The Minx Who Met Her Match

by Christi Caldwell

  Occasionally, Charlie paused to pick something up from the ground, stuff her findings into the front pocket of her cloak, and then take off again.

  Josephine followed along behind, studying Duncan’s daughter.

  As a child, Josephine had been fortunate to have loving and attentive parents. Her existence had been a comfortable one. She’d never wanted for anything. Even when her family had struggled, nothing had changed. Not truly. Narrow as her view of the world had been, she’d never known there were fathers like Duncan who worked as they did to provide comforts that had come so easily to Josephine and others in the peerage.

  “There’s a lake,” Charlie whispered. She shot a look at Josephine over her shoulder, and excitement brimmed in eyes that were so very much like Duncan’s.

  Josephine joined her at the shore. “It’s actually a river. The Serpentine.” At the answering silence, she looked over and found the little girl’s longing stare trained on the rippling surface. “You should dip your toes,” she suggested.

  Charlie started. “In the water?” She looked to her father. “That’s not proper.”

  She tweaked her charge’s braid. “And you care so very much about proper?”

  “My mother said it was more important than anything,” Charlie said without missing a beat. The little girl’s expression darkened, and she retreated several steps. “She was a lady, you know. Or… she wished to be one. That is what I once heard, anyways.”

  That revelation ushered in a heavy blanket of silence and tension broken only by the occasional cry of a kestrel.

  This was why the little girl restrained herself. As if denying herself that child’s pleasure, she’d earn the approval of her departed mother. Not for the first time, Josephine wondered at the woman Duncan had married. What had their union been like? The small glimpse offered presented a sad, serious look, and Josephine searched her mind for something to say.

  Muttering under his breath, Duncan balanced on one leg and tugged at his boot.

  “Papa… what are you…?” Charlie giggled as he made an exaggerated show of hopping around and wrestling with the stubborn article.

  “I think it should be fairly… fairly… ahh… ahhhh…” Duncan tossed his arms wide in an exaggerated flailing as he tumbled back and landed upon his buttocks.

  Josephine joined Charlie in laughing at his antics.

  From over the top of the little girl’s golden curls, Duncan caught Josephine’s eye… and he winked. Something moved deep inside her.

  He’d put on the display in a bid to drive back his daughter’s sadness.

  In that moment, Josephine fell hopelessly and helplessly head over bootheels in love with the man before her. They’d known each other but a short time, and there were so many secrets between them. Too many for there ever to be… more, and as such, there was every reason to panic at having lost her heart to Duncan Everleigh. But she wanted this moment to continue on… forever. There’d come time enough for worrying later.

  Her heart did a somersault as he freed himself of his boots and then shoved the hems of his black wool trousers up.

  Look away, Josephine Mirabelle Pratt. Look away this instant.

  Alas, she’d never been one for doing what was expected of a lady…

  Josephine’s mouth went dry. She stared on, riveted, as he removed his stockings, at last exposing his legs.

  On her first visit to the British Museum, she’d been bored by the endless displays of fruit bowls and vases of flowers, until she’d come upon a room filled with sculptures. One had beckoned, the Terme Boxer. Through the seated warrior, the artist had captured power and realism in the chiseled, almost lifelike statue. She’d stared on, fascinated, until the museum was closing, just observing the male form in all its splendor.

  She’d been wrong.

  That statue was a pale shadow in comparison to Duncan’s very real and very masculine form before her. His limbs were all contoured muscle lightly dusted with black hair.

  “Miss Webb…?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Miss Webb?”

  It was hard to say how many times Charlie had uttered her name before her voice penetrated.

  Burning from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair, Josephine jerked her focus away from Duncan’s lower limbs. “Yes?” she squeaked.

  “Splendid.” With that, Charlie went trampling into the water… and then it occurred that Josephine had agreed to something.

