Page 64 of Rival to Resist
“I do not doubt it.”
“I trust Oswald has addressed the matter of the gate,” Lady Radcliffe said.
“Yes,” Mrs. Penrose said. “Though, it is not a gate but a stile. It serves the purpose well enough. I wrote to thank him for it only this morning.”
Frederick opened his mouth, then shut it. She thought the stile was Oswald’s doing?
Was he, then, to receive credit for what Frederick and Ruan had done?
“I am glad of it,” Lady Radcliffe said, looking relieved. “We quarreled yesterday, and now I shall have to humble myself and convey my thanks as well.”
Frederick itched to correct them. That Oswald should be thanked by both Mrs. Penrose and Lady Radcliffe for Frederick’s idea—and work—and furthermore, that Frederick shouldbe the means of mending a quarrel between Oswald and Lady Radcliffe was intolerable.
But to insist on correcting the misunderstanding? That felt like bad form.
Lady Radcliffe had already made it clear she did not feel she could trust the intentions behind any good Frederick did. To ensure he received credit for the stile would only reinforce that anything he did was for the recognition.
Besides, what mattered most, surely, was that Mrs. Penrose was served by the stile.
So, he held his tongue.
Mrs. Penrose’s good spirits were contagious enough to distract him from the annoyance within a few minutes, and they enjoyed tea and good conversation for the rest of the call.
“She has become quite fond of you, I think,” Lady Radcliffe said as they began the ride back toward Trevenna and Trelowen. “Another victim to your rakish charm, I suppose.”
“My path from London to Cornwall is littered with them. A woman need only show the merest interest in me to be selected as a victim.”
“And did I show such an interest?” Her eyes danced as she waited for his response.
He thought back on their first meeting in the streets of Trelowen when his boot had stuck in the mud—before she had realized who he was and why he had come.
“You did.”
Her brows went up.
“Before you despised me, you quite liked me, I think. Otherwise, you would not have helped me with my boot.”
Her eyes narrowed, then recognition dawned. “I had forgotten.”
He watched her expression, wondering what feelings the memory brought.
“Well,” she said, turning her focus forward again, “from everything I have heard of rakes, I must say my experience has been underwhelming.”
“Pray expound, my lady. I strive to provide satisfaction to all my victims. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.”
“A reputation to uphold and others to ruin.”
He grinned. “Precisely.”
“Well,” she said, her head tilting to the side thoughtfully, “I suppose I had imagined becoming victim to a rake would include less sack racing and more…”
Frederick raised a brow.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and his heart thumped.
She pulled her gaze away, a tinge of pink in her cheeks that he could have sworn had not been there before. “…Stolen encounters.”
“Ah,” he said, trying to keep his tone playful when all he could think about was kissing the soft pink of her lips. “Perhaps I am losing my touch. Or becoming lazy in my…raking.”
