Chapter 7 #2
“So.” She gave him a polite smile. “You’ve taken Humberton Hall. Are you pleased with it?”
“The house is a bit dreary, but that will be remedied soon enough. I like the situation very much.”
“The locals call it Tumbledown Hall,” she went on. “Is it? I’ve not seen it in a few years.”
He smiled. “Tumbledown? It is not so bad. Perhaps you will return my call and see for yourself.”
She gave him a sharp look, but a maid brought in a tray with tea, and that provided a few minutes of distraction as she poured for both of them and offered a slice of cake, which he declined.
“How quiet you must find this rustic corner of the world, after all you’ve seen.”
He shook his head. “I find it very beautiful here.”
“And yet you were away from it for so long.”
“Ah, yes.” He sipped his tea. “I left in the year Twelve, and expected to return within a year and a half. Bonaparte, unfortunately, did not respect this plan, and his . . . misadventures in Russia caused great turmoil. I was forced to travel ever eastward, returning by a southern route that took far longer than expected.”
“It’s no concern of mine what you decided to do!” She looked startled by the vehemence of her own statement and took a hasty sip of tea. “Of course, I am relieved you were unharmed by the wars.”
“On the contrary,” he said, pleased. “I am gratified that you noted my extended absence. I thought of you nearly every day of it.”
She didn’t look at him. Her eyes moved over the windows, the fireplace, the chandelier, the carpet. The dog came and sniffed at her skirt, but she didn’t seem to notice until the Pomeranian gave a little bark, and Lady Courtenay started so violently, she spilled tea into her saucer.
“Goodness. Louis, behave,” she scolded the dog, whose ears drooped before he went back to his cushion.
Richard said nothing as she appeared to wage some internal battle, taking a deep breath but then not speaking, turning her cup around on the saucer before setting it down, clasping and unclasping her hands. Finally, she seemed to reach a decision, and turned toward him.
“Sir Richard,” she began, “there is something I must address. You may have formed a . . . a false opinion of me.”
“Oh?” He also put aside his cup. “If so, I most heartily apologize.”
“No.” She gave an aggravated little shake of her head.
“It was my fault. When we first met, years ago, I behaved . . . very unlike myself. It was scandalous, and presumptuous, and not at all my usual manner. I understand why you might think otherwise, after our . . . second meeting, a fortnight ago. I had no thought of seeing anyone at the pond, I assure you.”
He nodded soberly. “I see. You believe I have come here today anticipating that you will once again invite me into your bed.”
She closed her eyes as a deep, mortified blush stained her cheeks.
He sat forward. “If that is the case, allow me to put your fears to rest. I have no such thought. I came here today purely to make your acquaintance—in full, this time. Yes, I was . . . charmed by you four years ago.” Bewitched, more like.
“And I was elated to discover you lived so near the house I expected to take.”
Now her face was bright red. “I apologize profoundly—”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he replied.
“I solemnly promise never to trespass on your property again.”
He smiled. “But I have come to invite you expressly to do so. You must make free of my pond as often as you desire.”
“Then it would not be trespassing,” she pointed out.
“And then you would not continue to beg my pardon, and we would all be much happier.”
Finally she laughed, although she choked it back at once. Richard grinned. He liked her laugh, perhaps even more than he had four years ago. She sat back and regarded him more thoughtfully, a trace of smile still curving her lips. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
“One must be, to scale the Little Matterhorn or sail through a typhoon.”
“Have you really?” she asked with interest, then gave a tiny shake of her head.
“I am trying to say, you must think me very uninhibited, then and now. And despite how I have behaved, then and now, I am not. Not really. If I were to swim in your pond regularly, people would discover it. They would whisper about it. They would impute all manner of shocking and inappropriate behavior to both of us, but especially to me, and I don’t wish for that to happen. ”
“How would people discover it, if they have not thus far?”
Again she looked aggravated. “Your staff! Gardeners and groundskeepers and bailiffs will roam over the property and pass right by that pond. Some of them may even wish to swim in it, too, very likely on the same hot days I would choose.”
He shook his head. “It is not so large a property that I require a bailiff or a groundskeeper to oversee it. I suppose I must have a gardener, but he shall tend only the area near the house. I give my word that the pond will remain private and undisturbed for your use.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she burst out. “It is your pond. You must be able to use it as much as you desire.”
“My desire is that you use it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And perhaps you’ll be the one roaming over the property, covertly watching for any trespassing neighbors swimming naked in the pond?”
He raised his brows. “Naked? I intended to stay away, for your privacy, but if there will be naked swimming—”
“Oh, stop,” she exclaimed, trying to fight back another smile. “Stop teasing!”
Richard sobered at once. “I will.” He hesitated. “But in return, I beg you to think less badly of me. You fear I came here because I am only interested in something illicit and sinful. I am not.” He leaned toward her. “I am interested in you.”
“That’s much the same thing,” she said under her breath. “Why?”
He had the sense his entire future hung on this answer; if he said the wrong thing, she would always view him with suspicion and doubt.
And he did not want that—not at all. “I cannot fully explain it,” he said honestly.
“I said earlier that I thought of you, and I did. On cold nights in Mongolia, and hot nights in Delhi. I never forgot how you urged me to remember the children in the foundling home, and how my actions could benefit them, nor how you said I could call on you to speak of my adventures. I wished to do so, before, and then after, but there seemed to be a conspiracy to prevent me doing so. I . . . found that maddening.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helpless frustration.
“You made me laugh. I wanted to speak to you again.” He paused, trying to think how to describe it.
“It was like being caught in a small avalanche, where the only way to survive is to allow yourself to be borne along, even though you cannot control your flight.”
She stared at him, then reached for her tea again. “That sounds thrilling. At least until the ending, when you are buried by snow and freeze to death.”
He laughed. “Not always. And I am not afraid. May I call on you again?”
After several minutes, a faint smile touched her lips. “Yes, Sir Richard. You may.”