Page 30 of A Match Made in London
Chapter 10
By the time Rosalind prepared to set out for a brisk walk with Lady Belham later that afternoon she was determined to make the best of her situation. Surely Sir Tristan was a minor snag in this new chapter of her life. Her employer would soon acquire a house of her own. Once that occurred, she could put the man and his sick sense of humor behind her.
“You will come to find,” the other lady said as they marched down the hall, “that I am not one to sit idly by all day, reading and stitching and such. I much prefer to be out and about. I hope you don’t find such a life distasteful.”
“It sounds divine,” Rosalind replied with utter truth. How many hours had she spent reading dusty tomes to drowsy old women, or embroidering intricate designs on things she would never use or wear? How many times had she sat with nothing to do but watch others talk as if she were invisible?
But being out of doors, and with a woman who already felt more of a friend than an employer, was like being in the most beautiful dream. And she never wanted to wake up.
Sir Tristan chose that moment to exit the room they were passing. He stepped in their path with a jaunty grin. “Going somewhere, ladies?”
Then again, no dream was perfect, Rosalind thought sourly.
“We’re off on a walk,” Lady Belham answered cheerfully. “The day is much too glorious to stay indoors.”
“I don’t suppose your party could handle one more?”
And there went Rosalind’s good mood, right out the window. “I thought you were going out for a ride,” she blurted.
Sir Tristan turned to her then. The effect those clear blue eyes had on her was instantaneous, making her hot and itchy all at once.
“That is,” she continued hurriedly, needing a distraction from her body’s perplexing reaction, “you mentioned to Danielson when we met earlier that he should hold your horse. I assumed you had meant to go on a ride.”Shut your mouth, Rosalind.“Not that it has anything to do with me.”For the love of all that is holy, be quiet.“You may do as you wish. I certainly don’t care.” At long last her mouth heeded her and stilled. Though it was much too late for her to come away from it with any semblance of grace.
“I find I could not pass up the promise of such company,” he drawled, a slow grin stretching over his face.
Rosalind flushed. Despite his flirtatiousness—Sir Tristan’s typical way of conversing with females, she knew, and thus no reflection at all on her—his eyes were strangely sober. No doubt he had seen the rudeness of her little run of the mouth. She may as well have declared in clear and ringing tones that she didn’t care for his presence. Granted, it was true. But it was not generally something you said to someone, deserved or no. Especially when they might have sway over your future security.
“That is pure poppycock, Tristan,” Lady Belham said. “I do hope your change in plans is not due to our conversation from earlier. I told you that you are not required to entertain me. I am more than capable of seeing to my own comfort. And now that I have Miss Merriweather’s company you need feel no guilt that I am lonely.”
“You both wound me,” Sir Tristan declared, laying a hand over his heart. “I would think you have no wish to have me join you.”
“Silly man,” his cousin said with a mix of exasperation and fondness. “Very well, you may join us. But,” she said as his grin returned, “you must promise me, no more flirting with Miss Merriweather. I’ll not have you scaring her off when I have just found her.”
“I would not dream of offending Miss Merriweather,” he pronounced. He inserted himself between them, winging out both arms. “Shall we?”
The very last thing in the world Rosalind wanted to do was to take this man’s arm. Yet he gave her no choice. Pressing her lips tight, she gingerly placed her fingers on the cobalt wool of his coat.
He tensed beneath her hand, a sudden and jarring movement she felt even through the layers of his fine clothes, right through her gloves. She cast a sharp glance up at him.
The breath left her body. Again. He was staring down at her, the bright blue of his eyes disturbingly direct and intent. Damnation, what was it about his gaze that affected her so? She could not be attracted to the man. If there was anything Guinevere’s tragedy had taught her, it was that men such as he could only lead to ruin and heartache. Surely she was much too smart to fall for his charms.
Wasn’t she?
Mayhap not. For she could not help the way her knees weakened, making her sway as his gaze settled on her lips. Nor could she help the way her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry lips.
His eyes widened before he hastily looked away. “Ready then?” he asked his cousin. Was it Rosalind, or did his voice crack?
They set off, heading out of the house and west on Upper Grosvenor Street toward Hyde Park. As the cousins chatted amicably, Rosalind stayed silent, her thoughts troubled. She could no longer ignore the fact that Sir Tristan was a danger to her. Despite her better sense, despite not even liking the man, her traitorous body continued to react in the most worrisome way to him. She forcefully brought to mind her sister’s face as it had been after that fateful London trip. She had been drawn and haggard, her eyes haunted. And so much worse all those months later, when the fruits of her ruination had killed her. Would she forget the lesson to be learned there?
With luck Lady Belham would soon find a place to let of her own. Until then, Rosalind would have to be on guard. Surely she could manage herself for a few more weeks. It was not as if the man reciprocated her desires, after all.
• • •
Tristan had spent far too little time with Grace since her return to town nearly a week ago. As they walked the shaded paths of Hyde Park, conversing as they had not in too long, he was reminded of how much he had missed her. It would have been an ideal afternoon.
If he was not achingly aware of Miss Merriweather at his side.
Damnation, but he had to get control of himself where that woman was concerned. No easy feat now that she was staying in his home. But he could manage it.
