Whirlwind Wedding (6 page)

"I suppose that's true," Austin murmured oddly pleased she thought him handsome, yet surprised that her words did not strike him as flirtatious— merely friendly.

He watched with interest as she removed several pouches and small wooden bowls from the satchel. Excusing herself, she walked to the lake, returning with a container of water. After setting her supplies around her, she set to work, her face a study in concentration.

"What are you mixing?" Austin asked fascinated by her unusual actions.

"Nothing more than dried herbs, roots, and water."

He didn't see how a few herbs and water could help his stinging cheek, but he remained silent and simply watched her, reminding himself that the more he observed her, the more he would learn about her.

When she finished she knelt in front of him, then dipped her fingers into the bowl of salve. "This may sting a bit at first, but only for a moment."

He eyed the creamy concoction dubiously. "What possible good can that do?"

"You'll see. May I proceed?"

When he hesitated she raised her brows, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"Surely you're not afraid of a bit of salve, your grace."

"Of course not," he all but huffed irked that she would suggest such a thing, even in jest. "By all means, apply the salve."

She leaned forward and gently rubbed her cream into his injured cheek.

It stung like the very devil and he forced himself not to pull away and wipe off her ridiculous remedy.

In an effort to distract himself from his fiery skin, he turned his attention to her. An expression of concern puckered her brow as she dabbed on more of the salve. Streaks of early morning sunlight dappled through the trees, shooting her hair with red and gold highlights. For the first time he noticed the smattering of tiny freckles on her nose.

"Just a bit more, your grace. I'm nearly done."

Her warm breath touched his face. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his throat tightened. Damn it, she possessed the most incredible mouth he'd ever seen. He suddenly realized that not only did his cheek no longer sting, but her gentle touch was sending ripples of pleasure streaking through him.

His entire body pulsed to life. The desire to kiss her, to feel those amazing lips crushed beneath his own, to touch his tongue to hers, slammed into him, overwhelming him. If he leaned forward just a tiny bit. . .

She abruptly leaned back. "Does it still sting?"

He blinked feeling dazed. And unkissed. "Ah, no. Why do you ask?"

"You moaned. Or perhaps it was more like a groan."

Annoyance, at both her and himself, surged through him. Here he was, fantasizing about kissing her, his trousers growing increasingly uncomfortable, moaning—or was it groaning?—and she wanted to know if she was hurting him.

She was damn near killing him.

He was truly losing his mind. He needed to focus on the matters at hand, but it was damn hard to do with her so tantalizingly close.
Concentrate on
William. The blackmail note. What she might know about them.

"Thank you, Miss Matthews. It feels much better. Are you finished?"

She frowned then nodded while wiping her fingers on a square of cloth.

He wondered what she was thinking, his curiosity aroused by her silence and troubled expression.

"Is something wrong, Miss Matthews?"

"I'm not certain. May I . . . touch your hand?"

Heat snaked down his spine at her request. Without a word, he lifted his hand.

She pressed it tightly between her palms and closed her eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, her eyes slowly opened. There was no mistaking the fear and concern shadowing them.

"Is something amiss?"

"I'm afraid so, your grace."

"Did you, er,
see
William again?"

"No. I saw . . . you."

"Me?"

She nodded looking worried. "I saw you. I felt it." "What did you feel?"

"Danger, your grace. I fear you're in grave danger."

Austin stared at her. Clearly she was suffering from delusions, but the fearful expression in her eyes chilled him.
Hell, if I don't take care, she'll have
me convinced goblins lurk behind every tree.
He tried gently to extricate his hand but she clasped it tightly between her own.

"Soon," she whispered. "I see trees, moonlight. You're on horseback, in a forest. Rain is on the way. I wish I knew more, but that's all I saw. I cannot tell you what form this danger will take, but I swear the threat to you is genuine. And imminent." Her voice turned into a desperate plea. "You must not ride in the forest after dark, in the rain."

Disgusted with himself for feeling slightly unnerved Austin pulled his hand from between hers. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Miss Matthews. Do not concern yourself."

