A Midsummer Night's Romp (7 page)

A little smile curled his lips. “You did, you know. Who is the object of your lust, if you don't mind my asking?”

She slid her fingers apart and spoke through them. “I'm not lusting, and I don't think I'm supposed to tell you. Gran says you'll go all medieval if I have a boyfriend, not that I want one, because they are just so much work, you know? They always expect you to do the things they want to do, and be interested in their friends, and never want to do things you want. It's so unfair! But he really is gorgeous.”

Gunner turned to look into the barn, scanning over the male faces. The one that seemed to have caught Cressy's attention belonged to a lad who looked just a few years older than her, but who already had both arms covered in tattoos. Mentally, he sighed. He had a feeling he would be investing in more than one shotgun. “You can look but don't touch.”

Cressy rolled her eyes at him. “Jeez, Gunner, I'm not going to walk over to him and touch him all over, you know. I just like looking at him. And his tats. Those are really fabulous. Oh, look, there's Lorina.”

He turned back to the barn, finally picking out the head of Lorina in the semidarkness. She was sitting next
to a dark-haired man whom he remembered as being the lead archaeologist. “So it is.”

“You know her?” Cressy gave him an odd look.

“I met her earlier, yes.”

“Oh. Did she . . . um . . . did she say anything about me?”

An odd note in her voice had him considering his child. “She said she thought you were charming. Why, what have you done to her?”

“Done to her? Me?” Her voice rose into a guilty squeak, which she quickly fixed by clearing her throat. “I don't know why everyone assumes I
do
things to people when I meet them.”

Gunner waited, pursing his lips a little.

“Fine,” Cressy admitted with obvious exasperation. “I may have collapsed our tent on Gran and me, and Lorina had to rescue us because my hair was caught and Gran couldn't figure out how to uncatch me, and then Gran was upset by the tent falling down and breaking, and Lorina said we could have her tent, but I said no because I knew you wouldn't want me dumping a broken tent on someone, so in the end, Gran took Lorina's tent, and she is in my tent with me. The broken one, although we got it fixed up with some duct tape, and I'd like to point out that none of that is
doing things
to Lorina. She offered to swap tents. I didn't even hint at it.”

“Hmm,” he said, wanting to laugh, but knowing that it would only hurt Cressy's feelings. He hadn't seen much of his daughter in the seven years he'd known about her existence, since her mother kept her in Canada most of the time, but what he did know hinted at a delicate ego that could be wounded easily. “So long as Lorina offered and you didn't put her in a position where she felt obligated to do so, then I agree that you did the right thing. And as a reward, I have decided to let you have those riding lessons you've been asking for.”

With a squeal of delight, she hurled herself onto his lap, giving him a big hug that made him feel like the best father in the world. “Oh, thank you, Gunner! I just knew you'd let me take them. I mean, England is known for their show jumpers, so it would be a total waste to spend a whole summer here and not be able to do a little training. When can I start?”

“Tomorrow, if it's possible,” he said, wincing when she kicked her foot against his cast in her enthusiasm.

“Oh, sorry.” She leaped off him, so excited that she seemed to vibrate as she continued to chatter about the proposed lessons, her arms waving about as she talked. She was at that age where she was all arms and legs, but he had a feeling that in a few more years, she'd be a stunner . . . and with that thought, he made a mental note to purchase an entire armory's worth of shotguns.

“I'm so glad Mom sent me here this year instead of making me go to my stepgrandma's house. She's in Alberta, and there's nothing there but wheat! It's so bleh, but England is fabulous, and I have the bestest dad in the world, not at all the dickwad who isn't good enough for me, like Mom says. You're totally cool, and even Gran says that Mom is totes ballistic when it comes to you, and you know Gran—she's never wrong.” She laughed a loud, burbling laugh that made Gunner want to laugh with her. “I shouldn't have said what Mom calls you, should I? Gran would say it's not polite, but I'd rather know what people say about me than pretend everyone loves me. Besides, there's dickwad, and then there's dickwad. My friend Cankles said it about her brother, but he's actually kinda nice. Cankles is my English friend, not one of my friends back home in BC. Her real name is Catrin, but everyone calls her Cankles. I met her last month when I moved in with Gran. I'll need a riding
helmet, but I can wear my jeans and ankle boots. You don't mind getting me a new helmet, do you?”

