Still, she'd certainly have to blame something for her outlandish behavior out there on the road with Tanner, so it might as well be an inanimate object like a hat. Every time she'd opened her mouth a part of her had been astounded at the words she heard herself saying. And then she'd touched his cheek. Simply reached up and touched him. The gesture had seemed so right, so natural. He was so earnest, so sincere, telling her he would never hurt her.

And all when she was wishing he would grab her, crush her against him, give life to the feelings that were bubbling so close beneath her surface these past days. In the solitude of her rooms, lying in her bed, picturing his face...she had felt the same stirrings she'd experienced when she'd touched him moments ago, heat burning through her glove, searing her. Searing him, as well?

She thought it might. No, she knew it did. He wanted her, as Nicole would term the thing. Carnally. He wanted her body. She'd be an utter fool not to know that, sense that.

She wanted his body. His mouth on hers. His hands on her body, teaching her, awakening her as she so longed to be awakened. She wanted to understand these longings, this surprising awareness of her body whenever he looked at her.

Lydia was not a fool. She knew she wasn't simply driving down to Malvern to see the sights, or to bear Jasmine and Justin company, make up the fourth in a casual game of whist after supper.

They'd be alone, she and Tanner, at some point. Even if that meant tramping the hills until he stopped being so honorable and careful and gentle with her. Even if that meant she had to give him a nudge.

"All right, Lydia, your turn," Jasmine trilled, already ruching up her skirts. "I'll just step behind this screen and...well, do you mind if I use it first?"

It took a moment for Lydia's mind to drag itself away from what were definitely uncommon thoughts for her and back to the mundane. "There's only the one?"

Jasmine's voice came from behind the screen. "Oh, no, look at that. There are two. How thoughtful. Now I don't feel so bad about racing ahead of you. But I had to go so badly, for at least the last half hour. I thought about knocking on the panel and informing the coachman, but how does one say anything so intimate to a man? Certainly I couldn't do it. There," she said, coming out from behind the screen and once more unerringly heading for the wash basin. When she was done, she picked up the second clean linen towel and used it before tossing it onto the floor, as she had the first one.

Looking at the two crumpled towels after she'd been behind the screen, and then lifting the pitcher, to learn that Jasmine has used up all the water, Lydia felt a little niggle somewhere inside her. A small but growing suspicion that possibly Jasmine wasn't entirely the sweet, silly widget she appeared. For all her prattling and confessions of nervousness, she certainly did seem able to plow forward and get exactly what she wanted.

Like the front-facing coach seat, which she hadn't offered to share until Lydia had expressly asked her to move her skirts (spread from side-to-side), so that she could ride facing the horses, as well. And then there was the matter of the small basket of sugared rolls Tanner had ordered packed and placed in the coach for the two of them. Or there had been. When Lydia had decided to try one, as the sweet smell lingered inside the closed coach, it was to find that Jasmine had already eaten them all on the way to Grosvenor Square. Yes, she'd apologized quite prettily, saying she was such a selfish pig and so ashamed-but the sugared rolls were still gone, weren't they?

Now there were the towels, and the clean water, and even the chamber pot, if there had been just one.

She mentally scolded herself for thinking badly of a young woman who could be considered rather thoughtless and even ill-mannered, but who could certainly not be termed selfish. Although she did, one way or another, always seem to get what she wanted, didn't she? Even as she protested she didn't want any of it.

Like a Season in London.

Like all her pretty gowns.

Like the Malvern jewels she wore around her neck.

Like Tanner?

Picking up one of the towels and taking up the soap, Lydia looked over her shoulder and said conversationally, "You must be so anxious to get to Malvern."

"I must?" Jasmine frowned prettily as she patted at her curls, but then smiled. "Oh, yes. I am so much more comfortable in the country. Tanner is a dear to give me this respite from all of the hustle and bustle."

"I meant you must be anxious to see...your friend."

"How did you-oh!" Jasmine lowered her eyelids, and Lydia could actually watch the progress of a flattering blush rushing into her cheeks. "Oh. You mean Br-Bruce. No, I cannot think of him," she declared at last, dramatically. "I must not."

Had the girl been holding her breath, forcing color into her cheeks? No, that was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous, Lydia told herself.

"That's his name? Bruce?"

Jasmine nodded empathetically, biting her bottom lip while bright tears gathered in her eyes. "I'd really rather not say."

All right, that was more than enough! She hadn't lived with Nicole for over eighteen years without being able to tell when she was being put on. And Jasmine wasn't half so accomplished in the art of deception as was Lydia's twin.

