Page 3 of A Lady of Means (Roses and Rakes #1)

Chapter Three

Lady Margaret,

Our meeting, like some kind of fever dream, feels like an occurrence that only happens once, to those very fortunate.

I have never counted myself among their number, until now.

I’ll always consider myself damned lucky to be the man that got to know your name underneath a willow tree.

Please write back to me and tell me when and where I can be so lucky again.

DW

* * *

She hadn’t been looking for a man like him; but in a moment of solitude and weariness, there he’d appeared like a conjured fantasy.

For the length of the entire carriage ride from her family’s country estate to London for the opening of the first season out of mourning, Moria had been uncharacteristically silent unless required to speak.

There was much talk about London, and places her family members were excited to revisit, familiar faces to pay calls to after spending the last two social seasons in mourning after the loss of both their parents.

It all felt so much like a repeat of her earlier season, only now, her younger sisters were the hopeful ones, and Moria was… jaded.

She’d been the incomparable of the season when she’d debuted almost two years before, she’d caught the attention of the man she’d wanted…

but it had all ended like a Greek tragedy.

More than the ton or her close family members even knew, most of which she kept all to herself wrapped under layers of haughtiness and pink silk.

If she just armed herself with enough, she could hide how much every thought of ballrooms and paying calls reminded her of Marcus. Of her parents who she wished were still here with them. Of what she had lost.

When her younger sisters asked why she was so reserved, she merely said that the carriage ride made her sleepy.

The truth was entirely more than she was willing to share just yet.

If she could just hold tight to the reins of her composure, she could make something good come of so much bad.

For her sisters’ sakes, if not for her own.

She sucked in a sigh of relief as the carriage rolled to a halt at a coaching inn to rest for the evening.

From the carriage drive, she spotted a quaint little tree-lined stream a short walk from the coaching inn, covered with a stone bridge and ducks swimming across.

It was mid-afternoon, and the way the sunlight poured out its droplets of light across the water was like something conjured from a dream.

It reminded her of a painting that had hung in their shared nursery when she and her sisters were small.

She tied on her bonnet before exiting the carriage, and as soon as the footman

had taken her gloved hand to help her down, she broke her hours-long silence.

“I think I’ll go for a stroll by that picturesque little pond just over there.”

“Would you like some company, my lady? Perhaps Finn and I will take some of the leftover bread from our picnic to feed the ducks,” Miss Kelley called to her, her small red headed ward clutching her hand.

Moria fought the urge to blurt out, “Dear god, no!” and mustered enough restraint to simply call over her shoulder, “Enjoy the ducks without me. I’ll be inside in time to wash up for dinner, I promise!

” She noted the bemused and mystified looks on the faces of all five of her siblings, one brother-in-law, and her companion.

She had guarded her tongue for an entire afternoon; they could grant her a few minutes of solitude.

When she moved closer to the small pond, a large and inviting willow tree beckoned.

She pulled back the long hanging limbs of the willow and the leaning emerald fronds to reveal a carved rock leaning against the tree, large enough to sit upon.

It was the perfect place to sit peacefully without hope of discovery.

Was it someone’s favorite spot she was stealing?

Moria smoothed her skirts as she sat atop the rock, drawing her knees up to her chest. She could sit here with only her own thoughts for company and not have to dodge her well-meaning family members and their worried glances.

The sensations around her now made her feel like a loosed coil.

Her bonnet lolled back between her shoulder blades, the wind wrapped around her and blew loose tendrils of her blonde hair about her face.

She leaned her head back against the willow, listening to the sounds of ducks and the mill pond, the scent of jasmine filling her every breath.

A deep voice with a Scottish burr interrupted the stillness around her like something heavy crashing through an icy lake. “That’s tha thing, I didna want to herrt her.”

“Well, you jilted her. You should have known that would cause her some distress.” The other voice seemed to be the voice of reason, but its husky timbre wrapped around her like a ribbon of smoke.

“Selah does na care for me, she cares for me Scottish burr and shiny red coat, Captain.”

The smallest hint of a laugh escaped her, and she covered her mouth belatedly.

“Who’s there?” the husky voice called again.

