How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (16 page)

Rose could think of no reply that was polite enough to be uttered.

Cameron, meanwhile, eyed Munro with a sullen look. “I can see that I will have to call you out before this weekend is through.”

“Name your seconds,” Munro returned without pause. He reached out and grasped the lapels of his coat where they rested against Rose and tugged them together. “There, Miss Rose. All better now, I daresay. My, but you are a slight thing, aren’t you? I’m not surprised you fell off your horse, for a puff of wind would send you toppling and—”

“Release her.”

Sin’s voice held such an edge that everyone turned to stare. His gaze was locked on Mr. Munro’s hands, which were tightly clasped about the lapels of his own coat, his thumbs resting against Rose’s wet chest.

Munro’s face turned bright red, and he let go of Rose as if he’d burned his fingers. “Sin, for the love of— Good God, I didn’t mean to—” He gulped and turned to her. “Miss Balfour, I’m most sorry for—”

“Mr. Munro, please,” Rose said, weary and miserable. “You did me a very great favor by lending me your coat. No one thought you were being anything other than kind—did they, Lord Sinclair?”

Sin merely glowered.

Lord Cameron laughed uncertainly. “Munro, I’m certain you meant no harm.”

“That’s right,” Miss Isobel spoke out, surprising everyone. “He was merely assisting Miss Balfour.”

Mr. Munro shot her a thankful glance.

The groom brought Rose’s mare. “Come, miss. We need to get ye home. Shall I help ye up? Those wet skirts will be difficult to manage.”

“Yes, please,” she said gratefully. It took several moments, but with MacLure’s help, she got back on her horse, her skirts still dripping. Her mare wasn’t happy about the added weight and showed it by attempting to buck, which frightened Miss Muriella into a little scream.

With a firm hand, Rose set her horse to rights, and then managed a smile for the small company. “I must get back to the house. Perhaps the rest of you should continue ahead to meet the duchess and carriages for the picnic?”

MacLure spoke up. “Pardon me, miss, but the
carriages willna have left the hoose yet. Her grace dinna wish fer Mr. and Mrs. Stewart to be oot in the elements in case it rained, and I heard her tell MacDougal that they’d leave a wee bit later than planned. Ye’ll ha’ plenty of time to change into dry clothin’, if ye’re worried aboot missin’ the picnic.”

All Rose wanted was to soak in a tub of hot water until the steam and sweet-scented soap untangled her feelings. “Thank you. I believe that will be our best option.”

Mr. Munro, who seemed suddenly to have realized how cold it was and was rubbing his arms, added his enthusiastic endorsement.

So with Munro leading the way and the groom hovering close to Rose, they turned back down the narrow path and returned to the castle.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
I have concluded that neither my nephew nor Miss Balfour is able to refuse any challenge made by the other, regardless of how reckless it may be.

I am beginning to worry that neither will survive what is either the oddest courtship known to man, or the most serious game of one-upmanship I’ve yet to witness.

Either way, the outcome is sure to be vastly entertaining.

From the sitting room windows, Margaret and Charlotte watched as their guests appeared on the road leading to the castle.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Good God, is that— Oh dear!
Both
Lord Sinclair and Miss Balfour are soaked to the bone!”

“So I see.”

“What has happened? The path goes near the river, but not that close.”

Margaret pursed her lips. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it was the same circumstances as gave them both bruises in the library.”

“You don’t think he’s
hurting
her, do you?”

“Lud, no! If I thought that, I would never allow him in my presence again. Besides,
both
of them seem bedraggled after their meetings. I suspect they are challenging each other and neither has the good sense to know when to back down.”

Charlotte turned wide eyes on her friend. “That sounds dangerous.”

“And I think it sounds very promising. Sin needs a woman who won’t back down when he grows foolish.”

“But someone could get hurt.”

“Nonsense. We can rely upon them to also rescue each other.”

“I hope so.” Charlotte was silent a moment. “Who do you think won the race?”

“Judging from their expressions, neither.”

