for his benefit. After all, she had no doubt any number of foolish maidens would attempt such blatant methods of attracting his attention. And he was certainly odious enough to make such an assumption.
She would simply have to treat him with the cool composure that she had practiced, she reassured herself. It should prove her indifference. Tilting her chin to a determined angle, she watched as Rosehill came into view.
An older home than Greystead, the manor followed the picturesque Gothic style. Much to the pride of her aunt, the house had recently received the attentions of the extraordinarily talented James Wyatt. His work had renovated the sadly disrepaired building into a showpiece. He had even consented to extend his efforts to the large chapel and conservatory.
The carriage drew to a halt, and Roma allowed the uniformed footman to help her to alight. Then, crossing to the open door, she gave a sudden smile as she caught sight of the tall, wiry man waiting in the wide entrance hall.
“Good evening, Miss Allendyle,” the butler intoned with all the dignity of his London counterpart.
“Good evening, Polsun.” Roma ignored the polished dignity of the servant. She had known Bob Polsun since she was old enough to walk. “How is your son?”
An answering smile abruptly softened his rigid expression. “Much improved. Why, only this morning the doctor was saying he was astonished with the boy’s progress.” His voice grew husky with affection. “I do not know how we can possibly express our gratitude.”
Roma waved aside the words with a hint of embarrassment. When Mrs. Stone had written to inform her that the poor boy was suffering from an inflammation of the lungs, it had seemed only natural to seek the advice of a London specialist and to send back the powders he recommended.
“Let us only be happy with the knowledge that Richard is on the mend.” She brought a firm close to his words of thanks. “Has my aunt come down yet?”
“No”—his regard became watchful—“but I believe that Lord Carlton is in the formal drawing room.”
“Oh … thank you.” She conjured a stiff smile. “I will show myself in.”
Moving though the hall, Roma halted to feign an interest in the elaborate ebony side table. It wasn’t until she heard the butler retreat toward a side chamber that she glanced about to ensure she was alone. Then, picking up her skirts, she quickly hurried down the vaulted gallery toward the narrow door that would open into the gardens. It might be the act of a coward, but she had no wish to see Lord Carlton without the distracting presence of her aunt and cousin.
She hurried past the tall windows with the thick scarlet curtains and bookcases that contained her uncle’s rare collection of antique books and maps. She didn’t even glance toward the doorway that would open into the drawing room. She hoped to be safely in the garden before anyone even realized that she had arrived.
Unfortunately, Lord Carlton seemed to possess an uncanny knack of thwarting her plans, and she was less than halfway down the hall when the familiar sound of his voice brought her to a sharp stop.
“Searching for someplace to hide, Roma?” he drawled with lazy amusement.
The knowledge that his accusation was far too close for comfort instantly put her on the defense. She might reluctantly admit to herself she was a coward where this man was concerned. It was quite another thing to allow him to suspect the humiliating truth.
Slowly turning about, she forced herself to squarely meet his glittering blue gaze. “Certainly not. I … I simply wished to stroll through the garden before dinner.”
Leaning negligently in the doorway, Lord Carlton slowly straightened, his muscular form exquisitely outlined by the black coat and white satin pantaloons.
“Indeed? A rather chill evening, but I am always eager to fulfill the wishes of a beautiful lady.”
Her eyes widened as he gracefully strolled to join her in the hallway.
“There is no need for you to join me.”
“Of course there is,” he argued. “Why do you think your aunt is so conveniently absent?”
“I haven’t the least notion.”
“She is discreetly allowing us a few moments alone.” He smiled with wicked pleasure at the ready heat that brushed her cheeks. “Do you not think she would find it odd to come down and discover you wandering in a dark garden while I remain by myself in the drawing room?”
Roma clenched her teeth in frustration. Did he always have an answer for everything?
“Oh … very well,” she conceded with ill grace.
