Chapter 3: Page 2
"More than one if you wish," replied Selphie. "So you
have no trouble finding me, I shall be costumed as Helen
of Troy."
"How very apt." The caressing tone of Dintch's voice
made Irvine yearn to vault over the hedge and throttle
him. "Not that you need to have told me. I would have
picked you out of the throng no matter what costume or
mask you wore."
"I dare not make such a boast, sir," said Selphie. "So
you had better tell me what you will be wearing.
Otherwise, I might accept an invitation from the wrong
gentleman."
"You must accept no one but Robin Hood, fair Helen. But
be warned, he is a scoundrel who may try to steal a
kiss."
"Be warned, Lord Dintch." Selphie's voice had a
teasing, almost seductive note that Kinneas would have
given anything to hear addressed to him. "He may not
need to steal it."
Once again, they wandered away. Farther this time, for
Irvine could no longer hear them at all. His rebellious
legs finally decided to operate again. He managed to
stagger into the house and up to his room, where he
hurled himself facedown on the bed.
How he wished he were a child again so he could summon
the tears that might have eased his parched heart.
Selphie was too keyed-up to sleep. After returning from
her starlight stroll in the garden with Viscount
Dintch, she had gone straight to bed. After what
seemed like hours of tossing and turning, she had
concluded it was useless to keep lying there.
This strange unease that kept her awake — could it be
love? She asked herself that question as she rose, lit a
candle then donned her dressing gown. If it was, she
wondered what all the fuss in books and ballads was
about.
Perhaps she hadn't given it a proper chance to flourish,
though. All the while she'd been walking with the
Viscount, part of her mind had been wondering if Kinneas
was with the other gentlemen in the library or whether
he might be strolling elsewhere on the grounds with a
young lady on his arm. She would have heartily approved,
provided it was not Lady Trepe…or Jane Dintch…or that
toplofty Miss Whiteside…or…
Might there be a scullery maid still awake in the
kitchen who could warm her a cup of milk? Selphie hated
to think of disturbing anyone. Perhaps she could creep
down to the earl's library and borrow a book to read.
Something nice and tiresome that would put her to sleep
after a few pages.
Easing the guest room door open, she padded down the
corridor, her bare feet making scarcely a sound on the
thick carpet. As she rounded the corner that led to the
west wing of the house, she collided with someone
hurrying in the opposite direction.
"More than one if you wish," replied Selphie. "So you
have no trouble finding me, I shall be costumed as Helen
of Troy."
"How very apt." The caressing tone of Dintch's voice
made Irvine yearn to vault over the hedge and throttle
him. "Not that you need to have told me. I would have
picked you out of the throng no matter what costume or
mask you wore."
"I dare not make such a boast, sir," said Selphie. "So
you had better tell me what you will be wearing.
Otherwise, I might accept an invitation from the wrong
gentleman."
"You must accept no one but Robin Hood, fair Helen. But
be warned, he is a scoundrel who may try to steal a
kiss."
"Be warned, Lord Dintch." Selphie's voice had a
teasing, almost seductive note that Kinneas would have
given anything to hear addressed to him. "He may not
need to steal it."
Once again, they wandered away. Farther this time, for
Irvine could no longer hear them at all. His rebellious
legs finally decided to operate again. He managed to
stagger into the house and up to his room, where he
hurled himself facedown on the bed.
How he wished he were a child again so he could summon
the tears that might have eased his parched heart.
Selphie was too keyed-up to sleep. After returning from
her starlight stroll in the garden with Viscount
Dintch, she had gone straight to bed. After what
seemed like hours of tossing and turning, she had
concluded it was useless to keep lying there.
This strange unease that kept her awake — could it be
love? She asked herself that question as she rose, lit a
candle then donned her dressing gown. If it was, she
wondered what all the fuss in books and ballads was
about.
Perhaps she hadn't given it a proper chance to flourish,
though. All the while she'd been walking with the
Viscount, part of her mind had been wondering if Kinneas
was with the other gentlemen in the library or whether
he might be strolling elsewhere on the grounds with a
young lady on his arm. She would have heartily approved,
provided it was not Lady Trepe…or Jane Dintch…or that
toplofty Miss Whiteside…or…
Might there be a scullery maid still awake in the
kitchen who could warm her a cup of milk? Selphie hated
to think of disturbing anyone. Perhaps she could creep
down to the earl's library and borrow a book to read.
Something nice and tiresome that would put her to sleep
after a few pages.
Easing the guest room door open, she padded down the
corridor, her bare feet making scarcely a sound on the
thick carpet. As she rounded the corner that led to the
west wing of the house, she collided with someone
hurrying in the opposite direction.
