The Lady Most Likely... Page 7

  “Are you all right?” she asked. She sounded concerned, but he didn’t dare look at her. If he did, he’d only start thinking about her again … that way. Which would have profound and quite possibly painful effects on certain parts of his body.

  Oh, very well, the parts in question were already well and good affected, but if he could just stop thinking about her, and how she might feel if he put his hands—

  This had to stop.

  Now.

  “I think we need to go back to the house,” he choked out.

  “Now?”

  He nodded, not exactly looking at her. He knew his limits. He swallowed. “Perhaps you should go ahead of me.”

  “You want me to return by myself?”

  “No,” he said, even though he was nodding.

  “You … don’t want me to return by myself.”

  He wanted to reach out and yank her back to him. He wanted to peel the clothing from her body and kiss her again, this time in unspeakable places. He wanted to hear her moan with passion, then he wanted to …

  “Lord Charters? I mean, Alec? Are you all right?”

  She sounded concerned. Worse, she sounded as if she might reach out to touch him.

  She was definitely going to have to return by herself. He was jumping back in the lake.

  Chapter 6

  As first kisses went, Gwen was well aware that hers had been spectacular.

  She had nothing to compare it to, of course, and there had been no one to impart wisdom or relate the details of other, more inferior first kisses. She had no sisters, and as far as she knew, none of her friends had been kissed, or at least not by anyone of note. But she knew—oh heavens, she knew—that hers had been the first kiss to end all first kisses.

  She was fairly certain that Lord Charters—Alec, she reminded herself—had been similarly affected. But then he’d broken it off, and turned away, and now, to be completely frank, he sounded ill.

  Which meant that she probably would be by nightfall, as well.

  She smiled even though he would not see it, turned away as he was. No, she probably smiled because he would not see it. It was cruel to grin in front of someone in such distress. But she could not help it. All she could think was—

  What a wonderful way to catch a cold.

  “Alec?” she said softly. He had not responded to her previous query, when she’d asked if he was all right. “Alec? Is there something I can do to help you?”

  She thought she might have heard him groan, then, with a haggard breath, he turned back to look at her. “Gwen,” he said, looking quite uncomfortable as he crossed his arms, “do you know what happens between a man and a woman?”

  Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

  “If you don’t go back to the house this minute,” he said hoarsely, “you will.”

  For a moment she could but stare, then, in a single ridiculous flash, she understood. “Oh!” she yelped, jumping back a step.

  “You catch my meaning,” he muttered.

  “Not really,” she stammered, “but, also … yes?”

  He uncrossed his arms, then recrossed them, then clasped his hands together in front of him. She did not think she had ever seen him look so ill at ease.

  “We are not far from the house,” she said.

  “No.”

  She swallowed. “I should just get my sketchbook.” She motioned to the grass, where her pad had fallen, completely unnoticed by either of them.

  He didn’t move, and she didn’t either, not at first. Finally, aware that one of them had to break the awkward spell, she scurried forward and grabbed it, stepping back and hugging it to her body.

  “I shall see you later,” he said, still holding his hands stiffly in front of him.

  “Of course. I shall look forward to it.”

  He motioned toward her with a tilt of his head. “Perhaps you will show me one of your sketches.”

  Gwendolyn thought of her gigantic squirrels, with their vicious teeth and festive bonnets. And for once, she saw no reason to be embarrassed. “Perhaps I shall,” she murmured. “Perhaps I shall.”

  Several hours later, Alec was feeling much refreshed and renewed. His second dip in the lake had proven quite useful, and he was feeling almost human again by the time he returned to Finchley Manor.

  Wet, but human.

  A hot bath and a fresh change of clothing completed the transformation, and he was almost ready to head down to breakfast when he heard a knock at his door. He started to say, “Enter,” but the door began to open before he could complete the word, which meant, of course, that it had to be his sister.

  “Alec!” Octavia said, rushing in. “Where have you been?”

