Snow had fallen in Gloucestershire too, and by the following morning was lying thickly over the Cotswold escarpment. Drifts blocked roads and silence presided over the hills. Some flakes still floated down as Jane sat at her embroidery frame in the drawing-room at Tremoille House. She didn’t particularly like embroidery, but ladies were meant to do such things, and she, God help her, was now officially a lady. There were Christmas decorations festooned around, holly, mistletoe, ivy and evergreens, but yuletide joy was most definitely absent. She had been endeavouring to make her peace with Thomas by joining him for the so-called festive season, and some progress had been made, until Rowan’s return from London two days ago. Now there was friction, and it was clear that father and son would never mix. She glanced up at Rowan, who stood by the window. Even at this early hour there was a glass of Esmond’s best cognac in his hand. His dark hair was ruffled and his clothes dirty because he’d just returned from helping with some distressed deer in the park. Why was it that a man was always attractive, regardless? If a woman appeared in a similar state, she would simply look bedraggled. Bruises notwithstanding, Rowan Welland remained handsome. He had a romantic air, and a warmth and winning charm that would one day wreak havoc. And his lazily sensuous way of glancing suggested he observed his cousin Guy.
‘Is my coiffure a little awry, Stepmama?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You’re staring.’
‘I’m pondering the trouble you’ll cause when you enter the lists of love.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Moi? I’ll be as virtuous as a monk.’
‘That will be the day, sir.’ Maybe the moment was right to reason a little with him. ‘Rowan, you know how it annoys your father when you mix with the labourers.’
‘An extra pair of hands made the difference between those deer living or dying. I hardly stained my birthright by such a commonsensical act.’
‘Nonetheless—’
‘Damn your nonetheless,’ he replied with studied amiability.
Her lips twitched. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little early to be drinking?’
‘It’s never too early, and I’ll know when I’ve had enough because I’ll fall flat on my well-bred arse. Besides, I have Papa’s example to follow, although, of course, he has the brass neck to accuse me of being a drunkard.’
‘You both drink too much.’
‘Not according to him, Stepmama.’ He downed the remainder of the cognac and then went to replenish the glass. ‘Look, I paid attention to your advice and returned here for the joy of Christmas, but from the outset it’s been clear that my father and I will never get on. We’ll always loathe each other. Let him call upon his bastard son.’
‘Hush! We’re not supposed to know anything about that.’
‘Tell me something, Stepmama, if you could turn back the clock, would you still have become Lady Welland? The truth if you please.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. Never has any woman more regretted allowing her youthful dreams to obscure the unpleasant truth. Your father is a toad, he’s always been a toad, and he always will be a toad. I wish I’d realized that sooner rather than later.’
‘Would you still have turned poor Beth out in the cold?’
Jane pretended to select another thread and compare it shade for shade with her stitches. ‘Beth and I didn’t hit it off,’ she murmured.
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘I don’t know what I’d do, Rowan.’
‘Ah, the blessed chirrup of a stirring conscience.’ Rowan raised the full glass to her. ‘So it grates upon you when dear old Papa whines that the bottom has dropped out of half the world’s finances, that thousand upon thousand of soldiers are discharged into unemployment, and that the banks are closing their doors because finance is so rickety.’
‘Well, those things are only too true.’
‘Indeed so, but I’ve heard your sharp little teeth grind when he starts. If he’s so bothered about money, why does he keep the Tremoille and Welland studs, as well as maintaining Whitend and this great Cotswold barn? Ah, but I was forgetting, he’s terrified to get rid of Whitend, in case this little palace is snatched away by Guy. And he’s terrified of Whitend in case it becomes submerged.’
‘You’re always such entrancing company, Rowan,’ Jane murmured.
Rowan grinned suddenly. ‘Well, I’m off to Gloucester,’ he declared. ‘Coming?’
‘In this snow? Certainly not.’ She looked at him. ‘Why on earth are you going?’
‘Taffy Hughes.’
‘Who?’
