Page 16 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)
Chapter 15
Moving Day
T wo days after the funeral, Bea, her father, and Glenda moved to Belmont Grange. They possessed no furniture and had never fully unpacked, so there was only luggage and boxes of books to transfer. Roger Sandiford arranged for a wagon to transport trunks, valises, and new bedding he’d purchased. Glenda traveled in the wagon which had left earlier. Roger provided his brougham for Bea and her father. Peter arrived from his hotel and accompanied them, though Glenda muttered she would have appreciated his assistance with the luggage.
Bea felt bad that she still hadn’t apologized to Roger for her unseemly behavior at the funeral, and it appeared she wouldn’t get a chance on the journey. In truth, she didn’t regret depending on his solid strength. It felt good to be held in this man’s arms.
Arthur Parker had shrunk to a shadow of his former self. All her life, Bea had known him as the outgoing, erudite member of the family. Grief and loss had stolen his love of conversation. He took the seat next to Sandiford, and Bea sat beside Peter. The heat of embarrassment rose in her face when her chatterbox cousin slithered his arm around her shoulder.
If she harbored any doubts that Roger Sandiford had feelings for her, they flew away like chaff on the wind when he fisted his hands, clenched his jaw, and glared at her cousin. Peter chattered on, seemingly unaware he was acting inappropriately in front of her father. She wondered again why he’d come north for the funeral of an aunt he didn’t know and whose death hadn’t dampened his high spirits.
“I’m looking forward to seeing this estate of yours, Uncle,” he told Bea’s father, who made no reply.
Sandiford frowned. Was he perhaps also curious about her cousin’s motives? She’d written to inform her aunt of her sister’s death, but hadn’t contemplated she would send her son north.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she replied. “Mr. Sandiford’s workers have made a lot of improvements, but …”
“Good of you, Sandiford,” Peter drawled, looking out of the window. “What a barren landscape,” he declared, with more than a hint of condescension.
On her first visit to the moor, Bea had thought the same thing. Suddenly, she felt perversely protective of the rocky plateau she would henceforth call home. “If you look carefully, you’ll see it’s not as barren as you think,” she replied, deliberately staring into Roger’s eyes. “Things are not always as they seem.”
* * *
Roger took heart from Beatrice’s assertion. She was growing fond of the wild moors he’d loved since he was a child. Could it be she was also growing fond of him? What was the message in those intriguing green eyes?
She’d permitted him to embrace her at the wake after the funeral, but perhaps that was simply a way of assuaging her grief. Did she regret allowing him to hold her?
For him, the embrace was a magical experience that had predictably aroused his body. But his soul had rejoiced too. This woman was made for him, but did she feel the same?
He admired how elegant she looked in black. Mourning attire didn’t compliment most redheads. Beatrice Parker was the exception.
He narrowed his eyes at the man sitting opposite. If Peter Leigh didn’t soon get his paws off the woman he loved …
“Here we are,” Beatrice said, as the carriage jolted to a halt.
“Good grief, Cuz,” Peter declared, finally removing his arm. “You can’t live in this ruin.”
“Of course we can,” she replied, in a haughty tone that was music to Roger’s ears. She had no love in her heart for this cousin.
He tamped down his irritation when Peter lunged for the door, leaped from the carriage and insisted on assisting Beatrice to alight. He then offered his arm and escorted her into the house, leaving Roger fuming as he helped Arthur Parker from the brougham.
* * *
Beatrice was disappointed it wasn’t Roger Sandiford escorting her into her new home. Peter was family, but she felt no kinship with him. By rights, Roger should be escorting her and her father into the house. She’d envisaged the scene many times. He’d seen the house at its very worst, whereas Peter …
“Great Caesar’s ghost,” her cousin declared upon entering the foyer. “Ghastly.”
Her patience at an end, she unhooked her arm from his. “This is my home, Peter. The house may have its shortcomings, but it has character that comes along with an interesting history.”
She didn’t yet know what that history might turn out to be, but her cousin wasn’t aware of that.
“Are you trying to make a stuffed bird laugh, Cuz?” Peter replied with a grin. “You’re barking at a knot.”
Bea had no idea what he meant, but she’d had enough of Peter’s clever London slang. She turned back to meet her father, relieved to see he was being escorted through the entryway by Mr. Sandiford.
Glenda rushed into the foyer. Ignoring Peter, she immediately took over from Roger. “I’ve a nice cozy bed all ready for you to have a lie down, sir,” she told Bea’s father. “Mr. Sandiford’s crew have worked wonders with this place.”
It might have been Bea’s imagination, but she could have sworn the maid winked at Sandiford before turning to Peter.
“Mr. Leigh,” Glenda cajoled. “Can you help me get your uncle up the stairs?”
* * *
Roger smiled. He had an unlikely ally in his pursuit of Miss Parker! “Do you think they can manage?” he asked, as the trio made its way one slow step at a time.
“Glenda could have managed by herself,” Beatrice replied. “She evidently doesn’t think it inappropriate you and I are left alone.”
At first he wasn’t sure if she was being serious, but her wide grin soon set him straight.
“Let’s explore,” she declared.
Roger was more interested in exploring Beatrice Parker’s tempting body, but that wasn’t going to happen—yet. “Where do you want to start?” he asked.
“I’d like to see the new curtains in the sitting room,” she replied.
“Lead on,” he indicated with an exaggerated bow.
He stood behind her as she spread her arms wide in front of the windows.
“What a difference good quality draperies make!” she exclaimed.
Roger’s cock urged him to put his arms around her, nuzzle her neck, and cup her lovely breasts, but she changed her stance and turned to face him. “Mr. Sandiford, I can’t thank you enough for all the money and effort you’ve put into renovating this house,” she told him.
“I’d do anything to make you happy, Beatrice,” he replied, seemingly incapable of holding on to his resentment. “I wish you would call me Roger.”
* * *
Bea was on dangerous ground. She loved spending time with Roger Sandiford and sharing laughter with him, but he was sending out unmistakably sensuous signals. He wanted her. She’d struggled to deny that she also had feelings for him, but the desire to let him hold her again was overwhelming. “Roger,” she began.
Perhaps it was something in her voice that alerted him to her feelings. He strode forward and took her into his embrace. “May I kiss you?” he asked.
He might not be a gentleman in the traditional sense of the word, but he’d behaved in a most gentlemanly manner ever since they’d first met. “Yes,” she whispered in reply.
“What ho?” Peter shouted from the foyer. “Where are you, Cuz?”
Deflated, she looked into Roger’s laughing eyes and saw the promise of future kisses.