Rebel Marquess (6 page)

Feeling the warmth of the sun more directly, she removed her shawl to spread it on the ground before she lowered herself to the grass. She took a moment to tip her smiling face to the sky, grateful Lady Blackbourne had thought to direct her to such a perfect location.

Then she opened her notebook, balanced it on her bent knees and began to write.

Rutherford did not expect to see anyone about so early in the day. He was rarely up at such an unnatural hour, but he’d had a fitful night of sleep and finally decided to rise rather than continue tossing about in his bed. He’d hoped a walk might help him to define the source of his uneasiness so he could rid himself of it. But he had been stomping about the grounds of Silverly for almost an hour and still had not been able to dispel the odd sort of disquiet seething beneath his skin.

After a while, he had turned his thoughts toward Grimm’s problem. He had an idea for how to get the signet ring back but still needed to work out some of the details. The plan would be tricky to pull off and was not without significant risk. Yet the more he thought about it, the more he discovered he was looking forward to it despite the danger inherent in its execution. His life had gotten far too complacent in recent years and Grimm’s little problem provided an unexpected turn of excitement.

With his thoughts deeply engaged in plotting the details of the scheme to save Grimm’s hide, he did not notice Miss Terribury until he was nearly upon her.

As soon as he noticed her, he stopped. It was his blasted luck he would encounter this woman of all people. She was obviously asleep, and since she hadn’t seen him he could walk away with no one needing to know he had come upon her at all.

But as he stood there, something about her reclining form drew his attention.

A dark woolen shawl was spread beneath her on the ground. She lay on her side with her head resting on an outstretched arm and her other hand lying open-palmed on a small notebook. Her legs were bent in a relaxing pose and her skirts had ridden up her calves just enough for him to see the lovely turn of her legs above the edge of her serviceable boots.

It was a charming scene. Picturesque in a way he was surprised he even noticed. He didn’t often make note of such things with his thoughts typically turned toward more practical matters.

An instinct for self-preservation urged him to continue on and leave her as she was. But a deeply ingrained thread of chivalry tugged at his conscience and insisted he wake her. Not that he thought she was in any specific danger while on Silverly grounds, but one never knew when a less conscionable man might happen past. Blackbourne did occasionally have trouble with poachers and the like.

Already regretting his decision, he took the last few steps to her side and crouched down beside her. He reached out to her shoulder, intending to jostle her awake, but was distracted at the last minute by the notebook beneath her hand. He had expected to see ladylike sketches of flora or fauna. But the pages were covered in script slanted frantically across the pages as if she had been forced to write quickly in order to keep up with her thoughts.

He tilted his head to get a better angle in a shameless attempt to decipher what she had written.

Before he could make out any of the words, she shifted, straightening her legs and rolling to her back. She arched in a gentle stretch of her spine as she reached both arms over her head.

He glimpsed a natural sensuality in her movements contained beneath a layer of naïve innocence, visible now only in the unguarded moment as she traversed from sleep to wakefulness. He wondered what it would be like to be lying beside her as her warm body awakened.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Irritated with the direction of his thoughts, he reached out and nudged her shoulder none too gently.

When she barely stirred, he nudged her again.

She muttered incoherently in response and her eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to open her eyes to the sunlight. When her sleepy gaze found him crouching beside her, a slow smile spread her lips, sending a shockingly sensual punch straight to his gut.

“Sir Randolph,” she murmured softly, sounding like a woman welcoming a lover.

“Randolph?” he repeated dumbly as his frown deepened. Who the hell was Sir Randolph?

Hearing his voice, she started in surprise and rushed to full wakefulness. He saw the exact moment she recognized him. With awkward movements, she pushed herself to a seated position and drew her legs in beneath her skirts. An attractive blush spread across her cheeks. Reaching for her notebook, she snatched it up in both hands and closed it with a snap before setting it protectively in her lap.

Fully awake now, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Ah, Lord Rutherford. What…? What are you doing here?”

Her obvious confusion was charming and Rutherford scowled more fiercely. “How long have you been out here, Miss Terribury?”

She paused in her attempts to smooth back the wispy strands of brown hair that had slipped from her chignon. Looking at him with round eyes, she blinked. Then she lowered her brows and tilted her head to the side as she peered up at the sky.

“Well, the sun is not yet terribly high, so I imagine it is still somewhat early in the day. I can only hazard a guess to say it must be sometime around ten or eleven o’clock?”

She finished with a question and a smile, making him wonder if the girl were ever out of sorts. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “If that
is
the case, then I have been here for approximately three hours or so.”

“Do you often make a habit of falling asleep in unfamiliar landscapes?”

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, but this landscape and I have become quite well known to each other this morning.” As she spoke, she pushed herself to her knees and adjusted her skirts as if in preparation to rise.

With manners bred firmly into his muscle and bone, Rutherford straightened and held out a hand.

She paused and dropped her head back to look up at him with an odd expression on her face, as if she were surprised by his offer to assist her. The angle of the sun brought out flecks of gold in the depths of her muddy-green eyes that danced with gentle merriment. After a brief moment of consideration, her lips curved softly, as if she didn’t even realize she was smiling.

Neither of them wore gloves. Her hand was warm and smooth and gripped his firmly as she rose to her feet. Then she turned to pick up her shawl. She kept the notebook tucked securely beneath her arm and he wondered what it contained to be treated with such care.

“I will escort you back to the house.” It was the gentlemanly thing to do and his grandmother had made damned sure he knew his role as gentleman.

