Page 56 of Rival to Resist
The sack race flashed across his mind—that brief but extraordinary moment when he had given her the opportunity to send him back to London and she had not taken it.
It had sent a jolt of hope and ecstasy through him at the time that he recognized now as evidence of his growing regard for her.
Now? It left him puzzled. Whynottake advantage of the opportunity to rid herself of Frederick if she did not care a whit for him nor have the intention to even consider voting for him?
“Mr. Yorke.”
Frederick whirled around in the saddle and found Lady Radcliffe herself approaching on her own gray horse.
She had always been beautiful, but now that she felt entirely out of his reach, she took his breath. Her expression, however, was unreadable.
Was she truly engaged?
“Good day, my lady,” he said, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.
“How is your injury?” Her voice was cool but polite.
“I hardly notice it,” he replied with a smile. “I am, however, still finding sand in my hair.”
She smiled slightly and reached a hand toward her bonnet. “I imagine you shall be rid of it long before I am. Mine is a more effective trap.”
Frederick was momentarily distracted by the thought of her hair let down, hanging loose around her shoulders.
He cleared his throat, dismissing the image. He should not be entertaining such thoughts of another man’s affianced wife.
It galled him to admit that he was not so different from Oswald after all. At some point, Frederick’s aims had shifted. He was not merely satisfied to seek Trelowen’s seat; he had come to desire the heart of its patroness as well.
“I understand felicitations are in order,” he said, his mouth dry.
Her brows rose. “Oh?”
“On your approaching marriage.”
She blinked, then let out a strange laugh. “What sort of joke is this?”
Hope leapt in his chest like a hound catching a scent. “Are you and Oswald not…?”
“No,” she said firmly, her forehead knit. “Why would you assume such a thing?”
Frederick paused, unsure how to navigate the territory in which he found himself. If she spoke the truth, it meant that Oswald had been presumptuous enough to speak to the vicar as though a marriage to her ladyship was a foregone conclusion.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to…” He trailed off again.
“Mr. Yorke, I insist you tell me what caused you to congratulate me on an engagement that does not exist.”
He met her intent gaze but hesitated further. He did not relish being a tale-bearer, even if Oswald was the one who would be injured by it.
But Lady Radcliffe deserved to know.
“Very well. I happened to be near the church when Oswald emerged. Someone who overheard the conversation between the vicar and Oswald mentioned that they were discussing a date for…your wedding.”
Lady Radcliffe’s rosy lips pressed into a thin line, her nostrils flaring. She forced a smile. “I wonder whenIwas to be apprised of the date—or asked if I meant to attend.”
“Do you?” Frederick could not help himself.
She shot him a flat look.
“You did not seem so set against it when we last spoke. I wondered if perhaps our conversation had decided you in favor of it.”
