Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Read Online Free PDF Page A

spreading trees and old, tilted stones covered with moss. Beyond the ranks of stones the land sloped away down to the same river that wound along the edge of the gardens at Hartwell.
    He wandered through the churchyard looking for the poet's grave. It was easy to find because of its newness and grandeur. In fact, it looked very out-of-place. An angel drooped on a pedestal, weeping, two cherubs at its—her?—knee.
    He read the inscription.
    In loving memory of Sebastian Arthur Rossiter, Poet, born May 12, 1770. Died October 3, 1814.
    Sadly mourned by his wife Judith and his two children, Bastian and Rosie.
    He had been a good deal older than his wife, then. Leander had gained the impression that he was a young man. There was a verse engraved below.
    When I am gone to rest be sure, my dear,
    That I will watch and treasure every tear.
    On high, forever faithful, I will wait,
    Longing to greet my angel at the gate.
    Presumably the poet had composed his own epitaph. Leander thought it distastefully morbid and possessive but noted there were fresh flowers on the grave. He questioned his plan. Would there be a ghost in the marriage bed?
    Pondering this, he continued through the graves and down the slope to the river's edge to idly toss stones into the shallow water.
    He wondered whether Judith Rossiter really did long to join her dead husband; what it felt like to feel such grief. He hadn't mourned his parents, for his father had been too wrapped up in his work to engender fondness, and his mother had been too wrapped up in his father. He'd grieved for the death of a number of brothers-in-arms, but he'd felt damn-all desire to share their fate.
    If this miserable clinging was the consequence of love he was better off without it.
    But then he found himself thinking of Lucien and Beth. They'd made him welcome and not at all uncomfortable, and yet he sensed the power of the bond between them. They fought—which wasn't surprising in view of Lucien's blue-blooded arrogance and Beth's egalitarian principles—but they were bound together in a way no petty disagreement could touch.
    That, he supposed, was love. But he couldn't imagine, if either Beth or Lucien should die, them wanting the survivor to hurry to meet them.
    It would be hell to be married to a woman who thought only of joining her first mate in the grave. He laughed at his situation. It appeared his choice was either a wife who drooped over him from excessive devotion, or one who did the same from excessive grief.
    Really, Vienna would be a far more sensible choice....
    He heard the laughter of children and turned just as they ran into view between the gravestones and headed down the hill. He thought they were the Rossiter children. They paused momentarily but then came on—startled by a stranger but unafraid.
    They seemed unsure, however, as to whether to speak or not, and so he did. "Good day. Do you live around here?"
    The boy gave a little bow. "Yes, sir. In the village." He was handsome, with dark curls and an attractive confidence in his manner.
    "I'm staying with the Marquess of Arden," Leander offered as credentials. "He has a place farther along the river, as you doubtless know. My name's Charrington. Lord Charrington."
    The boy bowed again. "Honored to meet you, my lord. I'm Bastian Rossiter, and this is my sister, Rosie."
    It was them indeed. Was this an augury from the gods?
    The girl, who had bewitching deep blue eyes and flaxen hair like silk on her shoulders, drew herself up. "Rosetta," she said firmly.
    Her brother groaned, but Leander gave her a very proper bow. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Rosetta Rossiter."
    With a grin that showed two charming dimples she returned the honor with a curtsy.
    Leander looked up to find their mother had come up behind, a neutral expression on her face, but wariness in her eyes—large blue eyes, just like her daughter's, but made even finer by thick dark lashes. She didn't look lugubrious, thank God. In fact she