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she gave thanks that the men were traveling on horseback. She'd rather be riding, too, for the road was not really smooth enough for carriages, but she had accepted the need to act the lady for today and now was grateful.
Conventional? she thought, squeezing in beside her Aunt Mary. He had mostly seen her trying to act her part, but surely he couldn't ignore their adventures last year, especially the one where she had held him at pistol point.
Oh, plague take the man. She must stop this!
It would be easier to stop thinking about him, however, if she didn't have the unnerving sense that he was reacting to her just as she was to him. She looked down at the red poppy, particularly startling against her outfit of pale yellow and cream, and touched a frilly petal.
A bold move. One that had to mean something.
What?
He was a man who did nothing without intent.
Lord Rothgar was catlike, yes. But not a domestic cat. Not a domestic cat at all. And big, predatory cats did not sprawl in anyone's lap, purring.
They devoured.
Rothgar very carefully didn't watch the coach begin its swaying journey down to Arradale. Really, it had been infernally stupid to play that little game with the flower. Weddings seemed to have a softening effect on the brain, particularly joyful country weddings such as this one.
He looked around for a moment, at smiling, uncomplicated faces, at old friends, close families, and familiar neighbors. This was a different world to the one he moved in, and not for him since birth.
Not for her, either, and yet she had a foot here through her mother who had grown up in this pleasant house.
He shrugged and went over to where the horses were being prepared, but a shrug could not cast off a new awareness of the Countess of Arradale. A pretty, quick-witted woman and, it would seem, an educated one. It had been clear from talk among the men that she played a full part in local affairs. Though some of the men were uncomfortable with it, none had suggested that she ran her affairs badly.
And she had knocked on his door last night.
As he swung on his horse, he acknowledged that Lady Arradale was even more dangerous than he'd thought, but that the real danger came from his own reaction to the woman.
Chapter 7
Back at Arradale, Diana watched everyone disperse to their rooms to change and rest before a late dinner. Once she was sure all was in order, she retreated to her own quarters.
In her father's somber bedchamber she reviewed the wedding, going over her conversation with Lord Rothgar, and deciding strategy for the next couple of days.
The problem was, she was no longer sure of her purpose. Oh, she knew what it should be, but as if softened by the summer sun, it was reforming into other, dangerous things.
Dinner tonight would be followed by more music and cards. Tomorrow she had a number of outdoor activities arranged. Angling on the river, boating on the lake, and a trip to the local falls for those interested. The day after, they - he - would leave.
Given that he would leave, could she not allow herself to indulge in this fascinating study? Could she not flirt, and perhaps even steal a kiss? What a waste to wave Lord Rothgar off the day after tomorrow without even experiencing a kiss.
Feeling hot and dusty, Diana let her maid take off everything and washed from head to toe before slipping into a loose silk gown for an hour or two's relaxation.
Just a kiss...
She pushed the idea away. Every grain of sense and intelligence told her she would be playing with wildfire.
On the other hand, he'd soon be leaving. It was an unrepeatable opportunity -
Oh, enough of this! She needed rational occupation, and marched into her boudoir where a pile of papers awaited her attention. She sat at her desk and made herself concentrate on them, and only them.
She went through them, scribbling her required action on most, but putting a few aside to be dealt with when she had more time. The work soothed her until she came to a personal letter from a second cousin informing her, as head of the family, of engagement to marry. Lud, was the whole world hell bent on matrimony, while she languished hardly kissed?
She let the letter drop.
Just a kiss... ?
When younger she'd permitted the bolder local lads a kiss now and then. Sometimes at a masquerade