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Bram allowed the feeling to overwhelm him. His fingers trembled just slightly holding his glass aloft. He was drunk on the sensation.
Difficult, gorgeous creature.
“Thank you for the macaron recipe,” she said. “I haven’t attempted to make them. Yet.”
Rosalind hadn’t been visiting Pennyfoil. Bram knew because he was in contact with the baker. Lady Richardson had probably forbidden Rosalind, perhaps assuming wrongly that Bram would withdraw his suit if he knew. Or she feared a scandal. The knowledge tore at Bram, knowing how much Rosalind needed to create.
Rosalind pulled her hand away, but not before Bram noted how she arched in his direction. Her voluptuous form was thrilled to see him even if Rosalind herself was not.
“Why is your eye puffy?” She peered at him.
Direct, as always. Bram shrugged. “I tripped over Bijou in the dark. Clumsy of me.”
“There’s a bruise just beneath. Weren’t you carrying a lamp?” She managed to sound concerned and insulting at the same time. “Was Bijou injured?”
“My mind was elsewhere at the time, and I merely forgot the light. Bijou is fine.”
“Forgot? One doesn’t forget a lamp in a dark room.” Rosalind bit her lip. “Did you become dizzy, my lord? Were your ears ringing?”
Rosalind seemed overly worried he’d had some sort of episode. Was that what had happened to Lord Richardson?
“No, I merely tripped. And it isn’t the first time I’ve forgotten a lamp.” He shrugged. “Nothing more.”
Suspicion gleamed in her eyes. “Youforgot. Because your head ached or—”
“I haven’t lost my wits, if that’s what you’re implying. I wasn’t wandering about imagining I was at the Battle of Waterloo.” He leaned in. “I’m not so addled we can’t wed.”
Her mouth parted in surprise. “That isn’t—I merely wanted to ensure you weren’t ill, my lord.” A mulish edge took hold of her chin.
“Ill enough to miss dinner?” Bram pressed a hand to his chest, trying not to wince. He’d gone a half-dozen rounds with O’Leary. There wasn’t a spot of skin left on him that didn’t ache. “Don’t be foolish. You won’t get rid of me quite so easily.”
Concern immediately colored her features again. She stared at the spot on his chest where his hand had landed, almost as if she expected him to fall to the floor and collapse. “Do you need to sit?”
“Rosalind,” he said in a low tone. “Cease your questioning. Nothing is amiss, I assure you. I have a bruise because I tripped over my dog and hit the doorknob. I wasn’t foxed, so you can scratch sot off your list of things you don’t like about me. Nor did I have a fit of apoplexy. My physician assures me that I’m quite healthy.”
“You have a physician?” Suspicion and concern lit her face again. “He visits often because you have a condition which requires his attention?”
“Careful, Miss Richardson. I might start to think you care for me with all this fussing about. I assure you, I’m well. You’ll have to endure me as a husband for a few years at least, I expect.”
A panicked, fearful look flickered over her lovely features so quickly, Bram nearly missed it. Without thinking, his fingers latched on to a fold of her skirts and tugged gently. “What is it?”
Rosalind stared down at his hand. “It is only that I would hate for you to collapse before dessert. I’ve made a chocolate toffee cake,” she said stiffly.
Bram reluctantly let go of the silk. He wished he could spirit her away somewhere, perhaps take her outside and speak to her in private. Comfort her, if need be. There was a fragility in Rosalind tonight, as though she might break if he exerted too much pressure.
When Jacobson announced from the door that dinner was ready, Rosalind allowed Torrington to lead her in, the tips of her fingers barely touching his coat. The sway of her hips had her skirts whipping seductively against Bram’s legs, giving rise to all sorts of lascivious thoughts. It was all he could do to make it to the dining room before the vision of Rosalind licking custard off his finger assailed him.
Escorting Rosalind to her place, he ignored the self-satisfied smile on her lips when Bram found he wasn’t seated next to her, knowing she’d purposely arranged it.
The smug grin soon faded when Bram was directed to sit across from her.
Lady Richardson, Bram thought once more, should never be underestimated.
