Practically Wicked (12 page)

She didn’t need to convince herself of anything at Caldwell, she realized with a dawning smile. She was a guest at a beautiful country estate on her way to having her own lovely country cottage. Things were fine quite as they were.

Things were also considerably more active at Caldwell Manor than she’d anticipated. The muted bang of pots and pans could be heard coming from the kitchen below. The shuffle of feet and the creek of floorboards sounded above. Apparently, life in a country manor began much earlier than life in a town house.

Well, no matter, she decided. A particular guest would certainly still be abed, and that was good enough.

Still, she avoided the hall with the library and billiards room, having had her fill of that part of the house for now. But she found a music room and orangery, a number of guest rooms, several rooms used for storage, and a half dozen rooms with purposes that eluded her.

She’d also discovered, through the windows of one such mysterious room, that the sun had fully risen on what looked to be a lovely morning. More notably, it hadn’t risen over grimy roofs and chimneys, but a vast landscape of green.

No longer interested in remaining indoors, she found a back door at the end of a hall and stepped outside into the soft, warm air of a sunny morning.

Oh, how lovely.

Beyond the back lawn lay the rolling hills she wanted to explore. Nearly giddy with anticipation, Anna took a deep breath in, chose a direction at random, and headed off.

She had imagined, in the past, what a stroll about the countryside of a sunny morning might be like. There would be birdsong and the chatter of squirrels, a brisk breeze carrying the scent of hay and pine. Perhaps she would spy cattle in the distance, or maybe a drover taking his flock to market.

Peaceful, bucolic, ideal—these were the words she most often encountered in her books when reading about the English countryside. They were the words that came to mind when she’d fantasized about strolling across England’s green fields.

In truth, she’d spent a considerable amount of her time fantasizing about countryside strolls.

When Anover House was asleep, that was when she wandered its halls. But when it was awake, and at its wildest and loudest, Anna had retreated into books and her own imagination. She had envisioned herself walking in the beautiful, peaceful fields surrounding her imaginary cottage more times than she could count.

Unfortunately, reality did not conform entirely to Anna’s fantasies.

She stepped in manure within the first half hour, which, for obvious reasons, had not arisen as a possibility in her daydreams. Even after scraping off the worst of the muck against a rock, the smell remained pungent, and so it seemed only sensible to remedy the problem with an ankle-deep wade into the wide stream she came upon.

The water was colder than she anticipated, and the slick rocks along the bottom made any sort of movement rather precarious, but with a little effort, she was able to scrape the offending muck from her boots without taking an unexpected dive into the water.

The long soaking, however, allowed water to seep through the thin leather of her boots, saturating her stockings, and walking became less comfortable after leaving the stream. But Anna pushed the unpleasant feeling aside and headed for the nearest hill. Aching muscles would keep her mind off the condition of her feet.

The hill wasn’t particularly steep, but it was tall, and the ground near the top was damp and loose. Her feet slid out beneath her repeatedly, resulting in the last ten minutes of her hike becoming more of a scramble than a climb. By the time she reached the top, her gown was torn at the hem and covered in soil from the knees down, her hands were filthy from seeking purchase in the dirt and grass, and, as expected, her legs were screaming.

But the view at the peak made it all worthwhile.

The beautiful countryside lay out before her,
exactly
as she had always dreamed: fertile fields and hills broken by stands of hardwoods and the occasional stone wall. A warm breeze brushed her face, and the scent of hay teased her nose. The sound of sheep and cattle echoed in the distance. It was a world apart from the sounds and smells of London and, in her estimation, a world improved.

Anna grinned and decided that, unfortunate manure encounter notwithstanding, and despite her aching muscles, wet shoes, torn gown, and what she was certain were colossal-sized blisters on her feet, this was shaping up to be a perfectly wonderful morning.

She enjoyed the vista a minute longer, then took a deep breath of the sweet air and headed off once more.

For the next hour, she walked through fields, through stands of trees, and over small hills, careful to move in a circle about the manor house rather than stray too far away. After a while, however, her feet began to ache and sting to the point where she was no longer able to ignore the discomfort. It was time to head back, she decided, as she reached the top of another rise. She could explore the next hill another morning, perhaps venture closer to the flock of sheep she could see in the distance.

