Sandra Madden (2 page)

She felt a great flapping of gossamer wings in the pit of her stomach. 'Twas the tenderness of his voice to blame, the gleam of his wondrous green eyes. "You were always kind to me, my lord."

"Would you ride with me on the morrow?"

Such an outing would be highly improper. "I would enjoy that very much," she replied quickly.

"We shall ride to the stream and fish for trout."

"The same trout we could not catch years ago?" she asked.

"The very same." His mouth turned up in the same disarming grin he'd had as a boy. "The fish will jump and taunt us, but we shall be engrossed in conversation. I am eager to know every detail of your life during the past seven years."

It had been more than ten years since Kate had last seen Edmund, but she did not correct him. "You shall discover that my life has been uneventful, my lord. And I do not wish to bore you."

"You have never bored me, Kate," he said with a droll twist of his lips. "I shall have cook prepare us a basket."

Kate realized only too well that the Earl of Stamford could not ask her to dine with him at Rose Hall. It simply wasn't done. Certain protocol might be overlooked when they were young, but not any longer. A nobleman of Edmund's rank and station could never form an alliance with a gardener's daughter. Kate remained well beneath Edmund's touch.

* * * *

Edmund's thoughts were on Kate as he rode over his East Midland estate that afternoon with his steward, Joseph Trumble. As a child, the gardener's daughter had been sassy and sweet, a mixture he'd found amusing. From time to time over the course of the years, he'd wondered about her. He'd speculated on what had happened to the impertinent little girl who believed she could do anything a boy could do—an uncommon attitude that at the time had caused Edmund to fear for Kate's future.

He wondered if nature had favored her. It was impossible to tell through the layers of dirt and manure if she had become a comely miss or an ill-favored wench. The years might have wrought many changes in Kate. His invitation to ride with him had been an impulsive one, one he hoped he would not regret.

For the first time since his arrival, Edmund felt happy to be back at Rose Hall. He did not come often to his country estate, located just north of Leicester. He preferred London's city life and the company of his burgeoning group of companions there. Although he dutifully took his seat in Parliament and was a regular at court, Edmund's heart belonged to gaming and sporting with his intimates. He could think of nothing better than an afternoon of hawking, bowling, or billiards—unless a worthy tennis opponent challenged him to a match.

When Parliament adjourned for the Easter recess, Edmund had journeyed to Rose Hall. He had neglected matters of his estate for too long. Another compelling factor forcing his return was his dear aunt, Cordelia. In her last communication to Edmund, she claimed to be on her deathbed. She warned that if he did not visit soon, he risked never seeing her again.

Edmund expected the old woman had the constitution of a team of oxen and would outlive him by a number of years.

The smell of spring freshened the air and sharpened the puffs of snowy white clouds ambling across the sky. As Edmund rode beside Trumble, he realized he'd forgotten the beauty of the country. Astride his favorite gray, he surveyed the rolling hills, scanned the herds of grazing sheep, and listened to Trumble list the needs of the estate. Percy pranced like a pup beside his mount, barking at anything that moved, including rich green blades of grass stirring in the breeze.

As the afternoon wore on, Edmund felt a deepening sense of peace, a feeling he'd not experienced for quite some time. Hours later, unexpectedly energized by what he could only attribute to the country air, he strode into the great hall where he knew he would find Aunt Cordelia.

"Edmund, where have you been all the day?"

"Reacquainting myself with Rose Hall." Smiling, he brushed his lips against his aunt's parchment cheek.

Evidently, she'd misjudged her toilette and had applied an extraordinarily thick layer of powder. The white talcum filled the crevices of age and gave her complexion a deathly pallor. Her dyed lips presented a startling crimson contrast to her ghostly flesh.

"Why must you spend the day with Trumble when you have not paid a visit to me in many months?"

"And why have you refused my invitations to come visit me in London?" he countered.

She hung her head. Faded yellow ringlets bobbed with a sigh so heavy it weighted the room. "I cannot travel. I am dying."

Edmund rocked back in surprise, stifling a chuckle. "Dying!"

For most of her life Aunt Cordelia had suffered from an acute case of one malaise or another. Aware that imagination seldom led to death, Edmund had never been overly concerned.

"Aye. Dying."

