How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (12 page)

So it was true; Rose was different from most women he knew. But why was that?

“Miss Balfour, why did you accept my aunt’s invitation?”

“Because I was honored to have been invited to Floors Castle, of course. And how could I say no to my own godmother? She’s a very determined woman.”

“You have no idea how determined she can be. And meddlesome to boot.” His gaze flickered past her to where the duchess was standing by Charlotte, overseeing the listing of the wagers. “My aunt seems to think you are a good rider.”

Instantly, Rose’s eyes lit up. “When I’m at home, I ride every day.”

It was almost magical, the way her face changed when she was interested in something. Liveliness and excitement transformed her from mildly pretty to breathtakingly beautiful. It was as if her very spirit was visible in her eyes.

Sin found himself leaning forward, wishing to taste that warmth, which was ridiculous. He drew back. “You will be pleased with the mounts. Roxburghe’s
stables are without compare, as my uncle personally selected the stock. Except, of course, for the fat, sluggish few that he keeps solely for my aunt’s friends.”

“I look forward to a morning gallop tomorrow,” Miss Balfour said. “It’s been a week since I rode.”

“You think to gallop with so many delicate bones perched on spiritless slugs? You dream, Miss Balfour.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Then how do we meet our first wager?”

“We will ride off once we reach a good stretch of road.”

“Alone?”

“Afraid?” He’d said the word mockingly and instantly she stiffened.

“Never.”

So Miss Balfour had some pride when it came to being challenged, did she? If that was so, his life had just become infinitely easier. He watched her as he said, “If you fear being alone with me, then you can just hide here within the castle walls, and never leave my aunt’s side. It would be a cowardly way to live, but—” He shrugged.

“I’m not a coward, Lord Sinclair, I am more than ready to—”

Mr. Munro was suddenly with them. “Already teasing your opponent, eh?” He beamed at Rose. “I put my money on you, for her grace vows you’re a top-notch rider.” He flicked a glance Sin’s way. “No offense to you, of course.”

“None taken.”

Munro bowed. “Thank you. I’m not much of a horseman myself, although I plan to ride tomorrow.” Munro eyed Rose as if she were his dessert. “I wonder what other amusements her grace has planned?”

Sin said, “There’s no telling what my aunt has in store. I daresay there will be dinner every night at the unfashionable hour of eight, whist at the shockingly late hour of nine and perhaps ten if the company gets carried away, with the unalleviated gaiety dispersed by many, many naps.”

Rose replied with admirable gravity, “It’s fortunate that I enjoy a good nap, myself. In fact, I wish I’d had one today after traveling here.”

Sin had a sudden image of her rising from a late-afternoon nap, her eyes heavy with sleep as she stretched, her lithe form clad only in a chemise.

He found his gaze on the neckline of her gown. A faint hint of lace showed above the material.
So, you have a softer side. I wonder if I—

“My dear boy!” Aunt Margaret hurried up. “Charlotte needs your help in assigning mounts to our guests. Normally Roxburghe would deal with that, but he’s not here.”

Apparently his chance to speak with Rose had passed. Forcing his disappointment away, he bowed to his aunt. “Of course. I will be there in a moment as soon as I finish speaking to—” He realized that Rose had moved away and was now talking to Mr. Stewart,
much to that ancient codger’s delight, while Munro hovered behind her.

Aunt Margaret looked on with approval. “Ah, yes, Munro. I wish I could take credit for that, but I must say I didn’t invite him with any such intention. But now that he’s showing such interest, I must say it wouldn’t be a bad match for the gel.”

“Munro and
Rose
? Surely you jest.”

“Why not? He’s quite wealthy and has a large stable, which she would enjoy. And she’s still young enough to give him an heir. It would be a very good match for them both.”

“He’s two score years older than her.”

“I’ve seen happy unions with more years between them.”

“And I’ve seen unhappy ones with fewer.”

“So the number of years must not matter,” she returned. “Besides, I cannot see how you, who’ve never been married, can profess to know what makes a good match. I, on the other hand, am an expert.”

“I can promise you that Rose Balfour is not interested in Mr. Munro. He’s far too tame for a woman like that.”

“Ah.” Aunt Margaret smiled serenely as she turned to watch Mr. Munro practice his heavy-handed wiles on Rose. “I predict that Miss Balfour won’t escape Floors Castle without an offer.”

Sin frowned.

