Secrets of Surrender (7 page)

She entered the garden through the back portal. As she passed the apple tree, a vague sound penetrated her thoughts. More curious than cautious, she followed the series of little thuds and scrapes around to the side gate.

A white shirt, stark in the gray day, obscured her view of the gate. It covered a strong back and broad shoulders, and gathered at the top of fawn breeches. Arms that were far from pale, exposed below rolls of shirtsleeve, held the gate by its sides. A dark head turned, revealing a strong profile.

Mr. Bradwell did not hear her while he lifted the gate and carefully set it right on its hinges. One of those hinges gleamed shiny and new.

The soft linen of his shirt and the snug fabric of his breeches revealed his form while he moved. The wind blew his dark locks, mussing them in a most appealing way. Despite his cravat and collar he appeared rakish and romantic and very competent.

One sound push, one heavy thump, and the gate swung easily. He tested it, then began fixing his sleeves.

He saw her then. It bothered him not at all that she witnessed him working like this. He greeted her while he dressed himself.

She walked over and examined the gate. It had been broken for years.

“I noticed that it needed repair when last I visited,” he said, reaching for the coats lying in the grass.

“Thank you.” She seemed to say that to him a lot. “Were you in the county again, Mr. Bradwell? Just riding by?”

He slid on his frock coat and set himself right. He looked very proper now. She had rather preferred him active and half undressed.

“I rode down from London just to see you, Miss Longworth. I have information about your soil, and a message from your cousin.”

He could have written with both. She suspected that he had really come about that kiss. Before this visit was over he would probably try to kiss her again.

It was obvious now that he wanted her. Oh, he did not leer or stare. Desire only increased the directness of his gaze and slightly darkened the vitality he exuded. This man was well practiced in hiding his hungers, but he could not control the tension his interest created and how it affected the air. And her. She was too happy today to lie to herself about that.

She should probably be insulted. Today it did not matter. Not his interest and not her response.

Maybe she would let him have that kiss. She would not even be hurt when he offered the special arrangement that she expected another kiss to presage. It would taint the memory of that night. It would show him to be less than chivalrous in the end, but that would not matter now, either.

She would be gone soon. In a few weeks Roselyn Longworth would disappear completely.

“Please come in and give me this news.” She led the way into the house.

She appeared much happier today. And very beautiful. Always beautiful.

Kyle spied sprigs of grass on her cloak as he followed her. She had laid the cloak down out there in the hills. Since it was cold, he suspected that she had been inside it when she did.

He pictured her in her isolation, a solitary figure stretched on the grass under the sky. He could understand why she might look up to the boundless expanse above. This was a nice house, but it was still a prison.

“I fear that I do not have any pie to offer you today.” She slid off the cloak and shook the grass away. “In truth I have nothing to offer you.”

“Your cousin sent some things. The basket is outside the front door. If you will permit me…”

She nodded while she added a little fuel to the fireplace in the drawing room. He fetched the basket. She sat on one of the wooden chairs and poked through the gifts, lifting each in turn while she smiled with delight.

She set the boxes of tea and biscuits on the little table. She lined up the bag of coffee, the bottle of wine, and the jar of honey.

“What is this down at the bottom?” She poked at the broad, wrapped form there.

“I think that is some cooked fowl. Duck or goose, I believe.”

She laughed. He had never heard her do so before. Not outright like this. It was a lovely laugh. Melodic. Angelic.

Watch yourself, Kyle lad. You’ll be writing bad poetry soon.

“How like Alexia. Luxuries, but practical ones. You must join me in eating the fowl and drinking the wine, Mr. Bradwell. We will share a feast.”

“It might be best if you saved it all for yourself.”

“Nonsense.” She set the basket on the floor beside her. “Now, what news have you about my soil?”

He sat on another chair with the little table between them and the fire warming their shoulders. “The experiments done are theoretical. However, they appear to show that the soil is depleted. Did your brothers never require the tenants to rotate their crops? It is recognized now as useful. In the least, the old system of leaving fields fallow every third year should have been required.”

“My father collected rents, nothing more. His interests were in town, not here. After his death no one truly managed the property. We assumed, wrongly it appears, that farmers would know how to farm and would not do so in ways that made the land less productive.”

“An extra field of crops is tempting. There are those who will exhaust the land and move on.”

She shrugged. “Apparently so.”

That shrug was her entire reaction. He had brought very bad news that would affect her meager income, but she appeared not to care.

Her eyes sparkled while she ran her elegantly tapered finger down the edge of the box of tea. He watched that distracted caress and imagined it on himself, sliding slowly down his side. He clenched his teeth to control what the little fantasy did to him.

He was glad that she was not sad today, but she appeared almost drunk instead. He did not flatter himself that her big smiles and bright eyes were due to his visit.

“You are a bad liar, Mr. Bradwell. Alexia did not give you this basket. I think that you bought these items yourself.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Alexia would have sent a different company’s tea, and a different kind of biscuit. She also would have included soaps and hairpins and other practical luxuries that a woman cannot eat.”

She grinned mischievously. She was definitely in high spirits today. Vivacious. Almost flirtatious.

“You have found me out, Miss Longworth. I hoped to avoid awkwardness by saying it came from your cousin.”

“Is this gift because of that kiss? There must be at least ten shillings’ worth of goods here, and that kiss was barely worth one. Then again, perhaps you hope for nine more.”

Now she was getting reckless. “The basket has nothing to do with the kiss, but with my concern for your health and lack of comforts. And perhaps to help you feel less sad about the implications of what I learned about your land.”

“Of course. My apologies for impugning your motives.” Her eyes mocked her serious words. She began setting the items back in the basket. “Let us sit to a proper meal. If you share it with me, the reasons that you brought it will not signify. Although, in a manner of speaking, nothing does anymore.”