“Not if it means keeping your brain from being scrambled,” he said quickly, enjoying her stream of consciousness. It gave him much insight into her personality, quirky as it was. “Just keep in mind that if I hear you're annoying Lorina, the lessons will be off.”

Her eyes widened until he thought they might pop out. “I'm not going to annoy her! I
like
her!”

“See that you remember that.” He glanced back at the barn full of diggers. They were still going at it, which annoyed him. He wanted to talk to Lorina again.

“Gran's having a lie-down, as she calls it, but it's really a nap. She gets worn-out fast. When's the baroness coming back to Ainslie? Gran says I have to watch my manners around her, although I think that's silly because it's not like I'm a baboon! I
know
how to be polite.”

“Which baroness?” he asked, absently watching Lorina as she took a few notes during the talk by the production heads. His eyes narrowed when she leaned over to make a comment in the ear of the man next to her.

“The one who's your mom, not the new one, although I suppose she's nice, too.”

He turned at the note of worry in his daughter's voice, giving her a little one-armed hug. “Alice is lovely, and she told me herself that she is thrilled to meet her niece, and can't wait to get back home so she can do just that. And likewise my mother is anxious to see you again. You may not remember it, but you did meet her about five or six years ago.”

Cressida scrunched up her nose in thought. “I kind of remember it, but not really well. None of my other friends have a grandmother who is a baroness, which makes Cankles crazy, because she's got the hots for Prince Harry, and
she thinks you're like royalty or something because you have a castle and Uncle Elliott has a title and stuff.”

Roger d'Aspry continued to drone on in his self-important manner. Now the man next to Lorina was whispering something to her that had her stifling a laugh. Gunner frowned at that.

“Who's that?” Cressy asked suddenly.

“Who is who?”

“That man who's necking with Lorina.”

“They aren't necking,” Gunner said quickly, a bit surprised by the spurt of anger that followed the words. He reminded himself that although Lorina was pleasing on the eyes, and had a sense of humor he enjoyed, he had never been a possessive man, and he'd be damned if he started down that path now. “They're just speaking to each other quietly.”

“Huh. Looks like necking to me.”

He turned a suspicious eye on her. “And what would you know about that, mademoiselle? You just got done telling me you weren't interested in having a boyfriend.”

She giggled, and punched him in the arm. “I'm not, but that doesn't mean I don't recognize necking when I see it. Did I hurt your foot when I sat on you?”

He adjusted once again to her quicksilver conversational offerings. “No.”

“When will you be able to walk around again?”

“Most likely next week.”

“Cankles said she thought it was stupid of you to break your foot in the first place.”

“It was stupid—I could tell the balcony was rusted, but I thought I could get a couple of shots without anything happening. I was wrong, a fact I'd like you to remember when I ask you to stay away from the part of the castle that's out of bounds to everyone.”

She made a face. “I already said I was sorry for
climbing over the fence, and swore I wouldn't do it again. I don't like the non-necking guy next to Lorina. He's”— her nose scrunched again—“smarmy. Is that a word? Cankles said that her sister's boyfriend was smarmy, and I think it means kind of blechy, so if it does, then yeah, he's smarmy.”

“Smarmy is a very good word for people like that,” Gunner agreed, ignoring the fact that when he had met the man earlier, he had no such impression. “You are a good judge of people. You get that from me.”

She shrugged. “I don't know about that. Mom says I think with my heart instead of my head, but that's just silly, because hearts can't think, can they? Why don't you have any horses here? I'm not complaining, but you have a big stable, but no horses. I just thought if you had a horse here, I could ride it instead of taking lessons, and that would save money.”