  Duncan shook his head. “You don’t have…” His words trailed off as Josephine settled on a boulder and proceeded to free herself of her leather, if less obstinate, boots. His eyes burned like the touch of the sun’s rays, and she knew, even virginal as she was, that he was as aware of her as she’d been of him.

  As she was of him.

  Shedding her cloak, Josephine tossed it on a nearby boulder.

  Josephine had removed her boots and started on her stockings when Duncan’s laughter reached her. Full and boisterous and slightly deep. Rooted to her spot, she stared on as he flicked water at his daughter.

  One of her brothers had always taken himself too seriously. The other, not seriously enough. Her father had been affectionate, but not involved in her life.

  Seeing Duncan playing child’s games, all to make his daughter happy, sent further warmth spiraling to her heart.

  Yes, she loved him.

  “Aren’t you coming, Miss Webb?” Charlie called over.

  Duncan used the girl’s distraction to lightly splash her.

  Lifting her hem, Josephine hurried to join the pair. A hiss exploded from her lips as the frigid water stung her bare skin, and she sprang back. “Good God, that is c-cold!” she exclaimed, earning laughs from father and daughter.

  “Oh, come, I’ve never known you to be a coward,” Duncan chided and flicked water at her legs.

  Josephine gasped. “Did you just splash me?”

  He scoffed. “Hardly.” Cupping his hand, he sent a more generous amount of water spraying at her. “That was a splash.”

  Josephine widened her eyes. “You… you…”

  “Scoundrel?” he volunteered.

  “That will do.” Charging forward, Josephine kicked her foot out and sent water flying, soaking his trousers.

  Going absolutely motionless, Duncan looked down at his wet garment and then slowly back at her.

  Catching the glimmer in his eyes, Josephine retreated several steps—too late. Duncan was already upon her.

  Breathless with laughter, she hurried to avoid him. Her foot sank into an uneven groove in the shore, and with a small cry, she shot her arms out to steady herself.

  Duncan caught her and held her anchored close.

  Their chests moved in a like rhythm, quick and shallow, and the inhalations and exhalations filled her ears.

  Something shifted. The lightness of the moment was gone, and in its place was the charged energy that radiated over the earth just after a lightning strike.

  With the water lapping at their ankles, Duncan’s hand curved into her waist.

  Josephine’s breath caught, and closing her eyes, she swayed in his arms. The world dropped away.

  Or rather, the shore did.

  Josephine cried out as she lost her balance and stumbled back. Duncan grabbed for her, but she was already crashing down. The frigid water closed over her head, muffling the sound in her ears.

  And then, as quick as she’d hit the river, Duncan wrenched her up and set her on her feet.

  Sputtering, Josephine wiped at her eyes. “Oh, b-bloody hell,” she whispered. Catching her heavy skirts, she twisted them—in vain.

  Through her water-blurred vision, she caught the horror on Duncan’s face. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and a lengthy silence filled the copse as they both stared at her soaked dress. “I should have caught you.”

  “Yes, that certainly would have helped,” she said dryly, earning a little giggle from his daughter.

  Duncan sent Charlie a hard look, and the young
girl covered her mouth with her hands to hide her amusement.

  Josephine refocused on the state of her heavy garments. A wet curl hung over her eye, and she pushed it back behind her ear.

  This was bad.

  Nay, dire.

  She briefly closed her eyes. How in blazes was she to return home in her condition without attracting any attention?

  Another giggle cut through the tension. As one, Josephine and Duncan looked to Charlie.

  Charlie abandoned all attempts at stifling her mirth. The little girl dissolved into an uncontrollable outburst of hilarity. Her amusement proved contagious, erasing Josephine’s earlier panic as she joined in the laughter.

  “Th-this is fun!” Charlie exclaimed, rushing over to her father’s side.

  Retreating to the shore so that she might dry her skirts, Josephine settled onto a patch of grass and watched as Duncan and his daughter played.

  Had her own father ever played with her so? She didn’t have a recollection of anything more than fond memories of his visits to the nursery and the peppermints he’d handed her.

