“Rosalind, you are old enough to know what you are doing, but be careful.”
“You think I’ll be hurt?”
He levelled his look directly at her. “Not necessarily you.”
“Oh.” She breathed out the word. She didn’t want to hurt Lucas in any way. What did he mean? “And where have you been? Or are you going out…again?”
Benedict stayed silent, merely displaying a thin and tight-lipped smile.
Rosalind was forced to speak anew. “Be careful. You are the only family I have.”
He leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Rosalind. Trust me?”
She nodded and he stood back.
“Go find Lucas. And, Rosalind…be gentle with your comforting.”
A strange exotic odour permeated the air – a hot wetness that assailed the nostrils mixed with the fragrance of foreign blooms and the decay of dank leaves; Lucas rather liked it.
A large granite bench had been handily placed under a tropical…pineapple? He had no idea, but he liked the general atmosphere of the place. Large, lush leaves grew out of enormous pots, and he could see small balls of green hanging on various trees. He supposed they were something citrus.
Despite botany being his family’s vocation, it had never held his interest. His father had tried to share their floral passions with Lucas, but although he enjoyed looking at plants, they just didn’t grow fast enough. Everything was so slow, and then just as it was at its peak, some horrible insect or snail would eat it, and that was that. Start all over again.
Probably a metaphor for life somewhere in there, but too much whisky had dulled his senses, and words were not his forte.
Normally, after a night like tonight, he’d be brooding, sitting in some dark corner, trying to ignore the temptation of laudanum.
Just one sip. One sip and it would all be forgotten – so easy.
But this time, all that kept slipping into his head was Rosalind. He savoured the word, the whisky allowing him to use her given name.Rosalindwas lovely, not just pretty, but lovely.Rosalindmade him laugh with her outrageous words and her naughty wit.Rosalindwas perceptive, compassionate and kind.Rosalindmade him wish things…
What an evening! He’d attended some very entertaining dinners – that hadn’t been one of them.
Had there really been two women fighting over him tonight? He chuckled, the damp, hot air filling his lungs. Not really, but it did feel nice to be wanted for a change, even if their motives were suspect. He knew Lady Hurst’s; he just wasn’t sure of Rosalind’s. He’d seen her glaring at the woman, so perhaps she had sensed his disquiet and, as hostess, had tried to ease his discomfort.
After all, he considered Rosalind a friend.
His hands flexed on the glass. You could never have enoughfriends…
The candle quivered in a sudden cool breeze, its light throwing the tropical leaves into huge monsters on the ceiling. Well, at least he was in the right company.
“Lucas?” The voice was muted and soft, and he relished the tone. The sound of his name or the cool breeze, he wasn’t sure which, made him shiver.
“You shouldn’t enter, Miss Trewent. I am not properly attired.” Indeed, he had abandoned his jacket and cravat on a branch, and his open waistcoat left him positively undressed.
“Well,” she whispered, rounding the corner, “we will have a wager to see who is more improper.”
He quickly sat up straight, but she must have seen him sprawled over the bench, like some lounging Roman emperor awaiting a handmaiden.
“You win,” he managed to say.
Her hair was unbound. He hadn’t realised it was so long; it flowed down her back in one luxuriant straight ribbon until it reached her derrière. In the dark, with a candle highlighting the red, it glinted hotly. A faint memory fluttered in his mind, but before he could capture it, it took flight again.
A green cloak had been thrown back from her shoulders to reveal a long diaphanous night-rail. He should have been used to her love of colours by now, but this…this was special: it was iridescent. Every time she moved, it shimmered with a different hue and it fitted tight and close to her lithe frame. She looked like some beautiful woodland sprite.
He closed his eyes and willed her away. She sat next to him.
“I’m sorry,” Rosalind said.
