Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (21 page)

"No hurry. I never intended us to travel on today, and it is Sunday, you know. I thought we could go to service at the cathedral if Rosie is up to it."

Rosie bounced up. "Oh yes, Mama. I'm as right as rain."

She certainly looked it. Judith checked her temperature again then said, "Very well, but you must eat a little something first. Perhaps some toast."

"It all awaits next door," said Leander. "I stole the flower from the table."

He tucked the rose in her hair, and left.

Judith looked in the mirror and saw a stranger, a Gypsy creature with rosy cheeks and wild tangled hair adorned with a crimson rose. Who was this? Not Judith Rossiter, but hardly the Countess of Charrington either.

A knock at the door brought a maid, sent by milord to assist milady. Judith was duly assisted into one of her elegant new muslins, white figured with spring flowers, and her hair was brushed and worked into a becoming arrangement of knots and curls.

"Why thank you," she said, surprised. "That's lovely."

The woman looked pleased at the compliment but said, "Your hair's a treat to handle, milady. I'm sure it would do anything with just a brush and a few pins."

Judith had always found it an unmanageable mop.

She asked the maid to do Rosie's hair, too, and so she brushed it into a topknot of silky curls, decorated with a white ribbon. Rosie was delighted and ran off to show papa.

Judith followed more decorously, but she, too, was pleased to show Leander how fine she looked. "Very elegant," he said softly with a kiss on her cheek, "but I prefer you tussled and rosy in bed."

Judith was certainly rosy as she sat down to breakfast.

She had never been to a service in a cathedral before, and the echoing vaults were overpowering. The voices of the choir floated and soared, and Judith mouthed the hymns. Though generally she enjoyed singing hymns, she knew she had no voice and did not dare disturb this excellence with her efforts.

Leander, she noted, had a rich baritone. Bastian had a clear sweet voice that blended in with the choirboys. Rosie piped up merrily, but Judith winced. Her daughter had inherited her lack of ear.

After the service, they strolled about the town and took luncheon, then headed back to the inn. There Leander bought a small lidded basket for Blucher, and some rags to line it, for rats could not be expected to be trained in these matters.

The Crown had gardens, and the children and animals were allowed to play there for a while. Blucher seemed content to run about on Bastian's shoulders, but Magpie chased leaves and straw and Rosie chased Magpie.

Bastian was more interested in the comings and goings of the busy inn yard. Even though it was Sunday, some carriages halted to change teams.

At one point one of the ostlers called out, "You can come and help us, young lad, if you like."

Bastian looked at Judith and Leander eagerly. They shared a glance and Leander said, "No horses, remember?"

Bastian's face fell but he said a polite, "No thank you," to the ostler.

Judith and Leander shared another look and a smile. She really thought it would work out, and hopefully tonight would see no more sickness.

It was warm in the last of the sun and so they sat. The only convenient place was on either side of a stone chess table.

"Tell me about your home," she said.

"My home? Oh, you mean the Temple. It's said to be the most beautiful house in England." His tone was extraordinary for its very blandness.

Any mention of Temple Knollis seemed to cause unexpected reactions but Judith pursued it. "Is it really?"

He shrugged. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but probably. My grandfather was much taken by a chateau in France that sits in a lake, which reflects its perfection. The Temple is built of a particular pinkish stone that changes in the light. Every cloud, every change of the hours and it changes, too. The lake, or moat, is part of a tamed river so the house is in effect on a peninsular. It is built around a central garden set with rare and fragrant plants."

Beth Arden had shown her a picture of Temple Knollis in a book, so Judith knew most of this. What she wanted to know was why Leander's tone became so strange when he spoke of it. "You must love it very much," she said.

He turned to her. "I? I hardly know the place. We can explore it together."

"You hardly know it?" she echoed.

He smiled at her in that charming, blank way he had when he was handling a situation. She'd hoped such days were past. "Didn't I tell you? I've only visited it once. Earlier this year, when I returned to England."

"But a visit is long enough to love such a lovely place."

"Not a visit of two hours," said Leander coolly. "Do you play chess? The innkeeper doubtless has the men."

Judith admitted to knowing the moves, wishing she knew the moves of this marriage. As she waited for him to return she accepted that he had virtually slammed a door on that topic, and yet it was a topic that could hardly be avoided.

For the first time she wondered if there was something wrong at Temple Knollis. Could it be cursed or haunted? That seemed so melodramatic, and yet there was clearly some problem.

To what kind of place was she taking her innocent children?

He came back with chess men and news, apparently restored to good humor. "There is to be an assembly at the George tonight. Mine host was of the opinion that such exalted guests as we would not care to be bothered with a mere provincial affair, but I am decidedly interested." He smiled down at her. "I want to dance with you, Judith."

He invested the simple words with subtle power, but she answered. "I fear it won't go so well. Except for some old country dances, I don't know how."

He sat opposite. "You must have attended dances with your first husband, if not balls."

"Very rarely. And Sebastian didn't care for dancing, and liked me to stay with him." She shrugged. "I'm sorry."

"Do you think to escape so easily? There'll be many country dances. Just in case it is danced here, I think we should practice the waltz."

He raised her to her feet. She looked at the small lawn and said, "Here?"

"Why not?" He took her hand. "The unusual part is the waltz turn. Place your other hand on my shoulder, so. Step to the side, and back..."

Judith obeyed his instructions, but she was soon attuned more to the gentle guidance of his body. She turned and swayed like a tree in his breeze, and if she made a misstep he somehow corrected so their movement hardly faltered.

