Sandra Madden (4 page)

Kate's golden eyes shone with determination.

Edmund frowned. He feared only heartache lay ahead for Kate if she pursued such a course. "You may find only disappointment."

"Papa has voiced the same concern. But I am willing to accept whatever I discover."

"I remember the story of how you came to the Beadles."

She smiled shyly. "The wisewoman?"

Called wisewoman by some, witch by others.

Edmund was not superstitious, but many of his friends and family were.

"Aye," he replied. "You told me that one night a wisewoman brought you in a basket to the Beadles' door. You were bundled in silk swaddling and sprinkled with rose petals, a gift for John and Nell Beadle to treasure."

''
'Tis a lovely story, is it not?" Kate pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

Edmund had seen her take the same position years ago as a young girl. Now, with a wistful smile, she looked out beyond the limbs and leaves, to a place back in time.

"My mama said that when she drew back the blankets I smiled at her. She told me I was round and pink with a whisper of blond fuzz covering my head. She knew at once she must always love and care for me with all her heart, else the wisewoman would return and take me away."

"Nell was more a mother to you than my own ever was to me," he said quietly. Edmund knew well he had been an unexpected inconvenience to both his mother and father.

Kate lowered her head. For an instant, her long, dark lashes curled against her porcelain cheek. "No one shall ever replace Mama in my heart, Edmund. You can be certain. But when she died last year, I knew I must find my natural mother. There are so many questions here"—she tapped her temple and then placed her hand over her heart—"and a hollow-ness here."

Quite unexpectedly, the thought of Kate feeling anything but content distressed Edmund. He thought to reach out and take her hand and promise his help. Instead, he nodded his understanding and sipped his ale.

He dug back deep in his memory. "You used to wear a chain around your neck with a special ring that you believed gave evidence of your birth. One day you even let me hold it. Do you still wear the ring, or was it lost long ago?"

"Oh, my, no!" she cried. "I have not lost my ring. And to this day, you are the only person who has worn the band except for me."

Edmund started as his heart seemed to turn around in its chamber.

Kate held out her right hand. He gazed at her lovely long fingers and the gleaming ring. "Now that I'm grown," she explained, "it fits on my finger. According to Papa, the only stipulation the wisewoman made when she brought me to the Beadles was that I must wear this ring at all times."

Kate leaned toward him then and whispered in a conspiratorial manner. "I yet believe my ring identifies me in some way and will lead me to my true mother."

Kate's rose scent went straight to his head. Edmund felt quite light-headed as he studied her ring. Etched entirely in heavy gold, the ring featured the stem of a rose wrapped around a crown. Only a small portion of the crown could be seen, as it was overlaid with the finely crafted rosebud. Edmund had never seen a design quite like it before or since.

" 'Tis a beautiful ring, and a rare design," he said. "It may very well aid you in your search. But are you not interested in finding your true father as well?"

"In all likelihood my mother was a poor underage girl with no knowledge of my father."

Bloody hell! Kate believed her mother to be a strumpet. And there was a strong probability that she was correct. Still, as a gentleman, Edmund could not agree.

"Have you not thought your mother might be gentry. A woman mayhap, who'd been indiscreet?"

“’Tis possible," Kate conceded.

"The odds are against you finding your true mother," Edmund pointed out gently. "England is a large country. You might have been born in a remote village."

She shook her head vehemently and argued passionately, "I shall find a way to travel the length and breadth of the land if I must. Somewhere there is a person who has seen and knows of this ring, or one similar. I shall begin with goldsmiths. I will visit every goldsmith in Britain if I must. My hope lies with this ring."

"If there is any way that I can help—

"Thank you, Edmund. You have always treated me with kindness."

Any acts of kindness toward this beautiful young woman now might be misconstrued. "Kate, I am not the boy you remember," he warned.

"I shall never forget the pony you gave to me. Do you remember Star?"

"Do I remember? You were so excited your screams could be heard all the way to Hyde Park. Your face grew so red and round I thought you would explode. I worried how I would explain such a phenomenon to my mother."

