Adjusting his grip on the reins, Rumford kept a keen eye out for the manor, they had been told would be somewhere along this well-worn road. 'Oh, yes, M' Lord. Follow this road. It'll take you straight there.', the fieldworker had told them. Rumford had thanked the man, nodding graciously to him, while Jefferson had groaned, riding by, hunched over his horse. Before lightly kicking his horse, continuing on their journey, Rumford couldn't help but ponder, if his life had taken a different path, would he have been a fieldworker? A blacksmith's apprentice? A worker in a cotton mill, perhaps? He wouldn't have minded, he always enjoyed doing things with his hands, losing himself in the work. Finding it easier to think through his troubles, while fiddling with something.
A groan invited Rumford to look at Jefferson, cantering alongside him, sat awkwardly on his horse. Riding was not a passion of Jefferson's, unless it was a busty blonde maid. Whereas he had always enjoyed the diversion. Rumford could remember the first time his father, the Earl, had taken him out on a horse.
It had been not long after the Earl and his wife had claimed Rumford as their own. He hadn't been sure where they had been going, when the Earl had instructed Rumford to follow him, striding off at a relentless pace. His little legs hadn't been able to keep up with the Earl. Worried, he would anger the Earl, like he had his father, Rumford had to run to keep up with him, fearing he'd be casted out of their home, if he couldn't keep up. Hearing the thunder of Rumford's feet, the Earl had halted to confront Rumford, scowling at the young boy. He had stopped under the gaze of the Earl, recognising a hint of anger in the Earl's eyes, and had feared the Earl was about to raise his hand to him.
Turning his eyes away, cowering from the inevitable, Rumford had readied himself for the back hander his father had often given him. The grandfather clock had ticked loudly in the foyer. He had counted the ticks. One, two, three, four… Then he had to start again. One, two, three, four… Unable to count past four. It had been at the end of his third count, Rumford had dared to look at the Earl. Strangely, the Earl was offering an open hand to Rumford. Dubious, his eyes had followed the Earl's arm up to his face, and had scrunched his brow at the expression on the Earl's face. The hint of anger he had seen was gone. There was a softness to Earl's eyes, which Rumford learned in the following months, was reserved only for him. Cautiously, he had slipped his smaller hand into the Earl's and had a moment of panic, when the Earl had gently closed his large fingers around his hand.
"Come on, Rumford." The Earl had crooned.
The Earl had turned to walk on and Rumford had dashed off his spot, rushing to get a head start on the Earl. The tether between them had tightened and Rumford was halted from going any further forward, but had swung round to face the Earl, who had lightly chuckled at Rumford. Again, the Earl had started to walk and Rumford followed, confused by the Earl's behaviour.
They had walked together, their hands joined, and had left the house through the open doorway to the courtyard. Rumford had chanced a glance up to the Earl's face, surprised to find the Earl smiling down at him. Quickly turning his gaze away, it had unsettled him to be offered such a small kindness of a smile. His father had never smiled at him. His father had only smiled, when there was a coin in his hand or he was duping a coin out of someone else's hand.
"M' Lord, your horse." The Stablemaster had said, strolling out from the stables, leading a black horse with a hand under its chin.
"Thank you, Andrew." The Earl had slowed to a stop, reaching his hand out to touch his horse.
The sheen of the horse's coat was mesmerising. Its muscles had rippled under its skin with every step it took. Pulling the tall, strong animal to a stop, the Stablemaster had positioned the horse to stand side on to the Earl. Rumford hadn't known where to look, his eyes wide as he had taken in the magnificent beast in front of him. The horse suddenly let out a loud chuff, bowing his head a few times before it had shaken its head from side to side, shaking out its long silky mane. Stroking a firm hand over the horse's flank, the Earl had shushed the horse, whispering sweet nothings to it.
"You can touch him, if you want, Rumford."
At hearing his name, his new name, Rumford had thrown his gaze up to the Earl, who gave him an encouraging nod. Looking back to the horse, hesitantly he had reached his free hand out to the horse, tentatively placing it onto the horse's shoulder. The horse had let out a short whine and had shuffled a step away, offended by Rumford's hesitant touch.
