How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (26 page)

“Another home truth. A pity it had to be wrested from you.” He started to turn back to the house.

“Sin, you can’t leave me floating here!”

“Why not? You once ran me and my horse into the river, and I didn’t even have the luxury of a boat.” He rocked back on his heels. “If I were you, I’d sit back and enjoy the solitude.”

“The duchess will miss me at dinner.”

“Not after I pass on your regrets. Headache, you know. The kind only a good sleep will cure.”

Her lips thinned. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Her gaze flickered across him, the lake, and then her boat. Suddenly her lips quivered and she chuckled. “We are fools, Sin.”

Her smile softened his irritation.

“Maybe we deserve each other.” She shook her head. “I don’t know, but you’ve made your point.”

“Trying to bamboozle me, sweet?”

“No. Just agreeing with you. I’m stuck here, so I might as well enjoy it.” She reached into the pocket of her gown and pulled out the book that she’d gone to such lengths to retrieve from the library. “At least I have something to read.”

“I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”

As he turned, she opened the book. “I hope this mist won’t get the book wet.”

He kept walking.

She said loudly, “It’s your uncle’s book and such a beautiful one, too. Leather and quite old. And look! There’s even an inscription to him from— Heavens, is that from the king?”

Sin stopped and turned.

She ran her hand over the book, which was beginning to shine with dampness. “I daresay your great-uncle prizes this book. Your aunt might, as well. I do hope I don’t drop it in the lake.” As she spoke, she held the book over the water.

“You little minx.”

She put a hand to her cheek and looked so pretend-shocked that he seriously thought about stomping through the water and tipping her over. Without the book, of course.

She looked at him. “Would you like to have your uncle’s book back? We all know how he loves his library.”

He had to give her grudging respect. “You are the cheekiest woman I’ve ever met—even while floating in the middle of a lake in a rudderless, paddleless boat.”

“I’m also wet and getting hungry, and I’ve no wish for my new gown to get ruined.” She lifted her brows. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to trade? The book for a pole so that I may rescue myself?”

He glanced up at the sky. The drizzle had stopped for now, but it might come back at any moment. “Fine.” He removed a long pole from another boat. “Grab the end and I’ll pull you closer.”

Soon, she was within the pole’s length from the shore. “Hold tightly to the end of the pole,” he ordered.

She did so and he released it. “Now, throw me the book.”

She tossed the book, which landed far behind him in the yard.

“Now we’re even.” She sat down to thread the pole through the metal ring that would hold it in place. “Thank you for the lovely boat ride. I only wish it had come after dinner. Without rain, of course.”

“Just for the record, we still have matters to discuss.”

“No, we don’t. We won’t meet alone again.”

“We will. Before you leave this house.” With that, he bowed, scooped up the book on his way, and continued on to the house.

As annoying as it was to admit, thanks to his temper, he was back to step one with Rose. Pushing her out into the middle of a lake in a paddleless boat would hardly make her trust him again.

He absently looked down at the book in his hand, opening it to the inscription.
Roxburghe, this is to replace the one I lost. Cousin Harry.

Sin stopped. Why, that little . . . She’d said it was inscribed from the king! He turned and saw her tying her boat to the dock. With an efficient dusting of her hands, she began to walk up the lawn. Seeing the book open in his hands, she grinned and waved.

Sin clamped his jaw together and continued toward the house. As soon as his back was toward her, though, a faint smile slipped through. He never knew what would happen with Rose Balfour. Perhaps the time had come for some surprises of his own.

Feeling more hopeful, he entered the castle, informing MacDougal that Miss Balfour had been taking the air and might now need an umbrella.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
My uncle used to say that regret is a bitter spice best served with warm bread. I have no idea what that means, but every time I’ve repeated it to someone, they always look much struck, as if the saying is both profound and pragmatic.

I wonder if this advice would be helpful to my great-nephew? I must find something to urge him onward . . .

Dunn held up Sin’s Hessians and eyed the mud caked on the heels. “Has the duchess taken to serving dinner in the middle of the wet woods?”

“That happened before dinner, when I went hunting,” Sin said, stretching his feet to the fire.

“Ah. Hunting. Before dinner, no less. As I don’t see a bruise upon you, I assume Miss Balfour didn’t accompany you.”

