How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (7 page)

As soon as she said the words, she sent Margaret an embarrassed glance. “Not that I dislike people, for I don’t. People are very nice and I think they’re—” She gestured, obviously desperately searching for words.

“I daresay we all feel that way at times,” Margaret said. “But don’t worry about our house party. We are a small group this year. Smaller than ever before.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Her grace decided to have a very
private
sort of affair this year. Quite
intimate,
even—”

“I wouldn’t call it intimate,” Margaret said firmly, sending Charlotte a warning glance, which she didn’t seem to notice. Margaret turned back to their guest. “When I first wed Roxburghe, we used to invite forty couples or more for the weeks prior to the ball, but over time we’ve reduced that number, and this year, I invited even fewer as Roxburghe won’t be here until the night before the ball.”

“The duke’s not in residence?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s quite entangled in politics, you know, and with the question of the Regency growing in urgency, he doesn’t dare return home any sooner.” Margaret smiled at her young guest. “Lady Charlotte and I would love to visit with you longer, but I’m sure you would like to rest before dinner.”

“I am a bit tired,” Rose agreed. “Have the other guests arrived?”

“They’re all here except my great-nephew, who should arrive later this afternoon.”

Lady Charlotte smiled benignly, her needles clacking along. “You will enjoy your time here. There’s so much to do at Floors Castle. There’s whist, croquet, billiards, rides by the river—I’m sure you’ll be very busy.”

“Very,” Margaret agreed and turned to MacDougal, who still stood inside the doorway. “Please escort Miss Balfour to the Blue Bedchamber.”

MacDougal bowed.

Margaret turned back to her guest. “I look forward to speaking with you more over dinner. Meanwhile, I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us. We have an excellent stable, and Roxburghe is a great reader and has stuffed the library with mounds of books. You are free to borrow as many as you’d like.”

Miss Balfour’s face lit up and for a moment, she appeared quite pretty. “Oh, thank you!”

Margaret instantly thought,
So, my dear Sin, is
this
what you saw that intrigued you so? Or is there more to her even than this?
She smiled. “You’re welcome, my child. MacDougal, pray show Miss Balfour the library on your way to her room. She may wish a book to pass the time before dinner.”

Miss Balfour set Weenie back on the floor, stood, made her curtsies, and followed the butler to the door.

Margaret watched the girl leave, absently patting Randolph’s gray head as he pressed against her hand.

As soon as the door closed, Charlotte said, “Well. That was interesting.”

“Very.” Margaret leaned back in her chair, pulling Randolph into her lap. “She’s very thin and brown.”

“From riding, I daresay. Her eyes are well enough, but her hair—” Charlotte shook her head. “She looked a bit like a milkmaid. I quite thought Sin’s flirt would be beautiful.”

“Well, she’s not beautiful,” Margaret said. “She’s passingly pretty, if that. I’ve never known Sin to pay attention to the horsing set, either.”

“She’s not very fashionable, either. That gown—” Charlotte scrunched her nose. “She strides rather than walks, too.”

“Yes, as if she didn’t give a flip for convention.” Margaret tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair and then looked down at Randolph. “What do you think, love?”

Randolph’s little tail wagged hard.

“You liked her, didn’t you? And so did Meenie.” She looked at her foot, where Meenie lay. The dog perked up when she met Margaret’s gaze. “You don’t normally take to strangers, either.”

Meenie sniffed the air, which made her look as if she were nodding.

“Miss Balfour definitely has a way with animals,” Charlotte agreed thoughtfully. “Perhaps that’s the key.”

Margaret laughed. “Perhaps it is. If anyone were close to the animal state, it’s Sin. Perhaps this Rose knows how to soothe the savage beast. We won’t know
until we see them together—and that, my dear, makes me look forward to the next three weeks.”

“If he doesn’t lead her astray first.”

Margaret’s glee faded. “Astray?”

“She doesn’t strike me as very worldly. And Sin . . . You know what he is.”

“I suspect she’s far smarter than that, but we will keep an eye on them. I refuse to allow that poor gel to be importuned under my own roof.”