  Her little charge claimed a spot on the ground between Josephine and Duncan. They sat there in a comfortable silence, observing a pair of ducks gliding along the still rippling surface.

  “I didn’t know London could be wonderful like this. We didn’t always live in London,” Charlie added as a soft afterthought for Josephine. She didn’t move, more than half afraid that if she did, the little girl would stop talking, and the secrets Charlie carried about her childhood and Duncan would be lost.

  “Where did you live?”

  Duncan sifted through a pile of brush and extracted a single stone. “Malmesbury,” he supplied and sent the rock hopping along the surface of the water with an impressive skill that would have otherwise earned her attention if not for the information he’d imparted.

  “I’ve… not heard of it.”

  “It is just south of the Cotswolds.”

  “We had the prettiest stone cottage,” Charlie chimed in. “And there were hills, and there was a castle there, too.” Drawing her knobby knees close to her chest, the girl dropped her chin atop them and stared out wistfully. “It was so much lovelier than London.”

  Josephine could well relate to that love of the country and distaste of the stifling city.

  “Why did you leave?” she asked.

  Some emotion paraded across Charlie’s eyes, and then she lifted her shoulders in an uneven shrug. “Dunno.”

  Josephine no more believed that than she did that her surname was Webb. Not wanting to press the girl about details she’d not share, she settled once more into the earlier quiet between them.

  Charlie reached inside her cloak and fished out a fistful of pebbles. She proffered an open palm. “For wishes,” she explained.

  Josephine looked between Duncan and his daughter. “For wishes?”

  “You’ve never heard of it?” Charlie scooted closer. “A long time ago, Germanic and Celtic people believed wells were special, special places.” She spoke in a reverent tone, a child retelling a story she’d heard many, many times. “When soldiers would defeat their enemies, they would take all the weapons they’d won and throw them into the water to make the gods happy. Some people believed if they tossed a gift down for the gods, the gods would answer their wishes.”

  “That is lovely,” Josephine said of the unfamiliar child’s tale.

  “Whenever we passed a well, my papa used to give me a coin to make a wish. But when we left Malmesbury, there wasn’t much money, so he would say to find the best stone. He said—” Charlie’s brow wrinkled. “Why are you shaking your head like that, Papa?” Josephine glanced over. Duncan abruptly stopped that telltale movement. “You did say that.”

  His expression was sheepish. “Miss Webb doesn’t wish to hear—”

  “On the contrary, I do,” she rushed to assure the little girl, and that was all the encouragement Charlie needed.

  “Papa would say that God had no need for money, and He would much rather prefer the prettiest rock.” With that, Charlie hopped up with her stones in hand, and sprinting to the shore, she proceeded to toss her offerings into the Serpentine.

  Plunk. Plunk.

  The thunks of her stones hitting the water filled the quiet.

  Emotion filled Josephine’s throat. This latest image Charlie had painted of Duncan, as the father teaching his daughter to dream of make-believe, threatened her heart in ways it had never been in peril from Lord Grimslee.

  Josephine looked to Duncan… who would not meet her eyes. “Do you believe I’d pass judgment on you because of what you have or don’t have?”

  Gathering up a stone, he tossed it at the river. The missile hopped once, twice, and a third time before sinking under the surface. “My wife did.”

  Josephine didn’t move for several moments. It was one of the first mentions he’d ever made of his late wife. And so many questions swirled about the woman who’d chided a little girl for playing in water.

  “She had expectations for how we’d live. She wanted a lifestyle greater than I could ever provide her, and anything less was a failure.” His lips formed a hard line. “Charlie was correct earlier. Her mother wished to belong to the nobility.” He wrapped that last word with a disdain that was lifelike. “And it is an indolent world I’d no wish to be part of.”

  That same world he spoke of, through matters of chance, was the one Josephine and her family belonged to. She weighed her words. “It is not altogether fair to judge all the people born to that station.” Sybil was proof as much of that. Nolan had changed.

