“And, of course, it is not only knights who are chivalrous,” Rose added quietly. “I would rather judge a man by his deeds than his title.”
“Your lack of sight has not affected your perception, Miss Blake. But this brings me to another question. You told me last night that you have no suitors, yet today you mentioned a number of callers. So what am I to believe? How many suitors do you currently have?”
“My lord?” she asked, puzzled.
“Is the number too high to conveniently count?”
“A few days ago, I would have said that the number takes no time at all to count,” she responded faintly. “Though I seem to have attracted more attention. I do not know why, but today I was beset by callers for some reason.”
“Let us agree that it is because you deserve to be admired.” Lord Norbury stood up then. “Well, I have taken up more than enough of your time. I am delighted that Hynes’s stupid prank has done no lasting evil to you. I wish you good day, my fair lady. I hope this meeting is not our last.” He bent and captured Rose’s hand, kissing it gently.
Across the room, Poppy cleared her throat meaningfully. Norbury laughed softly as he straightened up. “And a good day to you as well, Miss St. George. You will, I have no doubt, continue to protect my lady as you have so far.”
“Against all threats,” Poppy agreed, a hint of steel in her tone.
But Norbury merely said, “Miss Blake is lucky to have you as a friend. I would suggest that you take special care about these new callers. Some, like Hynes last night, might not have the best of intentions.”
“But you do?” Poppy asked, very boldly.
“When it comes to Miss Blake, believe me, I want no harm to come to her.”
Poppy paused, then said, in what Rose recognized as her “thoughtful” tone, “Very well, my lord. Thank you for the advice.”
“Thank you for accepting it in the spirit it is meant. I will make my exit while there is still time.” He left the house without further ado.
His timing proved apt, for Mrs. Blake was set to return within a quarter hour.
Poppy let her breath out with a whoosh. “Rose, what are we going to do?”
“About what?”
“Lord Norbury!”
“What needs to be done?” Rosalind tipped her head to one side, considering. “He was polite to stop by. But do you really think he’ll become a fixture in my life?”
“He asked if you had suitors.”
“I suspect that he asks all sorts of awkward questions just to needle people. One can tell he likes making others squirm.” She had almost squirmed when she felt his lips on her hand. Like his caress the previous night, it probably appeared quite proper. But there was a hidden sensuality about it that was deliberate, meant for her alone to notice.
“What color is the rose?” she asked, mostly to distract Poppy from the current topic.
“Pale pink. It’s very lovely,” she added grudgingly. “I put it in a drinking glass, but I’ll ask Alice to find a proper vase for it.”
By luck and determination, the girls kept news of the visit from Mrs. Blake, instead chattering about the unexpected cavalcade of surprise visitors. Rosalind was in a strange mood for the rest of the day, however, even as she attempted to remind herself that Lord Norbury was merely being polite in calling on her after a dance, and probably just being funny when he asked how many suitors she had. But then, there was the kiss in the garden last night. Could he possibly actually be interested in her?
Late in the afternoon, she sat in the window of her bedroom, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun and the mellow sounds of spring. Taking a bonbon from the little box––which Poppy had quickly hidden before her mother might see it––Rosalind bit into the chocolate, savoring the smell and taste of it. The center was laced with brandy, and she breathed in slowly, taking in the flavors.
Who would have sent such a gift? It was perfect, really, a gift that Rose could truly enjoy.
Then she laughed softly, licking her lips. It had to be Norbury. Why was she surprised? A rake like him must know very well what women enjoyed.
Chapter 5
After calling on Rose, Adrian was too restless to go home, so he went to his usual fencing salle to practice. There, his instructor, Salvator Caizo, conducted a series of excruciating sequences that had Adrian almost begging for mercy. Almost. He was too much of a competitor to ever admit he was ready to drop.
By the end of the afternoon session, he was sweating, breathing hard, and he wanted to rip his clothes off (he didn’t object to being in such a state, but there were other, more pleasant ways to get there). Adrian nevertheless steadied himself, preparing for another sequence. “En garde,” he told his teacher.
Caizo waved him off. “Enough. An exhausted mind retains little of what it learns. Put away the foil and drink some fresh water.”
