Whirlwind Wedding (10 page)

"I know because I touched you. But even if I hadn't, I would still be able to tell." Her gaze settled on his muddy shirt. "You've been an exceptionally good sport about all this. I'd wager you've never done anything like this, have you?"

"Never."

"I thought not. Yet you eventually managed to see the funny side of this episode, although your initial shock was quite evident." Her gaze turned speculative. "You keep people at arm's length, thus cultivating an aloof, cool air. However, you treat your sister with kind indulgence and your mother with warmth and courtesy. I've spent enough time with you and observed you with enough people to know what sort of man you really are . . . how good and decent you are."

Tightness invaded his chest, her words confusing him, throwing him off balance. He was further surprised when a heated flush of pleasure flooded his face. He had to forcibly jerk his thoughts away from the staggering notion that this woman considered him warm and caring. Decent. And good to his family.
If you knew how I failed William, you would realize how
wrong you are.

Before he could fashion a reply, she said "I realize our meeting last evening ended on a strained note, but might we not start afresh?"

"Afresh?"

"Yes. It's an American word meaning 'all over again.' I thought, perhaps if we tried very,
very
hard we might be . . . friends. And in the spirit of blossoming friendship, I'd like you to call me Elizabeth."

Blossoming
friendship"?
Bloody hell, now he'd heard everything. Friends?

With a woman? And this particular woman? Impossible. There were only a handful of
men
he called friends. Women could be mothers, sisters, aunts, or lovers, but not friends. Or could they?

He searched her face and it struck him just how different she was from any woman he'd ever met. How was it possible that, in spite of her strange claims of visions and the fact that she obviously had secrets, she made him feel she was trustworthy? Whatever it was, he couldn't deny, even to himself, that she attracted him like a moth to a flame.

If she wished to believe they were friends, he'd do nothing to disabuse her of the notion—at least not until he'd found out everything he needed to know from her.

But with each passing moment it was increasingly difficult to believe that she was involved in any way with blackmailers or schemes of any sort.

Clearing his throat, he said "I would be delighted to call you Elizabeth.

Thank you."

"You're welcome." Amusement twinkled in her eyes.
"Your grace."

He nearly chuckled at her obvious tone and expectation for him to return the honor. Didn't she have any notion how impertinent it was for her to even imply that she call him something other than "your grace"? Such familiarity, such
intimacy,
was completely beyond the pale.

Intimacy. A
sudden, overwhelming longing to hear his name pass her remarkable lips assailed him. "Some people call me Bradford."

"Bradford" she repeated slowly, drawing out the syllables in a soft, husky voice that had him clenching his teeth. What would hearing her say his Christian name do to him?

"A few people call me by my given name of Austin."

"Austin," she said softly, shooting a hot tingle straight through him. "It's a very fine name. Strong, commanding, noble. It suits you perfectly."

"Thank you," he said taken aback not only by her compliment but by the pleasurable warmth it sent trickling down his spine. "My friends call me Austin. You may do so if you wish."

He inwardly groaned astounded by his unprecedented offer. He must be losing his mind. What the hell would people think of her if they heard her call him Austin? He'd have to warn her not to say it in front of anyone—to call him that only when they were alone together.

Alone together.
Bloody hell, he
was
losing his mind!

"Why, thank you . . . Austin. So, am I forgiven?"

He jerked his attention back. "Forgiven?"

"Yes. For, urnmrnm . . ." She glanced down at his ruined clothes.

He followed her gaze. "Ah, yes. The extremely sad state of my attire. Are you truly sorry?"

She nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes."

"Do you promise never to do such a dastardly thing again?"

"Hmmm. Do you mean
never
—as in
never
again in my
entire
life?"

"That was the general idea, yes."

"Oh, dear." She pursed her lips, but her eyes glowed alight with mischief.

"I'm afraid I cannot make such a far-reaching promise."

"I see." He heaved a sigh of resignation. "Well, in that case, can you possibly endeavor to behave yourself long enough for us to make it back to the house?"

