One More Kiss (14 page)

“Good morning, Miss Brent!” He stopped in the middle of the ford while his horse drank. He did not wait for an answer. “If you would like to cross the ford, I can lead your horse for you.”

“No thank you, my lord. I was enjoying the solitude but must return to the house in a moment.”

He either did not hear, or chose to ignore, the word “solitude,” because he rode up beside her, jumping off
his horse with practiced ease. There was no doubt that men had the advantage of women when it came to riding. Someday she was going to risk it all and don a pair of trousers so that she could try riding astride herself.

He sat on the rock next to her and began pulling off his boots. “It’s a perfect day for wading. The cool of the stream will feel marvelous. Care to join me?”

“My lord!” Cecilia stood up, horribly embarrassed by the suggestion that she show her ankles in public. Not exactly in public, but to a man who was not a relative or even a close friend.

“Miss Brent,” he said with a sigh. “I had hoped that any woman who was willing to venture out unaccompanied would not be beyond the very slightest of improprieties.”

“You are wrong, my lord, and I am only alone because Beatrice recalled another commitment and the groom escorted her back to the house. I wished to spend a little more time in the wood.”

“And would not be deterred by convention, which is my point exactly. You know,” he went on, “this is what house parties are for. It is a break from the burden of London rules and prying eyes.”

“I would not know, my lord.” And if they did go to London, she would hardly be traveling in the same social circle as the heir to a dukedom.

“You will know London soon enough, Miss Brent. And I promise you will look back on this lost adventure with great regret.” He had pulled off his boots and stockings. He stood up and waded into the water, his very pale feet quite clear through the gentle wash of the stream.

“Ahhh,” was all he said, but he made the sound a long, drawn-out groan of pleasure.

They were perfectly normal, ordinary feet. His was a perfectly ordinary reaction. But still she blushed. Climbing up onto the rock she seated herself on her horse before she said, “I will leave you to your childish play, my lord.”

“I will catch up with you!” he called out as she left, which only made her more determined to be back at the stables before he could join her.

She could have made it, she was sure, if she had not been stopped by Lord Crenshaw and her sister who were themselves headed to the river.

“I met your sister on her way to the house and she agreed to ride with me. We are going to cross the ford and meet up with Mrs. Wilson and the countess, who have taken her dogcart the long way round to the old banqueting platform she mentioned last night.”

“I’m not sure about the ford,” Beatrice began with atypical caution. What she really meant was that she was not sure about trusting the horses to cross the ford without tumbling them into the water.

“Nonsense,” Crenshaw said. “I’ll be with you and you will be quite safe.”

“Of course you are right, my lord,” Beatrice said with a firm nod.

“I would never let anything happen to you, my dear girl.”

Cecilia watched the scene play out before her.
He would never let anything happen to her
. Now there was a grandiose thought. A tree could fall and kill them both. The horse could be stung by a bee and bolt.

Lord Crenshaw was charming, but his words represented
the perfect example of a man’s pride taking the place of common sense.

“Of course not, my lord.” Beatrice looked away with a knowing grin on her face.

Cecilia watched them ride off, convinced that Beatrice’s grin meant that she and her sister were of like minds when it came to men and their pride. Still, it appeared that Lord Crenshaw had some particular interest in her sister.

Cecilia moved on, mulling over whether she was in favor of such a match. Well, there was no point in making a decision on that until she found out if Beatrice herself would consider it.

Chapter Twelve
 

C
ECILIA WAS DOING
her best to dispel her speculations about Lord Crenshaw and Beatrice when she heard a mad gallop, apparently the speed at which Lord Destry did everything.

Lord Destry was almost beside her, still moving at an unwise speed, when a rabbit darted into the path in front of his mount. The horse took exception to having company on the path and reared up. Destry held on with amazing skill, but just as the horse was settling yet another rabbit raced after the first. It was too much for man and horse. Destry was thrown and he landed on the dirt path with an alarming thump.

With a screech that she swallowed before it became a full-born scream, Cecilia leapt off her horse and ran over to Destry who was, ominously, not moving. His eyes were open and for the most hideous of moments she thought he was dead.

Then he blinked and her terror resolved itself into anger, close to a wholly unreasonable rage.

“You stupid, stupid man! Why were you riding so fast? Are you hurt?” She put her hands on her hips to still their shaking. His body looked as it should, no arms or legs at odd angles. She waited. When he did speak she understood.

“No breath,” he rasped painfully. He closed his eyes and they both waited.

He was a fine figure of a man. When he was lying down and one was not so conscious of his height, he was handsome and very well formed. She blushed a little at the thought but his eyes were still closed so there was no one to tease her about it. Why was it that a tiny woman like Beatrice was not remarked on, but a short man, at least one as short as Lord Destry, was considered an oddity?

“You look as though you are in one piece, my lord,” she said with a return of her usual calm. “That is, unless you have broken your back and will be crippled for life.”

His eyes flew open at her bluntness and he wiggled his legs and feet.

Relieved, she knelt beside him. He seemed to be breathing more normally. “Are you recovering?”

He nodded. “My horse.”

“Enjoying some grass until you are ready to remount.”

“Good.” He raised himself on one elbow, ignoring the hand she offered. She withdrew it. He would have to beg before she offered him her hand again.

* * *

W
ILLIAM, YOU IDIOT
, he thought. He wanted to swear and was just as glad that he did not have the breath for it since it would dig him deeper into Miss Brent’s bad graces. He looked like some schoolboy trying to impress a girl, which he certainly had done but not in the way he’d hoped.