‘The mad Welshman who blotted my pretty face a while back. He’s taking on all-comers at the winter fair, and I’m of a mind to have some revenge.’
‘Oh, Rowan—’
‘No, my mind is made up. Besides, if I don’t beat the daylights out of Hughes, I’m in danger of doing it to dear Papa.’
Thomas’s voice growled from the doorway. ‘Doing what to dear Papa?’ He stood there, still in his gold brocade dressing-gown, his wide-set eyes bright and suspicious. There was an almost hunted alertness in his stance, and his fingers were constantly moving. He was obviously far too tense and agitated, but so far had refused to listen to anyone’s entreaty to visit his Cheltenham doctor. ‘Doing what to dear Papa?’ he demanded again, blocking the doorway so that Rowan could not leave.
‘Asking you to accompany me to see Hughes take on all-comers in Gloucester,’ Rowan replied smoothly.
‘Liar! The truth, damn you.’
‘I’ve told you the truth,’ Rowan insisted, and Jane nodded.
‘He is, Thomas dear.’
‘I’ll not be lied to under my own roof! I have enough to contend with without my heir setting himself against me!’ Thomas chewed his lip, and spittle flecked his chin.
Rowan exchanged a swift glance with Jane, and then gave his father an amiable grin. ‘I’m not setting myself against you, Father, truly I’m not.’
‘Then why did you stoop to helping with those damned deer? Eh? Eh? Why did you behave as just another labourer? You are supposed to be above that!’
Rowan strove to keep his temper. ‘Would you rather I let the deer die?’
‘Yes, boy, I would! You’re going to be the next Lord Welland, and damn me you’ll behave like it!’ Thomas’s voice was raised several notes.
‘Behave like you? I’d as soon tread the boards as Desdemona!’
Thomas went pale, and then flushed almost purple. ‘Don’t presume to use your smart tongue on me, sir, for you aren’t the only fish in the pool. Take care you don’t alienate yourself completely, for I can replace you! The title goes to you, there is nothing I can do about that, but the estates and fortune I can bestow as I please.’
Here it comes, Rowan thought, awaiting the threat of his half-brother.
Thomas’s eyes had become small and rather piggy. ‘You aren’t my only son, you know.’ He waited for Rowan’s shock, but there was none. ‘Have you nothing to say, boy?’
‘What is there to say? You’ve sired a bastard, and now dangle this illegitimate spawn in an attempt to bring me into line. Well, fuck you, sir, and fuck your by-blow!’
Thomas’s face waxed crimson with passion. ‘You, sir, are the bane of my life,’ he bellowed, beside himself with outrage. ‘Why the Almighty saw fit to inflict you upon me as well as all my other trials and hardships, I really cannot—!’
Rowan was incensed. ‘Trials and hardships? You don’t begin to know hardship!’
‘And you do, I suppose?’
‘Not personally, but I have recently heard of hardship caused by an act of God so tumultuous and terrible that many thousands of people are dead, and even more homeless and starving.’
Thomas looked blankly at him. ‘What the Devil’s arse are you talking about?’
Jane was also bemused. ‘Yes, Rowan, what do you mean?’
‘I attended a prizefight on my way here, and encountered a sea captain in the pay of the Dutch East India Company. He was newly come from the Indies, and vowed he would never return there, not even were the Company to pay him in gold sovereigns. At the beginning of April he collected a cargo from Sumbawa, and was on the way to Sumatra when thunderous detonations were heard in the distance. Ash began to fall from the heavens and more detonations sounded. There was a hellish stench on the breeze, and great waves devastated the island’s shores. While at anchor off Sumatra the captain learned that the volcano of Mount Tambora on Sumbawa had exploded in a mass of molten flame, killing thousands of people. The sun was blotted out, and when the Dutch East Indiaman continued her voyage there was darkness night and day. At last daylight returned, but with strange sunrises and sunsets of the most violent hues, and the Dutchman’s crew were terrified that God was sending the Angel of Death. Father, that captain hasn’t been sober since reaching England, nor does he intend to be again.’
