But the groom called from behind, “Will you walk with me again?”
Pausing, she straightened and turned to him with raised brows.
He hurried to add, “We might enjoy the grounds a bit more. I can show you an even prettier bit of the creek you can fall into.”
A smile tickled the edge of her lips, but Rosanna’s heart hung heavy in her chest. “I fear that isn’t possible, Mr. Malcolm. I appreciate your ‘assistance’ today, but furthering an acquaintance isn’t wise. You know it isn’t proper.”
“That is quite high and mighty for a young lady who spent the afternoon wandering said woods without a chaperone,” he replied in that teasing tone of his.
“This is the country—not the streets of London,” she replied. “And though we may not require chaperones for a stroll about the woods, I assure you our social standards are not so lax that I can go wandering the woods with strange men without it being remarked upon if we were spied.”
Mr. Malcolm’s gaze sparked with a challenge, not fading in the slightest despite her valid argument. “Then when can I see you again?”
Shaking her head, Rosanna laughed and turned down the road. “Go find your lost horse, Mr. Malcolm.”
Her heart lingered in place as she forced her feet homeward, and no amount of logic and reasoning allowed it to remain unmoved by the groom. Flirtations were commonplace, after all, yet there was something about Mr. Malcolm that captured her attention. It was a bit of silliness, was all. The fellow wasn’t serious in his flattery—he couldn’t be, for no servant would be so bold—but for once, a man simply presented an enjoyable interlude without expectations.
“This isn’t over, Miss Leigh,” he called after her.
Rosanna stopped in her tracks and glanced over her shoulder to find the fellow watching her with an intensity that sent a skitter along her skin. It might’ve been frightening had there not been that smile in his gaze as he watched her inch along the road. Though she couldn’t claim to know him thoroughly, Mr. Malcolm seemed to radiate laughter.
Such a strange man.
Fighting her own smile, Rosanna reminded herself yet again why the strange but intriguing groom shouldn’t capture her fancy. This was naught but a playful interlude. Nothing more. And it wouldn’t do to grow it into something grander.
Forcing herself forward, Rosanna ignored the feeling of his gaze upon her as she followed the road along until it turned and drew her out of sight. The sound of a carriage jerked Rosanna from her thoughts, and she stepped to the side of the road just as it came around the bed ahead.
Her gaze fell to her pelisse, and she gaped at the mess. It was not as though she had forgotten the interlude with the creek, but Rosanna looked an absolute fright. Turning away, she hid her face behind the edge of her bonnet. She might have to walk through the streets of Greater Edgerton looking as though she’d rolled in a pigsty, but she needn’t broadcast it to every passing person.
*
Some moments of inspiration struck without warning, giving the receiver a perfect solution to their troubles. In most instances, these were minor occurrences, guiding one’s actions without fanfare. At others, it was as though a bolt of lightning struck from the heavens, illuminating one’s faculties in a brilliant fashion. Malcolm Tate tucked his hands behind him and watched the delectable Miss Leigh disappear as he congratulated himself for his quick wits.
Contentment was a commonplace word, but he certainly embodied it at that moment, for never was there a more perfect moment than this.
The sound of a carriage had him stepping from the edge of the road, giving the driver plenty of space in which to pass. Recognizing the equipage, Malcolm turned on his heel as he followed after it. Thankfully, it slowed, allowing him to catch up.
Yanking open the door, he climbed in.
Sidney Bracegirdle beamed. “Malcolm, I thought that was you.”
But when his new passenger sat down, the joy faded as he took in the state of his carriage as Malcolm dragged half the forest in with him.
“Blazes, man!” His friend frowned, staring at Malcolm as flecks of mud and bits of leaves smeared across the upholstery. “My coachman is going to be livid. Have you been rolling about in the mud?”
Though Malcolm attempted to keep the mess to a minimum, there was little to be done—short of a bath and change of clothes. “I fear I met with a couple of accidents whilst exploring the estate.”
“Did it have anything to do with the bit of muslin I saw marching in the opposite direction, looking as though she wallowed in the same muck as you?”
Malcolm stilled. “You noticed her, did you?”
“Kind of hard to miss, though I didn’t spy who it was.”
The memory of that face surged in his mind, and Malcolm couldn’t help the grin that grew as he recalled the utter perfection that was Miss Leigh. No doubt she would’ve been mortified if she knew there was a smudge of dirt streaked across her cheek, but the sight was so affecting that Malcolm hadn’t wanted to say a word.
“What have you been up to?” asked Sidney with more than a hint of suspicion in his tone.
Malcolm shrugged. “I was enjoying a ride when my stubborn beast refused to take a jump and tossed me from the saddle. He’s likely back at the stables by now.”
