Whirlwind Wedding (5 page)

A stark white shirt covered his broad shoulders. He wore no neckcloth and the strong tanned column of his neck rose from the opening in the fine lawn. Her heart sped up at the sight of a few dark hairs peeping up from that intriguing opening before his shirt thwarted her view.

His wide chest tapered in a perfect V to narrow hips, and his long, muscular legs were covered in buff breeches that disappeared into shiny black leather riding boots. She imagined a string of brokenhearted females littered the streets of London. He'd certainly make a wonderful subject to sketch.

"Do I pass inspection?" he asked in an amused drawl.

"Inspection?"

"Yes." A half grin touched his lips. "It's an English word meaning 'to examine thoroughly'"

Although he was clearly teasing, hot chagrin flooded her. Good heavens, she was indeed staring at him as if she was starving and he was a banquet.

But at least he no longer seemed upset with her.

"Forgive me, your grace. I'm simply surprised to see you here." Her eyes narrowed on a mark on his cheek. "Did you injure yourself?"

He gingerly touched the spot. "A branch caught me. 'Tis only a scratch."

A soft nickering claimed her attention and she glanced at the magnificent black gelding drinking from the lake. "Are you enjoying your ride?"

"Very much." He looked around. "Where is your mount?"

"I walked. It's a lovely morn—" An image flashed in her mind cutting off her words. A horse rearing, a black horse very much like the one drinking from the lake.

"Are you all right, Miss Matthews?"

The image vanished and she dismissed the vague impression. "Yes, I'm fine. Actually, I'm—"

"Most robust."

She grinned. "Yes, I am, but I was going to say I'm hungry. Would you care to join me in something to eat? I brought more than enough." She dropped to her knees and began unloading food from her knapsack.

"You packed breakfast?"

"Well, not exactly breakfast. Just some raw carrots, apples, bread and cheese."

Austin watched her, intrigued. He'd never been invited to such an informal picnic. Here was a perfect opportunity to spend some time with her. What better way to ferret out her secrets and determine exactly what she knew about William and the blackmail letter? Settling himself on the ground next to her, he accepted a slice of bread and a chunk of cheese.

"Who packed your picnic?"

"I did. Yesterday morning, before leaving London, I helped Aunt Joanna's cook with a problem. In gratitude, Cook told me I could help myself." She polished an apple on her skirt.

Austin bit into the cheese, surprised that something so simple could taste so good. No fancy sauces, no muted clink of silverware, no servants hovering. "What did you do to help Cook?"

"She cut her finger and suffered a wound that required several stitches. I was in the kitchen searching for some cider when the accident occurred.

Naturally, I offered to help."

"You sent for a doctor?"

She raised her brows, amusement lurking in her eyes. "I treated the injury and then stitched her up myself."

Austin nearly choked on his cheese.
"You
stitched her wound?"

"Yes. There was no need to bother a doctor when I was perfectly capable of taking care of her. I believe I mentioned last evening that my father was a physician. I often helped him."

"You actually performed er,
duties!"

"Oh, yes. Papa was a very good teacher. I assure you, Cook was well taken care of." She offered him a smile, then bit into her apple.

Austin's gaze was drawn to her full lips, glistening with apple juice. Her mouth looked moist and sweet. And incredibly tempting. Not that he believed she could actually read his thoughts, but in light of her odd perceptiveness, he jerked his attention away from her lips.

"It is such a lovely morning," she said. "I wish I could capture the colors of the sunrise, but I have no talent for watercolors. Only charcoals, and I'm afraid they only come in one color."

Austin cocked his head toward the sketch pad next to her. "May I?"

She handed him the tablet. "Of course."

He examined each drawing and could tell at once that she was very talented. Her bold strokes rendered images so vivid so startling, they appeared to leap off the page.

"Did you recognize Gadzooks?" she asked looking over his shoulder.

