day.'
'Believe me, ma'am, it is but trifling. You know what young girls are.' He smirked then. 'They fancy themselves ailing at the slightest sniffle. And—' There was a noise of footsteps in the hallway. Elliott rose from his place. 'Ah, here she is. You shall judge for yourself whether she is well enough for visiting. Come in, Cassandra, come in. Our host and hostess are waiting.'
The colonel stood up. Ross, too, rose politely. She might be little more than a child, and a hoyden besides, but she would not find Ross Graham's manners wanting.
'Good afternoon, Mrs Anstruther,' she said quietly, dropping an elegant curtsy.
Ross caught his breath. How on earth could he have made such a mistake? He had believed Miss Elliott to be fifteen, or sixteen at most; a mere child, and an unruly one at that. But this dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty was much older—and a full-grown woman, the kind of woman that men would fight to possess.
In that split second, Ross began to understand much that had puzzled him before. About Miss Elliott and her desire to escape. And about her brother's ruthless determination to keep her close, and safe.
Cassandra had had to steel herself for this meeting. James had made his fell purposes crystal clear. And now, standing on the threshold of the drawing room, she knew that all eyes were upon her. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, trying not to look at either of the gentlemen, James's intended quarry.
'Good afternoon, Mrs Anstruther,' she said politely, dropping a curtsy to the beautiful but frail lady sitting in one of the wing chairs by the unseasonable roaring tire. James had been right about the colonel's wife. Much had changed since their last meeting. She was now clearly marked for death. She had an ethereal, translucent quality about her. Half-angel already?
'Come in, child, do. You must not allow yourself to become chilled.' Mrs Anstruther's body might be failing, but her mind seemed perfectly alert. 'There is a sharp breeze coming off the river today. Indeed, it feels more like autumn than high summer. Come and sit by me so that we may enjoy this fine fire together.' She smiled up at her husband, standing with his back to the hearth. 'The gentlemen shall make way for the needs of a recovering invalid.'
Colonel Anstruther bowed slightly and removed himself a little from the fire. To Ross's mind, the room was uncomfortably hot, but that was only to be expected; Ross had learned that the colonel permitted nothing and no one to divert him from anything that might ease Mrs Anstruther's sufferings. Theirs was real love between a man and a woman. The kind of love that any right-thinking man would envy, even though few of them would ever attain it.
Pushing that unwelcome thought to the back of his mind, Ross stepped forward to greet Miss Elliott, as a gentleman should. How would she react to him, now that she appeared in her proper guise? Did she know how to behave as a lady? With such a brother, she had had a pretty dismal example to follow. Ross bowed politely and offered her his arm. 'May I help you to a seat by the fire, Miss Elliott?'
She curtsied a second time. It was an elegant move. She had clearly been well taught, in that matter at least, for she had given Ross just the degree of respect required by their positions in society. He was an officer and a gentleman; she was a gentleman's sister. Nominally, at least.
The two women had been talking amiably for some time when the tea tray was brought in. The need to curtail the visit seemed to have been forgotten. Mrs Anstruther smiled across to where her husband stood by the window, carrying on a rather strained conversation with Elliott and Ross. 'Will you take a dish of tea with us, Mr Elliott? Or do you, like my husband, object to maudling your insides with such a beverage?'
Elliott strolled across to the fire and replied politely that he would be delighted to drink tea with his hostess. Too politely, Ross decided. The man
'Believe me, ma'am, it is but trifling. You know what young girls are.' He smirked then. 'They fancy themselves ailing at the slightest sniffle. And—' There was a noise of footsteps in the hallway. Elliott rose from his place. 'Ah, here she is. You shall judge for yourself whether she is well enough for visiting. Come in, Cassandra, come in. Our host and hostess are waiting.'
The colonel stood up. Ross, too, rose politely. She might be little more than a child, and a hoyden besides, but she would not find Ross Graham's manners wanting.
'Good afternoon, Mrs Anstruther,' she said quietly, dropping an elegant curtsy.
Ross caught his breath. How on earth could he have made such a mistake? He had believed Miss Elliott to be fifteen, or sixteen at most; a mere child, and an unruly one at that. But this dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty was much older—and a full-grown woman, the kind of woman that men would fight to possess.
In that split second, Ross began to understand much that had puzzled him before. About Miss Elliott and her desire to escape. And about her brother's ruthless determination to keep her close, and safe.
Cassandra had had to steel herself for this meeting. James had made his fell purposes crystal clear. And now, standing on the threshold of the drawing room, she knew that all eyes were upon her. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, trying not to look at either of the gentlemen, James's intended quarry.
'Good afternoon, Mrs Anstruther,' she said politely, dropping a curtsy to the beautiful but frail lady sitting in one of the wing chairs by the unseasonable roaring tire. James had been right about the colonel's wife. Much had changed since their last meeting. She was now clearly marked for death. She had an ethereal, translucent quality about her. Half-angel already?
'Come in, child, do. You must not allow yourself to become chilled.' Mrs Anstruther's body might be failing, but her mind seemed perfectly alert. 'There is a sharp breeze coming off the river today. Indeed, it feels more like autumn than high summer. Come and sit by me so that we may enjoy this fine fire together.' She smiled up at her husband, standing with his back to the hearth. 'The gentlemen shall make way for the needs of a recovering invalid.'
Colonel Anstruther bowed slightly and removed himself a little from the fire. To Ross's mind, the room was uncomfortably hot, but that was only to be expected; Ross had learned that the colonel permitted nothing and no one to divert him from anything that might ease Mrs Anstruther's sufferings. Theirs was real love between a man and a woman. The kind of love that any right-thinking man would envy, even though few of them would ever attain it.
Pushing that unwelcome thought to the back of his mind, Ross stepped forward to greet Miss Elliott, as a gentleman should. How would she react to him, now that she appeared in her proper guise? Did she know how to behave as a lady? With such a brother, she had had a pretty dismal example to follow. Ross bowed politely and offered her his arm. 'May I help you to a seat by the fire, Miss Elliott?'
She curtsied a second time. It was an elegant move. She had clearly been well taught, in that matter at least, for she had given Ross just the degree of respect required by their positions in society. He was an officer and a gentleman; she was a gentleman's sister. Nominally, at least.
The two women had been talking amiably for some time when the tea tray was brought in. The need to curtail the visit seemed to have been forgotten. Mrs Anstruther smiled across to where her husband stood by the window, carrying on a rather strained conversation with Elliott and Ross. 'Will you take a dish of tea with us, Mr Elliott? Or do you, like my husband, object to maudling your insides with such a beverage?'
Elliott strolled across to the fire and replied politely that he would be delighted to drink tea with his hostess. Too politely, Ross decided. The man
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