Sheridan Hall, Sir Clive’s family estate, was the largest property in the neighbourhood, and as its owner, he was known locally as “the Squire”. Mr. Delacourt, meanwhile, was by far the wealthiest gentleman in the neighbourhood, and it was well known that his daughter would have a generous dowry and an enviable inheritance. Sir Clive made no secret of his intentions and publicly almost licked his lips at the thought of the bounty that would enhance both his coffers and his bed when Rosie became his. He seemed not to notice that Rosie did not share his enthusiasm.

Mrs. Glover, who admitted them into the house, said that Mr. Delacourt was shut up in his study, but Miss Rosie and Mister Jack were in the drawing room. Sir Clive’s brows drew together at the mention of the hitherto unknown visitor, but he waved the housekeeper aside, assuring her that he knew his way. Martha could hear Rosie’s laughter as they approached the drawing room. Through the open door, it could be seen that she was seated at a small table and was engaged in a game of chess with Jack, who had his back to the door. Rosie was holding one of her opponent’s chess pieces in her hand, and he was admonishing her, in his softly spoken, cultured voice, to stop cheating and return it immediately.

Rosie promptly responded by smiling tauntingly before placing the piece inside her bodice. Martha was concerned at this unseemly display and the fact that Sir Clive had witnessed it. Before she could step forward and warn them of the visitor’s presence, however, Sir Clive had gestured her into silence.

Rosie got to her feet and danced away from the table, casting a roguish look over her shoulder as she did. Jack rose too, and Martha saw Sir Clive’s face fall as he noted the grace with which he carried himself, the sinewy strength apparent even in the ill-fitting clothes he wore. Jack followed Rosie, who allowed herself—without too much resistance, Martha noted with even more dismay—to be cornered in the window embrasure.

“Rosie, you little wretch.” Martha could sense Sir Clive bristling at the familiarity the words betrayed. Jack placed a hand against the wall either side of her shoulders, effectively encircling and imprisoning her. Rosie did not appear unduly perturbed at this action. In fact, from her sparkling expression, it might even be inferred that she was very much enjoying herself. “Do you think I won’t take it from you?”

Deciding that enough was enough, Martha entered the room, clearing her throat loudly. Jack and Rosie moved apart without surprise or embarrassment. On noticing their guest, Rosie came forward to greet Sir Clive in her usual friendly way. “Good morning, Cousin Martha, Sir Clive. Why, sir—” she dropped a slight curtsy and held out her hand, “— we have not seen you this age.”

Sir Clive bowed stiffly and saluted her hand briefly with his lips. “I must make you known to my cousin Jack, Sir Clive.” She smiled up at Jack, a remnant of their funning lingering in her expression. “Sir Clive is our neighbour.”

“Your cousin?” Sir Clive appeared to mentally review what he knew of her family. “I was not aware that Mr. Delacourt had any nieces or nephews.”

Jack bowed. “Rosie honours me with the title, sir,” he informed him. “Our connection is more distant and tenuous than she would have you believe. In fact we can at best be described as ‘kissing cousins’.”

Rosie gave a little choke of laughter and cast him a reproachful glance. Sir Clive’s frown deepened. “Please be seated, sir.” She gestured to a chair and made her way to sit on a sofa. Sir Clive promptly sat beside her and attempted to shut Jack out of the conversation, launching into a lengthy monologue about his trip to London. Jack, occupying the chair rejected by their guest, gave every appearance of being quite content to talk to Martha. He did, however, keep the interaction between Rosie and Sir Clive under keen observation.

“The man reminds me of a dog guarding a bone,” he said in an undertone to Martha. “Damn him.”

“You must be careful not to betray your feelings,” she rebuked him.

“Oh, fear not. I’ll not let on that I could happily choke the life out of the scowling dullard. And all because he can offer her everything that I cannot.”

Sir Clive stayed with them for an hour, at the end of which time Jack was openly yawning and even Rosie was struggling to maintain any semblance of interest in his discourse. He said he would not disturb Mr. Delacourt but would call again in the next few days.

“I do have one piece of interesting news which I hope you will impart to him. Word has filtered through to me of the Jacobite withdrawal. Skirmishes in Cumbria and the loss of Carlisle have marked their passage to Scotland. Yesterday, the prince crossed the border. It was a significant day in more ways than one. He will soon be five and twenty years of age. Will he live to see his twenty-sixth birthday, or to see English soil once more? Cumberland is determined that he will do neither.”

Martha was aware of the tension in Jack’s frame at this casual reference to his friend and hoped that Sir Clive could not sense it. It seemed he did not, and with a low bow to Rosie and a curt nod to Jack, he took his leave. Jack closed the door behind him with a decisive click.

“You did not tell me that you had such an eligible suitor, my sweet.” Martha felt a tug of pity for him as he tried to keep his voice light.

Rosie turned to show him a laughing face. “Indeed, Sir Clive is accounted something of a prize in these parts.”

He came over to her and held out his hands. She took them, and he pulled her to her feet, scanning her upturned face. “You can do better, Rosie.”

“Can I? I’m waiting for you to tell me how, Jack.”

Almost angrily he pulled her into his arms, pressing his cheek against the mass of her hair. Martha turned away, gazing out of the window as she blinked away a sudden rush of tears. “I cannot keep up this pretence any longer, but Rosie, I have no right to ask you to wait for me.” Jack’s words were a groan.

“You have that right if I give it to you,” Rosie said softly, a note of sadness entering her voice.

“One day I will remind you of those words. But for now—”

Martha turned back in time to see his serious expression change to one of mischief. She was about to interrupt their embrace when, quick as a flash, Jack slipped his hand into Rosie’s bodice and removed the stolen chess piece.

“Why do you try so hard to make yourself invisible?”

“I beg your pardon?” Coming, as it did, so soon after the emotionally charged scene she had witnessed between Jack and Rosie, Fraser’s question threw Martha off balance.

“You know fine well what I mean.” He was helping her to clear the table, and he now turned to face her, standing a fraction too close for comfort. “You wear these to hide the fact that you’ve got beautiful eyes.” He reached out a hand and very gently removed her glasses. “And you pin your hair so tightly to disguise the fact that you’ve got soft, pretty curls.” Heart pounding, she remained frozen as he reached behind her head and pulled out some of the pins that held her hair in place. When he tangled his hands in those very curls and began to draw her toward him, however, she speedily unfroze and started to back away.

“Don’t do that. And give me back my glasses.” She extended her hand, palm upward. Bravely, she withstood the heat of his gaze. He licked his lips. She wished he wouldn’t do that. It made her imagine how it would feel if he licked her lips. And that was a most unseemly way for a demure, unmarried, invisible lady to think.

“What if I won’t?”

“Then I won’t be able to see,” she said in what she hoped was her usual prosaic manner.

“Tell me about the reivers.”

“I can’t.” Martha hung her head.

“I hear you crying every night.” His voice was husky.