The gentle scent of lilacs surrounded him. "Yes. It's an exact likeness of the little devil." Glancing up from the sketch, his attention was captured by the intriguing gold flecks in her eyes. Huge, golden brown eyes, the color of fine brandy. Her steady gaze met his and held him captive for a long moment. A spark ran through him, igniting his pulse. Although he sat on the ground he suddenly felt as if he'd run a mile. This woman had the oddest effect on his senses. And his breathing.

He cleared his throat. "Have you had the opportunity to meet Gadzooks's family?"

"Only his mother, George, last evening."

"Then you must stop by the stables and meet By Jingo, By Jove, By Jupiter, and the rest of them."

Laughter bubbled from her. "You're making up those names, your grace."

"I'm not. Mortlin named the beasts as they were born . . . and born . . .

and born. There were ten in all in this last litter and the names grew more, er,
inventive
as the births continued. Decency prevents me from saying some of them." With an effort he forced his gaze back to the tablet. "Whose dog is this?"

The merriment faded from her gaze. "That's my dog. Patch."

The sad longing with which she looked at the picture tugged at him, prompting him to ask, "Where is Patch?"

"He was too old to make the journey to England. I left him with people who love him." Reaching out, she ran a gentle fingertip over the drawing. "I was five when my parents gave him to me. Patch was so tiny, but within several months he'd grown bigger than me." Slowly pulling her hand away, she said "I miss him terribly. Although he'd be impossible to replace, I hope to someday have another dog."

He handed her back the tablet. "These are very good Miss Matthews."

"Thank you." She cocked her head to one side. "You know, your grace, you would make an interesting subject."

"Me?"

"Yes indeed. Your face is . . ." She paused and studied him for a long moment, tilting her head from left to right.

"That bad?" he asked in mock horror.

"Goodness, no," she assured him. "Your face is most interesting. Filled with character. You wouldn't mind if I sketched you?"

"Not at all."
Most interesting? Filled with character?
He wasn't sure if that was good or bad but one thing was certain. Those weren't the flirtatious words the women of the
ton
would use to describe him. It seemed at least as far as men were concerned Miss Matthews was artless and without guile.
Unbelievable. And damned unlikely. But I'll discover whatever game she s
up to soon enough.

"Perhaps you'd sit under the tree?" she asked scanning the immediate area. "Prop your back against the trunk and make yourself comfortable."

She gathered her supplies, and in spite of feeling rather foolish, Austin did as he was bid.

"How's this?" he asked once he found a comfortable spot.

She knelt in front of him. "You look tense, your grace. Try to relax. This won't hurt a bit, I promise."

Austin adjusted his position and drew a deep breath.

"That's much better." Her eyes roamed his face. "Now, I'd like you to reminisce for me."

"Reminisce?"

Amusement sparkled in the eyes. "Yes. It's an American word that means 'to recall past events.'"

Suspicion pricked at him. Was she trying to glean information from him?

Keeping his expression carefully blank he asked "What do you want to know?"

"Why, nothing, your grace. Just think of one of your fondest memories while I sketch. It will help me to capture your expression correctly."

"I see." But he didn't see at all. Fond memory? Of what? He'd sat for several portraits, all of which hung in the gallery at Bradford Hall, and he'd had to do nothing save sit immobile for interminable lengths of time. He searched his mind and came up totally blank.

"Surely you have
one
fond thought lurking in there somewhere, your grace."

Not bloody likely.
But he wasn't about to let her know that. Determined to dig up a happy thought, Austin concentrated while she continued to watch him.

"Just let your mind wander . . . and relax," she said softly.

His gaze moved past her and settled on Myst grazing nearby. An image of William popped into his mind . . . William, at thirteen, running to the stables behind Austin, and Robert close behind his older brothers . . .

"You're sporting a most intriguing smile," she said. "Will you share your thoughts with me?"

He considered refusing, but decided no harm could come in telling her.

"I'm thinking about a grand adventure I shared with my brothers." Warmth spread through him as he recalled the day in vivid detail. "We were forced to flee to the stables after we'd schemed to force Caroline's sour-faced governess to resign her post. We'd rigged a barrel of flour and a bucket of water over the woman's bedchamber door. When she opened the door, her outraged screams shook the rafters. We hid in the hayloft and howled with laughter until we could barely breathe."

