That was the last Rosemary had seen of Sterling. He hadn’t appeared at dinner that night, nor breakfast the next morning. He wasn’t in the parlor passed out on the sofa where she’d found him thrice before. Nor was he in the library, or the music room, or the gazebo.
“Not that I am looking for him,” she told Posy, a young pet lamb that belonged to her American cousin, Evie Thorncroft, as they went on their daily walk around the pond. Evie had attended the house party, too, but had left abruptly for London, leaving Posy in Rosemary’s care. A duty that she’d gladly taken on as she reallydidmiss Sir Reginald, and it gave her someone to talk to. Never mind that Posy didn’t talk back. At least, not in so many words.
“It’s just that it would be nice if he offered me an apology. That is what a gentleman would do.”
Snatching a bite of yellow buttercups from a clump of wildflowers growing in the marshy wet beside the pond, Posy tossed her head and quickly spat them back out.
“I know, I know,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sure the word isn’t even in his vocabulary. And Sterling may be a duke, but I doubt very much that anyone would ever mistake him for a gentleman.”
It was probably a passing fly, but Rosemary could have sworn the lamb bobbed her head in agreement.
“I simply imagined my first kiss being different, that’s all. And at the end of it, the man did not call it amistake.” She nibbled her bottom lip, a nervous habit from childhood that she’d never been able to quell no matter how many times her grandmother had slapped a thin birch rod across her knuckles whenever she’d caught her granddaughter doing it. “Sterling took something from me. An experience–a moment of note–that I’ll never get back. The least he could do is tell me that he’s sorry for ruining it. But I suppose I won’t endeavor to hold my breath.” Another sigh, this one more forlorn than the last. She patted the lamb between her floppy ears. “Come along, Posy. Let’s get you home.”
But no sooner had she turned onto a winding stone path that would lead them back to the manor than Sterling came sauntering out from behind an oak tree, arms linked behind his back and a dark brow arched in curious amusement.
Comprised of a myriad of walking trails, towering shrubbery, and sculpted gardens with a mixture of native trees, some of them as old as the estate itself, the grounds surrounding Hawkridge Manor provided ample opportunity for one person to sneak up on another. Which was why, when her heart pitched inside of her chest, Rosemary told herself it was due to the shock of Sterling’s sudden appearance.
It definitely–absolutely–had nothing to do with how rakishly handsome he appeared in his linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a dusting of ebony hair on his forearms and his long, muscular legs encased in a pair of breeches that were so snug she doubted he’d ever be able to successfully bend his knee to mount a horse.
“Who the devil are you speaking to?” he drawled, his head canting to the side as he raked his gaze across her dress. “And why are you so…dirty?”
Defensively grabbing a handful of her skirts, which were rumpled and grass-stained from frolicking in the fields with Posy, she ducked her chin and muttered, “Nobody. I was…I was talking to nobody.”
When she was a young girl, Rosemary hadn’t understood why the other children had laughed at her and poked fun when she told them she could understand what animals said. Of course, she hadn’t meantliterally. She’d been an odd child, not a daft one. But she had known, more often than not, what they were thinking. To her it was obvious what a horse was trying to say when its ears turned in a certain direction, or that a dog needed quiet reassurance when its tail slipped between its legs. An animal may not have been able to form words, but there were so many ways to communicate beyond language.
As she had grown older and somewhat wiser to the barbed cruelty that her peers were capable of, Rosemary took to keeping such knowledge to herself. What seemed utterly natural to her–if a cat jumped on your lap, whywouldn’tyou ask it how its day was going?–was derided by others as foolish at best and lunacy at worst.
After a particularly humiliating event at a garden party that had left her in tears, she’d learned that some things were best hidden. It was bad enough that everyone knew she had a pet squirrel. If they realized she and Sir Reginald had conversations on a regular basis…well, maybe theywouldlock her in Bedlam. Then who would take care of her grandmother?
“You were talking tosomebody,” Sterling insisted, those devilishly gray eyes of his watching her with an uncomfortable intensity that brought a rosy flush to her cheeks. “I could hear you chattering away like a magpie from all the way inside the house. Woke me up from my nap.”
“Your nap?” she exclaimed, incredulous. “It’s half-past ten in the morning!”
“I had trouble sleeping.” For an instant, his gaze flicked to her mouth. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “If we are going to share the same quarters, it would behoove you to be more considerate.”
Her, more considerate?
Even Posy snorted.
“I thought you’d returned to London.”
He grimaced. “Go back to that bloody gossip pot? Not likely. I’ve run out of gin and need to go into town to procure some more. Can you drive a phaeton?”
Her lips parted. “I…”
“I’d drive it myself, naturally. But I’ve a splitting headache and would probably end up in a ditch somewhere. You don’t want me to end up in a ditch somewhere, do you, Rebecca?”
“My name is Rosemary.” Didn’t he know by now? She’d only told him half a dozen times. He had no problem remembering her cousins, Evie and Joanna. But then they were far prettier, and thus more memorable. Except–to the best of her knowledge–he hadn’t kissed either ofthem. “I’ve other things to do,” she said sourly, even though she didn’t. “Why don’t you have a footman take you?”
Or better yet,not drink yourself into a stupor every night.
She’d heard whispers about the Duke of Hanover. As an outsider looking in, she wasn’t privy to very much of the gossip circulating through theton, but she would have to be deaf and blind not to have heard the rumors about Sterling.
Rumors that he’d come into his dukedom by nefarious means.
Rumors that he’d redefined the meaning of debauchery.
Rumors that he’d murdered his mistress.
