CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“My Bertie loved me, despite my slight problem with dead people popping up at the most inconvenient times.”
Mrs Tadlow. Widow, mother and ten-year resident of Ingleford Lodge.
He didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t want to open his eyes or start the day. Put simply, Lucas didn’t want to move.
Snuggled against his side, he could feel silken skin, hear gentle breathing and smell roses: Rosalind. He ought to wake her, before the household roused, but he was too goddamn happy and comfortable.
Last night had been glorious, not just their lovemaking but her words: she loved him. Never did he think to hear that from a woman, and not just any woman, but beautiful, funny, vivid Rosalind. Maybe it was naïve but he didn’t care about her past any more. He’d always thought it might have been connected with a man ruining her or even worse a despoilment, but she’d been a maiden.
Her awful nightmare concerned him and he wondered if she had them often. He’d discovered a gentle herb for relaxing the mind, which had helped him sleep unmolested in the early days of his recovery, so he’d speak to her about it.
The house was still silent, but he vaguely thought it was around six. The maids would be waking soon enough and although his intentions were honourable, he didn’t want to be found with Rosalind and have her the subject of idle talk.
A dark-grey light shone through the shutterless window and, as they hadn’t closed the bed drapes, they were bathed in its gloom. He tried to stretch, but his muscles had stiffened in the small bed and his back ached like the devil.
Gently caressing his hand down her side and feeling her limbs quiver in response, his body instantly reacted. He stroked her hair back and noticed it had tangled and snarled in her sleep; it was so long, almost reaching her hips, and last night he had revelled in the feel of it, stroking and curling over his body.
Her breathing changed, the cadence quickening, and he moved his head, brushing his mouth over her forehead. “Rosalind?”
Silence greeted him.
“Rosalind, I have to go back to my room. I don’t want you gossiped about. Not until we…until we tell everybody. I need to speak to Stone.”
Silence.
Glancing down, to make sure she hadn’t gone back to sleep, he saw large eyes staring back at him. She looked utterly…miserable.
“Rosalind?” he said, a frown marring his brow.
“Benedict. Why would you talk to Benedict?”
“Well…”
She sat up, clutching the coverlet, her shoulders stooped, biting her lip. Why did she look so despondent?
“I wish to ask his permission to court you. Last night… I cannot say I’m sorry it happened, it was beautiful, but I want to do everything properly. He is your guardian, and it would be respectful to gain his consent to courtship and marriage. It’s the next ste–”
“Lucas, I am sorry but…I do not wish to marry.” Her voice seemed to break. What was she talking about?
“Well, we can wait a while. I know we’ve not known each other long but we love each other. I thought–”
“I am happy with my life here. I do not want a husband, who… I will not marry. My life is here at Stonebridge. It always will be.”
“What?” The word came out louder than he had intended. “Rosalind, last night, we… I took your innocence.”
Her eyes wouldn’t meet his. “I have twenty-five years, Lucas. My maidenhood is unimportant. I am not a child. I need my independence. You would not understand.”
“Tell me exactly what I won’t understand?” He sat up as well, facing her in the bed, and watched her eyes flicker to his bare chest – was she disgusted by his body now it was morning?
“I’ve realised that although I love you, we would be better…apart. I…I…” She seemed to flounder and he reached out a hand; she shrank from his touch.
“No, don’t come near me.” Her voice started to rise, almost in panic. “This will not happen again. I won’t marry you.”
Confusion and anger flooded his body.
“What was last night then, Rosalind? Was I merely an experiment before you moved on to pastures new?” She shrugged, bloody shrugged. “Am I only good enough for a quick shag?”
