that prosaic garment, outlining her slender figure in a halo of light and turning the stray curls that escaped the confines of her shapeless mobcap to copper fire.
Even with a smudge on her nose and mud on her apron, she looked beautiful, he thought, his heart swelling with gladness at the sight of her.
Were those shadows under her solemn eyes? Had she slept as little as he, tossing with impatience for the day that would bring him back to her?
He realized suddenly they’d both been standing, silently gazing at each other for some moments. Evidently she did, too, for she jerked her glance from his.
But not before he’d seen the surge of gladness in her face turn to wariness.
“Don’t!” he cried, brushing past the dog to approach her. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
For a moment he thought she’d retreat back into the garden without even permitting him to speak, but at the last moment she stood her ground. She even managed a tremulous smile.
“Good morning, my lord. And—I’m not afraid of you.”
He offered his hand. After a small delay, she extended hers. He savored the small courtesy of bringing it to his lips. “Are you sure? I’ve been much dismayed, worrying that somehow I drove you away.”
“Not you. Prudence. Did … did you need something?” Sudden alarm crossed her face. “Kit has not suffered—”
“No, Kit is fine. Awaiting a rematch at chess this afternoon, he bade me tell you.”
Her face relaxed. “Good. Did Dr. MacDonovan send you for supplies?” She tilted her head up, giving him that inquiring Sparrow look he’d come to treasure.
How fiercely he’d missed her after just one day. “No. I came to apologize.”
A blush stained her cheeks. “There is no need—”
“There is. But I should do a better job of it seated. If we might?” He gestured toward the cottage.
He held his breath as alarm, indecision—and longing played across her expressive face.
Yes, she still cared for him. Exultation mingled with restraint and a fierce desire to embrace her, kiss away the caution in her eyes, seize the opportunity here, far from prying eyes, where they might recapture and deepen the wordless intimacy they’d found in the moonlit garden.
Too soon yet, he told himself, stilling fingers already curled with anxiety to hold her again. “You are too kind to deny me that opportunity, aren’t you?”
Before she could reply, the sound of galloping hooves approached. Beau looked up to see Lady Ardith, resplendid in a fur-trimmed riding habit, bearing down upon them, and cursed under his breath.
The lady drew rein and smiled down at him. “Lord Beaulieu, good day to you! Is it not a brilliant morning for a ride?”
Did a grin flit briefly across Mrs. Martin’s lips? Before he could be sure, she curtsied. “Lady Ardith.”
The blonde regally inclined her head. “Mrs. Martin.” Her horse danced sideways and she tightened the reins, her trim posterior bouncing against the sidesaddle.
A deliberate move? Beau wondered cynically. With Mac departing this morning, was the wench already trolling for a replacement?
It won’t be me. “Fine indeed, Lady Ardith. Do not let us keep you from your ride. Mrs. Martin, shall we?” Beau gestured to the cottage.
“If you should wish me to delay a few moments until you finish your business with Mrs. Martin—” Lady Ardith plied her long lashes and gave him a smoky glance “—I could be persuaded. ‘Tis so enjoyable to ride with a partner.”
Mrs. Martin made a choking sound, which she turned into a cough.’ ‘I can bring any necessary supplies with me when I call on your brother,” she volunteered.
“No need for you to tarry then, my lord,” Lady Ardith said. “Have you ridden the trail by the river? ‘Tis wonderous scenic once you reach our land. My husband had several little grottos constructed that are charming and quite … private. Shall we race?” She inclined her head to the stallion he’d secured to the fence. “Your beast looks quite fresh, and my mare—” she sidled him a glance “—is nearly the best mount in the county.”
“Do go, my lord,” Mrs. Martin said, her innocent tone at odds with her suspiciously twitching lips. “I shouldn’t wish to you to miss Lady Ardith’s kind offer.”
He shot her a sardonic glance. The grin she returned looked entirely unrepentant.
“Another day, perhaps,” he told the horsewoman.
“Come now, I dare swear you’ve time for a little sport,” Lady Ardith persisted. “I promise you’ll not regret it.”
Beau had no desire to conduct his business with Laura Martin while this lightskirt lay in wait for him outside the cottage. Giving Mrs. Martin an indignant glance that caused her to choke down another gurgle of laughter, he turned his attention to the necessity of getting rid of the annoying Lady Ardith.
“A short ride,” he said.
“Excellent.”
Ignoring the lady on the sidesaddle, he turned back to Laura Martin. “I shall see you later, ma’am.”
A devilish twinkle lighting her eyes, she dipped a demure curtsey. “My lord, Lady Ardith.”
Not bothering to acknowledge Mrs. Martin, Lady Ardith brought her horse closer. “Can that stallion of yours perform as well as my mare? Let’s see!” With that, she spurred her mount.
“Soon,” he warned Mrs. Martin, and set off.
Half an hour later Beau brought his stallion to a halt at the shed behind Laura Martin’s cottage. He was not, he thought smugly as he dismounted and tied the horse to a post, the only person who could fob off an unwanted escort.
Leaving his mount hidden back here, where no passer-by could see it and decide to interrupt his visit, Beau stealthily traversed the garden, intending to enter by the back porch door.
Memories of the vision he’d stumbled upon the last time he’d silently approached down these herb-lined pathways kindled a flicker of heat in his stomach. Unbidden, the feel of her waltzing in his arms under the spangled stars, the taste of her lips meeting his eagerly, welled up in him, fanning the flicker.
Not yet, he told himself, curbing the memories. He’d not have the wit to calm her fears and win her trust if he walked in with his body aflame.
He paused by the door and raised his hand to knock.
And heard something—Mrs. Martin’s high clear voice interspersed with deeper tones.
Not again. Frustration humming through his veins, he paused on the threshold, debating whether to wait out the annoyance of a second visitor or to slip away and return later.
He’d first determine who her caller was, he decided. Silently