Kate's laughter filled the secluded wood, a light pealing sound that caused Edmund to smile, to feel a warmth wash over him that he did not understand. For so long he had felt... untouched. His emotions always in check, confined behind a locked door waiting for release, waiting for someone with a key.

"I loved Star," Kate whispered, lost in her memories.

Her eyes sparkled like golden jewels. Edmund felt as if he were being drawn into them, diving into deep pools of hope and promise. His mouth went quite dry as he dragged away his gaze.

He lowered his eyes to her mouth and locked on her lips, lips parted in a sweet, wistful sigh. Edmund's heart slammed against his chest, demanding he taste Kate's open, inviting lips.

"You, not me, own the kind heart," he murmured.

His voice was husky and soft as he gave in to temptation. Bending his head, Edmund leaned closer to Kate's upturned face, her remarkable eyes... until his mouth came down with a sudden urgency and covered hers.

Kate thought she would swoon on the spot.
Oh, hey-ho!

Edmund's mouth smothered hers, warm and wet and delicious!

God save her!

While her mind spun, Kate's lips welcomed Edmund. A fierce heat rushed from her heart to her belly and to the tips of her fingers. So many emotions swirled through her, she could not savor all at once. Edmund was kissing her, causing her heart to skip and leap in a frightening, wondrous spine-tingling fashion, 'Twas her first kiss!

A kiss that could lead to naught.

Kate tasted and savored the salt of Edmund's lips, inhaled the sandalwood-and-leather scent of him, and touched the rough bristle of his cheek with her hand. Ripples of white-hot pleasure shot through her. Warm and trembling, her lips quivered beneath his. She feared she would dissolve in tears of happiness at any moment.

She knew she should stop him, but she could not. How could she stop a dream? She felt his hunger and was filled with an urgent desire to satisfy him.

And then she felt him draw away. "Kate..." His breath came in ragged gulps; the timbre of his voice sounded hoarse. "I... I don't know what came over me. Pray, forgive me."

Forgiveness was not at all necessary. She would like nothing more than for him to kiss her again. And again.

"Pretend this never happened," he pressed.

How in the world could she pretend such a heart-searing kiss had never happened? If Kate had a kingdom to give, she would gladly turn it over for another of his kisses.

Nevertheless, she nodded her compliance. He needn't know she would remember the taste of his kiss for as long as she lived.

"Aiye!" Kate shrieked.

"Kate, what is it?"

"Ants!"

Ants were everywhere. Absorbed in each other, Kate and Edmund hadn't noticed the quiet assault. The ants had attacked the bread, covered the cheese, and those with a failed sense of direction were marching up Kate's legs.

She jumped up, swatting her skirts, ignoring the fine show of ankles Edmund must be viewing. All she cared about at the moment was removing the silent army of ants from her person.

Edmund pushed himself up. From the corner of her eye, from the edge of Kate's hysteria, she saw the earl observing in silent fascination. She knew he was unable to help, for fear of touching an inappropriate part of Kate's anatomy.

"By your leave, Kate, is there anything I can do?"

Tears of humiliation burned behind her eyes. She bore a lump on her head larger than a goose egg, an unsightly black-and-blue eye that gave her a blurry view, and now... ants.

What type of impression had she made on her old friend?

"I should, should like to return to Rose Hall," she stammered.

* * * *

An hour later Edmund made determined strides toward his steward's office in the west wing of Rose Hall. His steps echoed in the large marble hall, as did the
click click
of Percy, who trotted at his side.

Before she had been assaulted by the ants, Edmund had prepared to whisk Kate from his boyhood castle. He feared he might ravish her if they lingered, so powerful was the impact of their kiss.

The sweet, soft lips of his childhood friend had sent him into a tailspin. A rare heat had rushed through his veins like a firestorm until it lodged deep in his loins, simmering there... to this moment.

At the time he could think of only one way to rid her of the ants, and that was to rip off Kate's garments. Highly unsuitable, so he stood by helplessly, afraid to touch her.

On the ride back to Rose Hall, the heavens unleashed a torrent of rain, but he dared not stop and wait for the storm to abate. 'Twas in Kate's best interest to ride through the rain. He surely would have taken her right there on the sodden meadow, unmindful of the storm, of anything but his heat and her bruised beauty. Even a black eye could not diminish Kate's allure.