Anna took a final look, turned, and found herself staring at small brown eyes at the end of a long canine muzzle.

“Well, my goodness,” she whispered, delighted. “Who have we here?”

Black and tan with lopsided ears, a low-slung tail, and an intense stare, the dog didn’t quite reach her knees, but its strength was apparent in its long, lean lines.

“Aren’t you adorable,” she crooned and stretched her hand out for the dog to smell. “Aren’t you a beauty?”

The beauty lowered its head and issued a quiet snarl that showcased an impressive set of sharp, white teeth. Anna’s heart leapt at the sight.

“Oh, my…Oh. All right. All right, then. Good dog.” She withdrew her hand slowly and began to carefully back away. The dog crouched lower and followed, his snarl deepening into a long, low growl.

“Here now, no need for that.” Fear formed a hard knot in her chest. It wasn’t a great beast of an animal, no more than fifty pounds at a guess, but it appeared sufficiently agile (not to mention annoyed) to do considerable damage to her person. “No need at all. I quite like dogs.”

The dog lunged, snapped at the air a few feet from her toes, and jumped back again, quick as lightning.

“No! Bad dog!” She wasn’t able to keep the tremor out of her voice, but she compensated with volume, and by shaking her finger at the dog as if scolding a naughty child. The latter left her feeling equal parts ridiculous and terrified. “Very bad dog!”

Her lack of confidence must have shown because the dog lunged at her feet again, stopped short by a good distance, and jumped back once more.

She took a deep breath, intending another scold with the desperate notion that she might be able to keep things at a standoff until help arrived. But she wasn’t given the opportunity to put her ill-conceived plan to the test.

A series of shrill whistles sounded behind her, and to her immense shock and greater relief, the dog spun about in the opposite direction and sprinted back to the flock, for all the world as if Anna had suddenly ceased to exist.

With her heart lodged stubbornly in her throat, Anna kept her eyes trained on the dog, fearful it might change its mind and come sprinting back for another go at her ankles. Even the sound of footsteps coming up swift behind her couldn’t force her to turn around.

But the sound of Max Dane’s voice could.

“Are you injured?”

Oh, damn and blast.

The thank-you Anna had fully intended to deliver to her rescuer died a swift and painful death when she turned about and saw Max—looking a bit winded, she noted, but otherwise neat and collected. From what she could tell, she looked as if she’d lost in a footrace through a briar patch in a wind storm.

He closed the distance between them and took in her disheveled appearance with a quick, thorough glance. “Are you hurt?”

Shaking her head, she gestured toward the dog, who had gone back to darting around the edges of its flock. “No. No, he didn’t actually…He only…Engsly ought keep better control of his pets.”

“Clover’s not a pet, sweet. And she is a she.”

She was too rattled to do more than blink at his use of an endearment. “Well,
she
could use a spot of training.”

“She guards and herds the flock. A better-trained shepherd’s dog you’ll not find in England.” He looked out over the field to the flock and his lips thinned to an annoyed line. “Pity the same can’t be said for the shepherd.”

She felt a bit thick for having assumed the animal was a pet. Of course it was a shepherd’s dog. The flock was right before her. Evidently, the transition from city to country life did not come as naturally as she’d hoped.

“I didn’t see him,” she mumbled.

“My point exactly,” he said under his breath before returning his attention to her. “Certain you’re unharmed?”

“Yes.” She shrugged but found she wasn’t quite capable of being wholly nonchalant about the incident. “She tried to bite me.”

“If she’d wanted a bite, she’d have taken one. She was nipping at your feet to move you along.”

“I tried to move along,” she replied, defensive. “She followed.”

“She wanted you to move along faster.” He gave her a small smile. “Gave you quite a scare, did she?”

The amusement in his voice grated just enough to steal her spine. “I have recovered.”

“I am relieved to hear it.”

“Are you?” she asked caustically.