"Forgive me, Aunt, but you appear to be in excellent health. One might say... robust."

Aunt Cordelia's double chin and plump figure were not hidden by the wide ruff and volume of her dress. She did not look remotely like a woman withering away from a fatal illness. Further, he knew his aunt kept a close secret. Cordelia sipped sack throughout the day, from dawn's light ’till midnight.

"Do not be deceived by thine eyes." She blinked at him in an accusing manner.

"My apologies."

"The surgeon cannot discover what ails me. I have been bled and blistered to what end, eh? I continue to feel weak and indisposed day after day."

"Do you take daily walks in this good country air?"

His aunt recoiled as if Edmund had suggested throwing herself on a bed of nails. "Nay! I could catch something dreadful in the outdoors."

Before Edmund could respond, the door to the drawing room opened. He looked up and experienced his second shock of the day.

"Edmund," Cordelia asked, "do you remember little Kate?"

The air rushed from his lungs.

Little Kate. This was not the smelly, dirt-covered girl he'd discovered earlier that day in the rosebushes, nor the small child with the big round eyes who years ago followed him to his castle in the trees.

The Kate who stood just inside the drawing-room door regarding him with a soft, enigmatic smile was a tall, slender beauty.

Edmund could not be certain he was breathing as he beheld his former fishing companion. A mixture of awe and appreciation fixed him in a near mesmerized state.

Who would have guessed Kate would blossom into a beauty with high, regal cheekbones the same soft pink shade as the garden roses? Who could have known the smattering of freckles he remembered would fade, leaving a flawless, creamy complexion? The child's mass of tangled blond curls had been captured and tamed by the woman. Kate's sleek honey mass had been pulled back and covered by a net caul at her crown.

She wore a simple open gown of violet silk over voluminous petticoats. The low square neckline of her cream-colored bodice displayed a tantalizing view of full, round breasts.

Edmund felt warm of a sudden. Without ruff or farthingale, Kate managed to be more attractive than any lady of his acquaintance dressed in the height of fashion.

"My lord," she said. Her lips parted in a teasing smile as she made a slight curtsy.

Edmund drew a ragged breath.

"Edmund?" his aunt repeated.

Jarred from his stupor, he grinned and strode across the room. "Mistress Kate! What a delightful surprise." He winked as his eyes met hers. Clasping her hand in his, Edmund slowly brought her fingers to his lips, brushing them softly.

"I fear I keep appearing where you least expect me," she said. Her wide amber eyes sparkled like spun gold.

The pulse at his wrist raced.

"I am charmed, nevertheless," he replied, lowering his voice to an intimate aside. "But I must confess I hardly recognized you without your gardening attire."

"Or dirt?" she asked with a saucy grin. Her lips were scarlet and dewy, as if she'd just run her tongue across and wetted them.

Fleetingly, Edmund wondered if Kate's lips had ever been kissed. She smelled of rosewater. The sweet flower scent drew him closer. "You have become a beautiful young woman," he said, rather hoarsely.

They stood inches apart. The urge to gather Kate into his arms and whirl her about again struck Edmund with amazing force.

"You flatter me, my lord. Time has made changes."

Edmund nodded, willing his body to cool, his eyes to look away. "Time has blessed you."

She gave him a brilliant smile. "You appeared surprised when first you saw me."

Kate had always spoken what was on her mind. 'Twas a disconcerting habit Edmund had hoped she had outgrown. Apparently, she had not.

"Not at all," he mumbled.

Embarrassed, Edmund took Kate's elbow intending to hurry her to his aunt's side. But she balked. She scanned the room, searching for someone or something.

"Is something amiss?" Edmund asked.

"Is... is your hound about?"

"No. Percy waits downstairs."

"Did you find my comfrey?" Aunt Cordelia asked, unmindful of Kate's apprehension.

"Aye. 'Tis here." Kate held up the ivory vial and carried it to where the old woman waited impatiently. " 'Twas in your bedchamber, just as you suspected."

"God reward you," Cordelia declared. "In my delicate condition, 'tis necessary to keep the comfrey close at hand, eh?"

Edmund gave a nod without taking his eyes from Kate.

"Sit here, Kate." Cordelia blinked as if the dim room had suddenly flooded with sunlight. She patted the bench beside her box chair. "Kate has been a fine companion to me since she came home to nurse her papa," his aunt explained to Edmund.