"Oh, yes," she agreed with a beaming smile. "I can promise that."

"Thank God. In that case, I suppose I'll have to forgive you. Let's get out of this water before we shrivel up." He turned and started back toward shore. "Are you coming?" he asked when she didn't follow him.

"I wish I could, but I can't," she said struggling to move. "My feet have sunken in the mud and my skirts are too heavy to budge." Her dimples winked. "Do you suppose I could trouble you for some assistance?"

Austin looked heavenward. "The last time you asked me that I ended up receiving a mud bath." He glared at her. "I trust you'll recall your promise to behave yourself? I could leave you out there, you know."

She held her hand over her heart. "I promise."

He sloshed his way back to her, muttering uncomplimentary words about females in general. "Put your arms around my neck."

She did so and he swept her up into his arms, nearly staggering under the combined weight of her and her sodden clothing. Cold water poured from her garments, sluicing down his body, while mud oozed from her boots. She nestled her face on his shoulder and his body tightened in reaction to the feel of her wet body snuggled against his chest. He bent his head and breathed in the flowery fragrance of her hair. Damn it, even covered in mud she still smelled like lilacs.

Once on the shore, he lowered her until her feet touched the ground her body slowly dragging along his. Her wet clothes clung to her, outlining her curvaceous shape, and he swallowed a groan. Her hardened nipples were clearly outlined against the damp material, and her legs appeared endless.

God, she was incredible. Even slathered in mud, he wanted her.

His entire body pulsed to life, and when she tried to step back his hands tightened on her waist. God help him, he'd never wanted to kiss a woman more. Even as warning bells clanged in his head, he moved his mouth slowly toward hers. He had to taste her again . . . just one more time.

She slapped her palms against his chest. "What are you doing?"

"I was preparing to collect my payment."

"For what?"

"My ruined attire."

"By
kissing
me?"

"Of course. It's an old and noble custom here in England. One kiss for a muddy shirt and breeches. Did no one tell you?"

"I'm afraid it has not come up in conversation."

"Well, now that you know, you'd best pay up. Otherwise, it's debtors'

prison for you."

She raised her brows.
"One
kiss?"

"I'd be happy to charge you two. In fact—"

"Oh, no," she said hastily. "One is fine."

"Well, since you insist . . ." He drew her closer, until her breasts brushed his chest, then covered her mouth with his own.

The instant their lips met, he was lost. Utterly and completely. Lost in the silky feel of her, the warm taste of her, the soft, flowery scent of her. Every rational thought slipped from his mind as his hands ran up her sides and cupped her full breasts. He teased her nipples into points and she gasped dropping her head limply back. He took immediate advantage, running his lips down the long slender column of her throat, each touch dragging him deeper and deeper into a heated haze where nothing existed but the woman in his arms.

"Austin . . ." she breathed. "Please. We must stop."

Expending an effort that nearly killed him, he lifted his head and gazed into her dazed desire-filled eyes. Lust smacked him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He wanted nothing more than to peel off her wet gown and make love to her. And if he didn't move away from her
now,
he might do just that.

He stepped back and immediately missed the feel of her pressed against him. Unable to resist the urge to touch her, he reached out, took her hands, and entwined their fingers.

Elizabeth pushed the hazy cobwebs from her mind. For the second time, this man had kissed her breathless. Mindless. Until nothing mattered but him.

But she'd had to stop. She'd allowed him more liberties than any decent woman would. But the effort had cost her. She'd wanted nothing more than to let him continue kissing her, touching her, igniting her skin, filling her senses with his heavenly taste and woodsy scent.

At that instant he squeezed her hands and his thoughts filled her mind with breathtaking clarity.

He wanted to make love to her.

Wanted to peel off her wet gown and touch her. Everywhere.

Making love.
Love. Heat flooded her and her heart nearly jumped from her body. Is
that
what this feeling was? This bone-melting, can't-breathe, can't-stop-thinking-about-him, ever-want-his-kiss-to-end feeling? This overpowering need to help and protect him?

