Page 43 of His Betrothed
“Are you ready to go back inside?”
He looked over his shoulder into her shadowed face. He couldn’t see her well, but knew the calm, collected Roselyn had once again returned. She had enough mastery over her expressions to make a good spy.
He allowed her to slide beneath his arm. “I’msorry to get you wet.”
“You weren’t sorry moments ago.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
She helped him into the cottage, then brought him clean breeches, looking at him with a speculation he found the slightest bit unnerving.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“Wash?” he answered, smiling.
She wasn’t distracted. “Why did you touch me? We both know how you feel—how I feel. What purpose does it serve to annoyme?”
Spencer rested back against the door for balance and considered her. “You didn’t seem annoyed.”
“I don’t like to be trifled with—to be teased,” she said in a stern voice. “Is this a game of revenge to you?”
“No.” He said the lie easily. “Roselyn, you don’t know me well, so don’t pretend you understand the motives for everything I do.”
“But I know thingsaboutyou,” she said.
Keepingthe tension from his face took all the deception he’d learned to master.
A cool gleam lingered in her eyes. “You enjoy scandal and the attention it brings you.”
He let out his breath, feeling suddenly weak and tired as his tension drained away. “So what if I do?”
“I played a part in your scandals once, and I won’t do it again. My life is devoid of scandal, and I intend to keep it that way.”
“You ‘played a part’?” he echoed, surprised at how close to the surface his anger was. “Youcausedthe biggest scandal of my life, and I have yet to live down the humiliation. You don’t think your life is still full of scandal? If your parents knew what you’ve been doing—”
“Are you threatening to tell them?” she asked coldly, stepping toward him.
“No, I only seek to show you that you’re deceivingyourself; you like scandal every bit as much as I do.”
She drew herself up. “Obviously you know nothing about me. Good night.”
She climbed up her ladder, leaving him to dress alone.
The next morning when Roselyn left the bake house, she gave a little start as she saw Charlotte standing in the courtyard, grinning at her.
“Good day, Roselyn!” the girl called. “I triedthe cottage first, butno one answered. I should have known you’d be here.”
Roselyn gave her a weak smile, leaning her hand against the apple tree to steady herself. “Have you come for a baking lesson today?”
Charlotte nodded. “Mama agreed I could finish my other duties later. But first I have a question.” She glanced at the half wall. “Whose are those?”
Nervousness shot up Roselyn’s spine as she realized she’d leftThornton’s breeches outside all night. How stupid could she be?
She forced a smile. “Those are Philip’s.”
Charlotte looked uncomfortable. “Forgive me for intruding on your grief, but why do you have them out now? It has been a year.”
As Roselyn frantically searched for a good excuse, she slowly folded the breeches, then put her arm around the girl. “Charlotte, you mustn’t worry for me; I promisethat I’m not dwelling on my grief. I was searching through a chest of my own garments and found these at the bottom. After I pulled them out, I—I accidentally spilled something on them, so I had to wash them.”
