Whirlwind Wedding (9 page)

Color seeped into Mortlin's thin cheeks and he shuffled his feet. "Well, the bigger one's named Zounds—"

"That isn't so terrible."

"And the other one is, er . . ." He flushed to the tips of his protruding ears.

"I can't say it in front of a lady."

Pressing her lips together to contain her amusement, she said "I see."

"Guess I've got to change the wee beastie's name, but 'twas the first thing what popped out of me mouth when it was born." He shook his head clearly bemused. "Them kittens just kept comin' and comin'. No stoppin'

them, there was. Gave me quite a turn, it did."

"Yes, I imagine so." She ran her hands over George's warm belly, then stilled. After gently pressing the furry tummy several more times, she hid a smile. "The gestation period for a cat is about sixty days. I'm afraid I won't still be here when George gives birth to her next litter, or I'd offer to assist you. I'm quite capable in these matters."

"I'm sure ye are, but. . ." His voice trailed off and his eyes widened to saucers.
"Next
litter?"

"Yes. I predict George will be a mama again in about a month."

Mortlin's widened eyes bugged out. "Surely the beast is just fat! The kittens aren't even three months old! 'Ow the blazes did this 'appen?"

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the groom's dumbfounded expression. "In the usual way, I suspect." Giving George's tummy one last rub, Elizabeth stood then patted the man's arm.

"Do not worry yourself, Mortlin. George will be fine, and you'll have a new group of mice catchers."

"Got more mice catchers underfoot now than I need" he grumbled.

"Stubble it, this is
supposed
to be a stable. I'm a
groom,
not a cat doctor. I'd best saddle yer mount now—before the blasted feline starts spewin' out babes again."

Suppressing her amusement, Elizabeth entertained herself with the kittens while Mortlin went about his tasks. He soon presented her with a lovely brown mare named Rosamunde and offered her a hand up. She landed in the sidesaddle with a bone-jarring
plop
that shook her teeth. At home she'd often ridden astride on her solitary rides, but she dared not do so here even though she disliked sidesaddle. The fussy riding ensemble English fashion dictated she wear also irritated her. So many yards of material and poufs and flounces. She thought with longing of the simple, lightweight riding habits she'd fashioned herself and worn in America.

Aunt Joanna had taken one look at them and nearly swooned. "Totally unsuitable, my dear," Aunt Joanna had declared. "We must do something about your wardrobe
immediately."

Adjusting her heavy skirts around her as best she could Elizabeth started off. At the end of the short path leading from the stable, she paused and looked back. Mortlin was crouched down on his haunches, his weathered face wreathed in tenderness as he gently petted George's swollen belly. He clearly thought she was out of earshot for he said "We'll 'ave to come up with some dignified names for yer new set of babies. Can't have any more of them called Double Damnation."

Smiling to herself, she headed toward the forest. She traveled along the bank of the stream, enjoying the fresh clean air and the sunshine warming her face. She was not, however, enjoying the sidesaddle or the blasted riding habit that imprisoned her legs.

When she reached the area where the stream widened and spilled into the lake, she pulled Rosamunde to a halt. She was wriggling her bottom around desperate to untangle her legs from the yards of ungainly material binding them, when she felt herself slipping from the saddle. A startled yelp of dismay escaped her. She grabbed for the pommel, but wasn't quick enough. She fell ignominiously from the horse, landing on her backside.

Unfortunately she landed right in the mud.

Even worse, she landed on a slippery steep incline. She slid down the slimy, wet embankment, screaming all the way, and landed in the stream with a loud splash. She sat stock-still, speechless with shock. Her legs stuck straight out in front of her, her boots completely submerged under the muddy water. Cold water lapped at her waist.

"Have an accident?" a familiar voice asked from behind her.

She gritted her teeth. Clearly he was unharmed thank goodness, but she did not care for him happening along to witness her humiliation. "No, thank you. I've already had one." Perhaps if she ignored him he'd go away.

Her hope was in vain.

