The Gallant Guardian (25 page)

“A capital idea. I remember that Felbridge taught me a similar design when I was your age. May I see it?” Absorbed in examining William’s toy, Max was oblivious to the effect that this simple speech had on William’s sister.

A lump rose in Charlotte’s throat and her eyes misted over so that William and the marquess merged into one blurry mass in front of her. Outrageous and irreverent though the marquess’s behavior might be in the eyes of the fashionable world, to her brother, he was kindness itself. Charlotte very much doubted that at the age of fifteen Lord Lydon would have done anything but sneer at paper boats; however, at the age of seven or eight he might very well have been as intrigued by them as his ward now was. As always, he made William feel appreciated and comfortable with who he was. Not for the first time Charlotte noticed the warmth in
the marquess’s voice when he spoke of Felbridge. Though her guardian had no obvious family ties, it was clear from the way he spoke of the man that Felbridge meant more to him than anyone else did.

They soon reached the charming little boathouse at the edge of the water. William and the marquess launched the boat and the marquess assisted Charlotte in taking her seat in the bow. He took the oars, and at his direction William climbed into the stern and pushed off. With a few swift strokes the marquess had set them gliding smoothly toward the middle of the lake.

“Please may we go to the island?” William begged.

“We can go around, if you like, but at the moment the ducks are nesting there so I do not like to disturb them. Perhaps if you look closely you may see some ducklings.”

Mollified, William kept his eyes glued to the shore as they circled the little clump of rocks and trees in the middle of the lake, but he could see nothing.

The warmth of the sun and the rhythmic plunk of the oars in the water made Charlotte feel pleasantly drowsy. She trailed one hand in the water and stared dreamily into its depths, letting her mind wander as freely as the white fluffy clouds drifted in the brilliant blue sky overhead. She was practically dozing off when she heard her brother exclaim, “Oh, my boat!” There was a violent lurch to starboard, and the next thing she knew she was tossed into the water in which she had so leisurely been dipping her fingers.

Gasping with the sudden shock of it, she untangled her arms from her shawl and struggled to right herself. Since she and William had been taught to swim by Speen, she was not at all worried. The water, being shallow, was not too cold and, given the warmth of the day, it was pleasantly refreshing once she had gotten over the surprise of it all.

Checking to see if William and the marquess were all right, she grabbed onto the boat, which had turned completely over, and, using that for support, stretched her feet down. They touched the bottom with ease and she stood up, chest deep in the water, and wiped the dripping curls away from her face.

William and the marquess were also struggling to their feet. “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, Charlie,” William apologized when he had caught his breath. “I dropped my boat into the water and I didn’t want to lose it. I’m sorry, Charlie, I really and truly am.”

“I know you did not mean it, dear,” Charlotte reassured her brother with a watery smile. “But you must remember what I told you back at Harcourt about staying in the center of the boat and not making any sudden movements.” Seeing that he was still distressed, Charlotte splashed over to her brother and put one arm around him. “There, there, dear. There is no harm done. It was just a bit of a shock, that is all, but I am afraid that your boat has gone for a voyage of its own.” She pointed to the little craft which, pushed by gentle waves, was rapidly making its way to the island. “I wonder what the ducks will make of that?”

Reassured, William laughed and shook the water out of his hair. “Yes, I wonder what they will think of that.” Then he tucked his arm under hers. “We are having an adventure, aren’t we, Charlie? Did you hear that, sir? We are having an adventure,” William sang out gaily.

Wiping the water from his own eyes, Lydon shook his head in a bemused fashion. “I expect we are.” Stunned by the entire episode, Maximilian was undergoing a series of startling revelations that seemed to be rendering him entirely incapable of thought or action. Accustomed to being in command of every situation, and being the one people looked to for a solution to every crisis, he was oddly put out that no one seemed to be asking him to do anything in this one. Charlotte appeared not to be the least ruffled by her unexpected dunking, and William had turned immediately to his sister for guidance. Instead of being counted upon, the marquess was merely superfluous.

