Chapter Two
ROSSEN MARTIN WAS mesmerized by the fire that lit Reggie’s striking blue eyes— eyes he had dreamed about for so long.
Her passion was something he had loved in her when they were young and glad to say had not been extinguished in the intervening years.
He moved toward her, aching to hold her in his arms again, to touch her skin, which still looked soft and youthful— she had not spent the better part of fifteen years on a ship or a battlefield, as he had.
She took a step back from him, and tightened her jaw even more.
“Reggie,” he said, almost laughing her name as something akin to giddiness overtook him. He had been in Himley only a few days before learning about the ball and devising his plan to surprise her here, perhaps even lead her to a dance— in public, this time. “It is so good to see you.”
“Good to see me?” she repeated, dropping her hands to her hips, which only further defined her figure.
She had grown from child to woman, and he could scarcely contain the feelings seeing her stirred within him.
Her honey hair was piled on her head with a few soft curls to frame her face.
She was an absolute vision except for her expression, which was hard as stone.
“I have not seen you for fifteen years, Ross— Mr. Martin. And I have no desire to see you now.” She pointed to the door again. “Get out.”
Though Ross had preferred the fantasy of Reggie falling into his arms and professing her continued love for him, he had known he would have to explain himself at some point.
“I realize we need to talk of all that’s happened, but can’t we, for the moment, simply enjoy being face to face again?
It has been so long, yet seeing you makes it seem as though it was just yesterday that we made our promises to each other. ”
Her nostrils flared, and her hands dropped from her hips as her shoulders came up. “It was not yesterday,” she said in clipped sharp words. “It was fifteen years ago.”
She advanced toward him, but he just smiled, entertaining the idea of her perhaps now falling into his arms— though her fire was quite invigorating to see. Her temper had been a trial for her parents, but never for him. It was yet one more thing he loved about her.
When she was within a foot of him, she raised both hands, but instead of falling into his embrace, she pushed against his chest— hard.
Hard enough that he stumbled backward, catching his foot on the leg of a decorative table and causing a metal bowl of flowers to crash to the floor as he fumbled in an attempt to keep himself upright.
No sooner had he caught his balance than she slammed her hands against his chest again, catching him unawares a second time, and sending him sprawling to the ground.
She was yelling, but in his attempt to recover from this very unexpected turn of events, he could hear nothing but a word here and there: “Leave... hate you... Bedlam... never... ridiculous!”
“Wait!” He finally got his feet beneath him again and backed out of her reach.
As a soldier, he knew how to defend himself, but touching a woman in that manner was something he could never do.
A collection of servants had congregated behind her, seeming to assess the situation, but he kept his focus on Reggie.
He put his hands out, palms forward by way of surrender. “Wait!” he said again.
Reggie stopped her advance, but her hands were fists at her side, and her neck was stuck forward as though she were seconds away from snapping at him with her teeth.
If her anger hadn’t brought such becoming spots of pink to her cheeks and a brightening to her eyes, he would have been frightened.
But he was not frightened. Rather, he was more in love with her than he’d ever been before.
“Can we discuss all that’s happened?” he asked, attempting a smile, but her eyes narrowed even more. He realized that his attempts at levity were not helping. He kept his expression unreadable. “So much has happened, Reggie, and—”
“Do not call me that!” she said through clenched teeth. She was beginning to take on a somewhat demonic quality, which was no longer so well compensated by her fetching color or fine eyes.
“Very well.” His hands were still out in supplication for mercy.
A maid approached and whispered something to Regina, which she waved off. The maid stepped back and spurred the other servants to assist with cleaning up the flowers.
“Regina, then?” he asked. “Shall I call you Regina?”
“You shall call me Miss Weathers,” she said. “As any other gentleman not of my acquaintance would if he had any manners at all, which you obviously do not have.”
“Of course.” Ross had not considered that she might not still be equally in love with him. And yet, did not her reaction— extreme as it was— not speak of deep feelings?
“Miss Weathers… I should have written.”
Her face went red, and her chin dropped another inch, so that she was glaring up at him. Her face had even seemed to swell; he backed away another few feet to ensure his safety.
“You should have written?” she bellowed. Truly bellowed. Like an ox. “You have appeared all these years later, and all you have to say is that you ‘should have written’?”
She moved toward him again, and he realized that she might truly hurt him. He looked around wildly and spied a footman approaching quickly from the right. Ross grabbed the man by the shoulders and used him as a human shield.