She dried her hands on the small dry spot left on the towel, and then folded it and laid it beside the basin. "Tell me about him, please. Tell me about Bruce. For instance, does he have a last name?"

"I didn't know you could be so mean, Lydia, to force me to-very well, if I must. It's Beattie. Bruce Beattie. Oh, but it makes me so sad to speak of him."

Force yourself, Lydia thought meanly, but only said, "Is he a laborer on the Malvern estate? Is that how you met him?"

Jasmine shook her head. "He...he's the schoolmaster in Greater Malvern, which is very close by our small estate, and Tanner's, of course. We...we met at church."

"A schoolmaster? That's a very respectable occupation."

Jasmine sighed piteously. "Not when your father dreams of seeing his only child made a d.u.c.h.ess. But I've told you all of that."

"The deathbed request, yes. I remember. You have much to be sad about, Jasmine," Lydia said, pulling out pins in preparation of taking off her hat, even though it hadn't moved a bit since Sarah had first pinned it to her curls. But she wished to be alone with her thoughts for a few minutes and was even willing to sacrifice the hat to that purpose. "And I'll wager that my insensitive questions have quite robbed you of your appet.i.te." The questions, and a full basket of sugared rolls.

"I suppose so. But I can't allow myself the indulgence of turning maudlin. Tanner would notice-he always does-and would ask questions of his own. I will have to force myself to eat. Will you soon be ready to go downstairs?"

Lydia had two pins clamped between her teeth, but managed to tell Jasmine to go on without her, and inform the gentlemen that she'd be down directly.

Once alone in the room, her gaze went to the reticule Jasmine had left lying on the bed along with her gloves and bonnet.

No. She wouldn't do it. She wasn't a snoop. In addition, she was thinking unlovely things about a girl whose only sin was a bit of thoughtlessness. Along with a penchant for melodrama...and sugared rolls.

She left her hat on the dresser and slowly approached the bed, clasping and unclasping her hands, her palms itching to pick up the reticule, pull open its drawstring closing, and take a peek inside. Ladies often carried some of their most favorite keepsakes with them at all times. Didn't she still have the piece of blue ribbon pinned inside her own reticule?

Nicole would do it. In a heartbeat, Nicole would do it. If she wanted to know something, she never stopped to consider if the thing was right or wrong. It would only, to Nicole, be necessary.

"Oh, the devil with it," she breathed at last, tossing good manners to one side and s.n.a.t.c.hing up the reticule.

The first thing she saw when she looked inside was a single sugared roll. No wonder she'd been able to smell the rolls long after they were gone. Because they hadn't all been gone, had they?

All reluctance to snoop deserted Lydia at the sight of that sugared roll. With narrowed eyelids and new determination she pushed her hand past it to see a lace-edged handkerchief, a small mirror, three silver coins, and a much-folded piece of paper.

It was the paper she withdrew and unfolded as she walked to the window and the sunlight. "What fine penmanship, just as a schoolmaster should have," she said, her voice sounding loud in her own ears. And then she began to read...

My beloved, As I lay here in my lonely prison, the intoxicating taste and sweet musky scent of you still mocking me, our hungers only momentarily slaked, my loins grow taut with desire, already antic.i.p.ating our next pa.s.sionate coupling- Lydia gasped and quickly closed her eyes, whether at the meaning of the words or the overblown ridiculous nature of them she didn't know. She should stop reading right now, right this very moment.

Really. She should.

-I wonder if, even now, you know how securely you hold my heart, as well as my body. We will be together soon, forever. No more clandestine meetings, no more hurried loving fraught with the danger of discovery. I weep when I must leave you, I berate myself for a coward and a fool each moment we are apart. Soon, sweet angel, soon. I promise you I shall l find a way. We will fly these damp sh.o.r.es forever, you and I, and you will be my queen in Paris for all of our days.

Your beloved, always, The note was signed simply with a large, flowering letter B.

Lydia noticed that another line followed that signature. P.S. Remember what you promised. The key to our future, my darling.

The request made no sense, and Lydia dismissed it as unimportant when measured against the rest of the nonsense she'd just read. She folded the letter once more, careful to make use of the same creases, and with shaking fingers replaced it in the reticule.

Shame on Bruce Beattie! Taking advantage of a naive young girl, making her promises he couldn't keep, all while stealing her virginity from her, knowing full well that her father would never allow the marriage.

