The Bishop's Daughter (27 page)

Harry tipped back his head, peering upward at the naked warrior that towered above them. "I intend to have that cursed thing carted off my hill as soon as may be."

"No, don't." Kate said. "I have rather grown to like it." Boldly she forced her gaze up that disturbingly lifelike representation of male flesh. She faltered, "Of course, perhaps we should contrive to get some clothes upon him."

Harry's laugh did boom out then, hearty and deep. Kate thought she could feel it ring in her heart.

"What I had better contrive," he said with a chuckle, "is to get you home before the storm breaks. I thought I heard a rumble of thunder."

He tucked her arm within his, with a return of that familiar heart-stopping smile. As they hastened down the hill, Kate's pulses raced with anticipation.

She was certain that at any moment he would ask her to marry him. Her answer, her lips, her heart were all eager and ready.

But to her confusion and dismay, Harry whisked her into his curricle and they were soon on the way back through the village. Thus far he had not said a word, at least none that she was longing to hear. He appeared to be taking great care to avoid any mention of their quarrel or the episode at the fête. With maddening cheerfulness, he chatted of the most insignificant matters.

Friends, Kate thought wretchedly. He now means for us to be no more than friends, just as she had always insisted. Would that someone had cut out her tongue.

By the time Harry deposited her at the cottage, Kate trembled with her desperation. He did not even attempt to take her by the hand as he opened the gate for her.

"I am glad to see you are looking better than when we last met," he said.

"Yes." Kate agreed, regarding him hopefully. "Although I have decided I had better swear off the gin."

Her jest provoked a grin from him, but he made no movement to follow her inside the fence. To her acute dismay, he vaulted back into the seat of his curricle. Did he truly mean to leave without saying another word?

"Harry . . ." Kate began and then blushed. No, she could not do it. She could not be the one to ask him. Miserably, she stood, fidgeting with the latch on the gate.

"Good day to you, Miss Towers. My regards to your mother and Lady Dane." Harry gathered up the reins. He paused, adding somewhat wistfully. "I don't suppose you want to marry me, do you?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, I do." Kate cried out with joy and relief.

To her astonishment, he nodded glumly and set his horse into motion. Kate's jaw dropped for a moment, then she crowded close to the gate, watching in fascination, wondering how far he was going to get before her answer registered with him.

The curricle had not advanced as far as the turning in the lane, when Harry sawed back so ruthlessly on the reins, the horse reared in the traces. Kate realized that she must finally have been infected with his lordship's puckish sense of humor, for she took an unholy delight in observing how Hellfire Harry, that most notable of whips, became positively cow-handed in his frantic efforts to bring the curricle around.

As the vehicle thundered back to the gate, Harry almost leaped down before he brought the mare to a halt. He rushed panting to her side.

"Kate! What . . . what the devil did you just say?"

Laughter bubbled up inside her. "I said yes, you silly man. Yes, I want to marry you."

Harry let out a war whoop. Seizing her about the waist, he raised her up and spun her about until they were both light-headed and giddy with laughing.

Then slowly Harry lowered her to her feet, the laughter stilling, the expression in his eyes causing the breath to snag in her throat. He captured her lips with a hunger, a longing she felt strike deep to the core of her own heart. Crushing her hard against him, he kissed her with a most tender ruthlessness, until even the gray day about her spun bright with promise and sunshine.

"Kate, Kate." He murmured. "You must know how I love you. How much I . . . I— Damn it, I meant to make a much better job of it this time."

"If you think you can do any better than this, my lord," she said huskily, the heat rushing through her veins. "I am certainly willing to let you try."

Seizing him by the collar, she brought his lips crashing down on hers again.

At the cottage's bow front window, the curtain stirred. Lady Dane peered out with a startled exclamation and then said tartly, "Maisie, your daughter is making love to Lytton by the garden gate. I certainly hope this means they are betrothed."

Mrs. Towers joined her mother-in-law at the window. "I rather think it does," she said as she saw Kate locked in Harry's arms. The smile Mrs. Towers felt curve her lips was an odd mingling of joy, relief, and melancholy.