Thomas was unimpressed. What happened the other side of the world was of no interest to him, unless it affected his financial situation. ‘The fellow should be in Bedlam,’ he muttered callously.
Now Rowan was truly incensed. ‘Damn you, Father! The horrors the fellow witnessed, the death and deprivation, the squalor and utter misery, make the shallow complaints in this country seem trivial. As trivial as your problems, most of which are of your own creation. Sink in self-pity if you wish, replace me with your bastard seed if that is what you want, but don’t prate to me of your woes, because they are as nothing to what happened because of Mount Tambora. That, sir, is misery!’ Slamming down his glass, Rowan strode toward the door.
For a moment his livid father considered squaring up to him, but there was something in Rowan’s eyes that made discretion seem much the better part of valour. Thomas stepped aside, and Rowan walked straight past.
As Rowan prepared to ride to Gloucester, Phoebe and Rosalind were also on their way there, huddled in the back of Johnno’s wagon. They intended to do a little Christmas shopping, and then visit Phoebe’s cousin, but Rosalind was hoping to wriggle out of visiting in order to go to the winter fair that had been set up on the river-bank at the bottom of Westgate. Rosalind scowled at the lazy flakes that still floated in the icy air. ‘Phoebe, do I have to come with you? Can’t I go to the fair?’
‘Go alone to a fair? Certainly not!’
‘Please, Phoebe. I promise to be good, truly I do. Dad always let me go alone.’ This wasn’t true, because she’d lied that she was working late at Barker’s Tavern.
Johnno, who was walking beside them, just the other side of the wagon’s canvas cover, lifted the edge for a moment to look in. There was a rather hopeful sprig of mistletoe in his battered old hat. ‘Aw, go on, Phoebe. Let the chit have some fun.’
‘You mind your own business, and keep your eye on your work, before we end up in another ditch.’ As he let go of the canvas and whistled at the oxen, Phoebe glanced at Rosalind. Mention of the ditch reminded her of Robert Lloyd, but the girl was leaning out of the wagon to touch a snowflake that floated within reach. ‘Rosalind, have you thought any more about accepting Jamie Webb? He’s steady and dependable, and in good employment now with the squire. It would be a good match for you.’
Rosalind scowled. ‘Jamie’s dull and long-faced. Be fair now, Phoebe, would you want to marry him?’
‘It’s not me he wants to wed, Rosalind, and if you think you’re going to snap up someone like Lord Welland’s son, then you’re a cuckoo.’
‘That’s not fair! Just because I don’t want Jamie Webb!’
Phoebe felt a little guilty. ‘Oh, well, it’s your decision, I suppose,’ she muttered, making much of shifting her position and tweaking her warm winter cloak.
‘Please can I see the fair?’ Rosalind knew when to play on Phoebe’s conscience.
‘We’ll see,’ was the brief reply, but Rosalind knew it was capitulation. A rush of excitement flooded her. She’d been feeling unsettled and restless again, just as she had before going with Robert Lloyd. The same craving had returned, gnawing deeply through her and making her tremble sometimes between the legs. She wanted to experience that pleasure again, to feel a man inside her. But that wasn’t why she wanted to go to the fair. There was a prize ring there, where she might encounter Rowan Welland.
Back in Frampney, Jake, Matty and Jamie Webb were sharing a jar of perry. Jamie’s face was miserable. ‘Well, Rosalind doesn’t like me that way, and that’s that.’
Matty clapped a sympathetic hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘She’ll come around, Jamie. You’re about the best catch in these parts. She’s not daft.’
‘No, but she prefers finer folk.’ Jamie glanced sideways at Jake.
Jake sat forward. ‘She’s learned her lesson, Jamie. You mark my words, Matty’s right, Rozzie’ll come around and we’ll be seeing a wedding come the spring.’
Matty relit his cumbersome pipe and Jake frowned. ‘I wished you’d give up that smelly old chimney, Matty. I caught you dozing off again yesterday. You’ll have this place down in flames one day.’