“Really?” Charlotte said in mild surprise. “I rather thought you’d hoped Sin would do just that.”

“Only to a certain point. I won’t have her ruined. I
am
her godmother, you know. Still, we will make certain they spend a fair amount of time together. More, perhaps, than either plans on.” Margaret put Randolph onto the rug. “Come, Charlotte, let’s walk the dogs in the garden. We can discuss the situation there, where the servants won’t overhear.”

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
When one is charged with assisting a beloved family member with their love life, it is important to know the wishes of that family member. This can be tricky, especially when one is working from a position of Stealth and Greater Knowledge.

I don’t yet know exactly what qualities Sin saw in Rose Balfour that sent propriety tumbling to the wayside all those years ago, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m about to find out . . .

So close, and yet so far. Rose grasped the ladder railing and leaned forward. She had to stand on her tiptoes, but she was rewarded when she managed to barely—just barely—reach the book she wanted on the shelf.

The small, slim tome was bound in soft red leather and looked like a journal. It had caught her eye when she was on a lower rung looking up in awe at the shelves upon shelves of books. The vibrant color coupled with a lack of a title on the spine had made
her itch to peek between the covers, so she’d rolled the ladder over, gathered her skirts, and climbed to the top.

She looped an arm through the ladder to steady herself and opened the small book. Ah, her favorite Shakespeare play,
As You Like It
! Smiling, Rose lifted the book and took a deep sniff of the wonderful scent of leather and old paper. Truly, there was nothing like it.

The book begged for immediate reading and she decided to settle into one of the plump blue velvet chairs in front of the fireplace and enjoy her find. MacDougal had said it would take a half hour before her bath was ready, and it would be wondrous to get lost in a book while she was waiting. She would just slip the small book into her pocket before climbing down so she’d have a free hand to help keep her skirts out of the w—

“There you are.”

The low, masculine voice froze Rose in place. She knew that voice. She swallowed hard, hoping her wildly beating heart wasn’t visible from across the room as she slowly turned her head to look at the one man she’d never thought to see again.

Lord Alton Sinclair was known to the
ton
as Lord Sin for a number of reasons, none of which should be discussed by a lady. He was still just as tall and broad shouldered, his hair still a dark golden-blond. His thick, dark brown lashes gave his eyes a sleepy, seductive
look, but what truly drew the eye were the strong, square line of his jaw and the Roman-emperor cast to his aquiline nose.

He stood in the library doorway, glaring at her as if he wished her to perdition.

Rose’s face and neck warmed. His hair was longer now, and his face more marred by dissipation. Only his sherry-brown eyes looked exactly as they had when she’d last seen him: blazing with anger.

Rose forced her stiff lips into a smile. “Lord Sinclair, how pleasant to see you. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Of course I’m here. This is my great-aunt’s house. In fact”—his smile was that of a cat who had cornered a mouse—“she invited you at my behest.”

Rose stiffened. “Her grace is your
great-aunt
?
And
my godmother?”

“Apparently so.”

Does that explain the unexpected invitation?
A flicker of disappointment settled over her. Until hearing that, she’d rather liked the duchess. Had soft-spoken Lady Charlotte been in on the plot, too?

Sin walked forward with an ominous smile. “So, Miss Balfour, we meet again. Aren’t we fortunate?”

Politeness bade her to come down from the ladder, but it seemed safer up there, away from the simmering storm of a man crossing the room toward her. She tried for a casual tone. “I hope you’re well. It’s been a very long time since we last met.”

“Six years. Six very
trying
years.”

His smoldering anger jangled along her nerves and she had to fight the urge to climb farther up the ladder. “I’m sorry to hear that you’ve had a trying time.”

His brows snapped together. “Don’t pretend you thought it would be otherwise.”

She blinked. “Why would I know anything about your life after we parted? I haven’t seen you since.”

His mouth firmed into a straight line, his eyes blazing hotter now. “Don’t play the innocent with me. I
know
you.”

Good heavens, what is this all about?
It was true that she’d caused herself and her family a good deal of embarrassment, but he, like all rakehells, was immune to scandal. Unless a man stepped firmly over the boundaries of society, like Lord Byron in sleeping with his half sister, very little could sully their names. A woman, meanwhile, could be ruined by something as innocent as a kiss.