  He thought about that for a moment. It could not be possible that she had been looking for him. He knew Octavia’s sleep habits, and there was no way she’d been up early enough to have noticed he was gone.

  “Everyone is already down at breakfast,” she continued.

  Ah, so that was what she meant. “Why are you not there, then?” he asked.

  She pressed her lips into a peevish expression. “I came to find you.”

  He adjusted his cuffs, straightened his coat, and gave a nod to his valet that he might depart. “Since when have you been unable to eat eggs and bacon without my exalted presence?”

  “Alec.”

  “Very well, what is it?”

  “It is Miss Passmore,” she said, and he grew instantly alarmed at the gleeful note in Octavia’s voice.

  “What about Miss Passmore?” he asked carefully.

  Octavia leaned in, her eyes glowing with the promise of gossip. “Apparently she was out walking early this morning.”

  “Apparently?” He hated the word apparently.

  “I didn’t see her,” Octavia admitted. “But others did.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with a morning walk,” he said, trying to nip the conversation off at the bud. “I would permit you to go out walking at home had you any inclination to do so.”

  If Octavia had noticed the subtle scolding he’d just given her, she made no indication. Instead, she continued as if he had not spoken. “Emily Mottram has reason to believe she was not alone.”

  Emily Mottram? Who the hell was Emily Mottram? And what did she think she knew? Alec was quite certain that he and Gwen had been alone that morning. No one could have seen them. No one.

  “Emily saw her when she returned,” Octavia said. “She was very rumpled.”

  “Miss Mottram?” Alec said testily.

  “No. Miss Passmore. Emily said she looked as if she’d been rolling about in the mud.”

  “Well, perhaps she was,” Alec snapped. “It rained last night, and it’s slippery. She could have fallen.”

  “Oh, please,” Octavia said dismissively. “That would never happen.”

  Alec nearly threw up his arms in exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

  Octavia let out an irritated snort. “She’s so graceful. She would never just fall.”

  “You really must get over this jealousy,” Alec said sternly. “It is most unbecoming.”

  Octavia drew back, her mouth opening indignantly. “What a stodge you’ve become.”

  “My stodge to your shrew,” he shot back.

  She gasped. “You’re calling me a shrew?”

  Alec saw no reason to respond to that.

  “Why are you defending her?” Octavia demanded.

  “I’m not,” Alec shot back, although he rather thought he should be. “I am merely pointing out that you are gossiping, and it’s extremely unattractive.”

  “Alec!” she exclaimed, and he half expected her to stamp her foot.

  He just crossed his arms.

  “You don’t understand,” she insisted. “I will never find a husband with her nearby. Never.”

  If this was how she conducted herself in public, Alec thought, then she was probably doing a fine job repelling her prospective suitors on her own. He wasn
’t so cruel as to say so, however, and so he tried to gentle the sentiment. Not quite resisting a roll of his eyes, he told her, “You can’t blame your woes on Miss Passmore.”

  “Oh, yes I can,” Octavia retorted. “And before you call me whatever arch and dignified insult you think of next, let me assure you that I am not the only young lady who feels this way.”

  “Octavia, I have spoken with Miss Passmore myself. Last night, as a matter of fact, when I removed her from a flock of young gentlemen so that you might have an opportunity to attract their attentions.”

  “Thank you for that,” Octavia said grudgingly.

  Alec shook his head. His sister was going to be the death of him. “I found her a most amiable and kindhearted young lady.”

  “That’s because you’re a man,” Octavia practically spat.

  “It’s because I’m a person. Good God, sister, what has become of you? When did you become so mean-spirited?”

  “When did you fall in love with Gwendolyn Passmore?” she shot back.

  “I’m not—” He cut himself off, because the truth was, he had no idea if he was or wasn’t in love with Gwendolyn Passmore. He was certainly in love with the idea of her. Of Gwen. The Gwen, with the laughing eyes and quiet smile.