"Whoa… Hey." The Stablemaster had calmed the horse, caressing a hand up and down its muzzle.
The Earl had knelt down to Rumford's height, stroking the lower flank of the horse, as he said. "Be kind and firm with your touch, Rumford. You're it's master, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't care about the animal."
Rumford had tried again, matching the Earl's touch, and the horse had let out a pleasant chuff. Its coat was indeed silky smooth to the touch, with an underlying coarseness, but smooth enough that his hand had glided over its coat. The Earl had stood, while Rumford had marvelled at the feel of the horse. He'd seen horses before, but only at a distance, never close enough to touch them, to feel their ribs expand when they took in a breath.
Without him noticing, the Earl had climbed up onto the horse and had settled himself into the saddle. It was a shock, when the Stablemaster had grabbed Rumford, scaring the life out of him, sure this was the moment they were going to throw him out into the cold. His fear evaporated at the Earl's smile. The Stablemaster had hefted Rumford up, aided by the Earl guiding Rumford's leg, and had put him on the horse, just in front of the Earl. Rumford had twisted to see the Earl behind him, worried the Earl was about to do something to him.
"We shouldn't be too long, Andrew." The Earl had informed the Stablemaster, taking the reins being offered to him. "Just around the lake and back."
"Very good, M' Lord." The Stablemaster had bowed his head respectfully.
In a rush, Rumford had lurched backwards into the firm chest of the Earl, thrown back by the horse setting off into a gallop. The Earl had chuckled above him. Craning his neck to see the Earl, Rumford then had become aware of the strong arms around him, barring him from falling off the horse. He had lowered his gaze, to see these two arms encircling him, hunching his brow at the sight of them. No one had ever put their arms around him before. Anytime he had sought comfort from his father, he had been kicked away and told to get on with his chores.
"Hold on, Rumford." The Earl had instructed and waited until Rumford had a firm grip on the Earl's arms before he had kicked the flanks of the horse.
Thrown back to press into the Earl's chest, he clearly remembered laughing nervously at the increase in speed, but he wasn't scared. All his life, he had been scared of everything and anything. A noise, a shadow, a raised voice. Protected by the Earl's arms, Rumford had nothing to fear and could genuinely enjoy the new experience, safe in his new father's embrace.
"Do you think we're getting close?" Jefferson asked, interrupting Rumford's musings.
Rumford breathed loudly through his nose. "Hopefully just over the crest of this hill."
"Good." Jefferson groaned. "My balls are killing me."
"Next time, don't be so enthusiastic to get on your horse." He chided, stemming his laughter.
Jefferson had watched him effortlessly get up onto his horse, pulling himself up as he threw his leg up and over the horse, making it look easy to get onto the horse without a saddle. Sat on his horse, waiting, Rumford had bit back his laughter, watching Jefferson struggle to climb up onto the horse. Rogers had offered to help Jefferson and gave him a leg up onto the horse. Throwing his leg over the horse, Jefferson had begun to let out a cheer, finally being on the horse, but his cheer soon turned into a cry as he had slipped off the horse. On the second try, Jefferson had instructed Rogers to grab his leg, once he was on the horse. Rumford had sat back, observing their little show, as again Jefferson was launched up onto the horse, throwing his leg out, and had slammed himself down onto the horse with the aid of Rogers, yanking on his foot. A loud groan erupted from Jefferson, folding himself forward, his curses muffled by the mane of the horse.
"Next time, I'm staying with the carriage." Jefferson told him, nursing his groin with his hand.
Chortling, Rumford glanced over at Jefferson, failing not to find amusement in his friend's discomfort. With a slight smirk, Rumford turned his gaze back to the road in front of them. They rode the short distance to the top of the hill in silence, it was then, at the top, the manor was revealed to them. It was a modest size, two floors, with a courtyard attached to the right of the building, a large side gate at the side was the only entrance. The manor was painted yellow, a beacon in the dull evening sunshine. There was a large gravel area at the front of the house, which seemed to swallow up the road and spat it out on the other side, cutting a path into the opposing hillside. The gardens at the back of the house were barely visible on their angle, but the hillside, further in the distance, was clearly seen. 'Is that the sea?', he asked himself.