“Blast!” Charlotte pulled a small piece of paper from her pocket, looked at it, and sighed. “I had five pounds on Miss Balfour. Do you think they might race again? Perhaps if we ask them—”

“Charlotte, look at them; they’re both miserable. I forbid you, or anyone else, to ask them to restage that demmed race.”

“Very well. I suppose you’re right. Mr. Stewart was holding the wagers. I’ll explain everything and have
him return the funds.” With a wistful sigh, she tucked the paper away. “Perhaps we need to find a way to get Sin and Miss Balfour to spend some time together, but not competing?”

“I don’t care if they compete, but they must stop arguing and start
talking.
Oh, look! The party has reached the portico.” She and Charlotte watched as several groomsmen rushed to meet the returning guests.

“Margaret, do you think Sin is truly interested in Miss Balfour?”

Margaret hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m still not completely certain, but he was far too angry at not being able to find her after The Incident for there not to be something there. Not love, for they’d barely met. But whatever it was—or is—no woman has ever affected him so much.”

“He was quite determined to find her.”

“He was like a madman. So I suspected he would jump at the chance to finally confront her here; there’s too much unfinished business between them.”

Margaret watched as Sin stalked from his horse and glared at MacLure, who was reaching up to assist Rose from her horse. Though Margaret couldn’t hear what was said, it was obvious that Sin won the encounter, for the groom stepped away and allowed Sin to assist Rose. The second her boots touched the flagstones, Rose grabbed her wet skirts, heaved them over one arm, and made her way to the door as fast as her weighted skirts would allow.

Sin watched her go, then spun on his heel and marched in the opposite direction.

Charlotte sighed. “Oh dear. It looks as if they’re not even speaking. They really haven’t talked much, have they? Just argued.” She shook her head sadly. “It doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“I don’t think it is—yet. They must get to know each other, and that is where they’re failing. If only there was some way to get them on the same side instead of opposite sides . . . ” Margaret’s gaze was unfocused, her voice distant.

Charlotte waited.

After a few moments, the duchess smiled. “I have it! Charlotte, I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.”

“How so?”

“They need a common enemy, someone they must overcome together.” She caught Charlotte’s confused expression. “Never mind. Give me the list of wagers.”

“The list . . . but why?”

“Just give them to me and I’ll explain later.”

Charlotte removed the small paper and handed it to Margaret, who tucked it into her own pocket. The odd smile on her face gave Charlotte hope. “I know exactly what to do to keep our troublesome couple together,” the duchess said. “What’s the one thing Sin won’t do?”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “The one thing you want him to?”

“Exactly. Now come.” Margaret slipped her arm
through Charlotte’s and they strolled toward the door. “We should see to our guests. Two of them have stomped off, but the others will be cold, tired, and ready for lunch.”

•  •  •

The next afternoon, Sin came downstairs to find Rose standing in the foyer pulling off her gloves. Her back was to him, and she was humming a tune he didn’t recognize.

It was the first time he’d seen her since their disastrous ride. Last night he’d eschewed dinner and had gone for a wild gallop through the chilly evening air, staying out until all of his aunt’s guests had retired for the evening. The punishing ride had been good for him: his frustrations and soreness had disappeared with the exertion. The clarity of thought also served to remind him that he had a limited amount of time to seduce Rose, and he had to stop allowing his pride to get in the way.

This morning he’d awoken much refreshed and able to view his fight with Rose from a more honest perspective. He’d even managed to chuckle when he thought of how the two of them must have looked, slogging into the house soaked from head to toe.

As he’d dressed, he’d wondered if Rose was also seeing the humor in the situation, or if she was still angry. The urge to talk to her had made him hurry through his dressing and, leaving behind an astonished Dunn, Sin had made his way to the breakfast room.

The room had been empty except for Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, who had been eating dry toast and sipping tepid tea. Pushing aside a surprisingly sharp feeling of disappointment, Sin had decided to wait in case Rose joined them. He had asked MacDougal for a cup of coffee and
The Morning Post.
When they arrived, he’d taken the seat farthest from the Stewarts and had tried to read, but to no avail. The elderly couple had filled the silence by discussing the many foods they could no longer eat. They also expounded on their various health issues in graphic detail.

