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did not appear unduly perturbed at this action. In fact, from her sparkling expression, it might be even inferred that she was very much enjoying herself.
    “Do you think I won’t take it from you?”
    The saucy look left Rosie’s face at his words and she replied in a voice throbbing with deeper meaning, “But Jack, I wish you would! Indeed, have I not pleaded with you night after night to take it from me?”
    Sir Clive had the oddest feeling that, with those words, she caused the very air around them to crackle with static electricity. With a spluttered exclamation, he strode into the room just as the gentleman, with a short, husky laugh, bent his head closer.
    They moved apart without surprise or embarrassment and, as Rosie came forward to greet Sir Clive in her usual friendly way, he felt rather foolish at what now appeared to be an overreaction on his part.
    “Why, sir,” she dropped a slight curtsey and held out her hand, “We have not seen you this age.”
    Sir Clive bowed and saluted her hand briefly with his lips, aware that her companion was regarding him with mild amusement. Rosie turned to introduce Jack saying,
    “I must make you known to my cousin Jack, Sir Clive,” she smiled at Jack explaining, “Sir Clive is our neighbour.”
    “Your cousin?” Sir Clive mentally reviewed what he knew of her family. He was fairly certain that Mr Delacourt had no 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 as Sir Clive frowned.
    “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, was quite content to remain silent and watch the interaction with interest. Sir Clive reminded him of nothing so much as an angry dog guarding a treasured bone. Damn the man! Jack did not like the realisation that the squire viewed Rosie as his personal property. He could happily choke the life out of this scowling dullard … and all because he could offer Rosie everything that Jack could not.
    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. 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, saying, in what was intended to be a mocking tone, but which, even to his own ears, had a slightly petulant edge,
    “You did not tell me that you had such an eligible suitor, my sweet.”
    Rosie, secretly delighted to hear the troubled note in his voice, showed 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?” she challenged, lifting her chin proudly, “Tell me how, Jack.”
    Almost angrily he pulled her into his arms, pressing his cheek against the silken mass of her hair,
    “I have no right to ask you to wait for me,” he groaned.
    She reached up to trace his features with her fingertips. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into its palm,
    “You have that right if I give it to you,” she said softly, a note of sadness entering her voice.
    “One day I will remind you of those words. But for now …”
    His serious expression changed suddenly to one of wickedness, and he slipped his hand into her bodice and removed the stolen chess piece.
    ***
    Sir Clive was no longer