‘Aw, stop moaning,’ Matty grumbled. ‘It’s coming up to Christmas; there are no womenfolk to chew our ears, so let’s enjoy it, eh? Pour us another jar of perry.’
Jake laughed and reached for the earthenware pitcher, but Jamie dwelt upon Rosalind. Had she learned her lesson? He’d seen what happened when she dropped the flour by Lord Welland’s son. She still had an itch for the gentry, and Rowan Welland was a very different kettle of fish from that pig, Robert Lloyd. Jamie’s spirits were low. He loved Rosalind Mannacott with all his fool heart, but she wanted far better. Far better. He reached for his replenished jar. ‘I think I’ll get drunk tonight,’ he muttered, and began to drink long and deep.
Darkness had fallen before Rosalind eventually reached the fair, and to her chagrin Phoebe accompanied her, having insisted they do the shopping and cousin-visiting first. Now they had two hours before returning to Johnno’s wagon at the White Hart at six for the return to Frampney. The fair was bright with torches, lanterns and lamps, and the air smelled of toffee, fried onions and gingerbread. A wheel of fortune was ablaze with colour, the wooden roundabout creaked and the swing boats went so high that those inside squealed and shrieked. Men were selling holly and mistletoe from carts, and a choir from a local church was singing ‘I Saw Three Ships’. The sweet notes were almost indistinguishable amid the shouting, laughter and rival racket from a fiddle, drum and cymbals. Audible only at close quarters were the chink of coins, the splash of beer from kegs, and the whir of paper windmills. Horses were always to be found at fairs, and an assortment of dogs, but Rosalind had never seen such a strange animal as one that was led past now. ‘What’s that, Phoebe?’ she asked.
‘Darned if I know.’
A man next to them explained. ‘It’s a camel, I’m told, like the Three Wise Men rode. Darned ugly thing, eh?’
‘Where’s the prizefight tent?’ Rosalind asked.
‘Over there, close to the bridge. It’s all red-and-yellow stripes, so you can’t miss it.’ The man, whose face was as brown and wrinkled as a walnut, with teeth like broken tombstones, looked her over. ‘Now what does a pretty thing like you want with fisticuffs? Got a fancy for the famous Taffy Hughes, eh?’
Phoebe was indignant. ‘You mind your tongue, you rascal,’ she warned, raising the umbrella she’d brought along for protection.
‘All right, all right, you daft old trout,’ he protested, and shuffled away.
Phoebe then turned her wrath upon Rosalind. ‘That’s what you get for encouraging strangers!’
‘I didn’t!’
‘Yes, you did, when you asked him about the tent. Which is another thing, why do you want to know about that?’
‘I’d like to see a prizefight, that’s all.’
‘It isn’t ladylike,’ Phoebe replied shortly.
Rosalind smiled and nudged her a little playfully. ‘Oh, come on, Phoebe, let’s go and watch for a while, if only to see how daft men can be.’
Phoebe hesitated, part of her as keen as Rosalind. Temptation had its way. ‘All right, but don’t you leave my side.’
The snow crunched beneath their feet as they threaded through the crowds to the tent, where a master-of-ceremonies was extolling the virtues of Taffy Hughes, the Mad Welshman. Phoebe’s nerve almost failed when she saw the unruly and disreputable types flocking into the tent, but Rosalind urged her inside, where the smell of tobacco smoke, damp clothes and unwashed bodies was almost choking. Now Rosalind’s sole concern was whether or not Rowan Welland was here. Please let him be. Please.
More and more people tried to enter the tent, but it was so full that they had to stay outside, disgruntled because they wouldn’t see the renowned Welsh fighter. Rosalind kept looking around, but saw no sign of Rowan. The master-of-ceremonies forced his way to the ring and tried to be heard above the racket, but the crowd’s response was to start chanting for Hughes. At last the man seized a metal tray and a large spoon from somewhere and began to beat them together like a gong. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the finest fighter in the length and breadth of the king’s realm, Taffy Hughes!’