"I am certain that she's an excellent companion.

She always was," Edmund replied as he met Kate's eyes.

"Fortunately, Papa has not required all of my time, so I have been able to visit regularly with your aunt."

"Kate plays the lute, you know," Cordelia said, flicking a speck of lint from her black wool shawl.

"Nay, I did not know."

"And she plays draughts with me."

"A woman of many talents," Edmund offered.

"Aye. And, oh, my dear, when I have the headache, she gives the most comforting strokes about my forehead, and here at my temples." Cordelia demonstrated with her own gnarly fingers while she talked, "Kate all but chases the pain away, eh? She is more effective than any herb."

Edmund imagined Kate's slender fingers caressing his brow with the soft, feathery touch of an angel. He could almost feel her fingers trailing down to his chest, splayed against his heart. With his eyes wide open Edmund could even dream of her hands drifting still further down.

Bloody hell! What was he thinking? Such devil thoughts were blasphemous in the company of his spinster aunt and a lovely young virgin. But was Kate a virgin?

Bloody hell! Had he lost his mind? The state of Kate's virginity was no business of his. Had he been brought to the brink of madness by the country air? Or was it something in the gardener's daughter's smile? He knew not.

"I shall miss Kate when she leaves," Cordelia lamented.

"When she leaves?" Edmund repeated. "Where are you going, Kate?"

"Since Papa has recovered, I have applied for another position as nurse."

A small part of Edmund relaxed. Her departure did not appear imminent. "Will you be happy as a nurse?"

"Aye, my lord. I am quite fond of children."

Her smile was warm enough to melt an iceman's heart.

"Then why not marry and have children of your own?" he asked.

'Twas a forward question, but the thought of his childhood friend laboring as an unappreciated servant rankled Edmund. Even worse was the thought of what untoward demands might be forced upon Kate behind the stairs. Many of his fellow noblemen were infamous for taking liberties with the more fetching help. If Kate was a virgin now, she might not be for long.

Pursing her lips, heavenly lips in Edmund's opinion, Kate considered the question. "Someday I shall. I look forward to having children... but I am not yet ready for marriage."

"The vicar is smitten with our Kate," Aunt Cordelia offered in an exaggerated whisper before heaving a sigh. "But I can hardly see a future for her with him, eh? Dudley is twice her age and has a dreadful over-bite."

"Are you matchmaking for Kate, Aunt Cordelia?"

"Not at all," she snipped. Visibly affronted, she quickly changed the subject. "Will you stay to hear Kate play or are you off to join Mister Trumble once more?"

"Forgive me, but I must meet often with Trumble while I am at Rose Hall."

"But I shall see thee before nightfall, Edmund, eh?"

"Most certainly, Aunt." Edmund shot his aunt a reassuring smile and then turned to Kate. "I look forward to our next meeting, Mistress Kate."

She lowered her head demurely, but not before he caught her enchanting smile and the sparkle of gold in her eyes. "As do I, Lord Stamford."

Chapter Two

Throw caution to the wind; no harm shall befall you while Mercury is in retrograde

The next morning, as soon as she and Edmund cleared the stables, Kate gave a whoop, a gentle nudge of her knee to her mare, and rode off in a cloud of pebbles and dust. She raced as if the devil-hound Percy was at her back.

The hood of her cloak fell back almost at once, and the biting wind tore her hair from her caul, loosening the mass in a wild cloud of honey-kissed curls. Chills swept through her body. Her skin prickled and stung. She hadn't felt such exhilaration in years!

Taken by surprise, a laughing Lord Stamford caught up to her in moments. He looked so fine, so very masculine in his snug buckskins and polished black boots. Astride his enormous black gelding, Edmund appeared every inch an earl. His raven hair curled at the nape of his neck, with one loose shock falling across his brow in a rakish manner.

With a teasing wink and a devastating lopsided grin, her childhood friend suddenly surged ahead. Kate gave chase.

The early fog had lifted, but a mottled gray sky threatened rain. She could smell it in the air. Although she had not visited their former fishing spot in many years, Kate had not forgotten the route. The clear, winding stream was little more than two miles down the back road and off through a meadow bursting with the first golden primroses of spring.