"Dear me," the duke said
tskmg
his tongue in a sympathetic fashion. She heard him dismount and make his way down to the water's edge. "You seem to have gotten yourself into a bit of a predicament here."

Turning her head she glared at him over her shoulder.

"I am
not
in a predicament, your grace. I'm merely a bit damp."

"You're also horseless."

"Nonsense. My mount is . . ." Her voice trailed off as she scanned the area. Her mare was nowhere in sight.

"Probably halfway back to the stables by now. Must have been all that screaming you did on your way down. Makes some horses very skittish.

Apparently Rosamunde is such a horse. Pity." His smoky eyes gleamed at her, clearly indicating his amusement. "I'd ask if you are all right, but I seem to recall that you possess a most robust constitution."

"That is correct."

"Are you hurt?"

She tried to lift her legs and failed. "I'm not sure. My riding habit is soaked and so heavy, I can barely move." Her irritation tripled when she realized she did indeed need help. "Do you suppose I could trouble you for some assistance?"

He stroked his chin as if seriously pondering her question. "I'm not certain if I should aid you. I'd hate to risk getting all wet and dirty. Perhaps I should leave you there and go back for some help. I could return in, oh, about an hour or so." He looked at her, brows raised. "What do you think about that?"

She didn't think much of it at all. In fact, she was pretty well sick and tired of his amusement at her expense. She'd spent a sleepless night worrying about him and now he stood before her, perfectly fit and healthy, and all but chortling at her. The arrogant man deserved to have that smug look wiped off his face. But she could barely move.

He turned as if to walk away and truly leave her stranded and her temper snapped. Picking up a handful of mud she slung it, meaning to make a splash and gain his attention.

Unfortunately he chose that exact instant to turn around.

Worse, she threw the mud with more force than she'd intended.

The large gooey blob landed smack in the middle of his chest, splattering his pristine white shirt. The goop slid down his body, smudging his immaculate buff breeches, landing with a soft thud on the toe of one of his highly polished riding boots.

Elizabeth froze. She hadn't meant to hit him . . . had she? Good lord he did not look pleased. A horrified giggle bubbled up in her throat and she fought to contain it. His expression clearly indicated that laughing would not be in her best interests.

He didn't move. His eyes followed the ruinous downward path the mud had streaked on his clothing, then he raised his gaze to hers.

Plastering a sunny smile on her face, she said "You no longer need to worry about getting all wet and dirty, your grace. There appears to be a rather nasty stain on your attire."

"You're going to regret doing that." His voice held more than a small amount of menace and his eyes bored into hers in a threatening manner.

"You'll be very sorry indeed."

"Pooh," she scoffed. "You don't scare me."

He advanced a step. "You should be scared."

"Why? What are you going to do? Throw me into the water?"

He advanced another step. "No. I believe I'll throw you over my knees and thrash the living daylights out of you."

She raised her brows. "Thrash me? Truly?"

"Truly."

"Oh, dear. Well, as long as I'm to be thrashed I might as well really deserve it." She launched another handful of mud. This one landed with a wet splat against his belly.

Austin froze. He looked down at his ruined shirt in stunned amazement.

Few
men
would dare push him this way. He couldn't believe she had the nerve to hit him once, let alone
twice
with mud. She was going to pay dearly for this. Very dearly indeed.

His musings were interrupted by a mud ball whizzing by his ear. It missed his face by less than a hair.

That did it. He splashed into the water, grabbed her by her arms, and hauled her to her feet. "You're aware, of course, that this means war," he ground out, his gaze raking her flushed
laughing
face.

"Of course. But keep in mind who won the last time the Americans and the British engaged in battle."

"I'm most confident of your defeat, Miss Matthews."

"I'm most confident of
your
defeat, your grace."

Austin halted at her words, his eyes narrowing on the mud splattered across her pert nose. Her gold-flecked gaze met his with sparkling challenge, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her dimples peeked out. His attention riveted on her full, lush lips. A tingle ran through him, recalling the feel of those lips crushed beneath his mouth. He forced his gaze upward and met her eyes— golden brown orbs brimming with laughter.

