CHAPTER TWELVE
“Don’t lollop on the table, Rosalind dear. Just because we are mad doesn’t mean to say we don’t have manners.”
Mrs Tadlow. Widow, mother and ten-year resident of Ingleford Lodge.
It was torture. Watching Rosalind eating a slice of honey cake for breakfast was akin to torture. She savoured it – that was the only word. Delicately, to be sure, but with such pleasure on her face that Lucas was forced to look away as an intense craving ran through his own veins.
Since France, he hadn’t wanted a woman: his body had gone into hibernation – indeed, he thought it may have been permanent. Now it felt like spring. His whole being was awake to every movement, every noise that Rosalind made, desire unfurling and growing until he felt mad with it.
Even before France, he’d never been a rake; there had been a few liaisons over the years – his uniform, size and blond looks had guaranteed some attention, but he wasn’t cut out to be a seducer. Camp followers had always been on offer but if a bullet didn’t kill you, the syphilis would and he had stayed well away.
Hearing a soft moan, he glanced over and then wished he hadn’t: she was now licking the crumbs off her fingers. Was she doing it on purpose?
Surely not…
He had to stop these kisses; he knew that. He was becoming enamoured with Miss Trewent but, despite his rough army ways, he was still a gentleman. When this was all over, he would ask to court her…in the proper manner. Admittedly, he was still unsure of Rosalind’s feelings but if she said no, well, all he had to lose was his pride. If she said yes, however…
Certainly, it appeared she wasn’t afraid of kissing any more and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was innocent or not. A man had forced his attentions on her, she’d said that, but how far had he gone? If she was no longer a virgin, it mattered not. Young, innocent maidens had never been his fare – too timid and fearful of his manner and strength – but equally he wondered if she really wantedhimwith his scars, both in body and mind, or was he just an experiment for her?
“Have a taste?”
He spluttered over his coffee and looked at her suspiciously. A radiant, open countenance met his, eyes wide with green innocence. She was holding another slice of honey cake.
“I don’t like sweet things for breakfast.”
“No? You don’t know what you’re missing. You should try new things, Lucas. I find something sweet in the morning gives me energy for the whole day.”
He narrowed his eyes as she bit into the cake, licking her lips and arching her neck, displaying its creamy expanse. When she’d finished, she gazed back at him and something intense and powerful flowed between them.
“Rosalind Trewent, do you know what happens to wicked teases?”
She smiled and his breath caught in his throat. He also knew he was right as her eyes sparkled with sinful laughter.
“They have to brush down horses in an anticlockwise manner exactly thirty-two times?”
“No, they get spanked.” Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Hah, let her make of that what she will. He sat back and picked up his coffee cup, looking and feeling smug – he suspected no one had ever silenced Rosalind Trewent before.
“Over the table? Or would it be more comfortable across your knee?”
Hot coffee spilled over his buckskins as the cup dropped, and he stood cursing.
“Bit clumsy this morning, are we? Morning, Rosalind dear, did you cause that?” Stone said cheerfully as he headed for the bacon.
“I don’t know why I always get the blame for mishaps. I’m sitting here quietly eating my cake.”
Lucas sat back down, dabbing at his breeches with a handkerchief.
“What are your plans for today, Mainwaring?” Stone’s question dragged him from heated visions and he concentrated.
“I must admit I am at an impasse. There is no new information, and the murderer seems to be lying low. He or she may, for all I know, not be in the district any more. However…” He paused, remembering the rifle shot. “I have an instinct they are. Today, I’ll see if I can rattle a few cages, and hopefully the culprit will make a mistake. I am also re-questioning the villagers to see if they have seen anything of Lady Webster. The other women were all discovered very quickly, as though he wanted them found. Lady Webster breaks the pattern if, indeed, she is even involved in this. I am also arranging another sweep of the woods near Sir Hector’s and yours if–”
“Already done,” Stone interrupted.
“When?”
“As soon as it was discovered that Daphne was missing. The grooms did a search – nothing suspicious – so don’t waste your time.”
“Am I wasting my time searching any of the woods?” Lucas questioned softly. The man looked up from his bacon but didn’t say anything; they merely stared steadily at each other.
