Her objective was to become wife or mistress within the month, and this would require a delicate balancing act. She must seem to hold him off with one hand while luring him on with the other. One thing was certain. He must not get a look at Roseland until she had bagged him. To let him see its run-down condition, dearth of servants, and the near-poverty conditions she and Spider had survived would ring a death knell to her liaison with the wealthy Lord Helford.
For the King to have given him this appointment, he would have to have a keen eye and the mind of an interrogator. She must never underestimate him. Summer sighed. She wished she could be herself with him. She wanted to ride with him across the wild moors and wear her breeches. She wanted to curse and swear at him and make him laugh. She wanted to cheat him at cards and beat the pants off him … pants off him, her mind repeated, and she blushed. She put her hands to her burning cheeks. She must keep her mind on the task at hand. She must never allow her emotions to gain control of her. She would have to be devastatingly devious to bring her plans to fruition. She needed access to his fortune to save Roseland. The wild rides, the curses, and the card cheating must never happen. She was supposed to be a well-bred, gently reared heiress. Still, she didn’t exactly hate play-acting the role of a lady. It was all very diverting to ply a fan and balance on pretty high-heeled slippers and lower her lashes over her bold eyes.
Her mind flashed back to the orange girls at the theater. Their sauciness certainly attracted the men. Then she remembered how her demure behavior had almost had Helford panting. She’d try both; that should keep him off balance!
She contemplated changing her gown for dinner then decided against it. Earlier she’d worn her cloak, so he hadn’t really seen the dress, and it had a high frilled neckline which could only be described as modest. If she changed her gown for something fancier, his male vanity would be flattered that she was making a display just for him.
She did decide, however, to put up her hair in a more sophisticated style. With her brush she piled it all high and fastened it with combs decorated by silk violets, allowing just one fat curl to fall down over her shoulder. Then she picked up a matching fan and practiced in the mirror. She also discovered if she took a few slow steps then turned quickly, her silken petticoats swished and whispered seductively.
When his low knock sounded on her cabin door at suppertime, Summer was ready. She was ready for anything! Her eyes widened at the elegance of the small table which had been set up in his cabin. Heavy damask linen, sterling silver, crystal goblets, and wineglasses had been laid out and its center was a mass of cream-colored roses and tall scented wax tapers.
“Wherever did you get the roses?” she asked.
“My men scoured Plymouth this afternoon,” he said, smiling down at her.
A bubble of laughter escaped her lips at the incongruous picture the hard-bitten sailors must have made. He held her chair and his hands managed to brush her shoulders as she sat down, but it was only for the merest second. “You will have a little Chablis.” He made it sound like an imperative as he picked up the bottle to pour.
“I am unused to wine, Lord Helford.”
“You have many pleasures yet to taste,” he said boldly.
Summer looked deeply into his hazel eyes to show him that she understood the sexual connotation and said slowly, “You mean the food; yes, it does smell delicious.”
He lifted the silver cover from a soup tureen and served them a creamy lobster bisque. She gave up a silent prayer of thanks to Auntie Lil for teaching her the intricacies of the array of cutlery.
Should she toy with her food as she had seen the coquettes do at Anna Maria Shrewsbury’s? She found it impossible to do so. She had missed too many dinners in her lifetime. Summer felt it a sacrilege to waste food.
He looked on with approval as she heartily dipped the large prawns into the melted lemon butter. He thought her face in the candleglow the most arresting he had ever seen. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes slanted upward at the corners, her skin was smooth as heavy cream, and her lips were full and red as crushed strawberries. Her face was as exotically delicate as a vanilla orchid.
She knew she must begin to lay the groundwork for her campaign. As he served the next course and refilled her wineglass she sighed. “I have so much to do when I get home, I don’t know where to start, Lord Helford.”
“Do you think you could find it in your heart to call me Ruark?”
“I should not,” she said quickly.
“But?” he pressed.
She hesitated. “Perhaps.” She continued, “My father was a most eccentric man,” she said softly. “He could not abide servants about him. It was just as well really, because he was difficult … impossible … to work for, and one by one they all left.”
“You cannot run Roseland without servants,” he asserted.
“I have somehow managed to do so. However, all that will change now,” she said.
He had taken it for granted that Lady Summer St. Catherine had been spoiled and pampered. Perhaps it was not so.
“It is also just as well that I will not be receiving visitors. The estate has been sadly neglected and I must begin restoration and repair immediately.”
“Surely you will make an exception for this visitor, Lady Summer?”
“Lord Helford, you are doubly barred!”
“Ruark,” he reminded. “Why so?”
“Because I am officially in mourning and because … I am alone at Roseland. You must promise you will not compromise me, my lord,” she beseeched.
The food was forgotten. He came around the table to her. “I want to see you,” he said firmly. “Do you not have a male relative to whom I may apply for permission?”
She caught her breath. Surely he wouldn’t ask a male relative for permission to make her his mistress. She stood to face him. “There is no one, save my young brother and Lady Richwood of course.”