When Edmund and Kate arrived back at the stables, they were soaked to the skin and she appeared slightly dazed.

He prayed she would not take ill.

Bloody hell, he'd acted the fool.

He'd taken his leave of Kate with an abrupt fare-thee-well. And when her amber eyes dulled, Edmund had experienced a loathsome sinking in the pit of his stomach. What could he do but put distance between them immediately? 'Twas for her own good.

Chapter Three

A great calm shall come over you and serve you well while the moon is in the seventh house.

Kate was torn. Irritable and confused. Other than that, she might have taken pleasure, as she normally did, in the half-mile walk from her papa's cottage to the main house. Ever since Lady Cordelia's gentlewoman had run away with a traveling jester, it had been Kate's habit to visit her in the afternoon.

The disturbing interlude with Edmund on the previous day still preyed on her mind. Kate could not imagine what had come over him. Although it was she who had asked to return to Rose Hall—overcome by a throbbing headache and a legion of ants—it had been Edmund who insisted they ride through the rain. He could not wait to be rid of her company.

Was it the kiss that put him off?

She was not experienced in the art and feared she had disappointed him. But Kate had not been disappointed. Not at all. The memory of Edmund's lips on hers still lingered. The initial shock, the heart-pounding thrill of his eagerness... or was it a fierce hunger? A demand? Whatever he'd had in mind at the start, Edmund's bruising kiss gave way to a soft and tender caress. And oh, how she'd savored the deep masculine heat of him that filled her being. She'd reveled in the warmth flowing through her veins, the sweet ache that settled between her thighs.

The wonder of Edmund's kiss made Kate lightheaded just to think of it!

But this is where she felt torn.

What gave Edmund the right to take such a liberty? Did he believe just because he was the Earl of Stamford that he could have his way with her? Did he think of Kate as simply some old possession of his that belonged, like the rose garden, with his country estate? 'Twas no way to treat an old friend. His high-handed arrogance appalled her!

To make matters worse, she'd made a fool of herself by abandoning herself to the moment. Instead of fighting off Edmund's improper advance, she had surrendered to the utter delight in his kiss. He might now be under the impression he could take such liberties with her whenever he chose. If he ever chose again.

Judging by his hasty flight back to Rose Hall, she thought it highly unlikely.

Alas, Kate could not be dangling after Edmund. There could be no future for her with the Earl of Stamford.

She strolled the narrow rear path through tall, deep green boxwood hedges to the clearing where the maze began. Even from the rear approach, Rose Hall loomed as grand as any country estate in England. Its beauty struck her anew each day. Walls of windows, projecting bays and classical ornamentation enhanced the towering brick building. Four solid floors surrounded a courtyard of eglantine roses. She failed to understand why Edmund spent so little time here when he had loved his country home as a boy.

Kate entered by a side door and hurried through the cavernous main hall, larger by far than her papa's cozy thatch-roof cottage, to the low parlor chamber.

"Kate." Lady Cordelia greeted her on a feeble note.

"Good day, Lady Cordelia."

With a rabbit fur draped across her lap, Edmund's aunt lay supine on a daybed of loose purple velvet cushions. A fire burned in the massive fireplace.

"I burn with fever," she complained. "I think I have caught a chill."

If anyone had caught a chill, it would be Kate, riding in the rain yesterday with Edmund.

Kate placed the back of her hand over Lady Cordelia's brow. "Nay, you are not feverish. Mayhap the fire burns too bright?"

"Aye?"

"Aye."

"How fares your dear papa today?" Cordelia asked, in a tone eager to compare ills,

"I am happy to report he is at work in the north gardens."

John Beadle's heart had broken when her mama, Nell, died. Kate had begun to wonder if it would ever mend. Sometimes, when she thought of how very dearly her papa had loved the woman he'd lived with for over twenty-five years, Kate wondered if any man would love her as much. The planets were yet to promise her a love match.

" 'Tis heartening to hear someone is well, eh? The pain swells up in me and will not go away, no matter how much sack I swallow."