“No, thank you.” She answered without even pausing in the act of shaking her shawl free of loose bits of grass that clung to it. She draped the length of wool over her arm and then lifted her gaze back to his face. Coughing lightly, she pressed the back of her hand over her mouth as her eyes danced with humor.

“Goodness, you look positively dumbfounded. Hasn’t anyone ever said
no
to you before?”

Dumbfounded? He cleared his throat. “Not in recent memory.”

She lowered her hand and the flash of her grin drew his attention. The woman was unfortunately attractive when she smiled like that.

“I am thrilled to offer you a new experience then.”

She was teasing him.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Are you expecting another escort?” he asked with a bit of annoyance in his tone. “Sir Randolph perhaps?”

Her eyes widened comically. “Who?”

He wished he hadn’t mentioned it. It didn’t matter to him if she was waiting for a mysterious beau. “You said his name as you awakened.”

She appeared to hold back a laugh. “He must have been a remnant of a dream since I haven’t met anyone one by that name. To clarify my refusal, my lord, I am not heading back to the house quite yet.” She looked past his shoulder to where the hill sloped downward into a lightly wooded landscape dotted with sheep. “I would like to explore a bit more.”

Rutherford heaved a sigh. Her amusement was curious, but it seemed he would be forced to play escort after all. Suddenly, his stomach felt terribly empty. He had not eaten before heading out that morning and was looking forward to some of cook’s wonderful smoked salmon.

“Lead the way, Miss Terribury.”

She laughed and eyed him with an earnest glint in her gaze. “Truly, it is not necessary for you accompany me. I am capable of traversing the
dangerous
Essex countryside on my own.”

“That may be so, but Grandmother would have my head if I did not insist.”

She shrugged then, but her lips retained a sort of half smile. “Well, I would hate for such a thing to be on my conscience. I have heard stories of the renowned Lady Rutherford.” She started across the small clearing as she spoke, as if she expected he would fall into step beside her. He resisted her assumption for a moment before he started after her, his long stride bringing him to her side just as she turned to cast him a curious glance. “Is it true your grandmother keeps a legion of loyal knights available to do her bidding no matter how great or small?”

He reached behind his back and grasped his wrist in his hand as he gave a shallow nod. “They are very cleverly disguised as common footmen.”

He kept his gaze trained forward on the landscape ahead, determined to set a swift pace. He would accompany the woman, but he had no intention of dallying about.

“And does she have spies located throughout the realm,” she pressed, “providing her with intelligence to rival that obtained by the king?”

“She does.” He nodded again. “No one ever suspects the gossiping old hens who sit in corners of ballrooms gathering tidbits of information.”

“Yes, I can see your reluctance to go against such a daunting opponent,” she commiserated.

She had been keeping stride beside him in an easy rolling gait, seeming to have no trouble with the spirited pace, but just then she stopped abruptly and turned to look at him with a brightened expression. Her turnabout was so sudden he nearly stepped right into her. As it was, he did have to reach out and grasp her elbow to keep from knocking her over with his forward momentum.

Barely registering he had nearly sent her sprawling into the grass, she grinned with a wicked little twinkle in her eye. “We should arrange a meeting between
your
grandmother and
my
mother. If anyone can convince my mother to back down from her obsessive plight, it might be Lady Rutherford.”

Though her expression was full of mischief, he could not mistake the taut thread of hope in her voice. Was it possible he was in the company of one of those strange young women who possessed an honest reluctance to marry?

He shook his head. “Grandmother would be more likely to join forces with Lady Terribury than turn her off her pursuit.”

Her lovely lips drooped into a
moue
of disappointment, the sparkle fading from her mossy eyes. He almost felt a moment of pity for the girl having been unfortunate enough to be born a Terribury. No mother in the entire breadth of England rivaled Lady Terribury in dogged tenacity when it came to finding husbands for her daughters.

Having escaped Lady Terribury’s pursuit more times than he cared to consider, he did not doubt this last daughter would be married.

Just not to him.

She shrugged and gave a half-hearted smile. “We shall have to keep the ladies apart then. And I shall keep searching for a way to call Mother off.”

With a listless sigh, she turned, and as her shoulder bumped lightly against his chest, he realized he still held her elbow. Feeling an involuntary rush of hot awareness, he released her quickly to grasp his wrist behind his back.

They walked for a short while in silence. He had no desire to engage in further conversation about the girl’s personal situation. It was none of his concern, and as a rule he strictly avoided any topic that even slightly involved his long-time adversary. Yet without consciously deciding to do so, he found himself asking, “Is your mother aware you do not wish to marry?”

“She should be. I express my aversion to the state of matrimony at least ten times a day.” Her delicate snort of derision expressed countless years of pent-up exasperation. “But she has learned through six daughters to only hear what pleases her. You can well imagine how quickly my declaration flies off into the wind.”

He slid her a sideways glance and took note of the way she had folded her arms across her chest with her notebook pressed against the swell of her breasts like a small shield.

“Is it not the natural state of a woman to yearn for wedded bliss?” he challenged, already guessing what her reaction would be.

She gave another snort of derision, this one not so delicate. “Not this woman.”

“Why?” he pressed, finding himself curious to know why she failed to fit the pattern he had come to expect of young women making their debut.

“For a thousand trivial reasons and one that really matters,” she muttered in a voice shadowed with dejection yet firm with resolve.

Rutherford scowled. He had never been one to enjoy riddles.