Page 61 of Aurelia

Chapter 13

Bloody hell but Roland was glad to be back home! If there was one thing he loathed, it was gadding about England with his hat in his hand begging Englishmen for money.

While he could finance the trips out of his own pocket, it was foolish to do so when many peers and rich industrialists wanted to be part of new discoveries and would—after the correct amount of arse-kissing—be convinced to loosen their purse strings.

His first few weeks in Edinburgh had yielded enough to pay for part of his journey to the Cape, but it had been the longer trip to London that had truly filled his coffers. The price of the travel had been steep—not in terms of money, but the emotional cost of consorting with his English peers was always a trial.

But the journey had been a very good decision as he’d been introduced to several industrials who—in their eagerness to thrust their way into the company of aristocrats—had committed generously.

The only unpleasantness had been having the various daughters of ironmongers and dry goods barons flung at his head. Roland had been bloody fortunate to escape the city with his hide intact.

“If you want to go up to the castle, I will see to the rest of the unloading, my lord,” Guustin said.

Roland turned to his son. “I believe I will take you up on that offer. You will join us for dinner tonight. Shall I have Beekman ready your rooms?”

Guustin smiled, looking so much like Roland—but with an unscarred face and two eyes—that it always startled him. “I will be pleased to join you for dinner, sir. But I will stay at Mama’s house tonight.” Guustin’s green eyes, the only physical feature he’d inherited from his mother, slid toward the shore. “Now, who might that be?”

Roland knew who it was before he even turned.

And there she was, the woman he’d run from all those weeks ago. “That is my new artist,” he said. Even from this distance, she looked damned enticing. Roland had seen her far too often in his mind’s eye, especially the way she’d looked on that beach that day: eager, aroused, and utterly fuckable.

His cock stirred. Well, damn and blast. He had hoped that almost two months away would have subdued his baser urges and cured him of his infatuation. Evidently not.

“That is Miss Burton?” Guustin asked.

Roland turned back to find Guustin eyeing him in a far too knowing way.

“What?” Roland demanded.

Guustin smirked. “For some reason, I was picturing a matron.”

Roland grunted and they both turned back to the woman, who was chatting with his groom, Jemmy, who had arrived with a wagon, Frost trotting behind it.

“Your arrogant beast won’t like being lashed to a cart one bit,” Guustin said, laughing at the stallion’s outraged posture.

“No, indeed. I had best go and rescue him. I will see you tonight.”

“I am looking forward to meeting your artist, my lord,” Guustin said, his appraising gaze back on Miss Burton.

Roland felt an unexpected stab of irritation and opened his mouth to tell his son that Miss Burton was not a toy to be trifled with, but something about the amused glint in Guustin’s green gaze made him shut his mouth.

“Why, Miss Burton!” he called out as he strode down the pier. “How very kind of you to welcome me home.” Roland could see her blush even from ten feet away.

“I just happened to be passing by,” she retorted. And then added after a slight hesitation, “But welcome back, Lord Crewe.”

“Thank you. I am delighted to be home.”

The moment they locked eyes Roland knew that staying away from her hadn’t done a damned thing to make him want her less. If anything, he’d underestimated her appeal while he’d been gone.

Jemmy led Frost over. “He’s been missing you something fierce, Master.”

Roland stared into the haughty stallion’s black gaze. “Have you missed me, Frost?”

The horse tossed his head and stomped one big foot as if to say, don’t be a fool.

Roland hoisted himself into the saddle and then turned to look down at Miss Burton. “What about you, Miss Burton?”

Her eyebrows knitted. “My lord?”