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Authors: Patricia; Grasso
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whenever Gordon Campbell crossed her path.
Unbidden, the marquess’s image arose in her mind’s eye, and the hint of a smile touched her lips. Campbell was an exceedingly attractive rogue, to be sure. His ruggedly handsome features and his sensuously chiseled lips conspired to make her heartbeat quicken. Those piercing gray eyes of his disturbed her, though. Their intensity seemed to see past all of her pretense to the frightened insecurity that dwelled in the depths of her soul.
And then Rob remembered Henry Talbot. Try as she did, conjuring the pleasing image of the Marquess of Ludlow proved impossible. Guilt and shame coiled around her heart. Why couldn’t she picture his smiling face? She loved him, didn’t she?
Rob banished those disturbing questions from her thoughts and rose from the bed. She dressed as plainly as possible in a black woolen skirt, a white linen blouse, and her oldest pair of scuffed leather boots in a poor attempt to discourage the Marquess of Inverary. The severe clothing only served to enhance the youthful beauty of her face. Around her neck hung the gold and gemstone necklace, its star ruby resting above the blouse’s scooped neckline. After plaiting her ebony hair into one thick braid, she slung a black woolen cloak over her arm and grabbed her black riding gloves.
At exactly eleven o’clock, Rob left her bedchamber and strolled leisurely down the corridor. Though her strategy in handling the marquess satisfied her, she dared not keep him waiting above an hour. Nearing the bottom of the stairs, Rob spied her uncle’s majordomo opening the door to admit a guest.
Dressed completely in black like Old Clootie himself, Gordon Campbell strode into the foyer. Why, he hadn’t been waiting for her at all.
“Yer late,” Rob called.
With a smile of greeting slashed across his face, the marquess looked at her, and Rob felt a melting sensation in the pit other stomach. His smile could light the whole mansion.
“I believe I’m right on time,” Gordon said, sauntering across the foyer.
“Ye said ten o’clock,” Rob reminded him, her voice mildly accusing. “Yer an hour late.”
“I meant, ten o’clock plus the hour ye intended to keep me waitin’.”
The truth in his words surprised Rob. She tilted her head back to stare up at him. How could he have known what she’d intended?
“I’ve been ready and waitin’ for an hour,” Rob lied, trying to put him on the defensive. “I saw yer approach from my window.”
“In that case, I do apologize for my tardiness,” Gordon replied, lifting her hand to his lips. He grinned and added, “Didna yer mother ever teach ye to play coy? A lady should never admit to waitin’ anxiously for her man.”
With embarrassment flushing her cheeks, Rob opened her mouth to tell him exactly how unanxious she was to see him. Unfortunately, Gordon had more practice at verbal sparring, and so his tongue and his wit were faster.
“Close yer mouth,” he teased with laughter lurking in his voice. “Unless yer invitin’ my tongue inside?”
It was the wrong thing to say to an unsophisticated virgin. Gordon realized that as soon as the words slipped from his lips.
“Go to hell with Old Clootie,” Rob snapped, turning away, intending to retrace her steps upstairs.
Gently but firmly, Gordon grasped her upper arm and prevented her flight. “I’m verra sorry,” he apologized.
That he spoke sincerely was apparent to Rob. She stared at his chest but refused to budge one way or the other. Without another word, Gordon lifted the cloak from her arm and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“I’ll do it myself,” Rob said, pushing his hands away when he started to fasten it.
Gordon watched her for a moment and then reached out to cup her chin gently in one of his hands. He waited patiently until she raised her disarming, emerald gaze to his. “Give me a chance, angel,” he said. “Please?”
That one word please was Rob’s undoing. She relaxed, and
Unbidden, the marquess’s image arose in her mind’s eye, and the hint of a smile touched her lips. Campbell was an exceedingly attractive rogue, to be sure. His ruggedly handsome features and his sensuously chiseled lips conspired to make her heartbeat quicken. Those piercing gray eyes of his disturbed her, though. Their intensity seemed to see past all of her pretense to the frightened insecurity that dwelled in the depths of her soul.
And then Rob remembered Henry Talbot. Try as she did, conjuring the pleasing image of the Marquess of Ludlow proved impossible. Guilt and shame coiled around her heart. Why couldn’t she picture his smiling face? She loved him, didn’t she?
Rob banished those disturbing questions from her thoughts and rose from the bed. She dressed as plainly as possible in a black woolen skirt, a white linen blouse, and her oldest pair of scuffed leather boots in a poor attempt to discourage the Marquess of Inverary. The severe clothing only served to enhance the youthful beauty of her face. Around her neck hung the gold and gemstone necklace, its star ruby resting above the blouse’s scooped neckline. After plaiting her ebony hair into one thick braid, she slung a black woolen cloak over her arm and grabbed her black riding gloves.
At exactly eleven o’clock, Rob left her bedchamber and strolled leisurely down the corridor. Though her strategy in handling the marquess satisfied her, she dared not keep him waiting above an hour. Nearing the bottom of the stairs, Rob spied her uncle’s majordomo opening the door to admit a guest.
Dressed completely in black like Old Clootie himself, Gordon Campbell strode into the foyer. Why, he hadn’t been waiting for her at all.
“Yer late,” Rob called.
With a smile of greeting slashed across his face, the marquess looked at her, and Rob felt a melting sensation in the pit other stomach. His smile could light the whole mansion.
“I believe I’m right on time,” Gordon said, sauntering across the foyer.
“Ye said ten o’clock,” Rob reminded him, her voice mildly accusing. “Yer an hour late.”
“I meant, ten o’clock plus the hour ye intended to keep me waitin’.”
The truth in his words surprised Rob. She tilted her head back to stare up at him. How could he have known what she’d intended?
“I’ve been ready and waitin’ for an hour,” Rob lied, trying to put him on the defensive. “I saw yer approach from my window.”
“In that case, I do apologize for my tardiness,” Gordon replied, lifting her hand to his lips. He grinned and added, “Didna yer mother ever teach ye to play coy? A lady should never admit to waitin’ anxiously for her man.”
With embarrassment flushing her cheeks, Rob opened her mouth to tell him exactly how unanxious she was to see him. Unfortunately, Gordon had more practice at verbal sparring, and so his tongue and his wit were faster.
“Close yer mouth,” he teased with laughter lurking in his voice. “Unless yer invitin’ my tongue inside?”
It was the wrong thing to say to an unsophisticated virgin. Gordon realized that as soon as the words slipped from his lips.
“Go to hell with Old Clootie,” Rob snapped, turning away, intending to retrace her steps upstairs.
Gently but firmly, Gordon grasped her upper arm and prevented her flight. “I’m verra sorry,” he apologized.
That he spoke sincerely was apparent to Rob. She stared at his chest but refused to budge one way or the other. Without another word, Gordon lifted the cloak from her arm and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“I’ll do it myself,” Rob said, pushing his hands away when he started to fasten it.
Gordon watched her for a moment and then reached out to cup her chin gently in one of his hands. He waited patiently until she raised her disarming, emerald gaze to his. “Give me a chance, angel,” he said. “Please?”
That one word please was Rob’s undoing. She relaxed, and
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