Rosalind let out a choked laugh. Now was the time to tell him. But years of minding her tongue, of not trusting anyone, kept her silent, trapped…captive to the past.
Even an understanding man might think the best place for her was an asylum. And besides, she didn’t want him to look at her and remember a scared, frightened child. She wanted him to see her as a woman. So let those sleeping dogs lie – what good would it do anyway?
Her hand was still on his chest; he must be freezing without the cloak, and she slowly raised her fingers, brushing his jacket, the satin green waistcoat, before she reached his cravat. It was tied in a simple style and she weaved her hand around it, until it was at his nape.
“Kiss me, Lucas. And then let’s have dinner.” She shouldn’t ask. It was wrong, but she needed the comfort of his lips. His body tensed, but he did as she bade, bending down to brush her lips with his. They were warm as toast, as though he’d been drinking tea. She wanted him to warm her, to heat her coldness until she burned. She tightened her hand in his hair and tugged him closer.
“Rosalind, we mustn’t. It’s not proper.”
She sighed softly. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“Benedict, one more word about your horses and you will hebetate me.”
“What?”
“I’m sure you heard me.”
Dinner had been most agreeable and, as it was Sunday, Lucas refrained from asking any probing questions. Mrs Mereworth had only talked of manners once, and the chicken pie had, after all, only been chicken. Now everyone was playing with their stodgy bread and butter pudding.
“Fancy whist tonight?” Stone asked, looking up with a devilish glint in his eye.
“Bit late isn’t it?” Lucas enquired, inwardly groaning – he was hopeless at card games. He’d never had the patience and sums still gave him a headache.
“Doesn’t go on too long. Anyway, it’s either that or some music from Rosalind and believe me, you wouldn’t want that.” Stone ducked as Rosalind lobbed a serviette at him, earning her a disapproving glance from Mrs Mereworth.
“Lily, I claim you as my partner,” Stone said emphatically. “Cool, calm and never gives away an excellent hand.”
For a moment, Lucas looked around, wondering who Lily was. “What a beautiful name, Mrs Mereworth.”
The lady looked to her hands and blushed.
“Mainwaring, you old charmer, but it’s too late. I have claimed the perspicacious one.” And he turned a smug look in Rosalind’s direction.
The war of words was escalating.
They set the beautiful rosewood card table by the fire despite Mrs Mereworth’s concern over her complexion. Everyone agreed that it was bitterly cold tonight and that some hot wine would also be welcome.
Rosalind put her hands out to the fire and watched the flame lick up as Benedict went about trying to find the cards. Lucas came to stand by her and smiled as he held his own palms to the warmth.
“Does fire rekindle memories, Lucas?” Her voice was low and soft.
“No, not any longer. It did for a while, but when it’s this cold, I appreciate them,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “Although to be truthful, my body seems to run at rather a high temperature anyway. Even in the cold winters on the Peninsular, I always kept warm when others could not. Wellesley used to say that I had an internal stove.”
Rosalind remembered his warmth when they’d been close on the horse and could only agree. “Did you find anything in the woods?”
His pupils widened, and she blushed. Damn, he must have known she’d connected his warmth with that kiss.
“I found the bullet lodged in a tree. It could have been a stray poacher.” Or might not, she added for him, silently.
“Righty ho.” The cheery voice boomed out and they both turned. Lately, Rosalind could see a change in Benedict: he was…happy, more talkative, more jovial.
Never had he been a mean man, but he had always been quiet, occasionally surly and sometimes brusque. Now he seemed positively joyful – it was most disconcerting. She smiled: they’d have to rename him the Sanguine Stone.
Rosalind wasn’t smiling. They were in the suds, losing drastically. In the first game, they had only won three tricks, the second game four, and the third game only two. Benedict had decided on six games, so they desperately needed a win to even manage a draw. She couldn’t solely blame Lucas, as she wasn’t on form either. He…disturbed her concentration.
As was normal with whist, the partners sat opposite each other, and every now and then his knees brushed hers. She kept thinking about that heat he’d talked about; it did seem to radiate from him.
What a wonderful way to stay warm in bed. It would be like having a constantly heated bed warming pan – except bigger, much bigger.
