Lady Rosabella's Ruse - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,28
had he seen anything quite so alluring.
He folded his arms and leaned against a handy oak tree, content to watch.
What on earth was she doing? Rosa picked yet another of the tough fibrous stalks and added the bright blue flowers to her growing bunch. Encountering him on her walk was the worst of luck. It had been ages before she’d been able to fall asleep after their kiss. Every sound outside her door had brought her upright in her bed with the fear he’d somehow arrive in her bedchamber. Fearing…or hoping?
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. A dark presence watching her pick wild flowers with heavy eyelids and a cynical smile. The bunch she had gathered looked scrawny and thin. She could hardly give up now, yet this was the last thing she wanted to be doing.
So why was she? Because he’d made her feel as if her skin didn’t fit, as if she needed to do something with her hands or find them back on his shoulders while she offered her mouth to be kissed. Because it had all felt so wonderful and made her forget.
His kisses made her feel hot all over and dizzy. For those few moments she had forgotten all her worries.
She still didn’t know what he planned with regard to her search of Gorham Place. If he was going to report her to the local authorities, surely he would have done so first thing this morning? At the very least, he would have already spoken to Lady Keswick. He’d done neither, which meant she was safe. For now.
She glanced down at the letter in her basket, the rounded handwriting of her sister, the crossed and recrossed lines spattered with inkblots revealing her agitation. Everything that could go wrong had done so. She’d gone to the post office, hoping Lady Keswick might have heard from her friend and found a terrified letter from her sister instead.
Why, oh, why had she borrowed that money?
Her heart stopped beating. She stared at the flowers trembling in her hand as she fought against the roiling in her stomach. She didn’t want to be picking flowers. She wanted to run. To hide.
But she couldn’t. She needed money. Lots of money.
Mechanically she picked another handful of flowers.
She’d known borrowing money was a risk, but the school fees were due and the doctor had refused to attend Sam without some payment on his account. With Grandfather deaf to her pleas for help and her certainty that Father would leave her well provided for, the decision had been simple.
That was months ago. Now the usurer had gone to the school demanding payment, waving the note she’d signed under the headmistress’s nose and threatening debtors’ prison for them all.
Meg’s letter was frantic.
Why had Father broken his promise? She understood why he’d married again, but he’d promised he’d take care of his first family. She’d looked everywhere in that house. Everywhere.
A flash of something passed through her mind. A long narrow staircase leading down into the dark. The cellar. She hadn’t looked in the cellar. Or the attic.
Could she possibly have missed the most obvious places after all? Grandfather would never go in the cellars or the attics. Father might not have been very practical, but he wasn’t a fool.
The urge to run and look swept through her. She could be there and back in a flash.
‘Are you done, Mrs Travenor?’
She whirled around. Stanford. She’d forgotten all about him. And Digger. She couldn’t go haring off to Gorham Place in the middle of the day; she’d be missed. And she could not for a moment let Stanford know she planned to go back. She had to let him think he’d won. That she was happy with her lot and enjoying his company. It was the only way to allay his suspicions.
She looked down at the flowers. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m almost done.’
She inhaled deeply, drawing in the air for the strength to get through one more day, the way she had when Father left them at the school, the way she had when he died.
Swiftly, she snapped off another stem and another. Added some greenery. Bound the bouquet with a twisted length of columbine. She marched back to the man watching her from beneath lowered lids. Her heart gave a lurch. He was just so blasted attractive. If her life had taken a different turn, they might have met in a ballroom in London. He might even have become her suitor.