Unfortunately, a little voice inside her whispered that forgetting about this man who had reawakened wants and needs she’d thought long buried would prove very challenging indeed.
7
“SO TELL ME, Mrs. Ralston, what else do you enjoying doing aside from reading and indulging your weakness for artwork?”
The instant they were seated on the wooden bench, Simon tossed out the question as a matter of self-preservation. He’d suggested they sit because the sensual waters their conversation had drifted into had made it difficult for him to walk without limping. The image that had haunted him since watching her in her bedchamber, of her tying his hands with her satin hair ribbons, had roared into his mind, resulting in yet another Genevieve Ralston-inspired arousal. Bloody hell, he hadn’t suffered so many unwanted erections since he was a green lad.
No doubt part of the problem was the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman for several months, a situation that confounded him, since he’d had ample opportunity to end his celibacy at a number of soirées. However, none of the ladies, in spite of their willingness and beauty, had lit more than a superficial spark within him. He wasn’t quite certain when his liking for purely physical, emotionally meaningless liaisons had waned, but there was no denying that over the past year or so it had. Until, it seems, he’d set eyes on Genevieve Ralston. One look at her in that damn soaked chemise, and a purely physical, emotionally meaningless liaison was all he could think about.
He shifted his sleeping puppy more comfortably into the crook of his arm, and in spite of himself his lips twitched. He hadn’t really been looking to purchase a dog, but as it had provided a perfect pretext to entice Mrs. Ralston into meeting him at the festival, he’d seized the opportunity. Otherwise, he feared, she might have refused his invitation, even though he sensed she found him attractive. Or perhaps she didn’t. Unlike most women, he found her frustratingly difficult to read.
“I enjoy spending time in my garden,” she answered.
Relief rushed through him. The garden. Excellent. Nothing sensual about that. “I saw something of it when I walked to your home yesterday. The grounds are lovely.”
“Thank you. I find it very peaceful.”
“And so well-tended. Perhaps you’d share the name of your gardener so I could pass it along to Dr. Oliver? I’m afraid his shrubs have become overgrown since he left Little Longstone.”
“I’m actually in need of a new gardener myself. My dear friend Catherine used to help me-we’d spend hours together in the garden, but she recently married and now lives in London. Baxter’s taken care of things since she left, but I’m afraid he has trouble telling the difference between what is and isn’t a weed. And given his tendency to stomp about…” She chuckled. “I think he’s scared several plants to death.”
Simon nodded. “Gardening requires a delicate touch.”
Her eyes took on a wistful expression. “Yes. I used to do it all myself…” Her gaze drifted down to her gloved hands which she’d hidden among the folds of her pelisse. “But as the garden grew, it became more than I could handle alone.”
He followed her gaze. He noted she kept her hands out of sight as much possible, even though she wore gloves. She’d even worn them in her house during his visit yesterday, an oddity to be sure. He recalled how pained she’d looked when she’d been writing, the cream she’d rubbed into her hands in her bedchamber before donning her gloves to sleep, and her mention of the therapeutic springs. Clearly she’d suffered some sort of accident or injury. Curiosity jabbed him, but he pushed it away. If he pushed for too much information too soon, he feared scaring her off, and he couldn’t risk that before he had his letter. Still, he needed to know more about her, needed to establish a connection between them. A connection of trust.
Before he could proceed, however, a young boy Simon judged to be perhaps eight, approached him, his round-eyed gaze fixed on Beauty.
“That’s a fine puppy, sir,” the lad said, drawing nearer. “May I pet him?”
“He’s a she,” Simon said with a smile. “And yes you may. But I warn you, if she wakes up, she’ll want to slather you with doggie kisses.”
The boy smiled, revealing a gap-toothed grin. “That’s all right, sir. I like doggie kisses.” He reached out and ran a slightly grubby hand over the dog’s soft fur. “What’s her name?”
“Beauty.”
The boy’s grin deepened. “And she’s sleeping-just like the fairy tale.” His expression turned serious. “ ’Cept she’s a dog, not a princess. And I ain’t a prince.”
“Perhaps once she kisses you, you’ll turn into one,” Simon said.
The boy chuckled. “Doubt it. I’m going to be a sailor. Like my da.”
Simon nodded gravely. “Excellent. England needs good sailors. And what is your name?”
“Benjamin Paxton, sir.” The boy thrust out his none-too-clean hand.
Simon shook it. “Simon Cooper. And my friend, Mrs. Ralston, who helped me pick out Beauty.”
Benjamin nodded at Mrs. Ralston. “A fine job you did. Got her from the blacksmith’s litter, did you? I saw he was selling pups.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Ralston said. “Are you going to buy one?”
The boy scuffed the toe of his boot on the ground and shook his head. “We can’t have a dog. They make my little sister sneeze and cough something awful.” He ran his fingers over Beauty’s fur. “Dogs don’t make me cough and sneeze, though.”
“Perhaps not,” Simon said, “but it is a brother’s duty to look after and protect his sister. I’d wager you’re a very fine one.”
Benjamin drew himself up then nodded. “Yes, sir. Rufus Templeton said mean things to Annabelle and I bloodied his nose for him.”
“Good man. I’ve bloodied a few noses myself to defend my younger sister.”
“It’s what we men must do,” Benjamin said gravely.
Just then Beauty awoke, and, as predicted, immediately looked for something to lick. Benjamin’s fingers provided fertile ground.
“Would you like to hold her?” Simon asked.
Benjamin’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes, sir.”
Simon transferred the squirming bundle to the boy who dissolved into giggles when Beauty’s busy tongue laved his chin. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle and when he glanced at Mrs. Ralston, he noted her broad smile.
“She’s certainly energetic,” Benjamin managed to say between bouts of laughter.
“Yes. I think she needs a good run and I’m rather tired. Are you up for the task?”
“Yes, sir.” Benjamin carefully set Beauty on the ground and fisted his hand around her lead. “I’ll be very careful with her.”
“I’m sure you will be.” Simon pointed to the large clock mounted to the church tower on the opposite side of the square. “Why don’t you bring her back here in about a quarter hour’s time?”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Cooper, and thank you, sir!” Benjamin trotted off, an eager Beauty prancing at his heels.
“I stand corrected,” Mrs. Ralston said.
Simon turned and found her looking at him through amused eyes. “Regarding what?”
“I’d said I’d never seen anyone fall in love quite so quickly as you did with Beauty…and then little Benjamin came along and proved me wrong.” Her low, husky laugh made Simon wonder if she’d make that same delightful sound in bed. “Asking that boy if he wanted to hold her was rather like me asking Sophia if she’d care for a rasher of fish.”