  And the kiss. The perfect, amazing, soul-shattering kiss.

  Never in his life had he felt so instant a connection to another human being as he had with her, mere hours earlier.

  “Octavia,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, “you have no reason to believe that Miss Passmore has done anything other than take an early-morning walk. I can only deduce that you are spreading rumors about her out of spite. And I cannot begin to tell you how ashamed of you I am.”

  “I can’t believe you are saying this to me,” Octavia replied, her lips parted with shock and dismay. “You are my brother.”

  “Indeed.” He crossed his arms and gave her a stony stare.

  “I’m going to find out who she was with,” she said in a low voice.

  “I’m warning you,” he said. “Leave well enough alone.”

  “But—”

  “Stop,” he commanded, unable to listen to another word of this. “Has it ever occurred to you that Miss Passmore might simply be shy? That she holds herself apart because she is hoping that you might make an overture?”

  Octavia stared at him for a moment, then said, “No one who looks like that would be shy.”

  “It’s not a choice.”

  But Octavia had formed her opinion and would not relinquish it. She shook her head, and said, “It doesn’t matter if she is shy. It is unkind of her not to consider the feelings of the young ladies who do not attract as many suitors as she does.”

  “Good God, Octavia, what has Miss Passmore done to hurt you? Is there even anyone here at Finchley you might wish to court you?”

  That seemed to silence her, at least for a moment. After a few seconds of grinding her teeth, Octavia mumbled, “There is Hugh.”

  Oh Lord, the morning only needed this.

  “Hugh’s not going to marry anyone who won’t be delighted to give birth atop a horse,” Alec snapped. “And besides that, he’s not interested. He still thinks you’re twelve.”

  “You talked to him about me?” Octavia said, aghast.

  “He told me he was thinking of getting married. I mentioned you.”

  “You what?” she practically shrieked. “How could you do such a thing?”

  Alec let his head fall back and groaned. He had to find her a husband. Soon. He couldn’t take much more of this.

  “How will I face him?” she moaned. “He will think I have set my cap.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “No!”

  “Fine. Tell me who you want. Hammond-Betts? The other one? Don’t say Bretton because even I can’t scare you up a duke.”

  “The other one’s name is Mr. Glover,” she said in a small, petulant voice.

  “Do you like him?”

  “I don’t dislike him.”

  Hadn’t he already had this conversation this morning? About a horse?

  “I will see what I can do to have you seated together this evening,” he said. Preferably far, far down the table from him.

  Octavia’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m not going to paint a sign. I’ll ask Carolyn. Very quietly. She’ll be happy to do it. She’s a ridiculous matchmaker.”

  Octavia pressed her lips together, clearly trying to decide if she could trust her brother with such a critical endeavor. Finally, she must have concluded that she had no choice because she said, somewhat curtly, “Thank you.”

  He said nothing for several seconds, then asked, “May I go down to breakfast now?”

  She nodded, then followed him to the door. But before he could depart, she let out a quiet exclamation and put her hand on his arm. “Just one more thing, brother.”

  He turned wearily. “What is it?”

  “There are to be games today. Archery, badminton, and hide-and-seek.”

  “Don’t shoot Miss Passmore,” he said immediately.

  “Alec. I’m not going to—” She let out a ladylike snort and shook her head, obviously deciding there was little point in defending herself. “I was just going to ask if you might do me a favor. Will you play hide-and-seek?”

  “Am I three?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Everyone will be playing,” she told him, ignoring his jibe. “Will you partner Miss Passmore?”

  He straightened. Now this sounded interesting. Except—“Since when are there partners in hide-and-seek?”

  “There aren’t. But could you pay her some attention?” Octavia made a flitting motion with her hands. “Take her off to the side or something. Distract her.”

  “Remove her from the rest of the group, you mean.”