Frustration flickered in her eyes. "I
am
concerned your grace, and you should be as well. While I can understand your skepticism, I assure you what I say is true. What possible reason could I have to lie to you?"

"I have asked myself that very question, Miss Matthews. And I'm very interested in the answer."

"There is no answer. I am
not
lying. Good heavens, are you
always
this pigheaded?" Her eyes narrowed on his face. "Or are you perhaps beavered?"

Had she just called him pigheaded? And what the hell was—
"Beavered?

"

"Yes. Have you overindulged in strong spirits?"

He glared at her.
"Foxed.
You mean foxed. And no, of course I'm not.

Good God it's barely seven in the morning." He leaned closer to her and his annoyance peaked when she stood her ground and glared right back at him. "Nor am I pigheaded."

An unladylike snort that sounded suspiciously like an
oink
escaped her lips. "I'm certain you enjoy thinking you're not." She gathered up her supplies, then rose. "I must go. Aunt Joanna will wonder what's become of me." Without another word she turned and headed swiftly down the path leading back to the house.

Austin watched her disappearing form and reined in his irritation. Damn impertinent woman. God help the poor bastard who leg-shackled himself to that ill-mannered American.

Once his anger cooled however, her disturbing words replayed in his mind.
Danger.

An uneasy sensation slithered through him, but he resolutely shook it off.

He was on his own private estate, miles away from anything except nature.

What could possibly endanger him here? A hungry squirrel biting his leg?

A goat butting his arse? He inwardly chuckled at the thought of being chased about the grounds by furry animals.

His amusement abruptly died as he thought of the blackmail letter.

Could the blackmailer mean to harm him? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. The blackmailer wanted money—he wouldn't get it if he harmed the source.

Still, what were her intentions in warning him about danger? Could she be in cahoots with the blackmailer? Was she trying to make him worry about the blackmailer so he'd pay the bastard? Or was she perhaps another of the blackmailer's victims and merely trying to help him? Or was she simply daft?

He didn't know, but he put no credence in this visions nonsense.

No, he was not in danger.

Absolutely not.

And he wasn't pigheaded either.

Two hours later, Austin walked into the dining room, hoping for a peaceful cup of coffee, and nearly groaned. Two dozen pairs of eyes looked at him.

Damn. He'd forgotten about his mother's remaining guests who were actually
his
guests.

"Good morning, Austin," his mother said in a tone he recognized all too well. It was her thank-heavens-you've-shown-up-because-someone-is-boring-us-all-to-tears voice. "Lord Digby was just expounding on the virtues of the latest irrigation systems. I believe that is a pet subject of yours."

He nearly laughed out loud at the desperate look she sent him—a look even the most heartless man could not ignore. Knowing she wanted him to occupy Lord Digby's attention, he eased into his chair at the head of the table and gave the man an encouraging nod. "Irrigation systems?

Fascinating stuff." Conversation resumed and after accepting coffee from a footman, he pretended to listen to Lord Digby while his gaze drifted down the table.

Caroline smiled at him, then after a surreptitious peek left and right, she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. He winked back, pleased that she looked so happy and had somehow managed to retain her sense of humor through what was rapidly promising to be a deadly boring meal.

His eyes skimmed over the other guests while he absently nodded in response to Lord Digby's harangue. Lady Digby sat surrounded by her numerous daughters. Good God how many were there again? Taking a quick inventory, he counted five, all of whom were currently fluttering their eyelashes at him.

He barely suppressed a shudder. What had Miles called the chits? Oh yes. Cabbage-headed nincompoops. He made a mental note to take Miles at his word and stay as far away from the Digby daughters as possible. No doubt if he paid them the slightest attention, Lady Digby would immediately summon the vicar.

Countess Penbroke sat next to his mother, and the two women were engaged in an animated conversation Austin could not hear. Lady Penbroke wore but yet another sample from her seemingly endless supply of outlandish headgear. Austin watched strangely fascinated, as a footman nimbly dodged the long ostrich feathers protruding from her chartreuse turban that threatened to poke out eyes every time she moved her head.