Her ladyship folded her arms in rigid silence. At last as though the words were fairly wrung from her, she said, "All right, Maisie, how did you do it? Whatever did you say to that stubborn child?"

"Nothing, truly. I just talked to Kate a little about her papa, told her some of the wild things he had done in his youth."

"Wild? My Dylan?" Lady Dane stared at Mrs. Towers as though she had run mad.

Mrs. Towers squirmed. "Well, he did tell me he went to London once. He actually lost two shillings at whist and . . . and permitted a woman of most doubtful reputation to speak to him."

"Why, Maisie Towers, you lied to the girl!"

"No, I didn't. I only exaggerated," Mrs. Towers murmured.  "Being only a bishop's wife and not his daughter, I am not quite burdened with as many scruples."

A glint of amusement and newfound respect appeared in Lady Dane's eyes. She gestured to where Kate and Harry lingered by the gate, yet lost to the world. "So what will you do now that you are about to part with your daughter?"

Mrs. Towers sighed. "I don't know. A small house in Yorkshire, perhaps with a hired companion."

Lady Dane cleared her throat. She said gruffly, "I don't suppose you would consider making your home with a most meddlesome and . . . and frequently lonely old woman?"

Despite her regal posture, there was a degree of humbleness in Lady Dane's request quite foreign to her nature.

After feigned consideration, Mrs. Towers replied, "I should be happy to come live with you."

Lady Dane seemed pleased, but so astonished by her response that Mrs. Towers hastened to explain. "You see, I know I would never have to have that dreadful Prangle woman into tea again."

Lady Dane laughed so hard, the sound carried even beyond the cottage walls. Kate caught sight of the pair at the window, and wondered what Mama could have said to occasion her ladyship such mirth. But even the knowledge she was being observed could not curb Kate's desire to have Harry kiss her again.

It was left to his lordship to playfully wag an admonishing finger at her. Then with a tender smile, he linked his arm through Kate's and they marched up the cottage path together to solicit her mother's blessing.

###

 Author Susan Carroll began her career in 1986, writing historical romance and regencies, two of which were honored by Romance Writers of America with the RITA award. She has written twenty six novels to date. Her St. Leger series received much acclaim. The Bride Finder was honored with a RITA for Best Paranormal Romance in 1999. Ms. Carroll launched a new series with the publication of The Dark Queen set during the turbulent days of the French Renaissance. Ms. Carroll was born in Latrobe, Pa. She spent much of her childhood in South Jersey where she graduated from Oakcrest High School in Mays Landing. She attended college at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, where she earned a B.A. in English with a minor in history. She currently resides in Illinois.

Masquerade

Rendezvous

Escapade

The Painted Veil

Winterbourne

Christmas Belles

Brighton Road

Coming soon,
The Sugar Rose
---another award winning Regency by Susan Carroll. Continue reading for a sample chapter.

Chapter One

"Aurelia Sinclair loves Lord Justin Spencer."

Aurelia's green eyes widened in mortification when she realized she had absentmindedly scrawled those words onto the flyleaf in her latest volume of Byron's poetry. Bad enough to indulge in such romantic nonsense when she was only fifteen, but at the sensible age of three and twenty, she ought to know better.

Justin, she reminded herself sternly, had not ridden to Sinclair Manor this morning to propose marriage as a result of any passionate devotion. No, he came only to do what had been long expected of him by both the Sinclair and Spencer families. If Aurelia looked for any warmer emotion from him other than friendship, then she was a fool.

"Giddings will be showing Lord Spencer upstairs at any moment now." The reedy voice of her elderly companion, Mrs. Elfreda Perkins, startled Aurelia from her unhappy thoughts. "Are you ready, my dear?"

Thrusting the book deep inside her workbasket, Aurelia straightened, raising one hand to the back of her head. Not so much as a strand of silken auburn hair escaped the crown of tightly woven braids. She tugged at the high-standing frills of her lace collar and shook out the folds of her saffron morning dress, wishing she had worn her comfortable, plain gray serge gown. The gossamer yards of clinging yellow furbelows did little to enhance her figure. But then, Aurelia thought with a grimace as she placed her hands upon her plump waistline, the fabric had yet to be woven that could accomplish that feat.