“Oh, she was there.”

“Of course she was. I shall put your boots in the hallway and have them cleaned.”

Sin nodded absently. If their little trip to the lake had done nothing else, it seemed to have cleared the air between him and Rose. She’d arrived twenty minutes late to dinner, claiming issues with a hem. Usually a stickler about dinner times, Aunt Margaret had taken Rose’s tardiness with amazing calm and had kindly offered the use of her dresser for any further repairs Rose’s wardrobe might need.

And for the first time since they’d arrived at Floors, Rose’s seat wasn’t at the far end of the table, but a mere two places from his. Not close enough for conversation, but several times they’d found themselves sharing an amused glance over something their companions said. Often that glance turned into a smile. And with every smile came a memory of a kiss or a touch. At least it did for Sin. For her part, other than looking slightly flushed, Rose seemed far less affected.

Truly, this was the oddest flirtation he’d ever indulged in; it was more of a trial by fire.

Dunn returned and went to the fire, where he’d hung a small brass pot. He used tongs to lift it from the fire and to open the lid.

The scent of cloves and rum tickled Sin’s nose. “Your hot toddies are magical, Dunn.”

“So I’ve been told, my lord.” The valet poured some into a cup and handed it to Sin.

“Thank you, Dunn. You’re a good man.”

“Thank you, my lord. May I inquire as to your plans tomorrow, so that I can lay out your clothes?”

“There was talk of a game of pall-mall, but you know how I detest that.”

“Yes,” Dunn said drily. “As much as you hate archery and whist.”

“That borders on impertinence.”

The valet hid a smile, but bowed.

Sin had made certain Aunt Margaret knew his feelings on the subject of pall-mall. He’d hoped they’d planned something that would allow him to spend some time with Rose now that their silence was at an end. But the Misses Stewart seemed enthralled with the idea, as did Mr. Munro, so there was little Sin could say to turn it. “I may ride while the others are playing that infernal game.”

“Yes, my lord.” Dunn busied himself while Sin sipped his toddy.

Today hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped, but at least he’d made some progress in thawing Rose. It was irritating that he had only a week left. It would be nice if he could get Rose away from the house on another ride. But how? His options were growing less by the day. Perhaps it was time he stopped being so proud. Even though he’d told his great-aunt that he didn’t play—

A noise sounded in the hallway. “Dunn, did you hear that?”

Dunn, folding small clothes by the wardrobe door, frowned. “Did I hear what, my lord?”

“Never mind. I must have . . . ” He frowned at the door and then stood and crossed to it, but by the time he got there, the faint noise had abated.

Holding up a hand to indicate silence, Sin pressed his ear to the panel and listened, his hand about the doorknob.

After a few seconds, he stepped back and yanked the door open with a jerk. He’d thought to surprise whoever had been lurking outside his door, but the hallway was empty.

He frowned. How odd.
I know I heard something. I—

His gaze fell on his boots sitting out in the hall to be cleaned. “Bloody hell, you little sneak! Don’t chew on my damn boots!” He lifted a small brown pug by the scruff and scowled at it.

The dog dropped his ears in placation, its tiny tail spinning. Sin’s irritation softened instantly.

Dunn picked up the boots, his mouth tight with disapproval. “The left tassel is torn, and it appears the right tassel has been eaten.” Dunn glared at the dog. “Shall I take this filthy creature to the kitchen, my lord?”

A door down the hallway opened and Aunt Margaret’s dresser stuck her head out. She looked up and down the hallway until she spied the pug. “Och, there he is! Her grace has been lookin’ fer the wee thing all evenin’.” Mrs. Dennis came to collect the animal,
cooing, “Aw! Such a precious puppy ye are! Thank ye, Lord Sinclair, fer findin’ him.”

“I didn’t,” Sin said. “He was wandering the halls.”

“He dinna usually do tha’, me lord, but he’s taken to hiding in Miss Balfour’s room.” The maid glanced at a door just two down from his own. “The precious puppy loves her dearly. I daresay her door was closed and he couldna get in, and so he came to yers.”

“Pardon me, madam,” Dunn said in a frosty voice, “but your ‘precious puppy’ has eaten one of Lord Sinclair’s tassels and mauled another.”