He took the basket from her arms when she rose. He followed her into the kitchen. Her manner flattered him. It also stirred him. His desire had flared like oil touched by a torch.

However, her demeanor disturbed him too, and not because she spoke too frankly and had lost her cool grace. She acted like someone who had made a decision, one that rendered all proprieties irrelevant.

He wondered what she had been thinking out there while she lay in the grass under the gray sky.

He stood near the worktable watching her while she gathered and unwrapped food. He was a handsome man, really. As the “in his way” became more familiar, he grew even more attractive. His eyes in particular demanded attention. Intelligent eyes. Intense sometimes, like now while they followed her movements. Too intense, perhaps, considering that she did nothing special to deserve such thoughtful scrutiny.

His perfect garments struck her as less than appropriate now. The effect that he sought to create, of a reserved and unnotable man of wealth, worked only if one never saw him dressed otherwise.

She had seen him without those coats, however. She had seen him in shirtsleeves, his strength stretching beneath white linen and his arms straining from the weight of that gate. The coats held in a tightly coiled spirit that became palpable when they were removed. One might as well put a cravat and waistcoat on a stallion.

His attention caused that odd excitement that he always provoked in her to hum merrily. She rather enjoyed its lively stimulation. The caution it contained struck her as unnecessary today. She was too happy to be afraid, or insulted, or worried.

She boiled water for tea. The fowl turned out to be a goose and was still warm. He must have bought it in a town or village nearby.

“You appeared very composed on hearing my news about the soil,” he said. “I am relieved that it did not distress you.”

She set a crude table on the planks of the kitchen’s work surface and laid out some cheese and bread alongside the goose. “Very soon that land and those rents will not matter. I will no longer need them. I thank you for learning what you could for me, however.”

He frowned slightly while they sat to their meal. “You did not ask about the message from your cousin, either.”

“Goodness, you are correct. How remiss of me. Pray, what does Alexia say?”

“She said that her heart breaks about your brother’s letter, and she is pained that she cannot be with you. She said that you will be receiving a letter from Lord Elliot’s wife, and that she hopes that you will avail yourself of Lady Phaedra’s offer of a residence in town.”

“I received that letter. Alexia thinks to sneak away and see me if I make use of that house. However, perhaps for one last visit…Yes, I may do that.”

He retreated into his thoughts while they ate their dinner. He was her guest and she did not ignore him. That would be impossible with this man anyway. However, his silence permitted half of her mind to visit the sunny adventures she anticipated enjoying in a few months.

“You are much happier today, Miss Longworth.”

“I trust that is good to see.”

“Of course. However, your indifference to your future, your dismissal of the problems with your land, your lack of curiosity about your cousin’s message—I have no right to be concerned, but your mood today worries me more than your sorrow did the last time I visited.”

“You should not worry. If I am a little giddy, or indifferent to the details of my life, it is because I expect to be done with this life and this scandal and this loneliness very soon. I have made a decision, Mr. Bradwell. I will be going far away forever.”

His expression fell. He viewed her with alarm, then crisp determination slid over his expression. He sat back, folded his arms, and pinned her in place with a direct gaze.

“No, you will not. I will stop you.”

“You can not
stop
me. It is my decision.”

“It is the devil’s decision.” His restrained power rushed out. It blew around her like a gale. “I should have seen your melancholy for what it was. I will speak with your cousin and Lord Hayden and we will find a place for you to go and rest, away from this village and the damned gossip. In a few weeks you will realize that—”

“Mr. Bradwell, please.” She held up a hand, stopping him. He had misunderstood, terribly.

“Mr. Bradwell, your conclusions are far too dark, and in error. I am not melancholic. I am not going to do myself harm, if that is how it sounded. I am just going away. To the Continent. I am merely waiting for a letter from a friend before I leave.”

He went very still. He looked out the window beside the table, contemplating she knew not what.

“To the Continent, you say.”

“Yes. Italy.”

“Who is this friend?”

“That is no concern to you, surely.”

He did not care for that response. “You will leave your sister? Your cousin?”

“They are lost to me already, and I to them.”

“How will you keep yourself?”

“I will be fine. Be happy for me, that I have this chance at another life. It is far better than being buried alive in this house. It is the right decision. It is the only choice that offers a future.”

He turned his gaze on her. The odd intimacy that they shared drenched his intensity. It was not just the familiarity of friends. He was a man and she was a woman and he knew far too much about her.

Suddenly that excitement that he could provoke flowed. Her blood warmed. She felt the same as she had out in the field before he kissed her—expectant and vulnerable and at a disadvantage.

“Two women traveling alone? In Italy? It is neither safe nor wise. Who will protect the two of you? Does your friend have servants, at least?”

She refused to answer. His help that night did not give him the right to quiz her like this.

“This friend is not a woman, is it?” He hid most of his disapproval. What showed carried more concern than censure. “Whoever he is, he will eventually leave you. What if that happens while you are abroad? What if this man’s intentions are even worse than the last’s? On the Continent you will not even have your cousin to turn to.”

“He is not a lover. He is not that kind of friend.”

“So he says now.”

“I know this man very well. I know that I will be safe. It is not what you assume.”

His protracted attention made her uncomfortable. His disapproval crackled in the air.

“It is not the only choice,” he said. “If you do not travel to a secure home, and to a secure future, it is not even the right one.”

“It is better than
this.
” It came out close to a hiss. His persistent disagreement annoyed her. She had been so happy today, and now he was ruining it with a litany of practicalities.

“
This
is not your only other choice.”

“Indeed? Perhaps you brought other news too? Absolutions from Canterbury, the Queen, and the patronesses of Almack’s? Maybe Alexia sent word of a legacy bequeathed to me by an unknown rich relative of mine?”