She spotted the drapes of her bed down and sighed; Jane had put them down and had lied to her mother again. A twinge of guilt cut through her at knowing that she was forcing Jane to lie. She pulled the drapes away and tied them to the posts, and while she was doing it, Jane came in.
“Oh, good,” she sighed. “You are back.”
“I am,” Rachel said. “And I am sorry for putting you in a position to deceive my mother for me.”
Giving her an appreciative smile, Jane nodded. “I realize. But you must realize by now that you cannot keep running off to the meet Mister Smith on a whim.”
“I did not go to meet him,” Rachel tightened the strap of her wrapper. “He found me out here, and we only spoke for a while. I told him about my fear of marrying Strathmore.”
“And what did he say?”
Dipping her eyes, Rachel shook her head. “It does not matter. Would you prepare my bath and then have my morning meal sent up?”
“Yes, My Lady,” Jane nodded, taking Rachel’s diversion from the topic as the hint not to prod.
When Jane left the room, Rachel thought of the wicked kiss William dreamed about having with her. Her breath caught again. No one but she had touched herself there, and to have him kiss her there as he did her mouth made her want to melt.
“William…” she sighed breathily. “What are you doing to me?”
***
Thank goodness that he had brought his drawing materials with him because as he sat there, with the papers on his lap, not one of the gardeners gave him a second glance. He was not doodling flowers or trees, but his vision of what Rachel would look like in the throes of pleasure.
They had not done more than kiss, and though their kisses were hot and scintillating, he wanted more. He wanted to touch her, lick her warm skin and yes, prop her legs over his shoulders and kiss her intimately.
“Mister Smith,” Lady Hurstmere said as she rounded the gazebo. It was the first time he had seen her in the morning, and he thanked good sense that Rachel had left the garden almost a half-hour ago. The Duchess was holding an armful of cut roses, and in her other hand was a small shear. “Good morning. Are you out here frequently?”
Casually closing the folio, he nodded. “Yes. Your garden is a muse to me.”
“I am pleased to hear that,” the Duchess nodded tersely. “I must ask, how long do you think you will take for the last drawing, which I assume is going to be somewhere inside here, correct?”
“Yes,” William nodded. “In this gazebo in fact. It is near enough to the flowers to give her a good surrounding, and she will not have to worry about her dress being dirtied.”
“Yes, yes, but how long?” she pressed.
He refrained from narrowing his eyes. “I would suppose the same time as the last two. Two weeks or less. Why?”
“Because we want to engage my daughter to Lord Strathmore before the month is done.”
After a quick calculation, William stopped himself from gaping. “You are going to give your daughter away in fifteen days?”
“Yes.” She cocked her head to the side. “I hope so. In fifteen days, she will be engaged. Why?”
He cleared his throat from the harsh tone that was brewing in his heart. “Have you told Lady Hampton, Your Grace? I am sure she would have some concerns about it being so quick.”
The Duchess laughed. “She will accept it as she has accepted all the decisions that we have made for her in her life. She is young and foolish, Mister Smith. She needs a strong hand in her life to keep her on the straight and narrow path, and Lord Strathmore is the one.”
The blistering need to shout that Rachel hated the very air the lord breathed was bubbling inside his heart. The Duchess must have seen the notion on his face as she gave him a pointed look, daring him to speak what was on his mind. He clamped his lips shut because even though she was daring him, he knew he was walking into a trap.
He traded the need to be with Rachel for two more weeks in favor of telling the woman how evil and despicable she was.
Forcing a smile on his face, he nodded. “I understand, Your Grace, and I will do my best to keep to your timing. But the painting is a delicate procedure. It cannot be rushed.”
“However long it is, my daughter will have her engagement,” she smiled rather nastily. “I know you are a prudent man, Mister Smith. Even if you do not do it in time, count it as a wedding gift.”
Taking her bouquet of roses, she walked back to the house while William stared at her back. He wrenched his tight jaw open only to sag on the wooden bench. Any hope he had to be with Rachel began to die before his eyes.
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