So he avoided the duke. Avoided the tenderness he knew he would see in his father’s eyes. Avoided the pain.
Daphney smiled softly. He wanted to run his hand along her soft cheek. “That’s nice.” But her smile turned sad again, and she tore her beautiful golden gaze away looking somewhere behind him. She looked as if she were caught up in a distant memory.
“What about you? Did you know your father?”
Her breath stilled. She held it in a moment, then released it. “We ought to be getting back. Your family will begin to wonder what’s become of us.” She pushed off the tree and started walking back toward the horses, leaving him no chance to reply or press her further. Hardly fair that she should be able to ask him as many questions as she wished but he couldn’t ask her a single one.
How could he get her to open up? To see him as a safe confidante? And more importantly, why did he so badly want her to? Carver was unmistakably attracted to the woman. But he wasn’t at all sure that he should be. He had never given his heart the chance to love again after…he couldn't finish the thought. He was tired of thinking on that day. Tired of it being an all-consuming part of his life. Maybe if he just stopped thinking about it, the pain would disappear.
But still, the question was whether he wanted Daphney—an untrustworthy thief—to be the one to teach his heart to love again. She was definitely not the most suitable choice. And yet, his heart was beginning to long for her anyway. Well, he certainly wouldn’t figure it out by continuing to lean against that tree. Several steps and he was back at the horses.
Thunder tossed his head in ready anticipation of the ride back to the stables. The Gentleman grazed, leisurely, on a patch of grass. Carver smiled. After watching Daphney ride Thunder to an inch, she would be cursing him for forcing her to ride such a lazy roan. His eyes wandered to Daphney. She had not mounted yet. She was staring at him.
His heart quickened at the directness of her gaze. What was she doing? The look in her golden eyes tugged him toward her. One step, and then another brought him directly in front of her. She did not speak, did not smile, just looked. Did her lips just part? Yes. His gaze lowered to rest on that lovely mouth. Instinctively, his hand went to her jaw and his thumb brushed her lower lip.
Even over the howling wind, he could hear her breaths quicken. Kissing her was going to complicate things, but blast it all, he didn’t care. All he could think about was how warm her skin felt against his hand. How sweet she smelled. And how right it felt to be near her. He leaned down slowly, cradling her face in his hands trying to hold the moment still, never letting it slip from him. He kept his eyes fixed on her lips and just before he closed the gap, he saw her smile. A wicked smile.
“I was only waiting for you to help me into the saddle,” she whispered, and then very clearly bit her lips together to keep from laughing. She had been playing him that entire time! No doubt getting him back for doing the same thing to her the day before outside her bedchamber.
His eyes narrowed even as he smiled. He dropped his hand. “Of course. I know,” he repeated the same words she had used. But then he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “But I was going to kiss you.” Her smile dropped, and he heard her take in a sharp breath. He wrapped his hands around her small waist and hoisted her up into the saddle before returning to Thunder without another word.
Chapter 16
Well, that was a confusing morning.
Rose marched down the corridor in search of her bedchamber with unstoppable determination. She needed a respite. One that offered more privacy than that of a tree—which obviously had not been enough of a barricade from the handsome gentleman she was trying to evade.
“Why couldn’t he have been a cad?” She mumbled to herself. A cad would have been much easier to not develop feelings for. But no, Lord Kensworth—Carver—was nothing like a cad. He was honorable, thoughtful, funny and…attractive. She had intended to retaliate for his little stunt outside her room yesterday, and after learning about how much he enjoyed a good lark as a boy she had thought that he would appreciate some good-natured revenge. What she had not intended was to find it ridiculously difficult to not let him kiss her. And then to have him openly admit that a kiss was exactly what he had been intending! Every time she thought about it, her heart raced.
Oh, Rose, you blasted fool!