“Mr. Munro seems quite taken already, and they’ve just met. And then there’s Lord Cameron—”

“No.”

She gave him a surprised look. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“They’re both too old for her. Besides, Cameron was sneering at her before dinner.”

“That’s because he mistakenly thought her father a gardener. I have since explained things. Either man would make a good match for Miss Balfour.”

“Blast it, you said you wouldn’t matchmake.”

“I said I wouldn’t matchmake for
you.
Miss Balfour, however, is obviously in clear need of my help. She has no dowry to speak of, no inheritance waiting, and while she’s fair enough and is from good stock, she doesn’t possess the beauty necessary to make the first two conditions unimportant. Still, she might be just what Munro and Cameron are looking for.”

“Neither of them is looking to settle down.”

“Nonsense. They both want a gel of good birth and who possesses passing good looks, who is young, healthy, and virginal—” Margaret sent him a surprised look. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“I just coughed. Pardon me. Since you seem to know what benefits your gentlemen friends would receive from a connection with Miss Balfour, what would she get out of such a mismatch?”

“Financial standing, a social position beyond what
she has now, and a husband to dote upon her every wish. What more could she ask for?”

“Maybe youth. Vigor.
Teeth.
”

“Lord Cameron has his own teeth.” Margaret narrowed her eyes at the other candidate. “I’m not so certain about Munro. They seemed somewhat clacky at dinner, so I’m suspicious. Still, he’s hardly stopped staring at her all evening. Just look at him now.”

Sin followed Aunt Margaret’s gaze to where Munro was talking eagerly to Rose. The thought of Munro’s liver-spotted hands on Rose’s sun-kissed skin made Sin’s stomach tighten.

Aunt Margaret smiled benignly. “They would make a handsome couple, wouldn’t they?”

“Good God. It would be like seeing a caterpillar chomping on a young, tender leaf.”

“Sin!” Margaret said with exasperation. “What’s gotten you into such a mood?”

“I’m not in a mood.”

Aunt Margaret snorted. Just then the Misses Stewart joined Rose and Munro, breaking up their unsettling tête-à-tête. Good. Munro wouldn’t get a word in edgewise now.

Still, Sin couldn’t help but glower as he headed toward Lady Charlotte. His plans for Miss Balfour were not progressing as they should, and now she’d managed to add a layer of protection in the form of antiquated chaperones. Not one damn thing had gone right.

He firmed his jaw. Perhaps he’d been unrealistic in expecting to easily seduce Rose. Something needed to change. Because one way or another, he was going to get Rose Balfour alone tomorrow, and when he did, woe betide her.

Feeling more hopeful, he sat with Lady Charlotte and gave her his full attention. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
I believe I’ve discovered the source of Sin’s taste for disreputable women. If one does not ask for much, one won’t be disappointed at not receiving much. I now hope more than ever that Miss Balfour will manage to reach my great-nephew on some new level and, in the process, disabuse him of some of his misconceptions about women.

Meanwhile, I asked MacLure, one of our best grooms and a former major in the army, to chaperone Miss Balfour, as I believe Sin will attempt to get her alone.

Men are, if nothing else, predictable. Fortunately for us all, women are not.

The day broke gray and overcast. Rose awoke at dawn from a fitful slumber, her dreams filled with heated kisses from a man with sherry-colored eyes and a smug smile. Not wanting to wake the servants, she
rose, pulled on her robe, added wood to the fire, and settled in with a good book.

She usually enjoyed a nice, quiet morning read, but her mind kept drifting to Sin. Unable to focus, she set the book aside and went to stand at one of the large windows overlooking the front lawn.

She was still astounded by her reaction to him. This time, when he’d kissed her and those incredible sensations had flooded over her, she hadn’t panicked, but had enjoyed them. Immensely. But . . . was that really better?

Rose, Rose, what are you doing?
She sighed and leaned her head against the window frame, watching as a puff of wind rippled across the lawn. The scent of dampness came with the wind and she shivered and pulled away just as a soft knock sounded on her door.

“Come in!” she called.

The door opened and a maid came in carrying a laden breakfast tray. “Och, ye’re awake. I dinna know ye was already up or I’d have come sooner.” Annie carried the tray to a small table beside the fireplace. “Ye’ve already stoked the fire, too. I suppose if I’d been a wee bit later, ye’d have dressed wit’out me, as well.”