Regina did not stop advancing, however. In fact, he wondered if she’d noticed the footman there at all as she clawed in the direction of Ross’s face and said unintelligible things.
It was the footman who finally grabbed hold of her wrists and calmed her with the use of her name several times.
Regina stopped, then backed up and raised a hand to her forehead, blinking quickly.
The footman twisted out of Ross’s grip and then looked between the two of them as though unsure what to do.
The butler suddenly appeared, breathing heavily, as though he’d come at a run.
He asked questions of the footman before turning his attention to Reggie and asking her what had happened.
She took a breath, then turned to the side, staring at the wall while seeming to contain her emotions. After a few seconds— with the footman glaring at Ross every other moment or so and the butler looking befuddled— she raised her chin and spoke as though talking to the wall before her.
“Have I drawn the attention of my guests, Shaw?”
“No, Ma’am,” Shaw said. “Though I have sent for your brother.”
She nodded, and then lifted a hand to her neck, which was red and splotchy. “Shaw, see this man out of my brother’s house, and see to it that he does not return.”
With that, she turned on her heel and proceeded down the hall, restored to her confident English gentlewoman demeanor rather than the banshee she had been a minute earlier.
A man joined her— her brother, Ross assumed since he had never met the man.
He looked at Ross quickly before falling in step with her and moving away while they spoke words Ross could not hear.
He watched until they disappeared around a corner, then looked at a glowering Shaw. “I am leaving,” Ross said, turning toward the front door.
But the footman took hold of the back of Ross’s coat anyway and pushed him along.
The butler hurried ahead, and when they reached the entrance, he grabbed the knob, pulling the door open.
The footman pushed Ross roughly over the threshold, which he tripped over before tumbling to the ground.
All those years of military training, for what?
“If you return,” Shaw said, “I shall call the constable and the stable hands. Whichever reaches you first will determine how best to punish you for attacking Miss Weathers.”
Attacking Miss Weathers? The door slammed, and Ross slowly got to his feet while adjusting his spectacles, which, fortunately, had not fallen off.
Certainly neither the butler nor the footman had been there for the whole of the altercation, or they would have known that he’d been the one fending off an attack.
He questioned his choice of not wearing his uniform— would it have earned him some respect?
He hadn’t wanted to stand out, which is why he’d chosen traditional dress, but could not imagine he’d have been thrown out in regimentals.
His bad knee had struck the cobbles of the porch, and his palms were scraped from the ejection— he’d certainly endured worse, but the injuries still smarted.
A number of coachmen stood a short ways away, snickering and looking on, but he simply nodded at the lot of them.
He didn’t care what they thought as he limped away— what anyone thought, except Reggie.
And he felt sure that once he could break through the layer of anger, he would get to the heart of the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago.
He straightened his coat and brushed off his trousers while regarding the door that had just been shut in his face.
His eyes then moved up the front of the grand house— a window at the top of the house began to light up, as though someone had entered the room with a candle.
It was reasonable to assume that Reggie had removed to her bedchamber to collect herself before returning to the ball.
It made him smile to know that her thoughts were of him— even if they were not so kind right at this moment.
Eventually she would have to come to the happy memories— the ones that had sustained him all these years: of foot races to the bridge and throwing stones in the river, of daisy chains and dancing in the meadow as they taught themselves the steps of the waltz.
Those memories could dispel much darkness; he knew that from experience and felt sure she would have a change of heart if she allowed herself to remember.
The front door opened to reveal Shaw’s stoic face, and Ross tipped his imaginary hat at the man then hurried away— his actual hat and coat were somewhere inside the estate house, taken when he’d arrived an hour earlier.
Retrieving them would be a perfect opportunity to return tomorrow and request a meeting with Reggie once she’d had time to calm down.
Guest carriages filled the drive, but Ross had come on horseback despite his evening dress.
With his knee growing increasingly sore, mounting was difficult, but he managed.
Some yards from the house, he had the impression to turn around.
In the open window of the room he’d watched light up earlier, he saw the silhouette of a woman.
He could not see her face, but he knew it was Regina— his Reggie— watching him leave.
Perhaps wishing that he wasn’t? He put two fingers to his lips, then stretched out his hand to send the kiss to her.
The window slammed shut, echoing into the night, and the shadow disappeared, but Ross was not discouraged.
It was impossible for him to even consider the idea that after all that had happened while they were apart, he and Reggie would not end up together.
Impossible.