Upon arriving at the edge of the cliff, where the path dropped into the cove, Margaret extracted her hand from George’s arm and moved away to stand by herself. “You mustn’t feel you need to come down simply because I am doing so.”
“I’m quite happy to, my dear.”
But Margaret would not wait for him to go ahead of her, nor would she wait for the younger set, of which a few of the ladies appeared somewhat reluctant when presented with the actual rocky path that wound through the steep terrain. Without saying a word to anyone, she marched determinedly toward the trail, hitched her skirt up, and carefully chose her steps.
She glanced backward when some gravel sounded behind her but rather than George descending, it was the other man who’d taken up most of her thoughts.
Her breath hitched, and she turned away abruptly. As much as she’d tried to forget everything that had transpired between the two of them, she’d failed miserably.
“My uncle has decided to remain at the top and has charged me with ensuring that Dear Lady Asherton does not plummet off the side of the path and meet with a violent death.” His voice taunted her. Unless that was simply Margaret’s imagination. She did not know him all that well, after all. Aside from those few minutes she’d spent in his bed, he was a virtual stranger.
And those other few moments in a dark closet.
She only knew the taste of his mouth and the texture of his skin. Her face flushed hotly as she inadvertently recalled the moment that the tip of his tongue grazed her palm.
A stranger though!
“I’m perfectly capable. I’ve hiked down thousands of times.” Well, perhaps not thousands, but it was hardly as though she was some doddering old aunt. She failed to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“Oh!” A gust of wind swooshed from below and her hand flew to her head, but she was not quick enough. Almost like a bird, her favorite hat was tossed in the wind, floated, and then disappeared out of sight.
She stood staring dumbstruck at the loss of it long enough for Lord Rockingham to catch up with her.
“It was bound to happen,” he commented in an offhand manner as he arrived beside her.
“It was my favorite,” she said to the wind and then flicked her glance sideways.
Whereas she was staring off in hopes that her hat would magically come flying back up to her, he had been studying her unapologetically.
“I quite prefer you without it. You are sunshine itself, in that gown.”
Margaret rolled her eyes heavenward. “You are absurd.” The man flirted as easily as he breathed.
“Not at all. I hope my uncle appreciated your efforts.” Hands behind his back, as though daring the path to trip him, he stepped in front of her and indicated they should continue along their journey. “Speaking of Uncle George, have you discovered the answer to your question yet?”
“That is none of your business, My Lord.”
“So, you have not.”
“And it is none of your concern.” She picked her steps carefully as she followed behind him.
“Oh, but it is. As a person who has… proprietary knowledge of your requirements, I feel I’d be shirking my responsibility if I was not concerned.”
“Oh, please.” Margaret knew she needed to chastise him for his impertinence and yet she found herself grinning as she picked her way down the uneven terrain. He truly was foolish in his brash confidence. He was too young to see the world as anything other than his very own kingdom to conquer.
The path made a hairpin-like turn, steeply winding around and then revealed the most harrowing stretch of the hike. He waited for her, and she strolled right past. She had not once met with injury or come even close in the numerous times she’d navigated it.
“You’re like a goat.” His laughter floated up behind her. “Perhaps I should take your hand so that you can keep me from falling.”
Cool fingers wrapped around her wrist, and he moved closer behind her.
“You are the most absurd young man,” she accused although she was unable to hold back her own laughter.
“And you are an adventurous young woman,” he rejoined.
“Not young,” she asserted. He was teasing her again.
“You are not yet thirty, even.”
“For another three days.” The milestone birthday was so near as to be a forgone conclusion by now. If she were a man, she would be just reaching her prime. As a woman, as a woman of her advanced age, she had already become somewhat invisible. Despite that, George had noticed her. He was providing her with an opportunity to have a child of her own. Marrying him might be the last chance she had to matter to someone… to be needed.
Her foot slipped, and Lord Rockingham’s other arm came around her. “Careful now, old woman. I don’t fancy carrying you out of here.”
“You are absurd!” she accused him again. But he was not really calling her old, and it didn’t bother her nearly as much as George’s gentle protection. “How old are you, anyway? One and twenty? Two?”
“Good lord, no.” His answer caused her to slide him an incredulous glance. The wink he gave her nearly caused her to lose her footing again. Because at the same time, she contemplated that he must be at least a full decade younger than her, she reluctantly concluded that she’d spent the most sensual moments of her life in his bed.
“Do not tell me you have not yet achieved your majority.”
“Why would it matter? Because instead of dreaming of your intended, you now dream of me?”
She kept her gaze on the ground in an effort to hide the truth. Because she had dreamt of him. She’d relived those moments in his chamber over and over again.
“Age matters.” She spoke to herself as well as to him. The entire situation was inappropriate and such thoughts on her part needed to be nipped in the bud. Not only because of Lord Rockingham’s age but because of his relationship to George.
They stepped carefully down the steep section in silence, not uncomfortable but charged with unanswered questions and something else—attraction. Plain and simple attraction.
“You do not really intend to marry him, do you? If nothing else, he’s too old for you.” Lord Rockingham finally broke the silence.
Margaret shook her head. “Men are never too old for anything. A lady is nothing but too old once she passes the age of five and twenty.”
“You are not too old for me.” He was, indeed, a grown man. But he was a very young grown man. Margaret’s foot slipped and had he not been holding her wrist; she might have landed on her bum.
“I don’t know why we are even arguing over this. I am too old.”
“You did not seem too old the other night.”
Margaret exhaled loudly. “That matters not.”
He would not let it be. “Let me understand you properly. Passion matters so much that you were willing to seduce my uncle, who, by the way, is over twenty years your senior, but not at all with me, who is only a few years your junior.”
Margaret exhaled loudly again. Even if he was interested in her now, it would not last very long… And he was George’s nephew! “Leave it be. If our first meeting had been a normal and… proper one, I daresay you would not have even noticed me.”
“Possibly,” he answered, disappointing a tiny piece of her—a vain piece of her that wished he had denied the lowering truth. “But not likely.”