He nearly choked on his coffee when he observed Lady Penbroke carelessly toss her feather boa, another favorite accessory, over her shoulder. Instead of settling about her plump shoulders, the trail of feathers landed squarely in a Digby daughter's plate. The chit, engrossed in smiling insipidly at him, unknowingly speared the boa on her fork. Before Austin could issue a warning, the same quick-moving footman who'd avoided Lady Penbroke's plumes reached out, plucked the boa from the fork, settled it about Lady Penbroke with an expert flick of the wrist, then continued around the table without batting an eye. Impressed, Austin made a mental note to increase the man's wages.

Leaning back, he continued his perusal down the table. His mother, he noted looked happy, composed and surprisingly refreshed considering she probably hadn't retired until close to dawn. Her golden hair was arranged in a becoming chignon, and her midnight blue gown exactly matched her eyes. She and Caroline looked so much alike, he knew exactly what his sister would look like in twenty-five years—absolutely beautiful.

Austin's gaze continued moving along the guests and he raised his brows when Miles nodded to him over the rim of his coffee cup. Could the fact that his friend hadn't yet departed for London indicate that he might already have something to report about Miss Matthews?

A frown pinched his brow and his gaze swept over the guests once again.

And just where was Miss Matthews? One chair at the table remained conspicuously vacant.

Not that he was anxious to see the damn impertinent piece. No indeed. In fact, if he didn't need to find out what possible connection she could have to William, he'd dismiss her from his thoughts entirely.

Yes, he'd dismiss her big golden brown eyes that could change from smiling to serious in a heartbeat, and that thick, curling auburn hair that begged to have a man's fingers sift through its luxurious length. He wouldn't give her mouth another thought. Hmmm . . . her mouth. Those delectable, full, pouty lips— "By cracky, your grace, are you feeling all right?"

Lord Digby's voice yanked Austin's attention back to reality. "I beg your pardon?"

"I inquired about your health. You groaned."

"I did?" Bloody hell! The woman was a nuisance even when she was absent.

"Yes. Kippers affect me that way, too. Onions as well."

Lord Digby leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Lady Digby can always tell if I've indulged myself at dinner. Blasted woman knows every morsel I put in my mouth and locks her bedchamber door if I've sneaked so much as one bite of onion." He cast a pointed look down the table at his five daughters. "Something you might want to keep in mind when
you're
ready to choose a wife."

Good God. The thought of being leg-shackled to a Digby daughter chased away his remaining appetite. Throwing a meaningful look at Miles, Austin excused himself to Lord Digby and rose.

"Where are you off to?" his mother asked.

Walking over to stand behind her, Austin dropped a quick kiss on her temple. "I have some business with Miles."

She turned her concerned gaze searching his face, no doubt looking for the telltale signs of fatigue that he knew often shadowed his eyes. Knowing she worried about him, he forced a smile and made her a formal bow. "You look lovely this morning, Mother. As always."

"Thank you. You look"—her voice dropped to a confidential pitch —"distracted. Is something amiss?"

"Not at all. In fact, I'll make it a point to join you this afternoon for tea."

Surprise sparkled in her eyes. "Now I
know
something is wrong."

Chuckling, he excused himself, then made his way to his private study to await Miles.

Austin leaned his hips against his mahogany desk and regarded Miles, who lounged in Austin's favorite maroon leather wing chair. "You're absolutely certain she's never been in England before she arrived six months ago?" Austin asked.

"As certain as I can be without actually looking through mountains of ships' passenger logs." When Austin frowned, Miles quickly added, "Which is exactly what I shall do once I reach London. But until then, I can only relate what Countess Penbroke told me. We engaged in a lengthy chat last evening, one that nearly resulted in my losing an eye to the hazard she'd dressed her head with. Look here." He pointed to a small scratch on his temple. "I'm probably scarred for life."