Page 6

It was a shortcut, but it still provided her with a beautiful view of golden wildflowers and wild grass. Moreover, it reminded her of her more carefree days. When she was a young girl, her only problem was whether her Papa or Mama would scold her for dirtying the hem of her dresses - or worse.

For a moment, she let herself inhale the air and the past by closing her eyes and smelling the scent of flowers she could no longer name, settled in the damp earth.

“I believe, Lady Rosamund, that you are fully aware that you are trespassing. Not only do you not see clear wooden signs declaring this area as private, but you, of all people, should already know that.”

Rosamund’s eyes snapped open upon hearing the voice that wrecked her beautiful reverie. She spun around and saw Peregrine Blackwood. Who else could it be? He stood against the growing orange sky wearing dark blue riding gear. He wore no hat, leaving his hair windswept. In his hand was a leather riding crop, and yet, she did not see any horse with him. She did not like the fact that he looked so comfortable in the area, as if he always belonged to Ashbourne Hall. Then again, Westbourne Abbey was not too far away, either or that was undoubtedly his home.

“I cannot trespass, Your Grace,” she argued, straightening her back and shaking off the bit of daydream from him, “for this land ought to belong to my family.”

“I am fairly certain that English property law may disagree with your declaration, Lady Rosamund,” Peregrine said. “This is now Westbourne property, although its name remains the same.”

“English property law,” Rosamund spat, her eyes narrowing at him, “has obviously never had the misfortune of meeting you.”

Peregrine was walking toward her, but he stopped a few feet away. He seemed startled by her outburst. As soon as he realized what had just happened, he threw his head back and laughed.

It was not a chuckle, but a loud, full-throated laugh. It echoed through the meadow. Rosamund watched as it transformed Peregrine’s face. Laughter smoothed away the sternness, warming those gray-blue eyes.

Inexplicably, Rosamund felt a flutter in her pulse. She hated it. She hated how the Duke suddenly became devastatingly attractive in her eyes the moment he let his guard them and gave himself the chance to truly laugh. It sounded so real, so genuine.

He also had the advantage of the sunlight right behind him. Yes, it must be the way the rays passed over him, that warm, summery glow that made her think of companionable walks in the garden and evening spent together. It could not be wholly Peregrine Blackwood, evil property owner.

Rosamund pressed her lips tightly together. She tried to ignore the quickening of her pulse.

“Are you finally finished enjoying yourself at my expense?” she asked sourly.

“My apologies,” Peregrine said, his eyes dancing. The man did not mean that apology. Not one bit. “Your sharp tongue continues to strike me as a marvel, Lady Rosamund. You must negotiate some treaties with that frankness.”

Rosamund thought the man merely had nobody else to keep him in line. He was not accustomed to being spoken to the way she spoke to him.

“You simply need people to tell you the truth more often, Your Grace,” she said.

“Mm. You may be right,” he mused, looking up at the sky as if it had the answers he needed. “But let us return to the issue at hand. You, Lady Rosamund, are trespassing. As the master of this estate, I consider it my duty that uninvited guests are dealt with accordingly. May I then escort you home? Or do we declare a battle right here on this spot?”

“I do not require an escort, Your Grace,” Rosamund insisted, her nose wrinkling at the thought. “I am entirely capable of walking a few hundred yards on my own. I have already explored the village this afternoon and had no issues whatsoever.”

She began walking away. This time, she would make sure the path led directly to Rosewood Cottage. To her annoyance, Peregrine started walking beside her. His long legs would be able to match even her most hurried pace without even trying.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed a lady, especially one formerly of Ashbourne Hall, to walk on her own only to break her neck?” Peregrine asked. “The terrain here could be treacherous. If you do not end up dying, you may break an ankle. In either case, you will not be able to visit the village for quite some time.”

“What?” It was Rosamund’s turn to be appalled by whatever was spouting out of the Duke’s mouth. “Do you spend your days inventing horrid scenarios for travelers, Your Grace? But I will answer your question. You are the same kind of gentleman who refuses a fair price for an estate due to obstinacy, pettiness, or some other dark reason.”

“Ah. We are back to the question of whether one hundred thousand pounds is enough to reclaim Ashbourne Hall. I was wondering when we would return to that particular subject,” Peregrine murmured, looking amused. Rosamund was not amused at all. “The house is not for sale. Yet, it seems that you are planning to invade the property, one meadow at a time.”

“Do not make any jests regarding that topic!” Rosamund cried. “As for invading the property, I have not yet decided.”

Peregrine huffed a laugh. It was not loud, but it filtered through Rosamund’s defenses. “I would require a schedule. It would be extremely helpful, since I would need to arrange for refreshments. For example, if you intend to invade on Tuesdays, Cook will have to prepare tea and lemon cakes.”

Despite her absolute hate for the man, Rosamund laughed. It felt like a light bubbling in her chest, trying to escape. There was a pull at the corners of her mouth, too, much to her irritation. Did she just smile at him open-mouthed?

Still, she had managed to catch it just in time by biting her inner cheeks hard. Tears nearly sprang from her eyes from the sting of pain. How dared this man be charming, making her want to banter with him as if they were friends who had secret jokes?

They finally reached the low stone wall, which Rosamund considered to be a physical boundary between Rosewood and the Ashbourne estate. She exhaled, feeling a bit of relief mixed with strange, unexpected disappointment. She rested her palms on top of the barrier after she had crossed it. Only then did she turn to face him.

“Since you are very particular about property, you may not pass this stone wall. You no longer have jurisdiction over here, Your Grace,” she reminded him. “You may now turn back.”

Peregrine paused. This time, the light humor that had been dancing in his eyes started to fade just as the sun met the horizon. Again, Rosamund watched the man against a backdrop of dimming red and orange skies, shadows lengthening over the sharp lines of his face.

“Before you walk alone toward Rosewood Cottage, a word of advice, Lady Rosamund,” he said, his voice turning serious.