How a Lady Weds a Rogue: A Falcon Club Novel by Katharine Ashe

Author:Katharine Ashe [Ashe, Katharine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780062031891
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2012-09-24T21:00:00+00:00

* * *

My dearest lady,

I breathe a sigh of profound relief. Quit your pursuit of my fellow club member, indeed. But know this: I am already in London. I entreat you, pursue me instead. If you should find me, I promise you a most satisfying Interrogation.

In eager anticipation,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

Chapter 17

Wyn did not recover that night, nor the following night, nor the day after that. Diantha’s fortnight came to a quiet close as she rolled dough in the fading light of evening for yet another batch of Mrs. Polley’s ingenious oat biscuits. She glanced at Owen pumping away at the old butter churn they’d found in the chicken shed. Somehow he had managed to milk the cow, lugging in a bucket of milk that tasted like sheer heaven. Her mouth watered anticipating butter. She thought of Glenhaven Hall and Cook’s seed biscuits and roast goose with drippings and lemonade and pork jelly and crumbly cheese with crisp apples and shepherd’s pie, and then, of course, the man abovestairs.

“The tarts I could make with a dozen apples, if I had them,” Mrs. Polley mumbled as though reading her mind.

“There’s apples, ma’am.” Owen’s narrow shoulders leaned into his work. “In the grove a ways past the stile.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that before, boy?”

Diantha could nearly taste them. “Tomorrow I will see what I can collect.”

The following morning she had excellent reason to escape the house and seek out the grove. Entering the kitchen for breakfast she discovered Wyn and Mrs. Polley at the table and her heart flew into her throat. Without a coat, in shirt and waistcoat, breeches and boots, he looked better. No fever darkened his cheeks, and the glimmer in his eyes as he turned to her was familiar.

“You are better!”

“To a degree.”

She expected him to smile. He did not. He stood up.

She thrust out a palm to stay him. “No! You’ve been so ill. You mustn’t stand merely because I have entered the room.”

“In fact I must.” He offered her a modest bow. “But I also happen to be leaving.”

Already? “Oh.”

Silence filled the kitchen. Mrs. Polley muttered beneath her breath and took up the dishes.

Diantha fought to recover her tongue. “To where?”

He paused, then said, “To the drawing room.”

It was too awkward. Nothing had ever been awkward between them before, not even those moments outside the inn in Knighton. Then he had been determined to do the right thing by her. Now he seemed cautious.

“Well, then.” She moved toward the table and around him as though passing him by so closely did not cause every one of her joints to turn to jelly. “I’m very glad you are feeling well enough to be up and about. We have worried.” She flicked a glance at him. “And, naturally, we are anxious to be on our way.”

Mrs. Polley harrumphed.

“We shall be soon.” A peculiar note in his voice turned her around.

“Not too soon,” she said hastily. “Not until you are ready.” Her heart beat ridiculously fast.

“Thank you.” He left.

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