She wished she hadn't succ.u.mbed to her curiosity, even forgave Jasmine the sugared roll, and offered up a quick, silent prayer that Mr. Beattie's words were not now indelibly imprinted on her brain for all time.

There was a knock at the door that made Lydia nearly jump out of her riding boots, followed by Tanner's voice asking her if she and Jasmine were ready to go downstairs.

She took one last peek in the mirror, hoping she didn't look as guilty as she felt, saw that her curls were mussed, and decided she didn't care. She took a deep, steadying breath and then quickly opened the door. "Tanner. h.e.l.lo. Jasmine has already gone. I...I had some difficulty with my hat."

He reached out and touched the loose corkscrew curl that had managed to fall forward on her forehead. "Now I'm torn. Do I like the veil best, or this fetching curl?"

She was still too overset thanks to her snooping to take much notice of his flattery. "Tanner, don't tease," she said, pushing the curl back in place. "Shall we go down?"

Lydia first saw Baron Justin Wilde lounging at his ease, one shoulder propped against the doorway to the private dining room inside the small inn, appearing fresh, devilishly handsome, and every inch the epitome of fashion in his impeccable attire. And, goodness, but didn't he know it.

He pushed himself upright and made a show of pulling his watch from his waistcoat pocket. Flipping open its ornate golden lid, he then raised his eyebrows as he checked the hour. "It may be time to reconsider your horseflesh, Tanner. I've been waiting on your arrival this past half hour or more. But it was worth the wait to have the pleasure of your company again, fairest Lydia."

Suddenly Lydia was very out of charity with men who said anything, any nonsense at all, in order to beguile women. "Thank you, Justin. You're rather a marvel yourself, as if you were unaware of it, which I feel certain you are not, posing as you were a moment ago."

"Close your mouth, Justin, she got the better of you. Oh, and for all your supposed waiting on us, your hair's still damp," Tanner pointed out as Justin stood back and winked at Lydia as she was escorted past him and into the room. "You might also be slightly out of breath, probably from running down the back stairs only moments ahead of our arrival. The door to our shared chamber was still swinging back and forth when I approached it. Where's Jasmine?"

"Your cousin? I have no idea. Have you misplaced her? For shame, Tanner."

Lydia and Tanner exchanged looks. "I may have inadvertently said something to upset her while we were upstairs," Lydia told him. "But surely she wouldn't have just gone off on her own. Would she?"

"G.o.d knows," Tanner ground out, already turning for the doorway, Lydia right behind him.

"Mind if I start without you?" Justin called after them. "Never mind, I'll take that growl as a yes. Do hurry back."

"Where would she have gone?" Lydia asked Tanner as they first poked their heads into the taproom, and then headed outside, to the dusty inn yard. "Does she often take herself off to sulk?"

"How do you think she got lost in the West Wing at Malvern?" Tanner said, raking his spread fingers through his dark blond hair. "What did you say to her?"

Since the truth was not hers to tell and therefore out of the question-as well as self-serving, something she had already considered-Lydia ignored him, and only pointed to a path that led into a stand of trees. "Could she have gone that way?"

Her question was answered by Jasmine herself, who just then appeared on the path, her arms filled with wildflowers. The sun filtered down on her through the trees, setting small fires in her dark hair, and she looked the picture of innocence, of youth, of ethereal beauty.

"Christ on a crutch..." Tanner swore under his breath, clearly not impressed.

"Yoo-hoo, Tanner, Lydia! Have you been looking for me?" she called out, hastening across the inn yard to them. "Oh, dear, you're frowning, the pair of you. Of course you have been looking for me," she said, her slim shoulders slumping, her smile fading as her bottom lip began to tremble. "I'm so, so sorry. Only I saw these pretty blooms on the table just inside, and a servant told me the flowers grow wild all along the stream just down that path, and how could I resist? I simply knew I had to see them, fill my arms with them, and make dearest Lydia a present of them." She thrust the flowers straight at Lydia. "Here. Please let them be my apology for using both of the towels earlier. Did you think I didn't notice?"

Lydia would have liked to ask her what she'd give her to make up for the pilfered sugared bun, but only took the flowers, some of them still with their roots, and dripping mud, she noticed, and held them away from her body. "Thank you, Jasmine. That is very kind of you."

"And rather foolish," Tanner said, handing Jasmine his handkerchief, for her hands were muddy. "You shouldn't have gone off on your own. This isn't Malvern."

