“Surely better than having them think me an invalid, or weak-natured enough to allow myself to be used.”
She thought of the servants she was trying to win over, imagined the rumors of their blind mistress they were already spreading to other servants, and hence to Hedgerley, to the people she hadn’t even begun to meet yet.
“No,” she said at last. “I want to be respected, to become part of the village society, not the fast London Society.”
He eased his thigh away. “That’s what I want for you, too, Audrey. So we will remain engaged for a while longer. Shall we continue our walk about the grounds?”
He took both her hands and pulled her to her feet, and for just a moment she stood before him, skirts tangled with his legs, their hands joined. The autumn wind tugged at them both, but they heard no other sounds, as if they were alone on the grounds.
Suddenly, she felt him looming over her, bending near.
“But if we’re engaged,” he whispered, “cannot a fiancé steal a kiss?”
Even as she gasped, she felt the press of his lips against her cheek. His skin was rougher than hers with newly shaved whiskers, but his lips—ah, his lips were soft and warm and lingered a heartbeat too long. She could smell the cleanliness of soap, even beneath the scents of horse and leather from his ride to see her. She leaned into him, unable to help her weakness.
Yet still their hands were clasped between them, the backs of his hands against her stomach. He felt solid, and she remembered him shirtless in the inn, and her hands on his hot skin.
She swayed, beginning to turn her head into the kiss, wanting more.
But she couldn’t want more—wouldn’t be so weak.
She took a step back, and the backs of her knees hit the bench hard, but at least the kiss was broken.
She cleared her throat, yet her voice trembled. “So you’ve stolen a kiss and proved to everyone we’re engaged for a reason. Very … smart of you.”
He chuckled. “I stole a moment of intimacy, but I’m not sure how much of a true kiss that was.”
“Enough to seem convincing, Robert. Thank you for thinking of my reputation as an engaged widow.”
Now he laughed aloud, and she felt her own smile grow wide. They started back to the house, but her ebullient mood didn’t last.
She’d felt some of these same feelings when Martin Blake had first paid attention to her—flattered and embarrassed and too afraid to hope. But they’d all been misconceptions. She’d thought Martin cared for her at least, but their wedding night had revealed her true worth in his eyes. He’d treated her maidenly shyness as an inconvenience, had done nothing to encourage any romantic feelings a bride should experience—or so she’d been told by Molly. After that, she’d known the twin blows of embarrassment and self-doubt, as if she were unworthy of even a husband’s attention.
And now to feel such desire again for a man who was openly falsifying their attachment—she was so disappointed in herself.
But she was a woman, and he was a man who knew how to seduce a woman’s senses. Was he a rake, then, one of those notorious men who slept with many women, regardless of what the Grand Dames of Society said?
But he’d been gone since he was twenty-one—hardly enough time to be considered a rake. But service in India might have changed him, and not in a good way.
She had to stop these doubts. She’d committed to this course, and she would see it through. He’d be returning to his estate, surely getting caught up in everything an earl had to do. It would be easy to pretend that their attachment was slowly dying.
But not so easy to pretend that she was strong, when she had trouble distinguishing between reality … and the fantasy of her own fevered dreams.
10
After a detour to the kitchen to discuss the earl’s presence at luncheon with Mrs. Sanford, Audrey went back upstairs to see what Molly was up to. She said her name softly, wondering if the maid was still asleep.
In a groggy voice, Molly answered, “I’m awake, miss.”
“You don’t sound any better,” she said with concern, following her voice. She found Molly curled up in the window seat.
“I just don’t seem to have any gumption today,” the maid murmured.
Audrey reached out with the back of her hand, touched Molly’s arm, then skimmed up to her face.
“You have a fever,” she said in a brisk voice, although she felt a moment of panic. Molly never got sick.
“No, that can’t be,” she insisted weakly. “Just give me a moment and I’ll be fine.”