There was pushing and shoving as the huge Welshman came from the back of the tent, surrounded by his seconds. He was jostled and whistled all the way to the ring, where he stood dead centre, his brawny arms folded, gazing around with strangely dark eyes. ‘Oh, my lord,’ Phoebe breathed, ‘who’d be dippy enough to take him on?’
‘Do we have a challenger? Do we have a challenger?’ the master-of-ceremonies bellowed, and there was a cheer as a local giant named Basher Hancock held up his hand. He was pushed and elbowed to the ring, and the closer he drew to the Welshman, the paler his face became. Moments later he was formally announced. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a worthy challenger, Basher Hancock, a coal heaver from Kingsholm!’ The two men squared up and the fight began.
Rosalind had always known that pugilism was a bloody sport, and Rowan’s bruised and swollen face had proved it, but even so she wasn’t prepared for the sheer butchery of the ring. The sound of the Welshman’s fist striking Hancock’s face, the sight of the torn flesh around the challenger’s eyes and the blood streaming from his nose and split lips were too much. It was the last straw for her when Hancock received an upper cut that not only sent him sprawling but made him violently sick as well. Blood and vomit spattered over the ring, and Rosalind caught Phoebe’s arm. ‘Let’s go, this is awful.’
‘I’m enjoying it,’ Phoebe replied unexpectedly. ‘I never thought I’d like a good scrap like this, but I do! Just get some air by the entrance, but don’t go out of sight.’
Rosalind pushed her way toward the entrance, but then saw Rowan watching the bout. Snowflakes clung to his hair, his hat was under his arm, and his cloak tossed back over his shoulders as he leaned against a tent pole. He hadn’t seen her, so she had a moment or so to simply look at him. Oh, he was so handsome, even with his bruises. How she’d like to lie in the grass with him. Desire welled through her, making her breath catch and her eyes shine.
Suddenly he noticed her and straightened quickly. ‘Miss Mannacott?’
She moved closer and curtsied. ‘My lord.’
He smiled and reached out for her hand, which he drew to his cold lips. ‘I’m not Lord Welland yet, but thank you for the compliment.’ He searched her face. ‘You’re a little pale. Is prizefighting too much for you?’
‘A lot too much for me,’ she answered. ‘Please say you’re not here to challenge that Welshman.’
‘Well, that was the main idea. I’ve fought him before and been beaten before.’
‘But he’s so—’
‘Big? And I’m so skinny?’ he supplied.
‘Something like that.’ She smiled, liking him more each second.
At that moment Phoebe bustled up, having spotted what was going on. ‘You come back now, Rosalind,’ she instructed. ‘Begging your pardon, sir.’
Rowan bowed. ‘Madam.’
Some of Beth’s advice on etiquette rang vaguely through Rosalind’s mind. She had to introduce them. Yes, that was it. ‘My lord, this is my friend, Mrs Brown.’
‘Mrs Brown.’ Not being churlish enough to correct Rosalind again, Rowan kissed Phoebe’s hand as well. Then he smiled winningly. ‘I assure you, madam, that Miss Mannacott is not in any danger while I’m here, but I’ll certainly be in danger if she isn’t. She’s in the process of trying to dissuade me from challenging Hughes. You wouldn’t want her to fail, would you?’
Phoebe simpered at him, and then nudged Rosalind. ‘Don’t go away, my girl.’
‘Of course not.’
As Phoebe withdrew into the tent, Rowan smiled at Rosalind. ‘I hope I’m right, and that your mission is to save me from myself?’ As she nodded, he went on, ‘Well, since we must not move from here, I suggest you stand with your back to the ring, the better to obscure the carnage.’ He glanced past her as the Welshman floored Hancock again and was catcalled for foul play.
‘Did you really fight Taffy Hughes?’ she asked.
‘Fight? Well, I endured fifteen rounds before he knocked me into the middle of the following week. I earned my purse that day, I can tell you.’ He chuckled.
‘And now you’re here for more? Why?’ she asked.
He paused. ‘To be truthful, I don’t really know. It’s a habit.’
