Frederica regarded him gravely from eyes swirling with grey shadows. A silent considering stare. He had no idea what she was thinking. A little jealousy would have been nice.
‘She kissed me,’ he said at last.
‘I saw. You are certainly popular.’
Robert huffed out a breath. ‘I thought you were eating breakfast?’
‘Cook forgot the jam.’
Probably on purpose. He gestured for her to pass and turned to leave.
She grabbed his sleeve, glanced up the hallway and back to him. ‘Snively mentioned you were in the kitchen. I wanted to ask you something.’
A pot clattered. They both jumped. Robert raised his eyes to the ceiling and saw no help forthcoming. ‘We cannot talk here.’ They would put two and two together and unfortunately would make four.
‘I’ll come to your house,’ she murmured. ‘Later.’
‘No!’ he whispered.
‘Where, then?’
‘Down there.’ He caught her elbow, feeling once more the delicate bones beneath his fingers. A shimmer of awareness over his skin. He sucked in a breath and released her. ‘The cellar.’
With a nod, she whisked along the hall and down a few steps into the dark. He ducked in after her. ‘What did you want?’ he murmured, aware of her scent mingling with the smell of coal and mildew.
‘I need your help.’
‘Ask your uncle.’
‘He can’t help me in this.’
‘What makes you think I can? I told you it is best we not meet again.’
‘Y-you s-said…’ She gave a little moan of distress. She sounded desperate. His body strained in response, the desire to defend and protect rising rampant.
What the hell? He never let women get to him this way. Yet he couldn’t help it with this one. He softened his tone. ‘Take a deep breath, then tell me what is wrong.’
Her quick, indrawn gasp was like a knife to his heart. She sounded terrified.
‘I need to learn to waltz.’
He retreated up a step, unaccountably disappointed. ‘A dancing lesson?’
She touched his arm. An unexpected sensation in the dark. The heat of it travelled straight to his chest. He flinched.
She snatched her hand back as if she too felt scorched. ‘I must learn to waltz or I will make an idiot of myself. Can’t we still be friends?’
Friends, when the thought of holding her in his arms stirred his blood and drove his brain to the brink of madness?
Somehow he kept his voice calm, glad the dark hid his expression. ‘There must be someone else who can teach you.’
She stilled. He felt her stillness as if her heart had stopped beating and had thus stopped his own.
‘I’m s-sorry,’ she whispered, her voice full of ache, as if her only friend in the world had let her down. ‘I was wrong to ask.’
Now he felt guilty, a pain that bit all the way to his heart. ‘All right.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’ll teach you. One lesson.’
He heard her sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. When?’
‘Tonight. My house.’ Footsteps sounded in the passageway. He moved deeper into the dark of the stairwell, protecting her from casual sight with his body. One of her breasts pressed against his arm; the scent of her hair, vanilla and roses, a heady combination, filled his nose. His body quickened. Demanded more. Somehow, he kept his hands off her. Breath held, he waited while the footsteps passed them by. No outraged shout of surprise broke the silence. Nothing but her rapid breaths against his neck. One move that even suggested she wanted to kiss him and he wouldn’t be able to resist. She drew him, more than any woman he’d ever met. He worried about her, when he didn’t want to care. People he cared for always let him down. He knew that and yet he could deny her nothing.
He was in over his head and drowning.
The sounds faded. He leaned close to her ear. ‘Whatever you do, do not let anyone see you leave the house tonight.’
She nodded.
His body shaking with the effort of not kissing her senseless, he released her, strode up the stairs and, with a quick look to make sure all was clear, made the two steps to the back door and out into the yard. He released a shuddering sigh of relief.
Was he mad? Had he actually agreed to meet her again?
She’d looked so vulnerable, so afraid, he couldn’t say no. Not and sleep at night.
He’d promised. One dance lesson, but nothing more.
God save him, he’d seek other work. Somewhere far away.
Wrapped in sacking, Pippin’s hooves made little sound on the frosty earth. Thick clouds obliterated any light from above, but Frederica found her way to Robert’s cottage with ease.
A faint chink of light shone through the shutters. She slid from Pippin’s back and tied him to a tree. His hot breath warmed her chilled cheeks as she patted his neck. ‘I won’t be long.’
Her heart set up a steady thud in her ears. Suddenly unsure, she crept to the door and tapped softly.
Nothing. Perhaps he’d gone out and left a candle burning. Or perhaps he’d changed his mind.
She rapped louder and backed up into the shadows. If the door didn’t open by the count of three, she’d leave.
The sound of a bolt being drawn through metal held her suspended between fleeing and staying. Her heartbeat drummed against her ribs.
Light spilled onto the ground in front of the door from his lantern.
God. He was just so beautiful. His shirt, open at the throat and tucked into tight-fitting buckskins, revealed a glimpse of crisp, dark hair at the base of his throat. The dark shadow on his jaw gave him a disreputable air. Frederica swallowed, trying to find enough saliva to speak.
Shaking his head, he started to close the door.
‘It is me,’ she croaked, stepping closer.
‘I’d begun to think you weren’t coming after all. Come inside before you are seen.’ He leaned forwards, clasped her hand and pulled her over the threshold, and she stumbled into the room.
He’d tidied up. The bed was neatly made, no sign of supper dishes or clothing. The chair and table were pushed back against the wall, leaving an open space in front of the merrily blazing hearth. He’d been waiting for her. Her heart gave a little lurch of happiness.
She twirled around.
His face held a pained expression. He was looking at her legs. His eyes widened as he took in her attire, a pair of Simon’s old breeches and one of his shirts. ‘What in hell’s name are you wearing?’
‘I rode. I thought it would be easier than skirts.’
‘Good God.’
‘I borrowed some of Simon’s breeches. He’s grown out of them. And one of his shirts,’ she said. ‘I had to saddle Pippin myself and I need help to mount a lady’s saddle. I know I look dreadful.’
‘I wouldn’t say dreadful.’ His gaze reached her face and in the firelight, his eyes seemed alight with embers. ‘Certainly…unusual.’
A giddy swirl hit her brain as if the air in the cottage had turned to steam and she laughed, albeit a little breathlessly. ‘I always