Page 8 of How to Wed a Courtesan

She longed to sit on the cushioned bench for ever, speaking to him thus. ‘I should like that very much.’

At least there would be tomorrow, or whenever their schedules allowed time to see one another.

The door to the coach opened, revealing the footman, standing in the ceaseless rain. Lottie flashed a shy smile at Lord Murray before quickly exiting the carriage so the poor man would not need to remain in the elements.

Once more the umbrella appeared over her head, and Lord Murray walked alongside her up the narrow footpath.

‘When may I see you next?’

The urgency of his question matched her own longing as she scrambled for an answer.

The next day was to be dishearteningly busy. As all her days seemed to be. There was tea with several ladies from her father’s parish, as well as preparing soup for those who had recently been struck with a sniffling, sneezing illness that had spread through the village. Then, of course, there was mending and housework and cooking.

The day would be full.

Except...

‘I go for a walk every morning,’ she said tentatively.

Of course on her walks she was entirely alone. Which would mean they would be alone together. But it was only one walk. Where was the harm in that? If discovered, they could easily say they had happened along the same path.

Lord Murray’s smile widened. ‘I’ll be there.’

‘At half past ten.’ She spoke quickly as they neared her door. ‘I usually follow the stream behind my home.’

‘I’ll find you.’

They stopped on the footpath, facing one another beneath the protection of the umbrella as the rain continued to drive down, pattering against the waxed fabric. For the briefest of moments the umbrella dipped lower as Lord Murray leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers.

She almost thought she’d imagined it, dreamed it with the extent of her hope, except that when he straightened there was a besotted grin on his lips.

‘Tomorrow, my beautiful Miss Rossington,’ he said, in a low, intimate voice that made her pulse spike.

‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed, and slowly backed away, opening the door to her home.

As she closed it behind her she could think of little else but how much the time between now and when she would see him would drag terribly.

Fate had brought them together once more.

Evander met Miss Rossington the following morning, where she waited for him in the dappled sunlight near a swiftly running stream. Her white muslin day dress was demure, with a modest neckline that showed off the graceful litheness of her frame, and her straw hat covered enough of her face to protect her from the sun. Her lovely blue eyes lit up when she saw him and she waved.

There was something about the way she looked at him, with her entire focus fixed on him, that made him realise no woman had ever made him feel as she did. Perhaps that was why he’d found an excuse to come to Oxfordshire and seek out the small village of Binsey.

He’d meant to do it sooner. Truly he had. Except there had been the estate to visit, to ensure all was running well while his father travelled about, and appearances to keep in his father’s absence. The Murray name was Evander’s legacy and needed to be upheld, no matter the burden to him. And it was one he gladly shouldered.

Besides, he was here now, with Miss Rossington, and wasn’t that all that mattered?

The forest was still damp from its thorough soaking the day before, but the clear blue sky overhead promised beautiful weather.

‘Good morning, Miss Rossington.’ He offered her a bow.

She laughed and caught his hands, drawing him upright. ‘Please do call me Lottie. You’re far too dear to address me as Miss Rossington.’

‘I should like that very much,’ he replied earnestly. ‘As long as you promise to call me Evander rather than Lord Murray. It’s so very stuffy with formality, isn’t it?’

‘Evander...’ She twisted her fingers, a habit of hers recalled from their prior meeting.

‘That’s better.’ He offered her his arm, giving way to the stuffy formalities he’d just disparaged. But this was a way to be closer to her, to breathe in her delicate, powdery floral perfume and let the warmth of their bodies whisper against one another.