Page 28 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

“If it ceases to be diverting, I suppose.”

She laughed. “You are most irritating, Sir Andrew.”

He smiled to himself, not taking the jibe to heart.

The horse took an odd step, and Andrew looked down reflexively—causing a large drop of water to fall from the brim of his hat onto the exposed skin between Josephine’s bonnet and coat collar. She gasped and jerked forward, making Honey shift and sidestep.

Andrew tightened his arms around Josephine to keep them both balanced on the horse, then he soothed the mare, speaking in a low voice. “Calm yourself, Honey. Step lightly. Everything is as it should be.”

The horse’s ears flicked back, listening to him, then forward again as she tossed her golden head. She resumed a steady gait, and a few moments after that, Josephine tipped her head up. She met his gaze, her blue eyes dark beneath the brim of her bonnet.

“Andrew?” The hushed way in which she spoke his name made that knot in his chest tighten again. Then, oddly, it uncoiled as he noted the worry in her eyes, the curve of her cheek, and the slight part to her lips. Soft, pink lips. Entirely kissable. Even when they curved into an uncertain frown. “You needn’t keep hold of me so tightly.”

“Oh.” He immediately relaxed his arms and forced himself to look straight ahead. “My apologies.” Heat crept up the back of his neck, hidden by his cravat, collar, and coat. He’d never been so grateful for the fashion of high collars in his life, especially as Josephine continued to peer up at him. Finally, she faced forward again, her bonnet shielding her from the gently falling rain and his gaze.

Had he really thought her kissable?

That one errant thought was a betrayal to Simon’s trust. To the duke’s! It wasn’t his place to think about kissing Josephine. No matter the state of her lips or the delicate scent of her hair. What did it smell like? Something soft and feminine. Flowery. Entirely suitable to Josephine.

Andrew shook his head, mentally taking himself in hand.

The rain had addled his thoughts. Obviously.

But they could not arrive at the castle too soon for his liking. He needed to dry off. Then dunk his head in cold water to clear his muddied thoughts.

CHAPTER 10

“Josephine? Is there something amiss between you and Sir Andrew?”

The question, voiced by her youngest sister in the gardens, caused all other thoughts in Josephine’s mind to collapse like an ill-stacked stone wall. She dropped the stick of charcoal in her hand, and it landed on the apron she wore for their activity.

The governess, Mrs. Robinson, had invited Josephine to join her sisters in the gardens for an afternoon of sketching. Not for an inquiry.

“Why would you ask?” Josephine picked up her charcoal, not even glancing at Rosalind. “We are our usual selves to one another. He is unpleasant and tiresome. I am the very picture of patience and tolerance.”

Isabelle snorted.

“Young ladies do not snort, dear,” the governess said from behind her book. She sat on a bench nearby, where she could give direction without standing over them.

“Yes, Mrs. Robinson.” Isabelle lowered her sketchbook. “Now that I think on it, you two have behaved rather strangely of late.”

A week had passed since the ride home in the rain. Seven days in which Josephine had spent every moment in Andrew’s presence feeling pensive about what he might reveal of their time together. Then oddly disappointed when he made no mention of it to her or anyone else in the household. Simon had not asked or said a word about sending Andrew to fetch her.

Which made her wonder all the more what Andrew had said to her brother about her walking into the woods unaccompanied.

“There is less bickering than usual.” Rosalind shaded around her sketch of a fountain with a heavy hand. Sketching wasn’t her strong suit, but she had a gift with music that made the whole family unreasonably proud.

Would they feel the same about Josephine’s gift with words? Or her attempt to foster such a gift, she supposed. She had read through her entire manuscript again and was no closer to understanding what she had done wrong. Alternatively, she sometimes thought she had done nothing right, either.

If only Emma hadn’t fallen in love with her Sicilian count, then Josephine would have someone to talk to.

Isabelle tapped at her chin, leaving a small smear of gray on her skin. “Do you think Sir Andrew considers himself a brother to us? I have often wondered, since he is so much older and forever with Simon.”

“He likely does.” Rosalind closed her sketchbook, finished for the day even if Mrs. Robinson intended for them to be at work longer. She hadn’t much patience for things she was not already proficient in. “He has watched all of us grow up. Does it matter? He is so old.”

“Mr. Gardiner is even older, but you thought him attractive. We both did.”

“It was entertaining to watch him work,” Rosalind conceded. “But his obsession with insects made him less attractive.”