Rose smiled at the censure in the maid’s voice. Upon discovering that Rose had arrived without a maid of her own, the housekeeper, Mrs. Cairness, had assigned Annie to attend Rose. Annie was a large, strapping girl with wispy blond hair and a freckled,
round face. She was much given to gossip, and Rose liked her very much.

“I would never dress without you,” Rose assured her. “Besides, my riding habit has far too many buttons for me to try to dress alone.”

“Guid. I’ve no wish t’ be tol’ I’m not doin’ me dooty.” Annie uncovered a plate and then poured tea into a china cup, steam rising into a delicate curl. “Come and ha’ yer breakfast, miss. Ye’ll be needin’ it if ye’re to ride in this weather.”

Rose crossed to her seat and began to butter a piece of toast while Annie went to the large wardrobe and opened it.

“I had all o’ yer clothes pressed yesterday by the laundry maid, and she was in raptures aboot yer riding habit. Said ’twas lovely, e’en more so than the ones worn by Princess Charlotte when she stayed here. I’ve been itchin’ t’ see it, though—” Annie stuck her head around the edge of the wardrobe. “Do ye think ye’ll go, as ’tis so cloudy?”

“I don’t know about the others, but I will go even if it rains. I love a brisk ride under a gray sky, and a little rain never hurt anyone. It’ll just be more atmospheric.”

“So it will, miss, unless it comes a downpour.”

“If it does, I’ll take shelter until it’s done. We’re to be in a forest, I think.”

“Tha’ ye are. Ye’ve an answer fer everythin’ this morning, haven’t ye, miss?” Annie grinned and then
disappeared behind the wardrobe door. She removed the riding habit and carried it out to the bed. “’Tis a bonny habit, miss.”

“Thank you.”

Annie ran an expert hand over the soft skirt. “’Tis guid ’tis wool, fer wit’out the sun, it could get a mite chilled today.”

Rose finished her toast and dusted her fingers on her napkin. After a quick sip of tea, she came to watch Annie shake out the habit’s full skirts. Last night, the second Rose had seen the two Misses Stewart and their Paris-designed gowns, Rose had known that her clothing—most of it borrowed from Lily—was sadly out of fashion. Not that she cared much; to her, a gown was a gown. But a riding habit was another matter altogether.

A riding habit isn’t a gown. It’s armor.
She smiled. “I shall wash up.” She went to the water closet situated off her dressing room, and returned clean and clad in her chemise. “Running water in every water closet. I shall be spoiled when I go home.”

“The duke redid the entire castle when he knew he was to marry her grace. Only the best fer his duchess, he said.” Annie helped Rose into a full petticoat, tying it at her waist. “There. Now let’s ha’ a seat at the dressing table so I can pin up yer hair.”

Rose said with a warning smile, “I fear my hair won’t stay pinned.”

“Aye, ‘tis thick, but soft as can be, which is why it
willna’ hold the pins.” Annie picked up a brush and began to pull it through the long strands. “But ’tis no’ tangly, miss. Tha’ is a blessin’.”

“Yes, it is.” Rose waited until Annie finished brushing her hair and started to put it up, before she said, “The duke must love the duchess very much to put in such luxuries for her.”

“He thinks she walks upon water, miss. We all do.”

“That’s quite a compliment.”

“She’s a guid duchess, she is. We all thought the duke was a confirmed bachelor and had no hopes o’ his ever marrying, but one day, he ups and tells us all tha’ he was bringin’ home his duchess. We was all surprised, even his lordship’s valet, fer he’d ne’er said a word aboot her afore then.” Annie leaned in and said in a low voice, “MacDougal says the duke knew his lady fer years afore, but she was married to someone else. Once’t her husband died, he waited until she’d put off her mourning afore he spoke to her. He’s a very proper man, is the duke.”

“The duchess was married before?”

“Aye, this is her fifth marriage. She’s outlived four husbands, she has.”

“Goodness!”

“’Tis no’ that unusual. Me own mam was ninety-seven when she died and she’d been married five times. Women live longer than men, miss. ’Tis a simple fact.” Annie finished pinning Rose’s hair and went to fetch the riding habit from the bed. “I think
the duchess lived all o’ her husbands into the ground. She’s a strong woman and hard to keep up wit’. But the duke is her match in tha’. He’s a vigorous man, he is, full of vinegar and always movin’. He used to travel a guid bit, too, and was always in London when the weather turned. We hardly ever saw him here at Floors ’til he married.”