"Salvation." Jefferson declared.
Rumford glanced at Jefferson. "We'll see. Depends how hospitable the Viscount is feeling."
He gently kicked at the sides of his horse, increasing its pace, and rode on to the manor. When they were about halfway there, Rumford spotted someone in the front doorway, maybe a footman, and then they quickly turned, disappearing into the manor. He could just imagine the hive of activity going on inside the house. The hushed whispers of the servants, passing on the whisper of an un-expectant visitor, rushing to get things organised for their arrival. His eye was caught by movement at the side gate as he tugged on the reins, easing his horse to a slow trot. A man stepped out, looking directly at them.
"I need to get off." Jefferson stated to him as they approached the gravel area at front of the house.
The man at the side of the house began to approach them, walking a path to intercept them before they reached the front door. Rumford was wary of the welcome they were about to receive. The memories of a little boy and his father being chased away, shouting for them to stay away, haunted him.
There was a loud crunch behind Rumford and an almighty groan. "Oh my god!"
He casted his gaze behind him to see Jefferson's horse missing its rider. Tugging on the reins, Rumford stopped his horse, looking to the man, who was striding towards them, giving Jefferson a very questioning look. He threw his right leg up and over the horse, and slid off the side of the horse, landing beside it. The horse let out an appreciative chuff to the pat Rumford gave its neck. The feel of the horse's coat, silky smooth, took him back to that day with the Earl, and he smiled at the memory of his father, missing him.
"Rumford, I think I've done something to myself." Jefferson said, ending the sentence with a groan.
"What?" Rumford questioned, turning away from his horse to walk around Jefferson's and stopped, kicking up some of the gravel.
Confronted by the sight of his friend, squatted down beside his horse, his hand massaging, tugging, manipulating his privates, was not what Rumford had expected to see. Or wanted to see. Jefferson let out an animalistic moan.
"I think one of my balls has gone up inside." Jefferson's face was screwed up in some kind of expression of pain… pleasure… agony?
Rumford strongly shook his head at his friend, reaching for the reins of Jefferson's horse, as he said. "Stop… whatever it is you're doing and walk it off."
"This is so painful!" Jefferson whined.
"Do I need to remind you that you're the heir to Viscount Mandermer's estate, and should behave in a proper manner? What would your father say, if he saw you? Or your mother?" Rumford scolded Jefferson as he grabbed the reins for his own horse and began to lead them to the man coming towards them. "Just walk it off!"
He glanced back to see Jefferson stand up and begin to follow, and then squatted after a few steps, repeating his earlier action. Disbelieving his friend, Rumford shook his head, wondering how they ever became friends in the first place.
The man bowed his head to Rumford. "M' Lord, Viscount French will be out shortly to greet you. May I take your horses?"
"Yes, you may. Thank you." He passed the reins to the man.
Tugging down his waistcoat, Rumford stood and watched the horses follow the man, while sensing Jefferson at his side. At the front door, a man came out of the manor, casting his gaze around until it came to them, and set off towards them, crossing paths with the man leading the horses away. Slyly glancing at Jefferson, who was already doing the same, they shrugged their shoulders at each other.
"I am Baron Saffroy." The man stated, introducing himself. "Would you care to introduce yourself and the intent of your visit?"
His lips formed into a sly smile at the Baron's introduction. There was a very quiet 'oh' from Jefferson. Squinting his gaze, Rumford inspected the man before him - a red tailored coat with a distastefully long coat tail, a gold waistcoat that was obscene, his boots polished within an inch of their life. Lifting his eyes from the Baron's boots, he could see the Baron had broad shoulders and with the way the material was taught over his arms, the Baron was quite muscular. Rumford could see the ladies would find him quite attractive. However, taking in all these factors, Rumford already knew what sort of man the Baron was: an arrogant ass.
Rumford gave the man the shortest curt nod known to man and stepped past him, his reply being. "I care not to introduce myself or the intent of my visit to you."
"I beg your pardon!" The Baron exclaimed.