She was utterly impossible. Impertinent beyond all measure. His clothing was ruined and he was
standing in the damn lake.
He was wet, uncomfortable and . . . furious.

Wasn't he furious?

A frown pinched his brow. Yes, of course he was. Furious. He absolutely was not amused. Not in the least. This was not at all funny. And he certainly was not enjoying himself. Not a bit.

"Prepare yourself to be thrashed" he warned. Turning toward the embankment, he pulled her along.

"You'll have to catch me first!"

She yanked herself free of his restraining hand and lifting her sodden skirts to her knees, treaded her way farther out into the lake. "Come back here. Now."

"So you can thrash me? Ha! I think not!" She backed several more steps away, until the water came to her waist. Suddenly her musical laugh rang out. "Good heavens! You should see yourself! You look so funny!"

Austin looked down. His wet filthy shirt clung to his chest like a second skin, and black muddy stripes adorned his riding breeches. Several dead leaves clung to his ruined boots.

"I would wager you've never been so
disheveled
in your entire aristocratic life," she said, laughing. "I must say, you're looking most distinctly un-dukelike."

"Come here."

"No."

"Now."

She shook her head, her smile never faltering.

Austin stalked forward plowing through the chilly water, filled with purpose and grim determination. And somehow managing to conceal his unexpected and unwanted amusement. Damn woman. She was nothing but a plague on a man's sanity. He'd expected her to try to flee, but she stood her ground and awaited his arrival with a bright smile on her lovely face. He stopped a foot from her and waited.

"I started out this morning feeling rather grim, but this episode has cheered me considerably," she said her dimples winking at him. "You must admit that this is rather humorous."

"Must I?"

She squinted in an exaggerated fashion and peered at his face. In spite of himself, a grin tugged at his lips. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "I saw that smile."

For the life of him, he couldn't explain why he found this debacle amusing.

The "Notorious Duke of Bradford, England's Most Eligible Bachelor"— covered in mud, lake water lapping at his hips, conversing with a woman whose beaming smile held not a bit of remorse, only amusement. The esteemed members of the
ton
would take to their beds in shock if they could see him now, utterly filthy and bedraggled accompanied by an equally filthy and bedraggled American.

Her gaze dipped to his wet shirt. "This was a lovely shirt. I'm sorry it's ruined your grace, truly I am." Reaching out, she brushed her hand over his wet sleeve, then raised her gaze to his. "It was not my original intention to hit you with the mud, but once I had well, it seemed a pity not to take advantage of the opportunity. To be perfectly candid I think you needed something to make you laugh. And as for me, this adventure is the most fun I've had in months."

Austin's muscles jumped reflexively under her light touch. He searched her eyes for any signs of deceit or falseness and saw nothing but innocence and warmth. This was the most fun she'd had in months. Hell, he certainly could say the same. Of course, it wasn't necessary to tell her that.

Heaving a resigned sigh, he asked, "Does calamity follow you everywhere, Miss Matthews? This is the second time you've fallen practically at my feet."

"I fear that falling in such a manner runs in my family."

"What do you mean?"

"It's how my mother and father met. Mother came out of a millinery shop and tripped and fell at Papa's feet. She twisted her ankle in the fall, and Papa tended to her wound."

"I see. At least you come by your unfortunate propensity to tumble honestly."

"Yes, but I wouldn't call it unfortunate."

"Really? Why is that?"

She hesitated and he found himself mesmerized by her suddenly serious brown eyes. "Because it's how I first met you." A tiny smile curved her lips.

"Even though you are somewhat arrogant and more than a little pigheaded I find that I . . . well, rather like you."

Austin stared at her in blank astonishment. "You
like
me?"

"Yes. You're a warm and caring man. Of course," she added in a dry tone, "you manage to hide that fact quite well sometimes."

"Warm and caring?" he repeated in a bemused voice. "How did you reach
that
conclusion?"