The whole thing was grossly unfair, and Rose didn’t appreciate Lord Sin’s obliviousness to that fact. But it wouldn’t help to confront him; he was obviously in no mood for calm, reasonable discourse.

Perhaps she should just offer him the apology she’d wished to offer all those years ago. At the least it would make her feel better, for she owed him one.

She cleared her throat. “Lord Sinclair, I’m glad you’re here.” She began to climb down. “I’ve been
wanting to apologize to you since our last meeting and—”

“Stay.” He now stood at the foot of the ladder, one large hand resting on a rung by her ankle. The glint of an emerald ring on his left hand was echoed by his tie pin.

“Stay? Here on the ladder?”

“Yes.” He stepped onto the lowest rung.

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. I will come down and—”

He took another step up, his shoulder brushing against her calf.

Rose clung tightly in place. “Lord Sinclair, please! We cannot talk here, it’s— For heaven’s sake, we’re on a ladder! We can speak at dinner, perhaps, when we’re both—”

“Oh, no. We will not put off this meeting one moment more.” He took another step up, his eyes locked with hers, every movement a threat.

Her mouth dry, Rose took a step up the ladder, her chest so tight she could scarcely breathe. “Lord Sinclair, if you’ll return to the floor we can sit by the fire, which is much nicer than trying to balance while—”

“No.”
His expression was unyielding as he climbed another rung, his hands firmly gripping each side of the ladder about her knees and blocking any desperate exit she might wish to make.

“That’s ridiculous!” She steeled her crazed heart,
which was beating even harder now. “Lord Sinclair, please. This is most unusual.”

He laughed, low and ugly. “Don’t put on your missish airs for me. You are a tease of the worst kind, and you made me the laughingstock of London.” The words crackled with fury.

She wet her lips nervously. “You’re exaggerating.”
Who would dare laugh at him?

“No, I’m not.”

She tried to calm her thoughts, which would have been much easier if he weren’t leaning against her legs, his blazing gaze far too close for her comfort. She didn’t dare look away, for it seemed that looking directly at him gave her some modicum of control.

To discourage him from coming any closer, she slipped an arm through the closest rung and twisted a bit so that—should he dare climb any higher—her shoulder would be at a right angle to his chest. It was a small protection, but it was all she had while on the ladder. “Lord Sinclair, however you feel about what happened all those years ago, I doubt anyone—other than us—remembers it.”

He couldn’t have looked more incredulous had she told him that she’d just taken a walk with a minotaur. “You cannot believe that.”

“Who would bother to remember a few moments at some ball six years ago? I do, of course, since I made a fool of myself. I’m truly sorry that you were a victim of my very youthful and painfully impulsive nature. I
cannot tell you how often I’ve wished to take back my actions of that night.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “You’re apologizing.”

“Yes. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His jaw tightened. “An apology isn’t enough.”

She met his gaze steadily. “Everything that happened that night was my fault, but there’s nothing I can do to change it now. The best thing we can do is to leave it in the past where it belongs, and move on.” When he merely continued to stare at her, she frowned. “Lord Sinclair, I wrote you a letter that very night and explained—”

His laugh was full of derision. “Oh yes, your letter. You humiliated me in front of the biggest gossips of the
ton
and then sent me a few scrawled lines as if that made up for it.”

“It was over by then, and—”

“
Over?
Miss Balfour, the scandal had just begun—and you just walked away, instead of staying to face the gossips. After you left they were like vultures, tearing my name apart a piece at a time.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That’s not what people believed. Everyone thought I was the aggressor in our little encounter and that it had shaken you so badly that you’d run off to the countryside, terrified by the thought of spending another moment in my presence.”

“But that’s not why I left at all! I didn’t wish to
cause you any more trouble, and I thought that was the best way to avoid an unpleasant aftermath.”

“It was the worst way. There was
quite
an aftermath, my dear Miss Balfour.” He leaned forward, his chest against her legs.
“For me.”