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Antoinette beamed. “Quite a novelty that, isn’t it? I think Quamby is getting quite tired of my devotion, to tell you the truth.” She exhaled on a beatific sigh. “No, Ambrose is an actor and an awfully good one. We’re currently devising an exciting and plausible persona for him, perhaps as a foreign prince, so that he can rub shoulders with the rest and best of us at Lady Devenish’s soiree next week. He’s very clever at slinking about in the shadows and discovering all manner of havey-cavey goings-on. In fact, I should set him the task of finding out exactly what Cousin George is up to with that ridiculous notion that Devil’s Run could win the East Anglia Cup. But discovering Miss Montrose’s lost love is our most important cause, don’t you agree?” She ran her hands over her sprigged muslin, unconsciously contouring her curves as her smile broadened. “I’m confident that Ambrose will be assiduous in his enquiries, especially when I give him a little something to fund the project with the promise of his heart’s desire—in fact, all of his desires—if he’s successful.”
Chapter 8
Devil’s loud whinny might have been a reminder that what they were doing was very wrong, but Rufus wasn’t the least bit sorry.
The shadows were long when they broke apart, stumbling back and gazing at one another in quite obvious confusion before Miss Montrose turned to pat her horse’s flank, saying briskly, “It’s time we both went our respective ways, I think, Mr Patmore.”
Of course, that would have been the moment to say something. Apologise? Good Lord, no! He wanted to do it again. He wanted more.
“Miss Montrose—” he began, but she put her hand up to deflect him from whatever it was he was going to say—and for the life of him he didn’t know
what he was going to say, except that his heart was pumping wildly, he was incredibly aroused—though such an innocent must never know that, and he did most definitely want to talk to her about love.
“Mr Patmore, I have one request, and that’s to be good to my horse. Don’t ride him too hard, will you? I fear that’s what Mr Bramley will do when he’s training him, but perhaps I can count on you to ensure that no harm will come to Devil at the hands of my intended.”
My intended. She spoke of George Bramley so blithely and still in those terms?
Through the gloom, he tried to read some clue in her expression as to what she was feeling. Gad, but he couldn’t seem to rein in his as he searched her eyes for something to give him hope. Anything. His heart was still behaving much like Devil’s would be at the end of the ten-mile race he was to run a few days hence.
Now, though, the emotion Miss Montrose had revealed when he’d unexpectedly come upon her weeping was nowhere in evidence. Had he taken advantage of her vulnerability? Was he a cad? Perhaps she was thinking so at this very moment.
But Miss Montrose was stroking Devil’s flank as if nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary had occurred, when Rufus would have bet his right arm she wasn’t in the habit of kissing gentlemen on limited acquaintance.
A sudden flash of a winsome smile almost winded him; she looked so lovely as she glanced up and caught his eye.
Maybe she was waiting for Rufus to question her on her feelings regarding the kiss they’d shared. His breathing was still ragged, and inside his head rioted a multitude of tumultuous feelings.
“Miss Montrose, I—” His gentlemanly instincts came to the fore at the mention of Bramley. He was going to allude to the passion that had just touched them both, but it seemed she intended to have none of it.
With her cheek still resting against the flank of the horse, she spoke over him. “I must return home now if my aunt isn’t to be worried. And so I will bid you good night.”
“You can’t go alone at this late hour.”
“Of course, you may accompany me, if you wish, though I’ve returned home at this hour on many occasions without an escort.” She shrugged as if it were of no account to her, stepping away from him to go around Devil’s head, and Rufus watched her final tender moment with her horse, and was ridiculously envious when a beatific happiness softened her expression. Had she looked like that when he’d kissed her? He’d had his eyes closed, and the sensation that seemed to have taken hold of both of them was, he’d thought, more of rising passion rather than beatific happiness or contentment.
Instead of saying anything, he now found himself waiting outside rather awkwardly while she insisted on seeing to a few things inside Devil’s stall before securing the stable door. Still, it gave him time to devise a few artful words that went beyond his hitherto pathetic efforts to address what had just happened, and he was on the verge of speaking when she said, quickly, as she strode past, expecting him, it seemed, to match her brisk pace.
“I shall not see you again after this, but I do want to thank you for your concern. Both for Devil’s Run and for myself. I know most gentlemen can’t bear to see a weeping woman and would rather run for the hills, but I thank you for your comfort.” Her shoulders were slightly hunched from the effort of walking so quickly, but now she slanted a glance over her shoulder from beneath her very long and beautiful lashes—now he’d seen them at such close range—adding, “And some men take advantage in such a situation, but you were the perfect gentleman. You offered just the kindness I needed.”
Having delivered her little speech to let him know—what? That he was off the hook? That she didn’t want him to feel beholden? That she had no interest in him from a romantic point of view? A great weight seemed to have dropped from her. Almost gaily, she swept her arm about their dusk-imbued surroundings and declared, “This has been my home for seven years, but soon I shall swap it for much more exciting vistas, don’t you think? Tell me about the view from the battlements of the ruin at Quamby House?”
So he did, for she gave him no alternative, and it was her clear purpose to deflect him from what had happened until she was safely at the gate that led up the gravelled path to her aunt’s cottage.
“Farewell, Mr Patmore,” she said, nodding. “Enjoy your ride back to Quamby House.”
He nodded, feeling strangely disappointed and empty. “I shall.” Clearing his voice, he added, “And I shall pass on your regards to your betrothed.”
“Naturally,” she said without a hint of anything to suggest she felt either dismay or guilt at the mere idea that she had a betrothed.
So that was that. He wasn’t aware he was touching his lips as if in remembrance of the sweet sensations he’d unexpectedly enjoyed so recently until at least three minutes later. That was when he was nearly at the fork in the road—for he’d walked from the village to the cottage—and he heard his name being shouted with increasing urgency.
Turning, he saw Miss Montrose running down the track, hatless, her hair escaped from its pins and hanging in delightful disarray about her face and shoulders. She looked so young and astonishingly beautiful with the flush of excitement visible on her cheeks as she neared him that he had to stifle the urge to do something spontaneous and inadvisable, given he had no idea what was sending her back to him.
Had she changed her mind? Perhaps she had a note for Mr Bramley she wanted Rufus to deliver, ending their betrothal? He swallowed, an uncomfortable confusion accompanying that thought. That would mean she expected something more from Rufus on account of their exchange.
He waited for her to close the distance, while he raced a variety of possibilities through his mind. A few minutes before, he’d been piqued that she should dismiss him so thoroughly. He liked her; no, he more than liked her. And that kiss had been a clear reminder of how different it was to kiss a woman who stirred the senses and was young and innocent. He’d had a few trysts where the kiss was a prelude to a prearranged transaction negotiated to satisfy mutual desires, but they had never stirred him as had his kiss with Miss Montrose.
His anxiety increased. What could he say to her? What did she expect? A marriage offer? After one kiss? Well, she wouldn’t be so direct, of course, but she might imply that their kiss had led to her deciding to dissolve her arrangement with Bramley, which would place Rufus in a conundrum regarding what he’d be honour-bound to offer in consequence.