Dear God, was she falling in love with Austin?

The trip back to the house was made in silence. Elizabeth rode on Myst in front of Austin, wrapped in his strong arms, his warm body surrounding her.

Am I falling in love with him?

Her mind immediately rejected the possibility. No. To love this man would bring her nothing but heartache. Although he obviously found her attractive enough to kiss, he did not trust her or believe in her or her visions.

And even if he did the situation was impossible. He wasn't just any man.

He was a
duke,
and she'd be a fool to entertain the idea that he would ever have deep feelings for an unsophisticated woman like her. No doubt he had only to raise his finger and dozens of beautiful, wealthy women would dash to his side eager to do his bidding. His position would require him to marry a woman of high social standing—and she was not that woman.

A lump lodged in her throat and her insides ached. She desperately tried to convince herself that she was merely attracted to him, simply infatuated but her heart stubbornly refused to listen. It didn't matter that he didn't, wouldn't, return her feelings. Nor did it matter that she hadn't known him long. After all, how long did it take to fall in love? A day? A month? A year? Her parents had fallen deeply in love at first sight and Papa had proposed within two weeks. Her mother had always said "Somehow, the heart just
knows."
Now Elizabeth understood what she'd meant.

But the realization was bittersweet.

Heaving a sigh, she leaned back against Austin and once again his loneliness, the emptiness that haunted him, seeped into her mind. She clearly sensed that secrets troubled him, but she couldn't discern what they were. Her heart ached for him. She had to help him. Make him whole again.

And if a broken heart was the price she must pay, so be it.

They arrived at the stables several minutes later. Austin dismounted, then assisted Elizabeth down as Mortlin ran forward.

"Blimey! Are ye hurt, Miz Elizabeth? Rosamunde just this minute returned to the stables without ye. Scared me to the toes, it did."

"I'm quite all right, Mortlin. Just a bit dirty."

Mortlin's gaze wandered over her. "A
bit?
Why, ye look like . . ." His voice tapered off as his gaze moved to Austin. The groom's jaw dropped open. "God save us! Wot 'appened, yer grace? It's a bloody mess yer lookin'

like!"

"We're both fine, Mortlin. We took a small spill in the lake, nothing more."

"Ye fell
off Myst?" Mortlin clearly couldn't imagine such a thing.

"No." Austin fixed the bugged-eyed groom with a repressive stare and silently handed him Myst's reins. Mortlin clearly recognized the "no-more-questions" look and snapped his mouth shut so quickly both of his teeth rattled.

Tucking Elizabeth's dirty hand under his filthy arm, Austin escorted her back to the house. She seemed uncharacteristically quiet, and he wondered what she was thinking. He forced himself to keep his own thoughts carefully blank . . . just in case. Of course her talk of visions was ridiculous, but she
was
uncannily perceptive.

She inclined her head toward the terrace. "Good heavens, there's Caroline. She just caught sight of us and is staring in much the same manner that Mortlin did. Quick! Shoot her that icy glare you silenced Mortlin with," she suggested out of the side of her mouth in a laughing undertone.

"Caroline is unfortunately immune to even my most freezing stare," he whispered close to her ear.

"What a pity," she whispered back.

"Indeed. It seems I'm suddenly surrounded by females who find me less than intimidating. I must be losing my touch."

"Not at all. Your touch is . . ." Her voice trailed off and he paused drawing her to a stop beside him. A becoming blush stained her cheeks.

"My touch is what?"

She cocked a brow at him. "Do you normally fish for compliments in such a shameless manner, your grace?"

"Only on days when I resemble something dragged from the lake."

On the terrace, Caroline couldn't decide what amazed her more—her brother's
unprecedented
filthy appearance, or the sight of him smiling and whispering in Elizabeth's ear. Elizabeth, Caroline noted with interest, had her arm linked through Austin's, and her face glowed with a becoming blush as she laughed at something he said.