“Och no!” She looked at the pug, a horrified expression on her face. “He dinna!”

“Yes, madam, he did.”

She hugged the dog. “The poor little pup! I do hope it doesna make him sick.”

“Poor pup? What about poor Lord Sinclair? The tassels were
gold.
”

Mrs. Dennis’s mouth thinned. “I’ll be sure to tell her grace tha’ ye want yer tassel back.” She lifted her brows. “I suppose we can set a footman to lookin’ fer it.”

“No, no,” Sin said hastily. “That won’t be necessary.” He took Dunn’s elbow and pushed the man back into his room. “Good night, Mrs. Dennis. Convey my compliments to my aunt.”

“Aye, yer lordship.” Mrs. Dennis bobbed a curtsy and Sin closed the door.

Dunn held the boots to the light. “Impertinent
woman. If she knew what these boots cost, she’d have taken a different tone.”

“We can get more tassels,” Sin said absently, feeling elated.
So that’s Rose’s bedchamber.
Smiling, he returned to his seat by the fire and stretched his feet toward the blaze.
Thank you, dog. That information is well worth two gold tassels.

•  •  •

Late the next day, Rose stepped outside and tightened the ribbons on her poke bonnet to keep the wind from stealing it. She took a deep breath of the scent of warm grass and sunshine. It was late afternoon, when the sun slanted at a deep angle, tossing a final golden glow over the world before it faded away. Her favorite time of day.

And it had been a good day. She and Sin had reached an accord and he’d been very polite to her, talking to her with such ease that several times she’d been betrayed into a genuine laugh. Those moments had been bittersweet, though, since she still felt a deep longing for him.

A cacophony of barking made her look across the lawn and she saw the pugs, happy to be outdoors as they tumbled over one another, moving toward her like a swarm of bees.

Followed by a harried-looking footman, they arrived at her feet in a pile of wiggly pug noses and twirly pig tails. She laughed when Teenie ended up sitting on Meenie’s head, refusing to move until Meenie squirmed out from under him.

“I’m glad I’m not one of your littermates,” she told Teenie, who looked unrepentant, panting with his tongue hanging out one side.

Beenie barked, his tail twirling so fast it looked like a blur. Grinning, Rose bent to pat them all, scratching ears and bellies until the arrival of Lady Charlotte and her fascinating bag of yarn sent them all racing to the terrace.

Chuckling to herself, Rose walked down the lawn to where MacDougal was overseeing the footmen as they put up hoops for a game of pall-mall.

MacDougal smiled as she approached. “How does it look to ye, miss?”

She eyed the course. “The final two hoops are a bit close.”

“Do you think so, miss?” MacDougal took a mallet from the leather holder and measured. “Aye, ye’ve the right of it.” He gestured to a footman. “Davies, be a guid lad and move that second hoop. ’Tis a bit close.”

The footman bent to fix the hoop.

“Ye play often, miss?” MacDougal asked politely.

“Oh yes. My sisters and I frequently play.” And Rose almost always won, much to Dahlia’s chagrin. Lily wasn’t interested in playing unless there was a prize at stake. If there was no prize, she was frequently distracted from the game and had to be constantly reminded when it was her turn.

But Dahlia . . . Rose smiled. She loved her youngest
sister’s sense of competition. No one had a fiercer desire to win. Well, except Rose.

She wandered to the mallets and selected a bright red one.

“A poor choice,” said a deep voice.

She turned, surprised to find Sin standing slightly behind her; the thick grass and the deep brim of her bonnet had hidden his arrival. “Why is red a poor choice?”

“It’s unlucky. Surely you’ve heard that.”

“Actually, I’ve heard that red is the luckiest color of all,” she countered.

He was dressed in his riding clothes, which explained where he’d been all afternoon. His smile glinted. “Green is the best color but, unfortunately for you”—he leaned past her and took the green mallet—“someone already has it.”

Her heart trilled. “
You’re
playing? The man who just last night called the game ‘childish’ and ‘a bore’?”

“I was just trying to scare off the competition. And I believe I was successful, for it appears we will be the only two on the field. All of our competitors have bowed out.” He smiled down at her, and the afternoon sun made him look like a lion, all gold and powerful. “It appears that it’s just you and me.”