‘A very foolish one.’ She became suddenly self-conscious. ‘I – I shouldn’t have said that. I’m a blacksmith’s daughter and you’re a lord’s son.’
He gave her an impish smile. ‘So, I’m not good enough for you?’
‘Don’t tease. We’re different classes, you and me, and we don’t mix.’
‘You, Miss Mannacott, are a snob to worry about class. It makes no difference to me, so you, I fear, must be a snob.’
‘If I’m a snob, it’s because I’m too good to talk to gentlemen who like to get knocked around a prize ring,’ she countered.
‘Touché.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It means “ah, there you have me”,’ he explained.
She lowered her eyes. ‘You must think me very ignorant.’
‘No, for you intrigue me. You speak well; have you been taking lessons?’
‘I’d rather not say. I hate her and don’t want to speak her name ever again.’
‘Hate is a very harsh word,’ he observed, ‘especially when I imagine you’re referring to Beth Tremoille.’
Her eyes flew guiltily to his. ‘How—?’
‘I know Beth, and that your father was her lover. She and I almost married.’ He saw how she recoiled, and added quickly, ‘It would have been an arranged match, but I certainly do like her, as I fancy she likes me. I can’t imagine anyone hating her.’
In the tent things had begun to turn ugly as the Welshman and his seconds found themselves ranged against an angry Gloucester crowd. The verdict had gone against Hancock, and the onlookers didn’t think the victor had played fair. Sticks and bottles began to be brandished, and then someone threw something that struck the Welshman on the head. The mood snapped, becoming dangerous and menacing. Several men rushed outside to inform the rest of the crowd what was going on, and Rowan only just had time to pull Rosalind aside as people surged forward. He pressed back into the canvas, holding her close and protected as people stumbled and pushed past. Someone had a lighted torch that came too close to a low-hanging rope, and suddenly flames began to leap. There was panic as everyone tried to get away. Rowan dragged Rosalind out of the way again. ‘Come on, we must leave!’
‘But Phoebe!’
‘Has already escaped. Someone had a knife and cut the canvas, and she was among those that got out. She’ll be all right. My concern is for you.’ Seizing her hand, he ran toward the river-bank. The Severn’s muddy water shone in the lights from the fair, and only a few folk chose this route to escape the violence. The water rustled through overhanging willows, and several skiffs rocked by a small landing stage. Rowan halted to look back. ‘Well, trouble isn’t hot on our heels,’ he muttered.
Rosalind was suddenly aware of their isolation. ‘I – I ought to find Phoebe. We’re supposed to be at Johnno’s wagon by six to go home.’ Her lips trembled suddenly and tears sprang to her eyes.
Rowan was concerned. ‘I’ll see you to the wagon in time.’
‘Will you?’
‘Of course I will.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Please don’t be frightened.’
She didn’t reply. She wasn’t afraid of him, but of her own desires. The brush of his fingers quickened her heart, and renewed the terrible ache between her legs. Oh, how she wanted to relieve that ache. ‘You’re the most handsome, gallant and kindly gentleman I’ve ever met,’ she whispered. ‘A lord with more charm than anyone ought to have, and I can tell that you like me, and I know that I like you. So it’s dangerous for me to be here with you like this.’
‘That’s very direct,’ he murmured, aware of things stirring that should not. He was supposed to be gallantly protecting her, not wanting to lift her skirt to despoil her.
‘It’s the truth.’ At least she could kiss him, couldn’t she? That would not be so terrible. Would it? She moved closer and lifted her parted lips. He hesitated, but his loins were filling with excitement and her mouth was so sweet and provocative that he bent his head to kiss her. Their lips quivered together, and then settled, moving tenderly and sweetly. He put an arm around her little waist and pulled her to him. How supple and slender she was, how small and firm her breasts. He pressed her against his arousal, unable to prevent himself from seeking at least some gratification, for as God was his witness he was determined not to let his weapon loose. His desire mounted and his kiss became more intense and sensual, but as she began to rub against him he realized she might not be as virginal as he’d thought. There was knowingness in her motion, and he knew when she came, for her lips softened beneath his, her breathing turned to gasps and her body undulated voluptuously. For a moment he considered undoing his falls and letting nature take its course, but then she seemed so overcome and weak that he had to catch her around the waist to prevent her from collapsing. She sank against him, her body soft and helpless, seeming almost drugged with satisfaction, and several moments passed before she rallied herself to pull away in embarrassment. ‘Forgive me.’
