Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(10)

The evening passed quickly, with Lady Sarah sharing tales of Rosalyn’s escapades as they retired to the drawing room to play whist. He found himself drawn in, and before he knew it, the clock struck ten.

“I bid you good night, my lady.” Ethan bowed over Lady Sarah’s hand. “Sleep well.”

“You, too, Ethan,” she replied with a smile.

Not bloody likely, he wanted to say, but of course, he did not. He hadn’t seen a hair of Lady Rosalyn’s lovely head the entire evening, but he’d heard of her aplenty—and he only wanted to hear more. It was strange, really, how remarkably stimulating he’d found hearing so much of her, enough that he left Lady Sarah’s company to head for the sea.

The cold water cooled his blood, but the moment he stepped foot on the beach, it was as if he hadn’t swum at all.

The night would be a long one, indeed.

*

Ethan welcomed the dawn with another brisk swim in the sea, then retreated to the stone outbuilding to dabble with varnish. The varnish had bubbled and peeled away from the snippets of silk he’d set to dry overnight. The development frustrated him, but he couldn’t deny it a far better discovery now than in flight halfway across the channel.

With a shrug, he again rolled up his sleeves and sat down at the workbench to try again.

At noon, he noticed her. Rosalyn.

For the briefest of moments, her shadow fell across the floor. Instinct and years of training gave him the advantage. He smothered a grin and tilted the mirror on the workbench at just the right angle. He always kept a mirror at close hand, a holdover from his years as a spy. It was pure folly to place his unguarded back to the door.

Moments later, Rosalyn again craned her head around the corner, and he indulged in a slow perusal of her charms from under hooded eyes. She was so beautiful. So seductive. The summer breeze caught her soft curls and blew her light blue muslin gown against her winsome curves as she peeked around the edge of the door.

He set the varnish down.

Rosalyn jerked back.

He grinned. The minx. Was she spying on him? He’d see what the lass was up to, at least. Without hesitation, he sprinted to the back door, then out and around the corner.

There she stood, a leather journal held behind her back as she inched toward the door to spy on him once again.

His gaze dropped to her backside, so lusciously round and firm, and—God help him—the perfect handfuls to hold, Lord Stafford or no.

As she leaned forward, he crept up behind her and waited. She leaned forward to peek around the corner. He grinned. How long it would take her to discover he’d left?

She abruptly stepped back.

By God, he hadn’t anticipated her buttocks slamming straight back into his cock. His shaft sprang to life with a vengeance even as she whirled, shocked.

“My lord,” she began. Then her gaze fell on his straining breeches. Her eyes widened. “My lord,” she breathed again. Her cheeks flamed red, but he knew damn well there was a thread of admiration in the mix there, as well.

So, the wee lass knew a large cock when she saw one, did she? He couldn’t stop the wolfish grin that spread his lips. “Are you lost, Lady Rosalyn? May I be of service?”

She swallowed and forced her eyes to his, her color deepening. “Why, yes, my lord. I…I…my aunt. I need to fetch my aunt a…tonic.”

Alarm for Lady Sarah cooled his blood at once. “Shall I send for the physician?”

“No, no.” Rosalyn quickly shook her head. “No, nothing of the sort. Just a restoring tonic. Really, it’s no cause for alarm. I merely wish to surprise her.”

“That is well, then.” He gave a curt nod of relief.

The sky was blue, and the sun warm, all in all, a perfect day for a drive—and he still had that letter to post.

“I’ll harness the horses at once,” he offered. “I’ve an errand in Brighton, myself. Wait at the house, and I’ll bring the phaeton straight away.”

She gave a nervous bob of thanks and dashed away. Again, he couldn’t help but allow his gaze to wander over her buttocks in admiration before whistling for his men. He dispatched one footman to fetch his letter and the other to bring around the horses.

Ten minutes later, he pulled rein at the veranda in a yellow phaeton drawn by a magnificent pair of bays with silver-mounted harnesses and rosettes on their heads.

As he arrived, Rosalyn stepped through the front door, a light shawl draped over her arm and a charming straw bonnet on her head.

In a flash, Ethan jumped from the vehicle and offered her a hand. “Allow me, my lady.”

The heady scent of honeysuckles eddied about her as she stepped close and placed her hand in his. He breathed deeply of her scent as he lifted her up. He didn’t release her fingers at once but brushed the back of her hand in a whisper of a touch.

Her spine straightened, and her cheeks turned pink, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

Destined for spinsterhood? Not bloody likely. He cradled her fingers far longer than propriety allowed before finally letting her hand slide free. He hopped back into his seat.

The horses stamped their feet impatiently and strained their harnesses as he took up the reins, eager to stretch their legs. He chuckled, knowing they wanted to run free.

“Hold on, lads,” he laughed, as he guided them onto the road. “Now’s not the time to run.”