"I'll murder you before I let you have him," Lavinia threatened.
"Well, it won't be up to you, will it? The choice will be Charles's to make. We'll see which of us he likes best."
Lavinia howled with rage, and she bucked and rolled till she was on top and pinning Penelope down. Her fingernails were bared like a cat's claws, ready to scratch Penelope's eyes out when, without warning, a pair of male hands grabbed her and yanked her to her feet.
She whipped around, about to lash out at the interloper, but when she found herself confronting Robert, she blanched.
She couldn't have him discover the reason for the fight! Robert was convinced she was about to marry him. And she might have—if Charles Kettering hadn't ridden up the drive and presented such a marvelous opportunity.
Hastily, she smoothed her features, patted at her hair, and tugged at her twisted corset.
"Lavinia! Penelope!" he scolded. "What's come over the two of you? They could probably hear your caterwauling all the way in the village. You have guests!"
He helped Penelope rise, and as she stood, she flashed Lavinia a look of seething hatred; then she turned to Robert, all innocent smiles and cordiality.
"Mother and I were just having a small disagreement."
"About what?"
"Ask Lavinia. She'll tell you all about it." She snickered and strutted out, stopping at the last second. "Robert, are you still planning to marry Lavinia?"
"You know I am."
"What fabulous news! I'm certain she can't wait."
She laughed and waltzed out, leaving Lavinia to explain the cryptic comment, and Lavinia decided she understood why some animals ate their young.
Chapter Nine
Margaret heard a floorboard creak, and she spun around, stunned to note that Jordan had followed her to her dilapidated schoolroom. Despite Lavinia's protests, Margaret had used an abandoned crofter's hut at the edge of the property. The children who came for lessons, as well as their parents, were accustomed to the squalor, but Jordan Prescott was a different kettle of fish altogether. If he teased or berated her, she'd be very hurt.
Though it was foolish, she wanted his approval and esteem. The dislike she'd harbored for him had vanished, and it was gradually being replaced by emotions that were much more complicated. She was fascinated by him—both as a person and as a man—and her budding intrigue was dangerous.
After their previous tryst in her bedchamber, she hadn't seen him again. He'd been markedly absent, seeming to know when she'd take supper, or arrive for afternoon tea, and he was never present.
At night, she huddled in misery, wishing he'd relent and visit her, but ultimately being glad when he didn't.
He was trying to behave, which was for the best, but still, she couldn't comprehend how he ignored the passion that sizzled between them. Even now, with him loitering over in the doorway, she could feel the energy sparking, her body humming with the delight she experienced whenever he was near.
"Hello, Lord Romsey."
"Call me Jordan, or call me nothing." He pushed away from his perch in the threshold and came toward her. "I thought your students were busy with summer chores. What are you doing here?"
He approached, skirting the worn slab of wood that passed for her desk, until he was directly in front of her.
"Why must I explain myself to you? I wouldn't think my whereabouts, or how I spend my time, to be any of your affair."
"Can't a man be curious?"
"Why are you following me?" she countered.
"I saw you walking, and I was dying to know where you were headed."
"So you deemed it appropriate to spy?"
"Yes," he said without a hint of remorse.
She braced, certain he would touch her, but he didn't. He kept his hands pinned behind his back, and she was so disappointed. She gestured around the dark, dank space. "Are you content with what you've discovered?"
He whipped away, as if he didn't like being so close to her. He fussed with one of the children's slates, thumbed through a ragged storybook.
His censure clear, he frowned. "Why do you do this?"
"Do what?"
"Teach the neighborhood urchins." "Why shouldn't I?"
"You're a gently bred female. It isn't seemly for you to be working."
"I don't consider it to be work."
"What do you consider it to be?"
"I'm merely being helpful to those in need."
"You get paid! It's just not right."
He uttered the comment as if she were prostituting herself, and she wanted to shake him. Who was he to chastise and condemn?
He was in Sussex to marry Penelope for her money. At least Margaret had the satisfaction of laboring for the few pennies she was given. How would he describe what he was prepared to do? How could he live with himself?
"Would it be better if I did it for free?"
"It would be better if you didn't do it, at all."
"I'll keep that in mind." She picked up her bonnet and tied the bow; then she started out. "Good-bye, Lord Romsey."
"Where are you off to now?" he had the audacity to inquire.
"I'm sick of your boorish attitudes and your stuffy opinions, and I have no desire to linger while you spew more of them. I'm returning to the house, where I promise to be idle for the rest of the day. Will that make you happy?"
She tried to stomp past him, but he blocked her exit.
"Move!" she demanded.
"No."
"I won't stay here with you. Not when you're being so critical." She was so proud of how much she'd built, with what little she'd had, and she hated his scorn.
"What is the real reason?"
"The real reason for what?"
His scathing regard swept the decrepit area. "You can't convince me that you enjoy this."
"Actually, I do, and you're an incredible snob." "Me?" '
"Yes, you. I've been given so much. Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I'd like to give something back?"
"You assume you've been given much?" He studied her tattered cloak, her frayed bonnet, and his disdain was cruel. "Pray tell, what—precisely—have you received?"
"My uncle, Horatio, took me in when I was a girl. He offered me a home, clothes to wear, food to eat."
"As any guardian should."