Thoroughly indifferent to her pointed lack of enthusiasm, Lord Carlton drew her arm through his own and politely escorted her down the hall and out of the door. Roma held herself stiffly as they entered the shadows of the formal garden, but with her usual bad luck she couldn’t prevent a shiver as the night breeze cut through her thin shawl. Taking full advantage of her weakness, Lord Carlton pulled her shockingly close, using his large form to block the wind.
In silence they passed around the sparkling fountain, turning down a wide path lined with a delicate framework of trelliswork and archways.
“I presume you are delighted to be back at Greystead?” He at last broke the silence.
“Of course.” She couldn’t resist a sideways glance at the noble profile. “Although I fear that you must be insufferably bored?”
“Not at all. Your aunt and cousin have taken great care to see to my comfort. Besides, as I once told you I far prefer to stay in the country.”
She gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“Why?”
“I do not know.” Roma unconsciously frowned. “You simply seem very much at ease in London.”
“Ah … a deadly insult coming from you, eh, Roma?” he taunted in soft tones.
Her heart fluttered in an odd fashion. In truth, she had not intended to insult him. She had merely been thinking of his elegant sophistication and his ease of moving through society. Far different from the makeup of most country gentlemen.
Feeling his gaze closely inspecting her uncertain expression, she hurried to divert his attention.
“Have you seen my uncle’s collection of rare maps?”
For a long moment he continued to regard her in amusement; then, with a shrug, he followed her lead.
“Yes, Claude was kind enough to give me a viewing. He possesses some fine pieces.”
“One day they will be given to a museum, but for now Aunt Clara refuses to part with them. She claims that each one holds a special memory.”
“I admire her decision,” Lord Carlton retorted in a surprisingly sincere tone. “She must have cared a great deal for your uncle.”
“Yes. Like my mother, she was allowed to marry for love.”
“A family tradition?”
“I … I suppose.”
Lord Carlton smiled again as they rounded a corner.
“What did you think of my grandmother?”
Roma glanced at him in puzzlement, wondering why he would be interested in her opinion.
“I found her to very elegant and refined,” she replied in all honesty.
“And?” he persisted.
“And rather outspoken.”
“Did she offend you?”
“Not at all,” Roma admitted. “I prefer outspoken women.”
Lord Carlton laughed softly. “Why does that not surprise me?”
A small silence descended as they turned a corner that would eventually lead back to the main house. At last, Roma spoke the words that had been at the back of her mind since her visit to the elderly lady’s home.
“You seem to be very fond of Lady Chalford.”
“Yes.” His tone was indulgent. “Like you, my own mother died when I was very young. When my father chose to marry again, I was sent to live with my grandmother.”
“Did that bother you?”
He glanced down at her. “My father choosing to remarry or going to live with my grandmother?”
“Your father deciding to marry,” she clarified, wondering how she would react if her own father had taken the same path.
“Actually it bothered me a great deal,” he startled her by admitting. “I thought my father to be a heartless cad. In my mind, he was betraying the memory of my mother. It wasn’t until I grew older that I realized he was simply attempting to relieve the loneliness of her death.” He gave her a faint smile. “Thankfully we made our peace before he died.”
“So now it is just you and your grandmother?” she asked softly.
He grimaced in a rueful fashion. “And a handful of distant cousins who go to bed each evening with the prayer I remain unwed.”
She felt a strange pang in the center of her heart.
“And will you?” she inquired before she could halt the words.
“Remain unmarried?” A disturbing glint entered those blue eyes. “No. I intend to marry. In the not too distant future as a matter of fact.”
“Indeed?”
The annoying pang once again made itself felt. Ridiculous, of course. Whether this man decided to marry or not was none of her concern. Indeed, it should be of the utmost indifference if he were to wed a half-a-dozen witless debutantes.
But while she firmly reassured herself that she hoped he landed with a harpy that plagued him night and day, the image of him standing at the altar with a porcelain beauty at his side sent her stumbling forward in an awkward motion.