Sin had learned far more about the Stewarts than he’d wished to and he’d finally bestirred himself to ask a footman if Miss Balfour had already eaten. Upon being informed that she’d been the first one to breakfast hours ago, he’d made his excuses and escaped, cursing the waste of a good thirty minutes.

For the next hour, Sin had wandered through the house, and then out onto the grounds. He’d given up all hope of finding Rose and was climbing the stairs in search of MacDougal to enlist the butler’s superior knowledge of the castle when the front door had opened and Rose had walked in.

She was wearing a dark green pelisse over a walking dress of pale yellow that made her look even younger than usual. She undid the ribbons on her straw bonnet and tugged it off, and then tried to smooth her riotous curls. The step he was standing on creaked, and she turned, her blue eyes wide. For a moment she stared
at him, then her lashes dropped and she gave him a small, colorless smile. “Lord Sinclair. Good morning.”

It was the exact greeting she would have given a stranger. His chest tightened. “Good morning.” He came the rest of the way down the stairs. “I was looking for you.”

Her gaze grew wary. “Oh?”

He smiled. “Have you thought about how we must have looked yesterday, trudging through the house in our dripping clothes?”

Her lips quirked, and the sparkle he liked returned to her eyes. “We must have looked ridiculous.”

“Utterly.” He leaned against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs as a footman approached to take her pelisse and bonnet.

They waited for him to leave before Sin asked, “I see you’ve been marching about the grounds.”

“Ah, the mud on my boots gives me away.”

“Not as much as the mud on your cheek.”

Her hand flew to her cheek, but at his soft chuckle, she dropped her hand back to her side and gave him a curious look. “You are in a much better mood this morning.”

“Yes. Enough so that I realize that I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have tossed you into the river.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. However . . . I did run your horse into the water—a little. So perhaps I deserved it.”

“Perhaps we deserve each other.” He realized that he wanted nothing more than to swing her into his arms and bury his face in her ruffled curls. “Where are the others this morning? I can find no one except Mr. and Mrs. Stewart.”

“The gentlemen were walking up from the stable when I came past; I think they were looking at a horse Mr. Munro wishes to purchase from Roxburghe. Most of the women are gathering on the terrace for the archery contest.”

He thought of how Miss Muriella could barely see across a room to identify her own sister, and how Lady Charlotte squinted whenever she looked across the dining room table. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Only if you’re a target.”

“Are you skilled at archery?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Oh yes. Caith Manor is secluded, so we often shoot to while away the hours. I daresay I’ve drawn far more bows than you.”

“So you think you can beat me?”

“Oh yes,” she purred. “And with this hand.” She held up her left hand.

The cheeky wench!
Sin left his station by the post and captured her tormenting hand. “Rose, when will you accept that I will always win?” He pressed her fingers to his lips, his gaze locked with hers.
“Always.”

“Pah!” Her color high, she tugged her hand free. “I bested you yesterday.”

“You
cheated.
”

“I had a
strategy.
A successful one, too,” she said with a playful smile.

She looked at him through her lashes and his irritation faded away. “Stop trying to bamboozle me,” he said, exasperated with himself. “You’re not going to change my mind by trying to look innocent. I’m immune.”

A gleam appeared in her eyes. “You didn’t feel immune when you kissed me yesterday.”

“Neither did you,” he pointed out.

Her gaze narrowed. “In a direct contest, I wonder which of us could withstand the temptation of the other the longest?”

“That would be quite a contest.” The idea of teasing her in such a way made his cock stir. He’d tease her until she panted for more, until she begged him to take her, and then he’d—

“You’re breathing hard.” She said it in the same tone that she might use to mention the weather or discuss a book she’d just read.

He found himself imagining how enjoyable it would be to shake her from her pragmatic self and awaken the bold, adventurous part of her that kept slipping through. “I’m doing far more than breathing hard. I’m imagining all of the things I’d like to do to you.”

Her eyes widened. “Now?
Here?
” She gestured to the foyer around them. “But someone could come at any moment!”