Read Online The Rocking Horse: A Regency Novella by Holly Newman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Holly Newman
Tags: Romance
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his neck quickened.
"Papa, can I climb the tree, too?"
Tarkington's hands dropped from Jocelyn's waist. He crossed to his daughter's side and swung her up in his arms, his expression shuttered and rigid. "No, poppet," he said in a strangled voice. He cleared his throat. "It's too high a climb for you."
Jocelyn gasped at the realization that he'd intended to kiss her! Red surged into her cheeks, and she turned away from Tarkington and Lady Anne—ostensibly to look out over the countryside, in reality to hide the myriad emotions she knew to be chasing across her face. Vaguely she was aware of the marques setting his daughter back down and instructing her where to stand.
The sound of boots scraping against bark as he climbed the tree matched the emotions inside her. He'd been about to kiss her! And she'd wanted him to! Never had Mr. Bayne attempted more than to kiss her hand. Nor would she have allowed him further liberties. But she would have allowed Tarkington—would have welcomed them!
She brought a cold gloved hand up against her flaming cheeks. What could have possessed her? She was acting the flirt. Was it because he was a marques? Was she enamored with his title? She hoped not, for that would not allow her to think well of herself. Was it his widower circumstances?
Was it his country lifestyle? She acknowledged she did enjoy the different pace, the truth in nature, and the estate. Was it just some reaction of her disquiet, that curious dissatisfaction she'd felt with London and her season?
Why?
She glanced over her shoulder toward the tall oaks. Tarkington was on a high branch stretching to reach a clump of mistletoe. Jocelyn's heart constricted with fear. She closed her eyes tightly, afraid to see him fall.
"Good, Papa!" cheered Lady Anne, clapping gloved hands together.
Jocelyn opened her eyes to see Lady Anne jumping up and down. She looked up into the tree to see the marques edging back toward the trunk, a large clump of mistletoe in one hand.
"Miss Maybrey!" he called out as he worked his way down the tree from branch to branch. "Can you come catch this, please? There is a spot here where I shall need both hands."
"Certainly, my lord." She caught the bunch easily with only the loss of a few of its berries. She hurried to place it in the wagon, then climbed onto the seat before he could assist her. She didn't want him to touch her again. She was afraid if he touched her, she'd go up in flames.
Tarkington looked at her, a wry grin kicking up one corner of his lips, but he refrained from comment. He merely shrugged his greatcoat back on and swung Lady Anne up beside Jocelyn.
She didn't know what was wrong with her or how to control it. She came to Bayneville to celebrate Lady Mary's betrothal and possibly hear a proposal from Charles Bayne. She didn't come to Bayneville to fall in love with the marques!
A small cry rose up in her throat before she could stop it. In love! Where had that come from?
"Is something the matter, Miss Maybrey?"
"What? Oh, no, no, my lord. I just . . . I just had a small twitch in my leg. Reaction to the cold, I'm sure," she babbled against the tight breath in her chest.
"Wrap the lap robe securely around you and Lady Anne. We've gathered enough greenery for this jaunt. If Mother wishes more, she can send the grooms out. Time for some hot chocolate, I should think. What do you say, poppet?"
"Yes, Papa. And can I help dec'rate?"
"What of your nap?"
Lady Anne pouted. "I'm not sleepy. I'm too big for naps."
"Too big? And here I was thinking of napping this afternoon. Am I too big, too?" Jocelyn teased, though her voice was tight with strain and the awareness of the Marques's closeness. She laughed, and there was a touch of hysteria in her tone.
Tarkington frowned, a pensive light in his eyes. "We shall see," he told his daughter.
When they neared the bridge, the marques stopped the wagon and jumped down. He walked around the wagon to Jocelyn's side and reached for her.
"Papa, can I climb the tree, too?"
Tarkington's hands dropped from Jocelyn's waist. He crossed to his daughter's side and swung her up in his arms, his expression shuttered and rigid. "No, poppet," he said in a strangled voice. He cleared his throat. "It's too high a climb for you."
Jocelyn gasped at the realization that he'd intended to kiss her! Red surged into her cheeks, and she turned away from Tarkington and Lady Anne—ostensibly to look out over the countryside, in reality to hide the myriad emotions she knew to be chasing across her face. Vaguely she was aware of the marques setting his daughter back down and instructing her where to stand.
The sound of boots scraping against bark as he climbed the tree matched the emotions inside her. He'd been about to kiss her! And she'd wanted him to! Never had Mr. Bayne attempted more than to kiss her hand. Nor would she have allowed him further liberties. But she would have allowed Tarkington—would have welcomed them!
She brought a cold gloved hand up against her flaming cheeks. What could have possessed her? She was acting the flirt. Was it because he was a marques? Was she enamored with his title? She hoped not, for that would not allow her to think well of herself. Was it his widower circumstances?
Was it his country lifestyle? She acknowledged she did enjoy the different pace, the truth in nature, and the estate. Was it just some reaction of her disquiet, that curious dissatisfaction she'd felt with London and her season?
Why?
She glanced over her shoulder toward the tall oaks. Tarkington was on a high branch stretching to reach a clump of mistletoe. Jocelyn's heart constricted with fear. She closed her eyes tightly, afraid to see him fall.
"Good, Papa!" cheered Lady Anne, clapping gloved hands together.
Jocelyn opened her eyes to see Lady Anne jumping up and down. She looked up into the tree to see the marques edging back toward the trunk, a large clump of mistletoe in one hand.
"Miss Maybrey!" he called out as he worked his way down the tree from branch to branch. "Can you come catch this, please? There is a spot here where I shall need both hands."
"Certainly, my lord." She caught the bunch easily with only the loss of a few of its berries. She hurried to place it in the wagon, then climbed onto the seat before he could assist her. She didn't want him to touch her again. She was afraid if he touched her, she'd go up in flames.
Tarkington looked at her, a wry grin kicking up one corner of his lips, but he refrained from comment. He merely shrugged his greatcoat back on and swung Lady Anne up beside Jocelyn.
She didn't know what was wrong with her or how to control it. She came to Bayneville to celebrate Lady Mary's betrothal and possibly hear a proposal from Charles Bayne. She didn't come to Bayneville to fall in love with the marques!
A small cry rose up in her throat before she could stop it. In love! Where had that come from?
"Is something the matter, Miss Maybrey?"
"What? Oh, no, no, my lord. I just . . . I just had a small twitch in my leg. Reaction to the cold, I'm sure," she babbled against the tight breath in her chest.
"Wrap the lap robe securely around you and Lady Anne. We've gathered enough greenery for this jaunt. If Mother wishes more, she can send the grooms out. Time for some hot chocolate, I should think. What do you say, poppet?"
"Yes, Papa. And can I help dec'rate?"
"What of your nap?"
Lady Anne pouted. "I'm not sleepy. I'm too big for naps."
"Too big? And here I was thinking of napping this afternoon. Am I too big, too?" Jocelyn teased, though her voice was tight with strain and the awareness of the Marques's closeness. She laughed, and there was a touch of hysteria in her tone.
Tarkington frowned, a pensive light in his eyes. "We shall see," he told his daughter.
When they neared the bridge, the marques stopped the wagon and jumped down. He walked around the wagon to Jocelyn's side and reached for her.
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