‘There is nothing to forgive.’
‘I’m not a whore, truly I’m not.’
‘I know.’
‘And you know I’m not a virgin.’
He looked away. ‘I guessed.’
‘I’ve only done it once.’
‘It’s none of my business, Rosalind.’
‘But it is, because I’ve just taken my pleasure of you. I’m afraid to do it properly with you because I’m not close to my monthly, but if you want, I’ll do this instead. Her hand moved to undo his falls.
‘Sweet Jesu,’ he breathed as she reached in to handle him. She pulled his foreskin back gently, and then closed it again, pulled it back, and then closed it again. She pressed against him anew, and their lips were joined in a kiss that lacked all innocence as she stroked him to a climax. His body jerked with the force of it, and he kissed her as if he would suck out her very heart. They swayed together by the little jetty, both stealing every last sexual pleasure they could. Then she smoothed her palm over his softening masculinity and slid a finger gently over the exposed tip, shivering as unbelievably enjoyable sensations danced over her flesh. He gasped and twitched. ‘Dear God, what do you want, my complete prostration?’ Everything was so sensitive that he grabbed himself to prevent her from doing the same again.
She smiled and reached up to take his face in her hands. ‘Will I see you again?’
‘If I can stand the strain,’ he replied, smiling too.
Her lips were over his again. She was learning quickly, testing her wiles, taking the pleasure she wanted. But it was so easy to learn with him. She couldn’t bear to think of him marrying Beth, of him even liking her. She, Rosalind Mannacott, wanted him. ‘Maybe next time,’ she breathed, ‘we’ll do it all. I’d so like that.’
‘So would I.’ His lips moved against her hair. ‘Oh, Rosalind, Rosalind, what have you done to me?’ he breathed.
‘The same as you’ve done to me,’ she answered, looking seriously at him. ‘I liked you from that first moment by the forge, and I came to the fair today because I hoped you’d be there.’
‘Did you, be damned?’
The cathedral bell rang out, and she gasped. ‘Six o’clock? I have to go!’
He hurriedly straightened his clothes and caught her hand to run back toward the fair, which was quiet again now because the militia had moved in to quell the trouble. It wasn’t far to the White Hart in Westgate Street, where Phoebe and Johnno were waiting anxiously by the wagon.
Phoebe hastened to meet them. ‘There you are at last, Rosalind! Where have you been? I’ve been going mad with worry!’
Rowan was apologetic. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Brown, but in order to escape the violence we had to run along by the river, and then we waited until things settled again before running all the way here. I assure you Miss Mannacott was not in any danger, and that I have been with her throughout. She came to no harm.’ Which is more than can be said for my own peace of mind, he thought.
‘You’ve been most kind, my lord,’ Phoebe declared, ‘but now we have to go, Johnno won’t wait any longer.’
He bowed gallantly. ‘Good night, Mrs Brown, Miss Mannacott. I trust you have a very happy Christmas, to say nothing of a provident new year.’ He watched them climb into the wagon, which began the slow trudge up toward the Cross.
It wasn’t going to be easy to shake free of Rosalind Mannacott, he thought, but that wasn’t what he wanted anyway. The last thing he needed was further trouble from his damned father, and an entanglement with a blacksmith’s daughter was certain to send the old boy into apoplexy. But when Rosalind Mannacott smiled at him and raised her sweet lips for a kiss, he couldn’t help himself. The thought of possessing her completely was almost sublime. Paternal fury or not, he’d have to see her again. He sensed an uncertain future opening before him, and knew he could close the door upon it right now, or grasp it with both hands to see where it led.