Page 61 of His Betrothed
He grinned. “At the same time.” It was getting far too easy to fluster her.
She studied him coolly. “Well, that’s a story Francis didn’t hear.”
“Or didn’t repeat.”
“He only heard that there were two of them. Do you miss them?”
Spencer frowned. “Two of them?”
“Dancers, I think. They were at thesame time, too—or so Francis heard. But do youmissthem?”
She didn’t even blush, though he realizedwith mortification thathedid, just as if he were guilty.
“Your bailiff repeated such a story?”
“No—his wife did. I think she was trying to convince me that I had made the right decision in not marrying you.”
He could tell by her wrinkled nose that she wished she’d not said so much.
He stoodup and stepped nearer, asking in a low voice, “Did you need convincing?”
“No,” Roselyn quickly said, her back to him.
She wore her hair pulled tightly up beneath her cap, and he wondered what she would do if he started unpinning it, setting it free curl by curl to bury his face in it.
“MargaretthoughtI needed convincing,” she continued. “I think the Heywoods told me stories of you out ofsome misguided sense of…consolation.”
He wanted to run his tongue down her spine; he wanted to slide his arms around her and cup her breasts, and watch her face while he caressed her.
“Did it work?” He blew softly on her neck.
“Did what work?” she asked in a faltering voice.
“Were you comforted by the thought of me being so…scandalous?”
“I—I—”
He leaned forward and pressed his openmouthjust behind her ear. She gave a little gasp and a start, and when she would have ducked away, he slid his arm about her waist to hold her still. Her buttocks were pressed to his thighs, and he almost dipped to rub his erection between them.
They suddenly heard a voice from the courtyard. “Roselyn!” It was the girl, Charlotte.
For a shattering moment, Roselyn didn’t know what to do—her body hadbetrayed her by almost melting against Spencer, and even now she wanted to drop her head back against his shoulder and kiss him.
He stumbled away from her and sat on the stool just as Charlotte entered. The girl looked stunned—and disappointed—at seeing him in Roselyn’s bake house.
And Roselyn felt as guilty as if she’d let him bed her right there on the floor. What else could the girl thinkwhen she looked on his handsome face?
“Hello, Charlotte,” she forced herself to say. “Was today the day we agreed on for a baking lesson?”
“Yes…” she began uncertainly. “But I don’t wish to intrude.”
“Intrude? Why saints above, no. I just have a terrible memory lately. You remember Mr. Sanderson? On my walk this morning we encountered one another again, and I offered him a meal.”
Spencer nodded.“The cook in my barracks is normally a stable groom. Now I know exactly what the horses eat.”
Roselyn was amazed—and troubled—by how easily he adapted to any situation. He looked utterly innocent and spoke in so charming a manner, that how could Charlottenotbe fooled?
Yet still the girl only gave him a bewildered smile and turned to study Roselyn.
“Shall we get started?” Roselyn asked brightly.
Spencer soon made his excuses to the women and left them to their lesson. Wielding his cane with a little more confidence, he chose a direction he’d never gone before.
Clouds scudded across the sky, and though the day was considerably cooler, he still worked up a sweat. Soon he’d be ready to leave and face his fate in London.
A twinge of regret took him by surprise, but he ignored it, findinga path through fields of cut grain. Coming up over a slope, he saw a little stone chapel nestled between fields, and a small graveyard beside it.
A sense of fate called to him, and he drewcloser. He wandered the well-tended graveyard, not knowing until he found Philip Grant’s grave that he was looking for it.
He was stunned to see a second name on the headstone.
