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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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The stars were cold and far away, and covered every now and again by drifts of cloud. Averil shivered and wished she’d stopped to get her cloak, or at least a shawl. Rufus, seeing her shiver, stopped and took off his own jacket and tucked it around her shoulders, his hands lingering on her bare skin.
It was a gallant gesture and Averil thanked him with a smile, snuggling into the transferred warmth of his body.
He made her feel treasured and it was something she had never felt before from a man. Her father had treated her as a nuisance and an unwelcome reminder of his wife, and her closest relative, Gareth, was fond of her but she could hardly say he made her feel special in their day-to-day dealings. The way Rufus touched her, looked at her, the way he kissed her, made her feel precious. As if she was cherished by him.
Might he be . . . was it possible that he was in love with her? Feeling those same flutterings in his stomach and the ache in his chest as she was feeling right now? The grass might be overgrown, catching at her skirts as they walked down what must once have been a winding path, but she felt as if she were walking on air.
“Our grounds are very neglected,” Rufus spoke. “Come and sit down on the seat by the pond. James said the gardener scythed around there recently, so that he could fish in it without getting his boots wet.”
The pond was more like a small lake, and quite magical in the starlight. They sat down on a wooden seat carved from a fallen tree trunk and she looked about her. There was a narrow jetty and a rowboat tied to it, and she supposed in past summers the Southbrooks would come here for picnics and to enjoy being on the water.
Averil felt a pang of envy, something she was rarely prone to. This was nothing like her own little house in London. Averil’s own family home had been sold when her father died, and besides, it had never felt like a proper home, just a cold, empty house. Such things hadn’t bothered her until now, but suddenly she pictured how it must be for Rufus and his family, owning a place like Southbrook Castle. All that history and all those memories. They belonged here, just as the trees and the rocks belonged.
She sighed before she could stop herself.
“What are you thinking?” Rufus asked her quietly, reaching to take her hand in his. Their
fingers entwined and she wished she wasn’t wearing gloves, so that she could feel his skin against hers.
“I think I’m coveting your house,” she said, with a breathless laugh.
A fish jumped from the water, sending ripples spreading over the smooth surface, and she pretended to watch, waiting for him to answer.
“I think you’ve probably guessed all is not well with the Southbrooks,” he spoke at last. “An inheritance like this can be a ball and chain around one’s neck.”
“Is that how you feel?” It wasn’t the impression she had of him, but perhaps she was wrong.
“Sometimes. I can never forget my responsibilities. Although . . . there are times when I would like to. When I would prefer not to have my actions dictated to by my ancestors’ spendthrift ways.”
He turned to look at her, his hair very dark above his white silk shirt, his cravat loosened about his throat, his eyes shining.
“You sound very serious suddenly,” she whispered.
He laughed, and there was the old mockery back again.
Averil wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it so much she ached with the need to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her skin, and the “more” that she’d dreamed of. Why did the proper lady always have to wait for the gentleman to make the first move?
And then she remembered that she didn’t have to wait. She was the huntress here and she could kiss him, if she wanted to. If she dared to.
Rufus was wondering what she would say if he told her the truth. That he was caught in a trap of his own making, that he had fallen in love with the woman he had planned to marry for her money and now he was afraid that any proposal from him would eventually drive her away. She might be looking up at him now with warm, affectionate glances, but what about when she heard the cold, hard truth? He wouldn’t blame her if she turned her back and walked away; in fact, he knew she would. Averil was a frank and honest person, and she would never countenance deceit.
He’d have to be completely honest with her.
He toyed with her fingers. “Have you ever noticed how serious life is once you’re grown-up? But perhaps not. You’re still so young, Averil.”
Averil frowned at him. “You sound as if you’re a hundred,” she said sharply. “And I am not young . . . well, I am young, I suppose, but I have seen a great deal, more I dare say than other young ladies in my situation.”
He turned her hand over to stroke her palm. What she said was true, and it wasn’t her relative youth that bothered him. He’d known many women, some of whom would have jumped at the chance to be mistress of Southbrook Castle for the sheer importance of the name and position, but Averil wasn’t one of them. She would never do such a thing for her own aggrandizement. He’d chosen to love the one woman who would never be swayed by such considerations.
“No, you are no simpering miss,” he agreed. “Far from it.”
“I have never been the simpering kind,” Averil agreed primly.
She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him, and before he could guess at her intention, she leaned up and kissed his lips. It occurred to Rufus that he should set her away but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not with her mouth so warm and soft. He took her in his arms and kissed her back. There was no doubting the passion between them. He groaned and kissed her again, using the tip of his tongue to trace the shape of her lips, his hands sliding into the silk of her wayward hair.