Glancing over at Charlotte to see if she needed assistance, he had been confronted with a dilemma of another sort—he could not take his eyes off her. With the water glistening in her hair and transforming the fine muslin of her walking dress into a second skin, she looked like Venus rising from the sea, and it quite took his breath away. He gasped for air as though someone had tipped him a leveler in the stomach. What had come over him? He had seen scores of women in all states of undress; what was it about this one that affected him so?
Steady, man
, he told himself,
she is your ward
.

But then Charlotte turned to him, laughter sparkling in her eyes. “I had not thought to go swimming, but it really is rather refreshing on such a warm day.” Max’s heart began to pound in a way it had not since his salad days. She was so blithe and calm about the entire episode, accepting it and dealing with it in a way he could
not imagine another person doing, except himself. She was entirely without embarrassment, obviously enjoying the cool water without the least thought for what it was doing to her clothing or her coiffure. For a wild moment he wondered if she even cared that her dress was practically transparent.

“Perhaps we had better make our way to shore, for I do not think that even the three of us together can right this boat, do you, my lord?”

“Ah, er, no.”

Charlotte slowly began to wade toward the nearest shore, but in water that high it was rather slow going so she gave up and swam as best she could, with William splashing along behind her. Finally, reaching shallower water, she stood up, the folds of her skirt clinging to her like the drapery of a Greek statue.

Max followed more slowly, trying valiantly to keep his eyes on William, on the shore, on anything but the long, delicious curves of her slender figure as she rose from the water. Her naturalness was enchanting, and her obvious enjoyment of the water only made his throat tighten as the picture of her totally unencumbered by clothes, free to frolic in the lake, flashed unbidden before him. Drops of water on her skin gave it a pearly glow that made him long to reach out and caress it, to run his hands down the smooth, slim column of her neck and…what was he thinking? She was his ward. He was supposed to be her guardian, not her ravisher. But slow, delicious ravishment was all he could think of at the moment.

It took a supreme effort of will even to breathe normally. Conversation was certainly impossible. Fortunately for Max, a gentle breeze ruffled the water and Charlotte pulled the sodden shawl she had been dragging from the water and wrapped it around her shoulders. That snapped him out of his trance. He made his way over to her, stripped off his own coat of Bath superfine, and placed it over the shawl, pulling it close around her. However, it took all his self-control not to pull her into his arms and plant kisses all over her soft red lips and down her white throat.

Charlotte turned to glance up at him. “Why thank you. But there really is no need. I am warm enough and you have only your shirt, which is thinner than my dress.” This was quite true, for she could see the outline of the muscles of his arms and the dark hair on his chest through the wet linen of his shirt. Charlotte had never realized what a physically powerful man the marquess was. Until this
moment, if she had thought about it at all, she had attributed his assurance and air of authority to his vast worldly experience and clever mind, but now she realized that these were only part of it. The broad shoulders, muscular chest, long, lean legs, and strong, capable hands played no small part in his imposing presence. All of a sudden her knees felt weak and she had the wildest urge to lean against that chest, gathering warmth and strength from his solidity. It was most unlike her, but she supposed it must be a reaction to the shock of being dumped without warning into the water.

“Here, Charlie, here is a bit of log you can step on to get out.” William, who had moved on ahead of them and searched the shore to find the best place to emerge, now pointed it out proudly to them.

“Thank you, William. That was very clever of you,” Charlotte responded, grateful for the distraction that broke the almost palpable tension between her and the marquess. It was as though she had been aware of him with every fiber of her body, and the intensity of it had been almost overwhelming. Certainly it had been extremely unnerving and Charlotte, never having experienced anything like it before in her life, was a little afraid of it. Just after her mother had died she remembered wanting to have her father hug and hold her as her mother had done, but he never had. He had never so much as held her hand or kissed her good night and she had never again allowed herself to long for anything so much as she had for that.