“No one has time to take care of a horse, although we do have one elderly Shetland pony who is so old he creaks when he walks, and a three-legged donkey who keeps him company out in one of the pastures.”

“Rats.”

“Those we do have. In the stable, and possibly this barn, although I couldn't swear to that.”

Cressida considered him with eyes that were almost identical to her mother's. “You're funny, Gunner. Cankles is jealous because I have a dad who has a black mom and a white dad, and when I tell her that you're funny, she's going to go mental. I can't wait.”

“And you are an odd child who I think takes more after me than I'm comfortable with.” He gave her another smile. “I'll take you into town later to get the riding helmet, all right?”

“Awesome!” she cheered, and before he could blink, she loped off. Gunner wondered if he'd ever been that
free and easy, decided he hadn't, and turned his attention back to the people inside the barn. Thankfully, Roger had reached the end of his discussion, and now another man was standing and briefly reviewing which teams would work on what projects.

After a moment's concerted thought, he finally dredged up a name for the man next to Lorina.

“Paul Thompson,” he said softly to himself, his eyes narrowing on the fellow. But even as he recognized the fact that he was unusually hostile toward someone who had done him no wrong, he admitted that it annoyed him that someone else might have his eye on Lorina for a late summer fling.

Dammit, he saw her first. Therefore, the unwritten rules of a gentleman dictated that he should be allowed to proceed unhindered by competition. Only if Lorina chose to spurn his attentions should Thompson make a move. Perhaps he should point out the rules to the man, since it was obvious he was too obtuse (or ill-bred) to understand them on his own.

The crowd broke after one last round of mild applause. Gunner moved his scooter to the side, passing out pleasant greetings and smiles as the television and archaeology crews streamed past him. His smile grew a little when Lorina strolled past, but he reminded himself that he had never had to chase after a woman. Women always seemed to come his way without much effort.

“Oh,” Lorina said, stopping a few feet away, and looking hesitantly toward him.

He smiled his very best smile.

She pursed her lips a little. “I suppose we should probably chat.”

“If you like, certainly.”

“Do you have your equipment with you?”

He gave her a roguish grin despite his best intentions. “I find it best to carry it with me at all times.”

“Oh, good. Well, I suppose you can give me a rundown on how to use it.” She glanced at her watch. “I have so much to do today. Can we make it tomorrow morning?”

He knew that she had to be speaking of something other than what he first thought she meant. He knew that, and yet he was unable to keep his roguish grin from turning into an outright leer. “I'd be delighted to show you how to use my equipment, although I should mention that I'm less flexible than normal due to the cast. In addition, I will warn you that despite your belief earlier that I was asking you to marry me, I'm not actually in the market for a permanent attachment. That doesn't mean we can't enjoy our time together—far from it. Nothing spices up a summer more than a little dalliance, don't you think?”

She gawked at him, outright gawked with open mouth and wide eyes. “Did you just proposition me into, for lack of a polite term, hooking up with you?”

“I believe we could find much mutual pleasure in each other's company, yes,” he said with a startling lack of his usual finesse.

She shook her head. “Man, I just—no one has ever just come right out—not so blatant as that—no, Gunner, I am not interested in casual sex, with you or with anyone else.” She took a deep breath, and continued on before he could respond. “And can I just say that you really have some kind of balls coming on to someone who you just met. The fact that you think you can just stroll up and dominate me in that way . . . no sir! It's not going to fly with me! I don't do dalliances, as you call them. I happen to prefer a meaningful relationship with a man who
values me, and doesn't have to make himself feel better by showing he's stronger, or more dominant, or any of those things men feel they have to prove. You really have
some nerve
assuming that I'd fall victim to your pretty face, and nice chest, and all the rest of you.”

“Are you finished?” Gunner asked politely when she paused for breath.

“Not even close!” she said with a dignified sniff. “Who do you think you are that you can hit on me like that without even so much as a by-your-leave?”