“I am quite all right, Miss Brent.” Except for a raging headache and wickedly wrenched shoulder. He sat for a moment, letting the world settle around him, and brushed at his trousers as if that would remove the dirt stains.

He began to stand but stilled when he felt her hands on his shoulders. “Please do not try to stand, my lord. I can see you must still be dizzy.”

Yes, he was, but a good part of that came from the sensation of her hands on him, her lovely scent so close, the feel of her breath in his hair. “All right,” he said, leaning his head back into the comfort of her breasts. He bit back a smile and groaned a little.

Miss Brent was quiet for much too long. William turned to look at her. She regarded him through narrowed eyes, as though she was not sure whether to trust him or not.

He raised a hand to his temple and rubbed his aching head. “Thank you. Thank you very much. I cannot recall the last time I was thrown from Jupiter.”

“We can blame the rabbits. One, any good rider could have handled, but two was quite unexpected.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, closing his eyes to escape her gaze, but her beauty was now permanently etched in his memory. There was more to the woman than her perfect skin, her white teeth, her beautiful blue eyes,
her perfect mouth, and her burnished gold hair. She had handled his fall with calm and sense and had not made a bad toss worse with histrionics. He valued that as much as her looks.

“Shall I find someone to help you?”

He heard concern in her voice, not impatience with his clumsiness, or anger at him for ruining her outing.

“No, I will be fine once I am over the mortification of looking a fool.”

“But, my lord, that comes so naturally to you, I would hardly think it mortifying.”

There was a set-down that was unexpected. Her air of sweetness hid a touch of acid that surprised him and made him wonder what else she hid behind her ladylike demeanor.

“Then I am in good company.” He straightened as he spoke. “As I often think that myself.”

Before she could answer, insult him more, or, God forbid, apologize, he hurried on. “I am more sorry than I can say for teasing you last night and then making my observation of the company sound so personal. It was not intended that way.”

There was no answering smile, her face remained neutral.
Leave it at that, idiot
. “I can manage now, and thank you again for your help.” He rose to his feet.

She stepped back, watching anxiously as he moved toward Jupiter. His arm still ached as much as his head, but he felt steady enough as he looked around for his hat. He spotted it and bent to grab it, ignoring the spin of dizziness, and whistled for his horse. Jupiter came but stopped short of where he was standing.

William turned to Miss Brent, who was still studying him, apparently fearing a faint was not far off.

“No comfort from my horse. I expect he thinks me worse than a fool. We’ve known each other much too long for him to mistake me for anything but a human subject to absurd behavior on a regular basis.”

Miss Brent flushed a little, but did not apologize. Good for her. He liked spine in a woman.

“Can I offer you a leg up onto your horse before I go?” He asked the question and bowed with as much deference as he could muster.

“No thank you, my lord. This stump is all the help I need.” She proved it by using the nearby rotting piece of wood to mount. She settled herself and looked back at him.

“Our brother Frederick was killed when a horse threw him,” she added. “He was sixteen. Years later my sister was thrown herself and has not ridden comfortably since. You are very lucky, my lord. If you are not at the stable shortly I will send one of the grooms to find you.” With that Miss Brent urged her mount toward the stable.

William watched her as she turned away.
Even more wonderful
, he thought with a hefty dose of sarcasm. Not only had he looked too stupid for her to ever consider dancing with him, much less kissing him, but he had reminded her of a heartbreaking loss.

How could he ever hope to redeem himself in her eyes? No need to figure out why it mattered. He could still feel heat where his head had rested against her. Only a bigger fool than he was would deny the attraction.

* * *

“I
DO NOT
know who was more embarrassed, the marquis or me. And I was terrified for a moment.” Cecilia stopped her washing-up and looked at her sister.

“Yes, I can imagine only too well.”

“I know, dearest, and I am sorry to have even mentioned it. It is only that I do not know how to behave with him now.”

“I’m sure you’re not the first one to call him a name, Ceci. Someone as hell-bent on adventure as he is would hardly be humiliated.”

“Bitsy, I’m the one who is humiliated,” Ceci all but wailed. “He is a marquis and I called him stupid!” She wrapped herself in a robe and began to pace the room. “How will I behave around him now?”

Beatrice stood in front of her sister to make her stop moving and then took Ceci’s tightly clasped hands in her own. “Calm yourself,” she commanded. When she had her sister’s complete attention, Beatrice went on in a softer voice. “Why should anything change? Do you like him better for falling off his horse?”

“Yes, I do. What I mean is that at least I see him as more human, more like a normal person, which is probably why I spoke that way to him. But when I remembered his rank, his place in society, I could not even find the words to apologize.”

“Then let me remind you what you told me he said last night.” Cecilia nodded and Beatrice went on. “Luck and chance are all that separate the heir to a dukedom from the rest of mankind. Or something like that.”

“And,” Cecilia added, “they have ‘wit enough to
pretend that they are better than the rest of the citizenry.’ I recall that part exactly.”

“Keep all of it in mind and treat him just as you would those would-be gallants at the Assemblies in Birmingham.”

“Oh, I could never do that.”

“For the love of God, Ceci, he is not a royal, and has proved that even he can be thrown from a horse. He is not any more special than Papa or Roger.”

“Hmmm” was all Cecilia said. Beatrice gave up trying to convince her and turned her full attention to her own toilette.

By the time they were abed twelve hours later, Cecilia realized that she need not have worried. At dinner that evening she was seated between Lord Crenshaw and the earl, as far from the marquis as was possible.

The evening’s amusement involved a theater troupe brought from London to perform for them. The play, Sheridan’s
The Rivals
, was familiar to everyone, but the actress who played Mrs. Malaprop brought such humor to the role that even those most familiar with the story were entertained.