Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(6)

“Indeed, my lord,” Rosalyn murmured as her feet touched the ground. Though somewhat taller than the average woman, the top of her head still barely reached the bottom of his chin. “I would so dearly love to see your garden and these world-renowned radishes with my very own eyes.”

She lifted her sultry gaze to his. Obviously, she knew damn well he’d never gardened in his life. The minx. He merely chuckled and again, their gazes locked. He was the first to look away, but only because by standing so close, she afforded him quite the view of her snug little breasts’ attempt to escape up through the neckline of her gown.

Of course, she caught him, but to his utmost delight, didn’t huff or immediately step away. She let him look with the demeanor of an uninhibited woman, comfortable with her body, and who, no doubt, did what she pleased.

“Shall we?” she asked, and coolly waited for his eyes to slide back up to hers.

A deeper admiration rippled through him. More intrigued by the moment, he stood aside and swept out his arm in invitation for them both to precede him.

The rambling inn smelled of smoke and stale beer, but the private dining parlor that Ethan procured afforded a more pleasant environment. As they arranged themselves around the table to await their meal, the conversation resumed. This time, they spoke of a variety of subjects, and when the hearty meal arrived—coach fare, but decent enough—the topic of conversation turned to books.

“And what novels do you prefer, Lady Rosalyn?” Ethan asked, as the maid set a platter of freshly baked buns on the table.

“I enjoy the modern and obscure,” she answered at once.

An interesting response. Most ladies were trained to parrot praise of the classics. “Such as?” he prodded.

She smiled, and the sight alone stirred his blood.

“Lady Bessborough recommended a clever read. She claims it has a rather stupid ending, but I find it enjoyable enough. The title is Sense and Sensibility.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Ethan admitted, and paused a moment to recall just where. “Ah yes, Princess Charlotte compared herself to the heroine at dinner, some weeks ago.”

“You dined with the princess?” Lady Sarah interjected, mildly surprised.

It had actually been the Prince Regent. The man had summoned him for an opinion on a matter in France, but Ethan didn’t feel compelled to explain. “Not often.” He politely brushed the matter aside and turned back to Rosalyn. “Would you say the novel is worth reading?”

Again, the dry humor gleamed in her gaze. “A man of the classics might not care for such a tale. I would think it more interesting for women as it is written by one. Though surely, one could never know as it was published anonymously as simply by A Lady.”

That mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes from it. He wanted to taste it. What would she do, should he catch those lips in a kiss? Surely, she’d kiss him back. Passion lurked beneath the surface. He was sure of it. No doubt, she was a bold kisser. Perhaps even a biter. He preferred women who nipped and raked their nails across his back. Rosalyn certainly seemed the type…

Then, unfortunately, the fact she was Lord Stafford’s niece asserted itself and the thought had an unpleasantly cooling effect on his blood.

Ethan realized she waited for a response. Ah, yes. Books. Something about the author being female. There was a standard reply for such things. “If it is written by a woman for women, I would think all men who desire to understand the fairer sex should read it.”

Lady Sarah chuckled.

Rosalyn levelled him a look that announced she knew right well he was far more interested in the mysteries between her thighs than the workings of her mind. He found her response telling. So, the lass wasn’t quite as proper as one might think. It both delighted and concerned him. For the first time, he wondered if there was a man in her life.

The conversation flowed to other things, and finally, with their meal done and the horses rested, they found themselves arranged in his carriage once again.

This time, silence reigned, and as the miles passed, Lady Sarah’s chin began to nod, and Rosalyn pulled a book from a satchel and began to flip through the pages.

Ethan lounged back in his seat, and eyed Rosalyn from under hooded eyes as he waited for Lady Sarah to fall asleep. Finally, she did, and he cleared his throat.

Rosalyn glanced up.

Perfect. He seized the opening. “I’ve visited your aunt quite often of late but find it odd we haven’t met before. Have you just come to London?” He knew it wasn’t true. At each and every visit, Lady Sarah had bemoaned the fact he’d just missed her.

“No, my lord. I’ve been in London for several seasons.”

Several…and not yet wed…was she engaged? “Indeed, then it is simply a case of misfortune.”

“Oh? Are you sorely lacking in the discussion of women’s literature?” Rosalyn teased with a lifted brow.

Arousal struck square in the loins. It was a verbal gauntlet if he’d ever heard one, and a not so innocent remark from a woman who clearly knew where his interests lay. He quit dancing around the issue and drove straight to the point. “Several seasons? Then who is the lucky man?”

Rosalyn tensed and seemed to bristle. “Must all women be wed in two seasons, my lord?”

Her response wasn’t the definitive answer he wanted. He had to know what he might be up against. “Surely, there are a regiment of men pounding at your door?” he pushed.