The footman, Rumford had seen earlier, was standing by the doorway, dutifully waiting for them. Advancing on the innocent footman, he ignored the bristle calls of the Baron, demanding to know if he knew who he was. Such an insignificant Baron, of course, Rumford had no clue who he was and did not care either. Arrogant, indeed.
The footman visibly swallowed as Rumford bowed his head to the young man and introduced himself. "I am Lord Gold, the Earl of the Frontlands, is your Lord at home?"
"Yes, M' Lord." The footman bowed his head. "If I may, shall introduce you to Viscount French, M' Lord?"
"Yes, you may." Rumford showed the young footman a brief smile.
Whipping round on his heels, the footman entered the manor, opening the door wide to grant Rumford entry. He followed the young man inside, letting his gaze travel around the foyer as he crossed the threshold. The Baron was hot on his heels, his chest puffed out like some buffoon trying to prove his dominance. Barely turning his head, Rumford peered at the Baron from the corner of his eye, smirking, whilst the egotistical bastard strutted after the footman, who was talking to a larger man at the bottom of the stairs.
"M' Lord, may I introduce, Lord Gold, Earl of the Frontlands?" The footman bowed, sweeping his arm to indicate Rumford.
"My Lord." Lord French bowed.
Inclining himself forward into a gracious bow, Rumford averted his gaze to the floor and then stood, saying. "It is an honour to meet you, Lord French." Swivelling on his feet, Rumford motioned to Jefferson with his hand. "I'd like to introduce you to my companion, Mister Mandermer, heir to Viscount Mandermer?"
"Mister Mandermer, a pleasure." Lord French inclined himself into a bow.
"The pleasure is mine, Lord French." Jefferson bowed, flourishing an arm through the air.
"I'm sorry, my Lord, I was not expecting your arrival." Lord French said, coming to stand in front of Rumford, while the footman returned to his post
Rumford shook his head, laying a hand on his chest, apologising. "No, no, Lord French, it is I who is at fault, coming to your home without an invitation."
Lord French smiled, appreciating the apology, while the Baron had his fists propped on his hips, chest puffed out, seething at not being introduced. It was times like these, when Rumford got under a man's skin, which he enjoyed the most. If he had been more gracious, instead of presuming he was above them, Rumford could've excused his behaviour under the unusual circumstances of their meeting. He didn't tolerate rude behaviour and certainly had no patience for arrogant bastards.
"If we hadn't had a bother with our carriage, I wouldn't have been forced to come to your home unannounced, Lord French, to which I offer my apologies." He said to explain their unplanned visit.
Something above caught his eye, two heads, one brown, the other black, peeping from the cover of the banister. From his angle, he couldn't see much of them, but from their hair, he would assume they were women or young girls. Probably young maids of the house, intrigued by the un-expectant visitors. He smiled, reminded of the children doing the same thing, hiding on the landing above, spying down on the adults. Though, the tops of the heads he could see, were more adult size than that of a child.
Lord French shook his head. "It's no bother at all, my Lord. I'm more than happy to welcome you both into my home."
"Thank you, Lord French, I greatly appreciate this kindness and hope I can return your kindness in the future." Rumford bowed his head, sincerely appreciating Lord French's kindness.
The Baron edged closer to Lord French, angling himself in favour of the Lord, but saying loud enough for everyone to hear. "French, maybe the two gentlemen would care for a drink."
Rumford understood immediately what this display meant - I am part of this household. Which then led Rumford to believe, Lord French had a daughter, who mustn't have been made aware of their arrival. Unless… His gaze darted to the top of the heads, he could just about see, and assumed one of those heads was Lord French's daughter.
"Yes, I'm sure they would." Lord French nodded his agreement to the Baron's suggestion. "We'll be having dinner soon, but if you'd like to follow us to the drawing room, my Lord, I could offer you a refreshment before dining."
"Sounds most agreeable, doesn't it, Jefferson?" Rumford turned to Jefferson.
Jefferson smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, my Lord."
One of the heads sprung up, from their hiding spot, revealing a beautiful young woman with luscious curls of brown hair. Rumford sucked a breath in through his teeth. She was absolutely stunning. There was no finer woman in all the lands. He wouldn't dare to compare her beauty to anyone else, it would be unfair to compare another woman's beauty to hers. She was a goddess and he was her disciple.
