Shannon raised her face and saw that Brandon’s eyes were indeed dark, but not with the menace he pretended in his tone. Clearly he had some other idea on his mind. She did not attempt to dissuade him. Not only would it have been futile, it wouldn’t have been what she wanted. She made one protest. “Not here, Brandon,” she said huskily. “They’re watching us.”
Brandon glanced at the portraits of his forebears on the walls. “Let them,” he said. Then he slid off the chair and drew her into his arms.
Brandon shrugged into his jacket.Looking past his reflection in the mirror, he could see Shannon stirring in bed. As she turned, Brandon’s eyes were drawn to the curve of her naked shoulder bathed in the soft dawn light. Unwittingly she was making it difficult for him to leave the bedchamber. She murmured something in her sleep, and the sound drew Brandon to her side. He sat on the edge of the bed and bent his head, laying his lips against her cheek for the briefest of moments.
A faint smile touched Shannon’s mouth as she felt Brandon’s caress. “Mm,” was all she said.
“I’m leaving for town,” he whispered. “I should be back before dinner.”
His words registered slowly, and when she finally understood their import, her smile vanished. “Town? But why? We were there yesterday.”
“A small matter that I neglected, but an important one.” Green eyes, he thought. An astonishingly handsome man. Charming. It could be nothing, no one. Or it could be everything. It could be Parker. Brandon knew precisely when the thought had occurred to him. In the aftermath of making love to Shannon on the library floor, while she slept in his arms, he had idly studied the portraits of his family. A gallery of charming, handsome rogues, he had thought. It was then that suspicion was borne upon him. He could not help but think that Peter Rhoades was a myth. Rhoades was also the maiden name of Parker’s mother, though the connection had not occurred to Brandon earlier. A coincidence? Not bloody likely. His gut reaction was that Parker was taunting him, making an opening gambit without naming what game he played.
There was a simple method to prove his theory, but asking Shannon to sketch Peter Rhoades would have aroused her suspicions, perhaps frightened her. That was not what he wanted, not when she had been so content these past weeks with the knowledge that they were leaving soon. It seemed necessary that he go to town himself. If nothing came of it, as a last resort, he would ask Shannon to put the man’s face to paper. Mayhap he would have cause to laugh at his suspicions then.
Brandon kissed her again, this time on the soft pulse at her temple. “Dream of me,” he said. Her sleepy response promised that she already was.
Shannon was awakened several hours later by another kiss and two dimpled hands sliding around her neck for a cuddle. From the doorway she could hear Addie clucking her tongue and telling Clara in a strident whisper that her father had left orders that Miz Shannon not be disturbed.
“It’s all right, Addie,” Shannon said. “I was about to get up. You can go.” When the door clicked shut, Shannon tickled Clara and blew against her neck. Clara’s laughter cascaded over her. “Good morning, Clara.”
“Good morning. You don’t have any clothes on.”
Shannon blinked at Clara’s bold statement. She glanced down at herself and saw the blankets had been dislodged by her tussle with Clara. When she and Brandon had left the library last evening, donning a nightgown seemed a perfect waste of time, especially as Brandon wanted to repeat in comfort what had taken place belowstairs. “So I don’t,” she said, pretending astonishment at the fact, delighting in Clara’s giggles. “Will you get my robe, please?”
Clara scrambled off the bed and retrieved Shannon’s dressing gown from the wardrobe. “Where’s Papa?”
“He’s gone to town.” She slipped into the robe and belted it. “He’ll be back by dinner,” she added when Clara’s heart-shaped face fell in disappointment.
“But he promised we would go riding,” she said, thrusting out her lower lip.
“That’s not a very pretty face,” Shannon chastised, mimicking Clara’s pout. It was not like Brandon to forget his promises, certainly not one to his daughter. She tried to remember what he said about his business in town. Either she had been too sleepy to really listen or he hadn’t told her much.
Clara pulled in her lip and leaned against the bed, her chin resting in her hands. “He promised.”
Shannon twisted one of Clara’s ringlets around her finger and tugged gently. “I know he did, but he’ll take you later.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure. Not today. It will probably be dark by the time your father returns.”
The lip appeared again and was quickly retracted when Clara saw Shannon’s reproving look. “Will you take me?”
Shannon’s riding had improved tenfold under Brandon’s guidance. Her new mount, which she had named Holly in spite of Brandon’s amusement that the filly deserved something a shade nobler, was a treasure, responsive to Shannon’s slightest touch. Still, Shannon hesitated, uncertain that she wanted Clara to ride with her. “What if I just lead you around the paddock on Rainbow? How would you like that?”
Clara wanted the wild, flying ride her father had promised, but she wisely accepted Shannon’s offer. “Will you take me outside the paddock?”
“All right.”
“Can we have a picnic?”
“No,” she said sternly, leveling Clara with a look that said the questions should end. “It’s dreadfully chilly out, or hadn’t you thought of that? We shall have to bundle you up as is. I doubt you’ll want to stay out long once we start.”
Shannon couldn’t have been more wrong. The air was bracingly cold, but Clara absolutely loved being outdoors, and she found the same pleasure in riding as her mother. Shannon led Rainbow along the road. When it forked, she took the northern route, following the folly’s boundaries. Conversation was limited because of the mufflers Shannon and Clara wore. Only Clara’s eyes peeped over the top of her woolen scarf, but they were expressive of her delight in this adventure.
The cold made little impact on Shannon. In addition to the scarf covering most of her face, she wore the fur hat she had purchased the previous day, her hair coiled inside it. Cody’s Christmas present was proving to be more effective against the elements than she had supposed. Shannon’s stride was long as she kept pace with Clara’s pony. She enjoyed the freedom of her mannish garments almost as much as she enjoyed goading Martha’s sense of propriety each time she wore them.
“Do you know, Clara, I believe it’s becoming warmer.” Shannon slipped her scarf down over her nose for a moment. “Yes, definitely warmer.” She pointed skyward with her free hand. “And look at those clouds. I think we might see some snow. Would you like that?”