"I suppose I am as ready as I ever shall be." Her heart did a nervous flutter.

"Good. Then I shall whisk myself out of here." Effie said, tittering. She raised her brows in a look that was meant to be arch, but gave her more the appearance of a surprised owl. "I should be infinitely
de trop
when Lord Spencer drops to one knee and asks a certain question."

Effie stood on tiptoe to give Aurelia a swift kiss before skipping out of the sunlit music room. Aurelia winced. She thought it bad enough that Justin's mama had dropped "just a hint" to Aurelia herself to expect his lordship's proposal directly after breakfast, but it seemed that everyone from Effie down to the lowliest cook-maid was also privy to the secret that his lordship was finally coming to the point.

The sound of footsteps on the marble landing outside the door alerted Aurelia to the nearness of Justin's approach. Quickly she sat down upon the high-backed red velvet sofa, dragging her embroidery frame from her workbasket in an attempt to appear as if nothing occupied her mind except for the altar cloth she stitched to donate to the church.

If you had an ounce of pride, Amelia Sinclair, she thought, you would refuse him. A man that comes to you at his mother's bidding!

But all such notions fled when the door swung open and she saw Justin's tall frame silhouetted in the entry. He grinned at her; his brown hair bleached light by the sun made a pleasing contrast to his bronzed skin.

"Good morning, Amelia."

Before she could reply, Giddings pressed forward into the room, an affronted expression crossing his stately features. He announced in his frostiest accents, "Lord Spencer, miss."

Her pulses racing, Aurelia half rose, extending her hand.

"And," Giddings continued in tones of strong disapproval, "Mr. Everard Ramsey."

Aurelia sank back, as dismayed as Giddings by the sight of the immaculately tailored, dark-haired gentleman who followed Justin into the room. How often had Justin regaled her with tales of Everard Ramsey, whose meticulousness in matters of dress was only matched by his recklessness at the gaming tables. But why was Justin's friend so perverse as to call upon her this morning of all mornings, when Justin meant to propose?

Justin, however, did not appear in the least discomposed by Ramsey's untimely arrival. As he turned to greet his friend with every evidence of pleasure upon his handsome countenance, Aurelia struggled to suppress her own sense of bitter disappointment.

"I tried to keep the fellow out," Giddings said in an overly loud whisper. "But when he came tooling into the yard, he saw Lord Spencer's horse and knew that you were receiving."

"Thank you, Giddings," Aurelia said quickly, fearful that Ramsey would overhear. "Would you please see to refreshment for my guests?"

"Certainly, miss." The old man made a dignified exit, muttering how a nice glass of arsenic would do for some persons who had not the wit to realize their timing was most inopportune.

Aurelia directed a weak smile at the two men. "I fear Giddings grows more eccentric with age "

Completely disconcerted by this unexpected turn of events, she shook hands with Justin before turning to murmur a greeting to Mr. Ramsey. She had taken a marked dislike to the man, although she had met him only the night before at supper. The London dandy had inspected her across the table through his quizzing glass, studying her until Aurelia had been provoked into saying sweetly, "Pray, Mr. Ramsey, are you feeling quite the thing? My own dear papa was always wont to stare in just such a glazed fashion when he was about to suffer an attack of the gout."

The man hadn't even had the grace to blush, but her remark had had the effect of making him turn his gaze elsewhere, although she had the uncomfortable feeling that he followed every word of her conversation with Justin, her dinner partner. After such an encounter, she would have thought that calling upon her would be the last notion to occur to Mr. Ramsey.

Ramsey executed a brief bow, his hooded blue eyes containing a hint of mockery. His perfectly formed jawline, his high cheekbones, his dark, arched brows gave the man an expression of carefully schooled arrogance. "I see my visit has taken you quite by surprise, Miss Sinclair." He produced a folded fan from the pocket of his silk waistcoat. "You left this at my aunt's last evening, and she insisted I see it returned to you."