“Take care,” Lord Carlton warned, but even as he grasped her waist in a steadying gesture, Roma felt a painful tug on her hair.
“Oh … blast,” she gritted as she realized her elegantly arranged curls had managed to become entangled in the wooden archway.
This was what came of wool-headed girls with more vanity than sense, she chided herself sternly, illogically blaming her predicament on her elegantly styled curls rather than her ludicrous reaction to his bland announcement of his intent to wed.
“Hold still,” Lord Carlton commanded, loosening his grip on her waist to inspect her tangled curls. “I fear you have made a devilish mess of this, my dear.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, far too conscious of his nearness.
“Could you please just untangle me?” she demanded.
“Patience, Roma,” he murmured gently pulling at her uncooperative locks.
“Surely it can not be that difficult?”
Glancing down, he met her rigid embarrassment with a slow smile. “Actually it is quite difficult. How am I to concentrate when I am being so thoroughly distracted by that enticing scent of honeysuckle?”
“My lord …”
“Giles,” he corrected in low tones.
Her breath was disturbingly elusive as she sought to retrieve her shattered composure.
“Are you going to assist me or not?”
“Well, I have no intention of leaving you to pass the evening in this garden,” he teased in light tones. “You needn’t work yourself into a panic.”
“I am not in a panic,” she denied, wincing at her breathless tone.
“No, of course not,” he drawled.
“I am not—ouch.”
“I told you to hold still.” His breath sweetly brushed her cheek as he gave a last tug. “There. You are free.”
Thoroughly unnerved, she waited for him to step back so that they could resume their circuit to the house. Annoyingly he remained towering over her with that devilish amusement softening the angles of his magnificent countenance.
“We should return to the house,” she at last charged, hoping she did not appear as flustered as she felt.
“There is no hurry.”
“Aunt Clara will be wondering what we are doing out here for such a length of time.”
“I am confident Lady Welford’s romantic disposition will provide any number of reasons why we chose to linger.” A slender finger lightly brushed her heated cheek. “The moonlight, the scent of the night air, the pleasure of a few stolen kisses.”
“This is absurd,” she breathed out.
“We really should not disappoint the excellent lady.” His voice dropped to a husky pitch as his dark head angled downward.
A flare of sharp excitement unsettled her stomach. How often had she recalled the feel of his lips against her own? Or the warmth of his hard body? Far too often for her peace of mind.
“No … you must not.”
“Indeed, I must,” he corrected in a breathy whisper. “I most assuredly can not help myself.”
She might have screamed or dodged aside as the dark head neared. She might even have stomped on his toes as she had done to other overly forward suitors. But in the end she did nothing to halt the searching mouth from claiming her own in a bold kiss.
A searing pleasure raced through her body as he gently pulled her close, one hand cradling the back of her head as his lips became more insistent. This time her shiver had nothing to do with the chill-edged breeze. The delicious sensations overrode common sense and even fear as she leaned helplessly against his wide chest.
Oblivious to all but the man holding her with tender strength, Roma was unprepared for the shocked gasp that echoed through the still garden.
“Oh …”
Raising his head with obvious reluctance, Giles regarded the wide-eyed young man with resigned amusement.
“Hello, Welford. Haven’t you someplace better to be?”
Tugging at his collar, Claude shifted his feet in acute embarrassment. “Yes … well … Mother sent me to tell you that dinner is being served.”
Ignoring Roma’s frantic attempts to free herself from his steely embrace, Giles gave an imperious nod of his head.
“We will be along in a moment.”
“What? Oh, of course. Yes. Very good.”
With an awkward bow, Claude backed his way around the corner, nearly falling over a marble bench.
Watching the rather ridiculous display, Roma determinedly conjured up a brittle shell of composure. Nothing would induce her to reveal the depth of her disturbance. Not even if it choked her. Stilling her struggles, she forced herself to meet his laughing gaze.
“I believe we embarrassed your poor cousin,” he murmured.