Much to her surprise, he winced and offered what she might have taken for an apologetic expression, had he been anyone else. “I don’t wish you ill, Anna.”

“Merely my swift departure?” she asked, not believing him.

“On the contrary—” He made a show of turning about and holding out his elbow for her to take. “—it would be an honor to escort you back to the house.”

He looked the perfect gentleman awaiting a lady’s pleasure, but Anna knew better. He was no gentleman, and she was no lady. To refuse his offer would be petty, but when she took his elbow, it was with a cautious grasp and suspicious eye.

“I had hoped to find you this morning,” he commented lightly as he started them off. “You are now fully recovered from your journey, I presume?”

“Yes,” she replied warily. Coming to her rescue, playing the escort, asking after her general well-being…What game was he playing? And why the devil wasn’t he still abed like every other self-respecting degenerate? “I thank you for inquiring.”

“I’m not utterly without manners. Usually. Which leads us to why I sought you out this morning. I wanted…” He trailed off, slanted a sharp look at her skirts and brought them to an abrupt stop. “You said you weren’t injured.”

“Sorry?” She followed his gaze, baffled. Her gown was muddy, not bloody. “I’m not—”

“You’re limping.”

“Oh, that.” She shrugged. “My boots are wet, that’s all. I’ve a blister or two.”

He gestured at an old tree stump a few feet away. “Sit down a moment.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she assured him. “I am perfectly well.”

“Sit,” he repeated and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the stump.

“And when I am done, shall I retrieve a pheasant for you?” she asked tartly. “Curl about your feet to warm your toes? Run alongside your carriage?”

He held up a hand in surrender. “I apologize for my abruptness. If you would…” He trailed off, narrowed his eyes just a hair, and ran his tongue over his teeth, considering. “The toe-warming idea has some merit.”

“Good day, Lord Dane.” If he hoped to gain her cooperation by making a racy jest, he was to be sorely disappointed. She turned to resume her walk toward the house, alone, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“Stop. Just a moment. Please.” He took a deep breath and flicked his eyes heavenward. “Miss Rees, I beg of you, humor my gentlemanly side, negligible and neglected though it may be, and have a seat.”

He ended this small speech by stripping out of his coat and laying the fabric over the stump. It was a thoughtful, even chivalrous gesture, and one she couldn’t argue against without appearing foolish.

“This really is unnecessary,” she reiterated, but she limped over, perched on the edge of the stump as it was too uneven to make a proper seat, and decided that she still felt foolish, only for different reasons.

“But harmless,” he returned and knelt at her feet to untie her boots.

As he appeared quite intent on the task, she discarded the idea of insisting she do her own untying. Instead, she marveled at the deftness of his fingers as they worked the laces. When she’d first met Max, he’d been a man under the influence of drink. He’d been notably uncoordinated, unable to manage so much as a snap of the fingers. But this man…this man had decidedly agile fingers. She found them to be fascinating for reasons she chose not to acknowledge.

When he slipped a finger between the leather and her stockings, she thought it strange that his touch should feel familiar. Strange and awful, as he found her so distasteful, and she had fallen asleep the night before gleefully envisioning his forked tongue on a spit.

Discomforted, she made conversation merely to distract herself. “How did you know how to send Clover away?”

“I’ve watched the shepherd work with her now and again. Why are your boots sopping wet?” he inquired suddenly with a quick glance up. “What happened?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes snapped to his. There was nothing untoward in peering at one’s own feet whilst a gentleman’s hands just happened to be upon them…and yet she felt a warmth of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. “Oh. I…I stepped in something unpleasant and washed my boots in the stream.”

His fingers came up to lightly brush across the mud at her knees. “And then…you fell on the banks?”

“No.” She pushed his hand away. There was something very much untoward in allowing a man to handle one’s knees. “I…knelt to pick a flower. I didn’t realize the ground was so…”

“Dirty?”

She drew a hand down her sleeve, the picture of composure, and decided the best response to that was no response at all.

“Liar.” He laughed softly and began to ease her boot from her foot. “Keep that secret, if you like. My imagination can fill in…Damn it, woman, what have you done?”