"Delightful." Lord French asserted. "If you'd like to come this way."
Disturbed from his worship of her, Rumford dropped his gaze to her father, who beckoned them with his arm to follow him and the Baron. Thirsting for more of her, his gaze rose rapidly to where she had been standing, to find she was gone. He blinked his eyes, sceptical he had actually witnessed such a gorgeous creature. His chest heaved, frantic to see a trace of her.
The slap of his friend's hand on his shoulder, brought him back down from heaven, because certainly that could be the only place, he could've glimpsed her. "I think a very large brandy is exactly what I need."
"Yes…" Rumford allowed his friend to guide him. "Very large, indeed."
Jefferson used his hand on Rumford to bring his friend closer, whispering into his ear. "What an ass!"
"Most definitely." He agreed, craning his neck to see up the stairs, eager to see her again.
"Are you going to introduce yourself to him, or not?" Jefferson asked in a hushed voice. "Or are you going to prolong it, like you did to that Mr Winters?"
Rumford tore his gaze from the stairs and looked at Jefferson. "Mr Winters?"
Jefferson nudged his shoulder into him. "Yes, Mr Winters. The Dolchester ball last year, the man literally tore you off Lord Fletcher's wife as you were dancing, and introduced himself to you. Remember?"
"Vaguely…" A slow grin pushed back his cheeks, creasing the lines by his eyes. "I remember Lord Fletcher's wife, though."
"I'm sure you do." Jefferson mirrored his own grin.
Ahead of them, Lord French came to a stop outside of a doorway, while the Baron proudly walked into the room as if he owned the place.
"My Lord, if it pleases you, I can send some of my men in the morning to collect your carriage and take it to the local blacksmith in Avonlea." Lord French paused in thought and said. "I'm assuming your driver has remained with the carriage and your belongings, as I see you only have the clothes on your back." Lord French deducted.
"Yes, Lord French, you are correct and that would be incredibly helpful. Thank you." Rumford bowed his head.
Lord French brow narrowed. "It may take a few days until it is repaired…" He smiled, stretching out a welcoming arm. "You must stay here with us until it is repaired."
"We wouldn't want to intrude, my Lord." Jefferson said.
"Not at all. It'll be good to have some new company." Lord French insisted.
"You're most gracious, Lord French." Rumford told him, bowing to the other gentleman.
Jefferson waved for Rumford to proceed him into the room. Nodding at his friend, Rumford entered the drawing room, running his eye around the room. It was a modest drawing room. A small piano in the corner of the room, two armchairs either side of the fireplace, a sofa either side of the room with a large coffee table, decorated with a display of wildflowers. 'I bet she picked those.', he assumed, skimming his fingertips over the display, touching some of the flowers. There were three French doors, leading out to the courtyard. It was as he was inspecting them, he noticed it was now dusk outside, streams of red and orange decorated sky, a stunning display of exquisiteness. 'Not as stunning as she, though', Rumford thought, turning his back to the scene outside.
"Brandy, my Lord?" Lord French inquired.
Rumford smiled. "That would be perfect."
Lord French kindly returned his smile, poured a measure of the brandy into a glass, passed it to the Baron and motioned for the Baron to deliver the glass to Rumford. The look on the Baron's face showed his distaste at being made to serve, but regardless of his feelings, he brought the drink over to Rumford, glowering at him. The glass was thrusted at Rumford, sloshing the brandy up the sides of the glass.
He waited.
The tension in the Baron's frown steadily eased, while his eyes darted between the glass in his hand and Rumford. He made no move to take the glass. Biding his time, Rumford observed the Baron, deliberating with himself, whether it was breeding or the man's upbringing that had made him a pompous ass. The glass of brandy was shoved towards him again, sloshing the dark liquid around the glass. Rumford considered the possibility that it may have been a little of both, while the Baron half turned to look at Lord French, who was conversing with Jefferson about a decanter of whiskey. Lifting his hand to his face, stroking his finger along the edge of his upper lip, Rumford grinned at the Baron, who had mistaken his action for acceptance of the brandy.