“Can you be surprised? Your shocking conduct would embarrass anyone with the least amount of propriety.”
“It was only a kiss, Roma,” he said, his tone so reasonable that she longed to plant him a facer. Just a kiss? Then why did her blood still tingle and her heart race with excitement? “Besides, when I heard the footsteps approaching I assumed that it was your aunt. As I told you, I did not want to disappoint such an obvious romantic.”
“Well, it was not my aunt, and I can not conceive what Claude must be thinking,” she accused.
“He is thinking that I was bewitched by your beauty in the moonlight. That I was unable to resist temptation. And”—his fingers carefully smoothed a curl lying against her temple—“he would be correct.”
“Giles …”
His finger moved to press against her lips, effectively halting her strangled denial. “Shall we return to the house?”
She snapped her lips together as he stepped back and waited for her to join him. She had risen to his bait enough for one evening.
With a belated attempt at dignity, Roma swept past his tall form and up the shadowed path. She maintained her rigid silence as they once again skirted the fountain and entered the narrow door. Once they were in the corridor, Lady Welford hurried forward with an arch expression on her round face.
“There you are, you naughty children. I see that I will have to keep a close guard on you two.” She wagged her finger at the darkly handsome gentleman. “The sooner William returns the better.”
Claude entered the hallway at the same moment the butler threw open the doorway to the dining room.
“Dinner, my lady.”
“Thank you, Polsun.”
Taking the proffered arm of Lord Carlton, Clara moved toward the open doorway, leaving behind a blushing Roma.
“You appear to be taking your engagement quite to heart, Roma.” Claude stepped to her side, offering his arm.
“I am not engaged,” Roma snapped.
Tempting fate, Claude arched a chiding brow. “Then I really must scold you on your improper behavior. It is one thing to kiss a fiancé in a dark garden—it is quite another—”
Roma’s eyes flashed a clear warning. “That is enough, Claude.”
“You needn’t be so prickly.” He laughed softly. “No doubt many females have succumbed to Lord Carlton’s charms.”
“No doubt,” she gritted out.
Claude regarded her stiff features with a speculative expression. “Do not tell me that you are jealous?”
“That is absurd. I am not jealous, and I did not succumb to any supposed charms. Lord Carlton simply caught me off guard.”
“You mean to say he forced himself upon you?”
The treacherous memory of her body swaying into his arms made it impossible to lie.
“I would prefer not to discuss it further.”
As if sensing her inner turmoil, Claude smiled with aggravating humor.
“Very well.” Reaching out, he placed her hand on his arm and steered her toward the wide door. “You know, I must admit that your Lord Carlton has proven to be something of a surprise.”
Wishing the entire night to be over, Roma reluctantly followed his lead.
“What do you mean?”
“I thought he might find his days at Rosehill sadly flat, but not only has he proven to be an amiable guest, but he is remarkably well informed on the latest techniques in farming. He made a number of suggestions that I intend to have implemented as soon as possible.”
“Really?” Her voice expressed her disbelief.
“Yes, really,” Claude insisted. “He also spoke of his own estates.”
She attempted to pretend a supreme indifference. “Oh?”
“They sound splendidly situated, and of course, everyone is aware that Markstone is one of the most magnificent homes in all of England.” Claude paused, casting a covert glace at her profile. “Naturally it must be a great burden for one person to oversee not only his land and tenants but his household as well. What he needs is a wife.”
An instinctive grimace tightened her features. “Do not concern yourself on that matter, Claude. Lord Carlton has already stated his intentions of acquiring a wife. Although I can not imagine any woman foolish enough to pledge herself to such an arrogant, overbearing creature.”
Claude’s smile only widened. “Can you not?”
“Claude … Roma …” Standing in the doorway, Clara regarded them with impatience. “Come along, children.”
