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He dropped his gaze to her basket. “I gather ye come here often?”
“Umm, yes.” Pink tinging her cheeks, she fiddled with the basket’s handle. “It’s very peaceful. I like to read and sketch here. It doesn’t feel like I’m in the middle of a large city. Griffin’s gardens are quite lovely, but I find these much more relaxing. What’s more, I don’t have to worry about appearances here.”
She gestured to her shimmering hair.
A woman who preferred these neglected grounds to Sheffield’s fervently attended ones?
Enchanting and no’ a little attractive.
Despite himself and the discordant warning bells clanging in his head, Fletcher became even more fascinated.
“Rayne is an unusual name.” If he recollected correctly, there was a place in Aberdeenshire called Rayne.
“It means song. My mother was an opera singer. Well, she was until she married Papa. She said music was a balm to the soul.”
A lovely name for a lovely lass with a lovely voice.
Fletcher almost winced at the rather appalling poetic codswallop mincing through his mind.
Another charming flush stole up her creamy cheeks as if she’d realized how much she’d revealed to a perfect stranger. “I beg your pardon for intruding.”
She turned and placed her basket on the rounded ledge, then gathered her skirts. Bracing her other palm upon the stones, she stepped onto the narrow foothold.
“I dinna mind if ye stay and sketch, lass.”
Why the hell had he blurted that?
Of course, she couldn’t stay.
She was unmarried, and they had no chaperone.
Nae one will ken. Och, someone will see and say somethin’.
Things like that always had a way of leaking out, no matter how discrete one attempted to be. Aye, it was much wiser all the way around for Rayne Wellbrook to leave. Promptly.
Fletcher didn’t need or want any entanglements or complications. Nor did he relish infuriating the Duke of Sheffield. He valued the man’s friendship every bit as much as he needed him as a business partner and investor.
Rayne’s focus veered to the folly once more, and she caught the corner of her mouth between her teeth.
Was that where she’d intended to spend the morning?
The moment lengthened, stretching out, and he held his breath. His stomach muscles tightened in anticipation of her answer. She flexed her fingertips on the stone, the neat round oval of her nails digging into the uneven surface, her indecision a tangible thing.
After another half a dozen heartbeats, she finally gave a little reluctant shake of her head. Her long hair swirled around her shoulders.
Could those tresses possibly be as silky as they looked?
Warm chocolate or impossibly soft velvet?
“No. It wouldn’t be seemly. But I do thank you for the generous offer, Your Grace.”
Generous, my ass.
He simply wanted to get to know this astonishing woman better.
Danger, danger, danger, chimed his exasperating and intrusive conscience.
Go to hell, he thought mutinously.