  “People born never wanting for anything and only having everything?” He scoffed. “The fine townhouses, the house of servants, the baubles that Polite Society views as more important than the lives of those struggling in the streets, it’s not a world I wished to be part of and one that Eugenia did.”

  His late wife had a name.

  She hovered there, a ghost between them. And now, guilt twisted. Because there was so much that he didn’t know about Josephine. She slid closer to his side. “Perhaps those… men and women born within the peerage also chafe at the constraints placed upon them, Duncan. And your late wife, wishing to be part of the world, shaped how you see the ton.”

  Not taking his gaze from where his daughter played, Duncan folded his right ankle across the opposite one. “I see it for what it is,” he said matter-of-factly. “People living a life of luxury.”

  While he struggled. While Charlie went without.

  Those words hung there as if he’d spoken them aloud.

  Josephine rested a hand on his. “Not all women are your wife,” she said, willing him to see that. “Not all women want those material comforts.” Josephine would have been happy with nothing if she had the love of a man like Duncan.

  “I know that,” he said quietly and slowly shifted his gaze over to her. Heat radiated from his eyes, touching her like a physical caress. “I just never knew there was a woman like you.”

  A woman like you.

  What did that mean? Her heart quickened. He made to look away, but she caught his hand in her own and held tight. “Your value isn’t in what you have, Duncan. Worth isn’t found in a title or material possessions, or even in Society’s opinion of a person. It’s in who you are… You create moments and memories for Charlie that cost nothing, but are worth everything to her.” She squeezed his palm. “And they are priceless for it.”

  A shadow fell over them, and they looked up.

  Charlie smiled down at them, and as one, Josephine and Duncan yanked their hands away from each other.

  “Here.” Charlie held a hand out and dropped several stones into their palms. “Go on. You both have to make a wish, too.”

  Josephine’s heart melted all over again, for entirely different reasons. And as she closed her eyes, she tossed just one of those precious pebbles into the river.

  I want a life with Duncan and Charlie.

  A jagged str
eak cut across the sky, and a moment later, thunder rumbled.

  It is a sign.

  A pit formed in her stomach. Stop. It’s not… Why, it wasn’t as though the heavens had opened, and the Lord had rained down His—

  The skies opened, unleashing a torrent that instantly blinded Josephine.

  Well, bloody hell. Mayhap it was a blasted and unwanted sign, after all.

  Blinking back the sting of water as it ran into her eyes, Josephine scrambled to collect her garments. Seated on the same boulder where her wet cloak rested, she gathered up her stockings and stared at Duncan, unobserved. Without a care for his own drenched state and discomfort, he patiently helped his daughter into her boots.

  Whatever he said to the girl earned a hearty laugh.

  A whispery soft sigh slipped from Josephine’s lips, the exhalation stolen by the storm that raged around them.

  With her hair plastered to her face and the wind whipping at her skirts, Josephine remained rooted to the uncomfortable stone, unable to look away from that tender tableau between father and daughter.

  Yes, she loved Duncan. She loved him for who he was… to her and to his daughter, and to Society’s outcasts. And—

  A leaf hit her in the mouth. Sputtering, Josephine peeled the greenery from her face and dropped it.

  Duncan stalked over. “Here,” Duncan shouted into a gust of wind. He took a knee in a muddy puddle that sent droplets of dirt and water flying at her skirts. But she didn’t care. Breathless, she stared down at his bent head as he guided her skirts up.

  And then… he faltered.

  His fingers clenched and unclenched upon the hem of her serviceable wool dress.

  With an infinite tenderness, he gathered her left foot in his large hand. Then, slowly, he worked her wet stocking up. Higher. Higher.

  Her breath hitched, that catch having nothing to do with the tempest battering them. She’d ceased to feel any cold. And who knew it was possible to burn from the inside out in the middle of a London rainstorm?