"My Lord, you should really try the brandy." Jefferson informed him, sidling by the Baron to stand at Rumford's side. "It's deliciously sweet and smells divine."
Rumford accepted the hint. "A high recommendation." He reached for the glass and took it from the Baron. "My thanks, Lord French."
"If you like it, my Lord, I can procure a bottle for you." Lord French proposed as he sat down into one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace.
Jaw clenched shut, the Baron stalked away from Rumford to the drinks trolley, forced to serve himself. Carefully, he watched the younger man, taking a sip from his brandy. 'She couldn't possibly be infatuated with this buffoon.', Rumford thought, savouring the taste of the brandy.
Jefferson stepped closer, leaning in to whisper to Rumford. "Don't toy with him too much."
"Why would I ever do such a thing?" Rumford asked dryly, sharing a sly look with Jefferson.
"Before your arrival, Gaston was entertaining me with the tale of his latest hunting expedition." Lord French shared with them before angling himself to see the Baron at the drinks trolley. "While we're waiting for my daughter and the call for dinner, why don't you share your story with our guests?"
The Baron smiled smugly. "Of course, French."
Hunting, not a sport neither Rumford or Jefferson enjoyed. Evidently, from the sickly grin on the Baron's face, it was a sport the Baron relished. Jefferson rolled his eyes as he sauntered by Rumford, opting to take the other armchair in front of the fire. Sipping his brandy, Rumford followed the Baron with his eyes to the fireplace, where the man smugly readied himself to regal them with his story, laying his arm along the mantel above the fireplace. He'd rather pull his teeth out, than listen to someone prattle on about hunting. Why anyone would want to go traipsing through the woods, in the cold and the wet, chasing a defenceless animal, who was trying to tend to their young, was beyond Rumford. He'd spent enough nights in his previous life, chilled to the bone, shaking uncontrollably, to ever want to go wandering off into the woods for a pointless endeavour.
Rumford opted to distract himself and turned to the French windows, and stepped by the sofa to proceed to the doors, sipping his brandy. Gazing out one of the panes, he breathed heavily out of his nose, settling his gaze on the horizon of red and orange. He wondered, if she was upstairs gazing at the same sight as him. The idea of having a possible connection with her, set his stomach off into quite a stir. So much so, Rumford worried the brandy had upset his stomach and laid his hand on top of his waistcoat, nursing the queer feeling. His eyebrows partially pinched together, unsure of the strange feeling in his gut.
Choosing not to think about it, he lowered his hand and straightened himself, hearing his father's voice, 'Don't slouch, stand proudly, Rumford, you'll be an Earl one day'. He raised his glass and drank the sweet nectar, wordlessly toasting his father. Jefferson was right, Rumford decided, it really was deliciously sweet. Swirling the contents of his glass, he examined the amber fluid as it rose up the sides of the glass, appearing translucent. There were remnants of the brandy on his lips, he could feel their wetness, and dipped the tip of his tongue out to trace his lip, savouring the sweet taste.
The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. His brow narrowed for a second, the sensation odd to him. He couldn't describe it, but he had an overwhelming need, to look to the doorway as though his life depended on it. Turning his head, Rumford was hit deep in his gut, distilling the butterflies in his stomach, spellbound by the deep ocean blue of her eyes. She was real, he hadn't imagined her. His heart fluttered at the blatant truth standing inside the doorway.
"Ah!" Lord French got up from his armchair. "My Lord, if I may, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Belle."
'Belle.', he repeated her name in his head, even though, he really wanted to say her name aloud, hear how it sounded with his rough brogue. It wouldn't sound very pleasant, but he wanted to say her name, over and over again. Whisper her name into her ear, caressing her neck with her exquisite name. He would drive her mad, murmuring her name against the delicate lips, hidden between her thighs, tipping her over the edge with a single syllable, 'Belle'. Then, when he was desperately in need of release, he would yell her name, crying out for her to save him, to bring him back from the darkness of his ecstasy. The left side of his lips twitched into half a smile, knowing she would save him, without hesitation, she would save him.
Bowing at his hips, he reluctantly lowered his gaze to the floor. "It is my honour, Lady French."