Moria moved closer against the tree, clapping her hand over her mouth. It didn’t take long for a large, beautifully masculine hand to pull back the willow branches and find her there atop the rock beneath.

“I’d expect a young lady to know it’s improper to eavesdrop, Miss.”

The face that accompanied the voice was carved masterfully from marble; with fringes of inky black lashes surrounding eyes the color of a deep and star-smattered sky, matching black stubble swarthing his jawline.

He looked like a pirate in a red coat. A lump stuck in her throat, she should look away, but it was beyond her ability.

Moria had only ever read about such large, dangerously attractive men in novels that she chastised her sisters for reading, but then read herself when they weren’t looking.

“It’s “my lady,” and I wasn’t eavesdropping, sir.”

He let out a low chuckle, taking one tentative step toward her.

She was fearful of him; startlingly aware of his physicality.

“My apologies, then, my lady. Might I ask why you were hiding?”

Moria cleared her throat, shifting prettily on her seat atop the rock. “I wasn’t….hiding. Per se.”

The man raised his eyebrows.

“Fine, sir, yes, I might have been. But I assure you, I had a good reason.”

“And that is?”

It was Moria’s turn to laugh. “I can only see your face, and we haven’t even been

introduced. I don't go around sharing my secrets with every handsome stranger I meet under willow trees.”

The way his smile reached all the way to his eyes sparked something, it lit her from within. He motioned to the seat next to her. “May I join you, then?”

“What about your friend?”

The man looked over his shoulder. “Seems he’s deserted me. He probably thinks I’m a loon, talking to a fairy under a willow tree.”

His dark eyes teased, challenged, implored.

Moria moved a few inches to the left and looked at the space she had vacated and then to the man.

When he moved beneath the branches and made to sit next to her, letting the willow fronds lapse behind him, she realized that she had underestimated him.

The rock was barely large enough to accommodate them both.

The man…he was so large that in the small space underneath the willow, he crowded her. He crowded her mind, he crowded her thoughts with his body, until she felt like in all the world, it was only the two of them there, at this moment.

“Tell me your name. My Lady.” The last two words grabbed hold of something inside her, so possessive and hopeful. His knee grazed hers, his body so improperly close to hers that there was very little space between their two bodies not touching.

“How about a friendly wager?”

He raised a brow in answer.

“Try to guess my name in three guesses. I bet you’ll never guess it.”

He laughed a laugh that warmed her from her scalp to her toenails. “And if I succeed, do I get all the gold in the kingdom… or to keep my first born, Rumpelstiltskin?”

She giggled. She actually giggled. Who was she? “I can’t promise that. Is there something you’d like instead?”

His hand grazed hers, and though it caused a jolt of awareness to prickle across her skin, she didn't pull back.

His fingers played with hers, wrapping around each in turn.

She noticed that a few of his fingers bore tattoos, another one peeking out from his sleeve at his wrist. Where were his gloves?

Actually? Never mind, hiding such hands would be criminal.

They were the kind of hands that painted seductive images in her mind.

“I’d like to know what your lips taste like.”

Her eyebrows shot up. For all her ennui with being courted and desired, this was unexpected. But now that he had said the words aloud, she realized she wanted that too. Right here in this enveloping sheet of green that blocked out the sun.

“You want to kiss me? Here?”

“There are no better places that spring to mind, Lady Elizabeth.”

Of this they were in agreement, but she didn’t convey as much. She laughed. “You used up your first guess… on Elizabeth?”

“It was worth a try, I suppose.” The pad of his thumb traced her cheek. “You have the most beautiful skin. It’s like silk.”

The feel of his scarred and inked fingers upon her skin caused a riot of emotion stampeding within her, but Moria never let her mask slip if she could help it. She pulled her cloak about her tighter and adhered to what she knew: iciness.

“You have two guesses left.”

“You could help me out a little…perhaps you could give me the first letter?” His finger traced her lower lip. She briefly closed her eyes at the soft ferocity of his touch and fought to find her bearings.

“That would be far too simple, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean, my lady?”

“What is a victory without effort?” She eyed his red coat, “Would you not agree, captain?”

“It’s Charity.”

“What?”

“Your name, my lady. Weren’t you speaking in riddles?”