Relieved to bring an end to the conversation, Roma hurried forward, entering the large dining room. Soft candlelight glowed off the chandelier hanging from the timbered ceiling, adding a sheen to the polished table. Figured damask covered the seats and windows, while the paneling was patterned with inset mirrors. Over the door a painting of knights in pageantry complemented the ceramic armor hanging in the corners.
A lovely room, but Roma barely noted her surroundings as she took her seat and absently tasted the various dishes placed before her by the uniformed servants. It was simply impossible to appreciate turtle soup or the delicate trout in cream sauce while her aunt coyly maneuvered the conversation to every wedding she had ever attended in the past fifty years.
At long last dinner came to a close and her aunt suggested they retire to the drawing room for Roma to display her talents on the harp. Unable to think of anything more torturous for all concerned, Roma dug in her heels with the excuse of excessive weariness.
As she was on the point of leaving the room, Clara glanced at her niece in surprise. “Surely you can not wish to leave at such an early hour?”
Glancing at the gilded clock, Roma resisted an urge to point out that it was well past eleven. Even in the country Lady Welford preferred to keep town hours.
“I fear I must. With William away I have a great deal of work to oversee.”
“Nonsense,” Clara chastised with a horrified glace at Lord Carlton. “Your bailiff can oversee any work until William returns. Why else do you pay him a salary, for goodness’ sake?”
“I have often wondered that myself, Aunt Clara. Unfortunately for the moment I am unable to rid myself of his presence. Which means I must keep a close guard on his every movement.”
Clara frowned and made a dampening motion with her hand. “Really, Roma, what will Lord Carlton think of you?”
“I believe I shall make an early night of it myself.” Giles smoothly stepped into the argument, holding out his arm. “May I escort you to your carriage, my dear?”
She had little option but to accept his offer, and together they entered the long gallery that led to the entrance. With a discreet movement, Polsun opened the door, and they walked onto the shadowed porch. As they went down the steps to her waiting carriage, however, Giles pulled her to a gentle halt.
“Hold a moment, Roma.”
Raising her head, she met his probing gaze with commendable calm. “Yes?”
“Have you considered what actions you intend to undertake to search for your brother?”
Her expression grew guarded. She had no intention of revealing the various plots and schemes she had dwelt on during the long afternoon. She was quite certain he would disapprove of each and every one.
“I have given it some thought,” she replied in a vague manner.
His gaze narrowed. “And what fearsome scheme have you concocted this time?”
“None.”
With a click of his tongue, he reached out his hand and firmly grasped her chin. “Do not take me for a simpleton, my dear. Such a meek expression does nothing but assure me that you are hiding something from me.”
“There is nothing to hide,” she denied, even as the ready heat crawled beneath her skin.
“Roma—”
“It is late, Giles,” she swiftly interrupted. “I must go.”
For a long moment he regarded her delicate features with smoldering suspicion; then, removing his fingers from her chin, he instead grasped her hand.
“I shall be keeping a close guard on you, Roma,” he warned in stern tones. “You can not hide from me.”
Her independent spirit was instantly riled by his possessive manner. “Please remember you are here to search for my brother.”
“That is only one of many reasons I am here.” With a firm movement he was handing her into the dark recesses of the carriage, maintaining his grip on her hand despite her attempts to pull free. “Remember, my dear, there is nothing you can do that will escape my notice.” Bending his head, he pressed warm lips to the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “Sleep well.”
He had stepped away and firmly shut the door before she could chide him on his reprehensible behavior. But what did it matter? she asked herself, absently rubbing at her tingling skin. She seemed incapable of resisting his practiced charm. Even when she told herself she was behaving like a nitwitted fool.
But while she might be vulnerable to his touch, she refused to cowed by his heavy-handed warnings. She would search for William using whatever means necessary. And if it didn’t suit the imperious Lord Carlton, then so much the better.
The cumbersome carriage swayed down the narrow lane while inside Roma brooded on a means of searching for her brother. Even if it meant going through every home in Devonshire.
Or England.