Tessa's Touch by Brenda Hiatt Page B

for six o'clock, so the
early November darkness had already fallen as they rode up the long drive to
Wheatstone. Light glowed brightly from the windows of the lower stories, at
least in the central block of the house. Fewer candles appeared to be kindled
on the upper floors, and the two wings were nearly dark.
    As the group neared the house, two grooms
appeared to take their horses, though Anthony suspected from their youth that
they were stable lads pressed into temporary service.
    "Thankee, m'lord!" exclaimed the boy
who took Cinder's reins when Anthony handed him a shilling. His enthusiasm
implied that he was not accustomed to receiving vails for service.
    The old butler, more polite this time, showed
them into the house and up the stairway, into a sumptuously appointed parlor on
the right. Sir George propelled his chair forward to greet them.
    "Welcome, gentlemen, welcome indeed!"
he exclaimed, his speech very slightly slurred. "We have quite looked
forward to your visit, and hope we will make an enjoyable evening for you. Come
in, do, and seat yourselves. We have time for a drink and some conversation
before dinner."
    As they all filled glasses from the decanters
on the sideboard and disposed themselves about the room, Anthony took note of
their surroundings, wondering if he'd been mistaken about the estate's lack of
money. Nothing in this room, at least, looked faded, worn or repaired.
    "Will Miss Seaton be dining with us?"
Killer asked as he sat near the crackling fire, saving Anthony from voicing the
question.
    "Indeed, she should be joining us at any
moment," Sir George replied, beaming. "Made an impression on you, has
my Tessa? Quite the rider, my daughter —much like her mother before her."
    They all voiced agreement, and Rush said,
"Yes, she's the admiration of the Quorn, sir, and now the Mountsorrel as
well."
    Sir George's smile dimmed slightly. "She's
not drawing too much attention to herself, is she? Improper attention, I
mean." He drained his wineglass and held it out for the hovering butler to
refill.
    "She's done nothing the least
improper," Anthony hastened to assure him. "It's simply natural that
a woman riding to hunt would attract notice, rare as that is these days.
Particularly when the woman is as accomplished at the art as your daughter. She
takes fences better than nine-tenths of the men riding, from what I've
observed. You have every reason to be proud of her."
    He was glad to see the worry leave Sir George's
face, which then brightened even further. "Ah, there you are, my dear.
Join us, do. You all know Tessa —or, I should say, Miss Seaton?"
    Anthony and his friends jumped to their feet as
she entered, Anthony wondering how much of his praise she had overheard. Most
of it, judging by her heightened color.
    She was most becomingly dressed in a low-cut
evening gown of rose silk cinched below her breasts by a wide ribbon of deeper
rose. Though her face was perhaps not as white as fashion preferred —not
surprising after two days riding outdoors —her shoulders and chest were as
creamy as any London debutante's. It was all Anthony could do to keep to his
place when every sense was urging him to go to her, to touch her smooth cheek,
the silkiness of her upswept hair, the curve of—
    "My compliments, Miss Seaton," he
said aloud before his errant thoughts could progress any further. The others
echoed his words as she advanced into the room.
    Her blush extended down to her cleavage,
Anthony noted with interest.
    "Thank you," she murmured, clearly
nonplussed at so much blatant admiration. Not meeting Anthony's eyes —or anyone
else's —she moved to her father's side. "Are you warm enough, Papa?"
she asked, smoothing a fold of his cravat. "Would you like a lap
rug?"
    "I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, waving
her away. "Don't fuss, Tessa. Have a seat, and we can all talk of the hunt
until dinner is ready. I understand the fox won today?" He smiled around
as Miss Seaton retreated with obvious reluctance to