"Yes, Tanner," she answered quietly, handing him back the handkerchief, which was now streaked with mud. He looked at it rather blankly for a moment before folding it and shoving it back in his pocket. "I won't do it again, I promise. Now, do you suppose the innkeeper's wife will have a pretty vase for us, hmm? The flowers will make a lovely centerpiece as we have our little meal. I'll just go ask her, all right?"

"She's such a child," he said as they watched her race into the inn after s.n.a.t.c.hing the flowers back from Lydia.

"In some ways," Lydia said, thinking once again of the note she'd found in the girl's reticule, suddenly feeling quite aged, and distressingly virginal. "Did your father know her well?"

A small smile tickled at one corner of Tanner's mouth. "You think he was punishing me from the grave, with that deathbed declaration of his? I've thought of that myself, more than once. Not that I can believe he made any such statement."

"You don't?" Lydia's heart skipped a beat. Really. It was most disconcerting how talk of Tanner's future affected her. "Is that why-"

"Why it has been over two years, and I still haven't declared myself to her?" He was looking at her very intensely. "No, Lydia. That is not the reason, and it hasn't been, not for a long time." He took her hands in his. "Lydia, we really should talk. Lord only knows how much privacy we'll have at Malvern. Would you care to go see the wildflowers?"

"Yes, I...I think that would be-"

"There you are! What's the matter, Tanner, can't you remember the way to the dining room?"

"Go away, Justin," Tanner said, still looking at Lydia.

"Go away, Justin, is it? Oh, foul, foul! That's the reward I get for ordering us all a fine meal-dearest Jasmine is making heavy inroads on the ham, by the way, if you were planning on having any of it yourself. Now come along. There will be plenty of time for billing and cooing once we're at Malvern. If we ever manage to make it through this supposed quick stop and back on the road, that is. Lydia, my arm," he ended, extending his bent arm to her so that she had no other choice but to take it. She looked over her shoulder as she was directed into the inn, and Tanner was following them, a scowl on his handsome face.

"I've ordered up a variety of the plain fare offered here," Justin told Lydia as he guided her toward the private dining room, "but you needn't confine yourself to that, as I've also brought along several tins from my own kitchens. Have you ever tasted honeyed figs?"

"No, I can't say that I have. I don't believe I've ever even seen a fig. They sound...interesting," Lydia said as he pulled out a chair for her and then sat himself down beside her, leaving Tanner to take up his seat across the table, beside Jasmine. He was still scowling, which for reasons she didn't wish to investigate as they might brand her as silly and shallow, seemed to be cheering her no end.

"Well then, I can see that it is my current duty in life to remedy that sad lack. Did you know that, in some of our more exotic countries, the fig is known as an aphrodisiac?"

"Enjoying yourself, Justin?" Tanner gritted out, pouring himself a gla.s.s of wine.

"Oh, yes. Immensely. We both are, aren't we, Lydia?"

She refused to answer, but only watched as he opened a tin that had been wrapped in a thick towel and spooned what had to be a sweet-smelling half-fig onto his plate. He then topped it with a dollop of-"what is that?"

"Goat cheese, my dear. Nothing quite like good country goat cheese, which mine host provided, bless him." He then cut the fig in half once again and lifted a piece toward her, speared on the end of his fork. He placed his other hand beneath the fork, to catch any drips of honey. "It's still warm, the fig, that is. Here you go-ambrosia for the lady."

With no other recourse than to refuse and seem silly and unadventurous, Lydia opened her mouth and Justin fed her. Her lips closed around the fork and he smiled when her eyes widened as the sweet and yet tangy combination of fig and honey and goat cheese exploded on her tongue.

While the fork was still between her lips, he lifted the other half of the fig in his fingers and, his face close to hers, popped the thing into his own mouth.

It was all so curiously intimate.

"Oh, for the love of heaven, Justin, give over. You're making a cake of yourself."

Lydia watched as Justin smiled around his mouthful of fig, and then winked at her as if Tanner's reaction had been just what he'd wished for.

"I shouldn't think I'd like to try that at all," Jasmine offered, without being asked. "They look funny. The figs, that is, not Lydia and Justin, or at least not so much. And I don't much care for goat cheese. Spit it out if you want to, Lydia, I'm sure no one would mind."

The loverlike expression on Justin's handsome face turned to one of almost abject horror as he looked across the table at Jasmine, while Tanner began to laugh out loud in real pleasure.

Perhaps it would be fun to be courted by two men, two such very different men. Lydia hid her own smile behind her serviette.

CHAPTER TWELVE.