"He provided for me, when he could have declined. And I love children. I won't ever have any of my own, so—"
"Why would you say that?"
"Not everyone is born rich—as you well know. I can't snap my fingers and produce a dowry."
"Maybe someone will marry you anyway. Maybe some lucky fellow will decide he likes you no matter what, and money—or the lack of it—won't be an issue."
"And maybe pigs will sprout wings and fly."
"Maybe."
He stepped in, the tips of his boots slipping under the hem of her skirt, and he rested a hand on her waist. He looked angry and exasperated with her, and she couldn't imagine why he would be. Why would he care what she did?
"Stop carping at me," she murmured.
"I'm not."
"I'm doing something worthwhile." "I understand that."
"No, you don't." She glanced away, amazed when she added, "I can't bear my life. I have to occupy my time, or I'll go mad."
There was a long, charged interval, where he assessed her in a thrilling fashion, then he muttered, "I want to kiss you again."
Her heart pounded. "You do not."
"Don't tell me what I want or don't."
"You never even think about me."
"Now that, my darling Margaret, is where you're wrong."
He dipped under her bonnet, the rim in his way, and, growling in frustration, he tugged it off, and threw it on the floor. His mouth connected with hers, sweetly, tenderly. He held her as if she was precious and cherished, and the silence settled around them, so that there was just him, and her, and the quiet summer afternoon in the woods.
He pulled away, and it dawned on her that she could never have enough of him, not if he stayed a hundred years, and the realization made her terribly sad.
Deep in thought, he traced a thumb across her lip and asked, "Would you be my mistress?"
Had she heard him correctly? "What?"
"You know what I said. I won't embarrass the both of us by repeating it."
She gaped at him, stunned and impossibly hurt.
"When would this occur? Would it be before or after you have my cousin's fortune in your bank account?"
It was his turn to glance away. "Well.. . after."
"So you'd marry her, then your first act would be to set me up as your paramour. Would I have a fine house in town?"
"If that's what you wanted."
"And a beautiful wardrobe?"
"That goes without saying."
"My own carriage, and a box at the theater?"
"Of course."
"As you crept between my bed and Penelope's, we'd have to devise a schedule so she didn't suspect where you were on the evenings you were away. Don't you find the notion a tad disconcerting?"
"Margaret..."
"Obviously, she'd have your children. Your legitimate children. Would I have some, too? Would I be graced with a gaggle of little Prescott bastards?"
A muscle ticked in his cheek. "You make it sound so tawdry."
"That's because it would be." She scooped up her hat and pushed by him. "Don't raise the subject again. It insults me when you do."
She walked into the bright sunshine, and she blinked against the glare. To her surprise, there were tears in her eyes, but she'd die before she'd let him see them. She started toward the manor, her heart heavy, her musings morose.
Was this all there was for her? A brief fling with a handsome man whom she didn't even particularly like? Would there never be more?
He was advancing on her from behind, and she increased her pace, but he easily caught her. He slipped his arm into hers so that it appeared as if they were taking a stroll.
He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I had to learn your response." "I can't believe your gall."
"Why shouldn't I have suggested it? Such an arrangement is common, and we'd both benefit."
"I'm not positive how females behave in the city, but I'm not some London doxy. I'm just a very private gentlewoman, from a small, rural estate, who's getting by as best she can. I have no idea why your roving eye has fallen on me, and I take no pleasure in our acquaintance."
"Don't you?"
At his pointing out the carnal implication of her statement she blushed. "You know very well what I'm saying."
"Yes, I do." He sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Would you at least agree to be my lover while I'm here?"
She chuckled. "You grow more outrageous by the second."
"Does that mean your answer is no?"
"My answer is no." She was very firm, but as she peeked up into his magnetic blue eyes, her resolve wavered.
She'd never meet another like him, and her life was all drudgery and monotony. What if she dared to reach out and grab for some excitement? What if she dared to take what she wanted? Had she the courage?
"It would be so wrong," she insisted.
"Probably, but let's do it anyway."
"You're a man, so I suppose it's only natural you'd think that way."
"At night, when you're all alone, don't you ever wish I'd join you?"
"I admit it: I do, but that's in the night, in the dark. When I awake to the full light of day, I'm glad you stayed away."
Looking young and hesitant, he stared down the path and kicked at a rock. "It's hard not to come to you. I contemplate it all the time. After the other morning, when we—"
She placed her fingers on his lips, stopping whatever he might have confessed. She was thrilled by the news that he was pining for her, but she'd already discovered that, where he was concerned, she had no self-control.
If he declared a heightened affection, she'd never be able to maintain her moral stance. She'd leap to iniquity, and when he wed and left her, where would she be?
"We're adults, Lord Romsey. We might have sinful impulses, but we don't have to act on them."
"When you're in the throes of passion, you call me Jordan."
"And you are a beast to remind me of it."
"If I sneak in some evening, will you send me away?"
"Yes, I will."
It was a bald-faced lie, but she hoped he didn't recognize it as one. When she was so desperate to be with him, the prospect of her exercising any willpower and fending him off was laughable. If he was determined to enter, she'd be happy to let him.
Oh, she was so weak! So lacking in principle! She'd always pictured herself as a strong woman, a decent woman, but a few stolen kisses had altered her completely.