"Belle, this is the Earl of the Frontlands, Lord Gold." Her father stated, holding a hand out to present him to his daughter.
Rumford reclined himself, instantly lifting his gaze to her, greedily needing her in his sights, as he stood to his full height. Respectfully, Lady French lowered herself into her curtsy, dipping her gaze to the large rug. She was breath-taking, with or without her dress, she'd be breath-taking. Though, he rather liked the image of her being without her dress. Rumford grinned as Lady French began to rise from her curtsy and her eyes flashed up to meet his gaze, causing his breath to hitch in his chest.
Lord French proudly introduced Jefferson to his daughter. "Mister Mandermer, my daughter, Belle."
As per usual, Jefferson waved his hand around in a showily manner as he bent to bow to Lady French, smiling at her. "My Lady."
His chest heaved under his shirt, hot and bothered by her gaze. Raising his brandy glass to his lips, he sipped the sweet beverage and swallowed the cool liquid, feeling it travel all the way down into his stomach. He wondered, if she would taste as sweet as the brandy, and sneaked the tip of his tongue out, removing the traces of the brandy from his lip, pretending it was her delicious essence he was tasting on his lips.
Cough
The unexpected sound brought Rumald out of his stupor and his gaze to Lord French. Her father's eyes were bulging out of his face, his head nodding firmly in his direction. Squinting his gaze at her father, Rumford thought it quite peculiar, for her father, to being such a thing. It was then, the Baron caught Rumford's eye, the intent behind his glare clear as day. The Baron must have seen the way Rumford had been looking at Lady French. A curt nod to the Baron made the young man bristle and threw his arm down from the mantel, ready to stomp his foot like a petulant child. Smirking, Rumford moved his gaze back to Lady French. Her gaze travelled from her father to Jefferson, and then to him, sending his stomach into somersaults.
Suddenly, Lady French stumbled a step into the room, but whirled round, facing whoever was in the doorway behind her. Her beautiful forehead was creased in a frown, when she pivoted round to face the room.
"My apologies, my Lord," She stooped into another curtsy. "I was not aware, we would be receiving visitors this evening."
Her accent was heavenly to Rumford's ears. His shoulders slumped. The muscles in his back, his arms, his whole body, relaxed at hearing her pleasing tone. She must have been gifted by God.
"Lord Gold and Mister Mandermer have had some trouble with their carriage." Lord French explained. "I've invited them to stay with us until their carriage is repaired."
Rumford acknowledged this, with a curt nod of his head to Lord French. Twirling the brandy glass in his hand, he watched the whirlpool, seeing what he was feeling in his gut. At the back of his neck, the small hairs lifted to stand on their ends. The strong urge to look to the doorway, to look at her, festered deep in his soul. He couldn't ignore the scalding burn, creeping its way up the dip in his back. He had to look at her, needed to look at her. Lifting his gaze, his eyes met hers and he smiled. Then, too quickly, she averted her gaze from him, breaking their connection.
"My Lady Belle," Rumford had forgotten about the Baron. "I was reminiscing about the time, I wrestled that large stag with my bare hands." He informed Lady French. "You remember the stag? His head hangs in the entryway at home, remember?"
Intrigued to see what her reaction would be, Rumford observed her and could tell by her awkward smile, she didn't share the Baron's love for hunting, as she said. "Of course, my Lord."
A hand reached out and touched Lady French's arm. Her head turned, giving him full advantage to see the nape of her neck. Rumford swallowed hard. The delicate slant of her neck called to him, inviting him to come and dine on her, giving her pleasure, a lady, such as herself, would be oblivious of and that he knew he could give to her.
Lady French said to her father. "Mrs Lucas is ready to serve, papa."
"Wonderful." Lord French held his arms out wide and clapped his hands together. "You're in for a treat, my Lord and Mr Mandermer, Mrs Lucas's cooking is superb."
Rumford threw back his brandy as Lady French dashed out of the room, sending his stomach reeling at her absence. His brow creased at the unusual feelings, she had been making him feel since he first caught a glimpse of her in the foyer. He was well aware of what lust felt like, but this… This was something new. Something Rumford hadn't experienced before and it scared him, yet he was thrilled at the same time.