The feelings rushing over her now had filled her with that same desperate yearning, and it frightened her to think that after all these years of raising herself to be an independent and rational creature, able to look after both herself and William, in the blink of an eye, or in this case, a tumble into the water, she could find herself right back where she had started from fifteen long, lonely years ago.

“What will we do about the boat, sir?” William’s question to the marquess was equally as restorative to his guardian as his finding a place to climb out had been to his sister. With a sigh, half of regret, half of relief, Max gave the coat on Charlotte’s shoulders a final pat, as though his hands had been resting there only to make sure the coat was well and firmly placed and not because he ached to touch her.

“I shall ask some of the lads from the stable to bring one or two of the plow horses from the home farm and hitch them to the boat and drag it in. The bottom of the lake is solid enough so they
should be able to keep their footing, and it is not so deep as to make them nervous if the lads can just float it close enough to shore to right it.”

“I should like to see that.”

“And so you shall, but I think your sister would agree with me that we should go and exchange these wet things for some dry ones; do you not think so, Charlotte?”

“Charlotte.” Hearing her name on his lips startled her and she looked up at Max in some surprise. It was a mistake, for his eyes were smiling down into hers in such a way that she felt as though he could see right through her, right through his jacket and the thin muslin dress to her heart, which was absolutely pounding. Surely he must be able to see her knees threatening to buckle again. For the life of her, she could not tear her eyes away, but remained staring up at him as her throat grew dry and her cheeks grew warm. “Yes,” she croaked. “I mean, certainly we must do that. It is very warm outside at the moment, but a cloud could come along or a puff of wind and we should feel rather cold.” What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? First she was tongue-tied as a schoolgirl and now she was babbling like an idiot. Surely it was not the shock. She had gotten into scrapes, suffered cuts, bruises, falls, accidents of all kinds without being the least affected by it, but now she was all at sea. At last, drawing a deep breath, she was able to tear her eyes away from Max’s and, planting one foot firmly and deliberately in front of the other, made her way toward the house.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Maximilian let her go, but a secret smile of satisfaction spread slowly across his face. So she had felt it too. She was not indifferent to him. Good! It was bad enough to ache for her as he ached for her now, to be possessed with the overwhelming urge to bury his hands in the shining dark hair and press his lips to hers, but it would have been unbearable to feel that way if she herself felt nothing. But he had seen the telltale signs, the green eyes turning deep emerald with desire, the delicate flush on her cheeks, the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. Charlotte might not recognize such signs herself, much less admit to them, but they were there.

Maximilian followed Charlotte and William at a more leisurely pace, but as he climbed the steps to the terrace outside the library he paused, his hand on the latch of the French doors. If he entered, he was sure to encounter someone—Mrs. Purdy, one of the footmen—and he would be forced to speak to them. His mood would be broken, and he did not wish it to be. Just for the moment he wanted to savor it, to enjoy it to its fullest.

He turned to gaze back over the lake and his eyes lighted on the overturned boat. The sight of it brought him back to reality with a jolt. What was he thinking? Charlotte was the daughter of his friend, his ward, entrusted to his care, depending on him for his support and guidance. And all he could think of was ravishing her.

Heretofore, Max had confined his amatory exploits to women of the world, women experienced in the art of dalliance. He had never desired, never allowed himself to think about the young, the innocent, the inexperienced. That only led to expectations and responsibilities that he was not about to take on. Besides, the idea of making love to someone who had no skill or experience, someone who was likely to resist or, at the very least, regret it, had never held any attraction for him; it had seemed more like work than
pleasure. Why now, suddenly, did innocence and inexperience seem so appealing?

To think that he would be the first to kiss those full soft lips, the first to make her body experience the delights of passion, now made it all the more desirable. Charlotte’s blushes, her lowered lashes, the look of surprise in her eyes made the attraction all the more powerful because the lack of dissembling made it all the more real. Skill on the part of one’s lover meant the ability to deceive—such was not the case with Charlotte. The desire she felt was mirrored in her face, and its presence in her only made him want her all the more.