  “Yes,” Octavia said, as if she’d just got through to a slow student. “If she’s not there, the gentlemen might actually pay attention to the rest of us.”

  “What makes you think she will wish to spend time with me?” Alec asked.

  Octavia looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Because you’re—Oh for heaven’s sake, all of my friends are in love with you. Even I’ll concede you’re handsome.”

  “My heart swells at your show of sisterly affection.”

  “Don’t act like that,” she warned him.

  “Like what?”

  “My heart swells,” she mimicked. She snapped out of her caricature, and said sternly, “Women don’t like to be on the receiving end of sarcasm.”

  “They only like to give it,” he drawled.

  She didn’t even pretend to be insulted. “Please try to keep Miss Passmore away from the rest of us this afternoon. Can you do that for me?”

  Alec rather thought he could.

  Chapter 7

  Rules, everyone!” Lady Finchley called out. “There are rules.”

  Gwen waited patiently as her hostess attempted to gain the attention of her small crowd of guests. Everyone seemed to have broken off into smaller groups. Gwen supposed she was in the Lady Finchley-Lord Briarly-Duke of Bretton group, if for no other reason than accident of location.

  “No one listens to me,” Lady Finchley said to her brother, who was standing directly next to her, looking as if he’d rather be elsewhere.

  Gwen watched them with interest. She loved watching people. Besides, it helped her keep her eyes off Alec, who was several yards away, dutifully attending to his sister, who appeared to have set her cap for Allen Glover.

  She was being a bit obvious about it, but Allen did not seem to mind. In fact, he was blushing and giddy with the attention. Gwen was happy for him; like her, he was shy, and it was nice to see him having such a good time.

  “Everyone!” Lady Finchley trilled again. “Your attention, please!”

  But Octavia Darlington kept chattering on to Emily Mottram, who was making eyes at George Hammond-Betts. Gwen’s mother had att
ached herself to an older woman who Gwen thought was Alec’s great-aunt, and the pair of them were having an impassioned discussion about waterfowl.

  Gwen hoped that Mrs. Darlington was not a great champion of birds; her mother’s opinion of ducks was that they were best stewed in sauce.

  Off to the right, the Duke of Bretton was talking with Lady Sorrell, probably about that horse he was trying so hard to buy from Lord Briarly. Lady Sorrell was nodding and even seemed to have something to offer the conversation, which Gwen found interesting. She herself didn’t have much interest in cattle, but she’d found that most men did not give much value to a woman’s opinion on the subject.

  “Does anyone want to know the rules?” Lady Finchley tried.

  No one did, apparently.

  “Hugh,” Lady Finchley sighed.

  Lord Briarly put two fingers in his mouth and let out an amazing whistle.

  Conversation ceased.

  “Well done, Hugh,” Alec murmured. Gwen, too, was impressed.

  Lady Finchley acknowledged this with a pretty smile. “My brother is a man of unique talents.”

  “I am occasionally useful,” Lord Briarly said in a droll voice.

  “Now that I have your attention—Thank you, Hugh”—Lady Finchley dipped her head toward her brother—“perhaps I might set out the rules.”

  “Are there rules to hide-and-seek?” someone asked.

  “There are at my home,” Lady Finchley returned pertly. “First of all, no one is to wander off the property. Our neighbor to the north is most unpleasant, and he has terrible eyesight. He’s likely to mistake one of you for a grouse.”

  Several young ladies gasped.

  “It’s a joke,” Alec told them.

  “Oh, no it’s not,” Lady Finchley said, not even taking a breath before continuing. “If it rains, the game is canceled, and we shall convene in the drawing room with brandy and biscuits.”

  “Is there a reason we cannot cancel right now and move straight to the brandy?” the Duke of Bretton murmured.

  “I think I see a cloud,” someone else said hopefully.

  “Hush, the both of you,” Lady Finchley continued. “We shall have two seekers, but they may not work together. The rest of you shall hide, and—”