"How old were you?"

"I was fourteen. William was thirteen and Robert ten."

The memory faded slowly, like a plume of smoke wafting on a gentle breeze.

"What other mischief did you boys get into?"

Another image immediately popped into his mind and a chuckle worked its way up his throat. "One day, that same summer, the three of us were walking by the lake when Robert, who's been a devil since the day he was born, dared William to shuck his clothes and jump in, an activity that our father strictly forbade. Not to be outdone, I immediately dared him to do the same. Within moments, we were all stripped bare, splashing and diving, enjoying the time of our lives. But we suddenly realized we weren't alone."

"Oh, dear. Did your father come upon you?"

"No, although that might have been better. It was our friend Miles, now the Earl of Eddington. He stood on the shore, his arms laden with our clothes and an unmistakable look in his eyes. We raced off in hot pursuit, but Miles was too fast. We were forced to sneak into the house, without a stitch on, through the kitchen." He shook his head and laughed. "We managed to avoid Father, but the kitchen staff had fodder for their gossip mill for months."

His laughter faded and a rapid succession of memories flashed through his mind: he and William swimming together, fishing together; explaining to William the intricacies of where babies come from, then laughing uproariously at the expression of horror on his face. Then, years later, sharing a meal at their club, or a laugh at the faro table, or a race on horseback. So many moments shared . . . moments that were gone forever.

God, how I miss you, William.

"I'm finished."

The soft words broke through Austin's reverie. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I'm finished with your sketch." She held the tablet out to him.

"Would you like to see it?"

Austin took the sketch and studied the picture intently It depicted him as he was not used to seeing himself. The man in the picture appeared completely relaxed leaning back against the tree trunk, one leg drawn up, his fingers casually linked around his raised knee. His eyes held a mischievous gleam, and a small smile played around the corners of his lips, as if he were thinking of something amusing and happy.

"Do you like it?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder to study her handiwork.

Her light lilac fragrance again assailed his senses. Shiny hair lay in wild disarray around her lovely face. One long auburn curl brushed his upper arm and he stared at it, a slash of dark red against his white sleeve, and he fought the almost irresistible urge to reach out and touch it.

He cleared his throat. "Yes. I like it very much. You captured my mood perfectly."

"You mentioned a younger brother named Robert."

"Yes. He's away, traveling on the Continent."

She studied him intently. "And William—you love him very much."

A lump lodged in his throat. "Yes."

He didn't comment on her use of the present tense. God yes, he'd loved William. Even at the end when he'd claimed he didn't . . . when he'd witnessed with his own disbelieving ears and eyes his brother's unthinkable treason.

"Yes. I loved him." He handed her back the tablet. Her gaze riveted on his cheek. "Does your injury pain you?"

"It stings a bit."

"Then I insist on preparing you a salve." She pulled a satchel from her knapsack.

"What is that you have?"

"My medical bag."

"You brought a medical bag on a walk?"

She nodded. "Whenever I walk or ride. As a child I constantly skinned my elbows and knees." A teasing gleam entered her eyes. "As you already know my fondness for crawling about in the bushes, I'm sure this doesn't surprise you. Papa finally fashioned a bag for me to bring along whenever I left the house. I've pared the supplies down to the bare minimum and the bag isn't heavy."

"How did you manage to skin your knees? Didn't your skirts protect you?"

A blush washed over her cheeks. "I'm afraid I tended to, er, hike my skirts up a bit." His surprise obviously showed because she quickly added "But only when I climbed trees."

"Climbed trees?" A picture of her, long limbed and laughing, her skirts hiked up to her thighs, flashed in his mind leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

She shot him a teasing smile. "Have no fear, your grace. I stopped climbing trees several weeks ago. But I still bring my bag with me. You never know when you may run across a handsome gentleman in need of medical aid. I find it best to always be prepared."