He moved apart so they progressed more like a country dance, humming a lilting tune, then moved smoothly into the waltz step again, so they turned together, looking into one another's eyes, as natural as breathing.

The tune came to an end, and he stopped. "There, see. It's easy."

She was still in his arms, and rather closer than when they'd been dancing. "Only with you, I fear."

His lids drooped in a lazy, suggestive manner. "Only with me, I hope..."

Giggles distracted them, and they found Bastian and Rosie on the grass in a tangle, having tried to copy them. Rosie scrambled up. "Bastian trod on my toe!"

"You didn't move, you noddy! You can't dance for toffee."

"I can so."

In one accord, Judith and Leander moved in and separated the two to steer them back to the inn. "Time for tea," said Judith, "and then some quiet activity."

The children were happy enough with books and puzzles until supper time. After the meal they all played a guessing game until bedtime. Leander asked to tell them a story, rather than read to them.

Judith was supposed to be preparing for the assembly, but the door was open and so she didn't ring for the maid but listened tenderly to his story. It was all about a clever German child who outwitted the giant who wanted to eat her family.

Judith had to admit that the young lady was not always ladylike in her actions, but the children were soon giggling and joining in with suggestions of other ways for Trudi to trick the giant.

When it was over, she heard him say, "Now, that didn't send you to sleep, so I'll sing you a song. This is German, too, and is appropriately about a rose.
'
Sah ein Knab' ein Röslein stehn, 
Röslein auf der heiden..."'

Judith listened, smiling. Peace and quiet fell.

He came into the parlor, and shut the door. He looked at her and raised his brows.
"
Tun, wie Sie es wünschen...
" He broke off with a laugh. "Sorry. You must do as you please, Judith, but that dress is not quite in the right style."

Judith tried to imagine what it must be like to forget what language one was speaking. "I know it," she said. "I was enjoying your tale and song too much. I have the wedding gown or a fine ivory silk. What do you think?"

"The neckline of the wedding gown is too high," he said with certainty. "At such events as these, low necklines are
de rigueur. "

"That's what Beth said." She rose and went toward the bedroom to change. With a twitch of her lips she asked, "Is your neckline, too, to be low?"

"No. It's to be high, starched, and soon wilted. Perhaps I should dispense with it and show my décolletage."

Not totally sure he was funning, Judith beat a retreat and summoned a maid to help her.

She had not put on the gown of ivory lace over peach satin before, and was a little startled by how low the neckline was.

The frill of the neckline skimmed the edges of her shoulders above puffed sleeves, then plunged between her breasts to a rosette that gathered the fabric there. A few twists and shrugs reassured her that it would not actually slip off and reveal all, and when she looked in the mirror it was not too bad, but when she looked down she thought she looked naked.

She went nervously into the parlor. "Leander, is this dress... acceptable?"

He looked up and his eyes both brightened and darkened at the same time. He came over to her. "My dear, it's exquisite! Such wonderful... material."

"That's not what catches the eye and you know it!"

His eyes shone with laughter and appreciation, and he let them wander caressingly over her breasts. "Don't worry. Most of the other ladies will be as exposed. They just won't have anything quite so magnificent to show off."

Judith put her hands over the exposed flesh. "I knew it. My bosom is too large for this style."

He captured her hands and pulled them down. "Nonsense. You'll be the envy of all the women, and I'll be the envy of all the men." Holding her hands at her sides, he bent forward and placed a kiss in the exposed crevice between her breasts. He straightened. "Enough of this, or I'll ravish you here and now. Hurry, or we'll miss the first dances."

Judith went back to have her hair dressed, stunned by the word
ravish.
After last night she had some notion of what it might mean.

* * *

When they entered the rooms where the assembly was being held, Judith saw that he and Beth had spoken the truth. Nearly all the ladies wore low necklines, and many had little to support their bodices.

She also noted that there were few men to match Leander in looks, and none to match his style. He was completely unostentatious, and yet there was an air about him which set him apart.

The company was as mixed as one would expect at a country affair, with all kinds from well-to-do farmers to aristocracy. The master of ceremonies greeted them and steered them over to a corner of the ballroom where the local lions, Lord and Lady Pratchett, and Sir James and Lady Withington, held court. This was clearly supposed to be their natural milieu.

The Withingtons were a comfortable middle-aged couple with a son and two daughters present. The son, about twenty, looked bored, though he brightened at the sight of Judith, and ogled her bosom. He suddenly stopped, and she guessed Leander had done something about it.

The girls were about sixteen and eighteen. The older one had an air of ennui, but the younger was bright-eyed and fidgety. Judith guessed it was her first grown-up event, and gave her a warm smile.

The Pratchetts were clearly used to lording it at these events and were not entirely pleased, their title being a mere viscountcy, to have an earl in their midst. On the other hand, the connection could not but do them credit. They were quite a young couple, but acted old and cold. Judith rapidly tired of Lady Pratchett's disparaging comments about everything, accompanied as they were by, "...as you and I both know, my dear Lady Charrington."

"In fact I don't," said Judith at last. "Until a few days ago, I lived in a cottage, and my main concern was where the next meal was coming from."

The lady gaped, but was rescued from having to respond by the first music. Leander bowed and asked Lady Pratchett for the dance.

As Judith allowed Lord Pratchett to lead her out to the country dance, she was sickeningly aware she'd disgraced herself. Lady Pratchett was doubtless even now complaining to Leander about her behavior. She'd known this would never work.

She told herself that both this marriage and this assembly had been his idea, so he could take the consequences and set to enjoying herself.