Page 39 of His Grace, the Duke
He had to right this ship. He had to find a way to convince Rosalie that Marianne was in the past. Even more important, he had to explain his changing goals for the future. She still thought he was committed to the ludicrous idea of marrying solely to advance his career. Tom wanted to make captain, but he wanted to do it on his terms. There would be no marriages of convenience.
“Shall we turn back?” Rosalie called, already turning her mount around.
Tom took a deep breath, trying to find the words to begin. “Rose, I—”
“Race you towards the tree line,” she called with a laugh, urging her little chestnut mare into a canter.
Thunder rumbled softly in the distance as the storm clouds rolled in. Tom’s mount danced in place, eager to join the race. Tom squeezed with his heels and the horse took off, tearing over the grass on pounding hooves, chasing after that blur of laughing pink.
***
They didn’t make it two hundred yards before the heavens opened. Rosalie let out a soft squeal as the first drops fell. In moments, they were both wet, urging their mounts towards the head of a forest trail that wove along the edge of the heath. The back gardens of Corbin House were still a good fifteen minutes away. Tom kicked himself for having let them ride out so far.
“I’m soaked through,” she cried, slowing her mount to a trot as they neared the trees.
“I’m so sorry, Rose,” he called over the rain, his mount coming level with hers.
She turned with a wide grin on her face. It lit her up from the inside, making his own chest feel warm. She was soaking wet, but she was happy. She was laughing and free. He would probably earn a mouthful from Mrs. Robbins when they returned, but he didn’t care. It was worth it to see this smile on her face.
A crack of lightning split the sky and Rosalie’s horse shied.She settled the little mare with a few soothing words. “It’s really coming down,” she called over her shoulder, a hint of anxiety in her tone.
“Swing left!” Tom knew this heath well and knew where they might find shelter.
Coming to a fork in the path, Rosalie urged her horse left. The path was wide enough that there was little coverage from the trees overhead to soften the rain. It pounded down on Tom’s head and shoulders, water dripping off his hat brim. In front of him, Rosalie’s bright pink skirts were now almost purple with the combination of the dampness.
They rode a few more minutes down the path until Tom spied his quarry. “Let’s take cover and wait for the worst of this to pass,” he called, reining his horse even with hers to point out the small Grecian temple tucked into the trees. It was a simple thing, hardly more than a garden ornament, but it was large enough to fit them both.
She nodded, angling her mount towards it.
He swung out of his saddle first, boots squelching in the wet grass as he looped his reins in his arms and stomped over to Rosalie, offering up both hands. “Hop down.”
She unhooked her leg from the sidesaddle and dropped down at his side.
“Give me your reins and run for cover,” he said with a laugh, taking hold of the chestnut mare.
Rosalie didn’t wait to be told twice before spinning on her heel and running for safety as another fork of lightning sparked in the sky.
20
Rosalie
Rosalie’s breath camein sharp pants as she jogged up the three stone steps, slipping on the wet stone. She wrapped a bracing arm around a column to steady herself. Her heavy skirts dragged behind her as she stepped fully under the shelter.
She took a quick look around her new sanctuary. It was a monopteros with eight slender columns and a domed ceiling. She took two steps forward, inspecting the central statue posed on a plinth. It was some kind of maiden or goddess with her arms outstretched, her body contorted in an odd dancing pose. It was neither sophisticated nor handsomely carved.
Rosalie laughed aloud. She had a sudden image of some young gentleman with more inspiration than talent feverishly sculpting alone in a studio, ruining the proportions of the maiden’s limbs with a heavy-handed chisel.
“Bloody hell, it’s raining like anything,” came Renley’s deep voice.
She tore her gaze from the statue, watching him dash upthe stairs. Like her, he slid at the top, his eyes going wide as he threw out both arms to balance himself. She stifled a giggle as he met her gaze and let out his own laugh.
Moving past her, he took off his hat and popped it on the stone nymph’s upturned hand. Then he peeled off his wet leather gloves and dragged both hands through his dripping curls. “I’m so sorry about all this,” he said.
“It’s not your fault,” she replied, still feeling breathless. “This will soon pass. Then we’ll head home before Mrs. Robbins sends out a search party.”
She turned away, pulling the few pins out of her hair that secured her hat. She hung it over the stone maiden’s other hand. Renley watched her every move. She smiled, patting her damp curls with a self-conscious hand. “You keep catching me in the rain, sir.”
His gaze heated, those beautiful blue eyes darkening, and she realized it was the wrong thing to say. For now, they were standing mere feet apart, thinking about thelasttime they were left unchaperoned in a thunderstorm.