She was falling for the earl. And she was falling quickly. She should have never allowed herself to ask him those questions. It was the first step toward blurring the lines between target and friend. That was why she was so firm in her resolution to never tell him anything about her own life in the first place. There was too much danger in opening up to someone. Feelings would bloom. Her heart would warm. Then she would lose her heart altogether—and that couldn’t happen. Not now, not ever. There was too much at stake. Too much vulnerability.
If you have nothing to lose, you have nothing to fear. She would never fear losing someone she loved again because she would never love again. Never again would she be left homeless and poor and heartbroken and afraid. She created her own safety, and this resolve strengthened with each pounding step she placed against the red rug beneath her feet.
That’s when she suddenly realized that at some point during her inner rant she had made a wrong turn. Rose paused in the middle of the corridor and turned a quick circle trying to reorient herself. There was nothing for it. All of the hallways bore a remarkable resemblance to each other. Massive stone walls, floor to ceiling windows, and red carpets lining the floor. All Rose knew was that her room could not be found in this corridor. But it had to be on that floor, didn’t it? The first floor holds all of the public rooms. The second was bedchambers. And the third housed the nursery. That meant she had just turned down the wrong hallway.
She turned around with the intent of going back the way she had come when the sound of ladies’ voices drifted from an open bedchamber a bit further down the hall.
“What do you think of it?” came a nervous voice that sounded like Elizabeth. “No...it’s all wrong! Oh, why did I ever let you talk me into green, Kate?” Yes, that was Elizabeth.
Rose probably should have turned around and continued walking. The ladies were clearly having a private conversation. But then another voice joined theirs, pulling Rose further into the exchange. The duchess spoke in a smooth tone, with a warmth that made Rose feel as if she were being wrapped in a hug. For some reason, she couldn’t walk away from that. “Ah, my darling girl! How beautiful you look. Kate w
as exactly right convincing you to choose green.”
Rose’s feet involuntarily drifted toward the voices and the open door.
Elizabeth replied, “It’s too bold and has far too much embroidery. I’ll look ridiculous.” There was the sound of a skirt swishing like she was turning in a circle. Were they talking of a dress? “I’m hoping to look like an eligible lady, not a ridiculous greenhorn screaming for attention.”
At least three ladies laughed. “It is London, dearest. Everyone will be screaming for attention.” That was Mary—Or Lady Hatley as Rose should remember to think of her.
Against her better judgement, Rose tiptoed beside the bedchamber and peeked inside. She had the strangest desire to get a look at that green dress. Sure enough, Elizabeth was standing a few paces away from a gilded looking glass, hands on her trim waist, assessing the pale sea-foam green gown she was wearing. Rose didn’t think it looked too bold. In fact, she thought it complimented Elizabeth’s golden blonde hair perfectly.
Elizabeth’s overblown look of uncertainty, however, would not fly one bit in a London ballroom. Rose had graced enough of the suffocating crushes to know that a lady who looked on the verge of nervous vomiting would be eaten alive by the debutantes and matrons of high society.
To cut a dash in London, a lady needed to hold herself with a self-assured air—mixed with a touch of false modesty. Add in a polite blush here and there and she was sure to have her hand claimed for every dance. Also, it never hurt to have the size of her dowry bandied about the town. That is, assuming, she had a sizable dowry to offer. And Rose was sure that Elizabeth did. What did the girl have to worry about? She was stunning, kind, had a beautiful figure, and a purse full of money. What thoughts could possibly be running through her mind to warrant such a look of uncertainty and trepidation?
Although, on second thought, knowing what she knew about the London ballroom, Rose could easily see how a woman who was actually there in search of making an advantageous match would feel a bit daunted. Never mind the fact that most of those ‘advantageous matches’ were in actuality dishonorable coxcombs who took advantage of women in the lower classes while the ton turned a blind eye. And then there were the fortune hunters and the old crazies who hoped for a young bride that they could mold into their desired wife. Now that she thought about it, there really were very few good prospects for Elizabeth—or any young woman—in London to choose from.