There was no denying his motivation for taking action: Miss Chambers. She inspired him. If he could put together a solid enough plan, she would believe he was in earnest. Would his dedication and vision tempt her to be a partner in the plan? Entice her to think of him as more than her sister-in-law’s cousin? Charm her even?
Veering to the left, he jogged for the sediment stream flowing between the two largest of dunes. A perfect cut-through to circle back towards the castle via the gatehouse. He could, of course, run over the dunes, but they were quite steep with some unpleasant looking grasses and brambles. Not laziness, but unsafe, he justified.
He kept to the sandy edge of the stream since the water looked surprisingly deep. As he rounded the dune, he stopped short, nearly tripping headlong into the water.
“Oh, ho ho!” he exclaimed.
Skittering to one side, he only just avoided trampling Miss Chambers.
Walter struggled for a moment to catch his balance and his breath.
Miss Chambers sat on the edge of the dune, her bare feet dipping into the stream. She looked as shocked as he felt, drawing her shawl about her shoulders and hugging her arms across her chest as though self-conscious. She had no reason to be. She looked breathtakingly gorgeous, her cheeks rosy from the wind, her hair loose about her shoulders and down to her waist.
He was the one who should feel self-conscious, caught unawares in nothing but a shirt, sweat, and his shabbiest of breeches and boots.
Dash it all! He cursed silently as he combed his fingers through his wet curls.
“Good morning, Lord Collingwood,” she said, her shock turning to amusement as she took in his dishabille.
Her eyes roamed over him from head to foot and back up, taking in every inch of his dishevelment. His ears burned in mortification.
“Yes, yes, it is, yes a good morning indeed,” he stammered. “I, uh, I mean, that is to say, good morning, Miss Chambers.”
What a bumbling clod she must think him!
“Do forgive me, Miss Chambers. I, uh, I didn’t expect anyone to be about at this hour. I do apologize.”
“No apology needed. It seems we have caught each other in a rare and unguarded moment.”
“Yes, I suppose. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to the castle and not disturb your peace.”
“No!” Miss Chambers raised a staying hand, fleetingly looking both frantic and vulnerable.
When he made no move to leave, she dried her feet with the hem of her dress before slipping a pair of scuffed half-boots over bare toes. Standing, she secured her shawl with a knot to keep it from flying away, then looked steadily at him with bewitching eyes.
“Shall we walk together, my lord? I would like the company.”
A quick look around showed she had not brought a maid. But of course, she would not.
Feeling sheepish and more than a little in love, he grinned like a madman and held his arm for her to take. His only hope was that he did not smell like a horse.
She nudged him back to the beach rather than following the dunes. Though they walked a good distance at a casual pace, she made no attempt at conversation. Walter found it difficult not to admire her profile. The top of her head came level with his eyes—a kissable height. She wore a placid smile, as one at peace with the day and her surroundings, though her eyelids drooped from weariness. The wind caught her hair and whipped it about. More than once, she swept a hand across her face to tuck the strands behind her ears.
“You must be exhausted,” he said.
“Aren’t you a perceptively posh pickle this morning, Lord Collingwood. Is it the dark circles under my eyes that gave me away?”
With an awkward ha, he said, “I meant no slight, only that it was a long night, and I didn’t expect to see anyone awake this early, least of all you who worked so hard to bring new life into the world. And for that matter, I don’t see dark circles. You look beautiful in the morning light.”
She bowed her head, preventing him from seeing if she blushed and smiled or scowled with annoyance. The compliment was too bold, he feared. But why should he not let his feelings be known? This woman was not wooed by innuendo.
“Morning is my favorite time of day,” she replied, ignoring his compliment. “A time before the world wakes. When everything is private, quiet. It’s a time to reflect. I’m more surprised to see you this early. I was under the impression peers of the realm prefer to laze all morning since they have nothing better to do than sleep.”
Her words were not accusatory, rather whimsical. She was teasing him.
“Ah, guilty as charged, my lady. At least since I’ve been here. When home, that is not the case. I may be a dreamer, but I’m not lazy.”
Giving him a long, assessing look, she said, “You look different this morning. I hardly recognize you.”
Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. He could not recall a time when a woman had seen him in only a shirt, much less such shabby attire. The sweat and sand did not do him any service either. He must look appalling.
“I do apologize. Again, I didn’t expect to see anyone. Had there been a chance—”
“Now, you mistake my meaning,” she interrupted. “I like this version of you. You look—how should I say this?—human.”
“Human?” he echoed.
“Quite. You are always so polished, and yet, here you are, raw. Even your cheeks are rough with stubble. Yes, you look human, and I very much prefer this version. You don’t look titled.”
Frowning, he said, “But I am titled.”
“Yes, so you are.”
They lapsed into silence.
A light drizzle sprinkled, but she did not seem to mind.
“I would rather have my father than a title, Miss Chambers.”
She directed him to the black rocks at the base of the hill leading up to the curtain wall and signaled for them to sit. He chose the smoothest and largest rock for them to share, holding her hand only long enough to guide her safely until seated.
Miss Chambers leaned back, her arms behind her, her palms flat against the rockface, her face tilted to the sky to feel the drizzling rain.
Leaning forward, he rested his forearms against his thighs, snagging a small rock to roll in his hands. Anything to occupy him from staring at her.
“How did he die?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Carriage accident. It was a blind bend. He ran head-on into a curricle racer. He was thrown from the carriage. Died on impact.”
The rock in his hand was smooth, weathered by the sea.
“You were close to him,” she said.
“Yes and no. Yes, we were close. He was my hero. But those few years after Oxford, I was a hellion. He wanted to teach me estate business and make it a real father-son venture, but all I wanted to do was be with my mates, stay out late, get foxed every night. You know, all those things you think spoiled children of aristocrats do. Only, I was a grown man with no excuse for such behavior. I regret every minute. Those were minutes I could have spent with him, you see.”
He could not believe he was rambling and to a woman he wanted to impress. How could she ever be impressed with him after admitting such foul things about himself? She would think him the very type of man she would want to avoid.
Much to his surprise, he felt a featherlight touch against his cheek. He flinched and glanced at his companion. Her hand stilled in the air, inches from his face.
“It’s softer than I expected,” she whispered, tentatively reaching her fingers to his cheek again, running the tips against his stubble. “I thought it might be rough to the touch.”
Feeling daring but not brave enough to break the spell with a kiss, he tossed the rock aside and caught her wrist. She made no motion to pull away, simply stared at him with unreadable brown eyes. He leaned his cheek into her palm, pressing her hand hard against his s
kin, raking it against the soft bristles until her palm met his lips. Pressing his lips into her skin, he kissed the ungloved, satin flesh.
She closed her eyes, allowing him to press a kiss to the heel of her palm, and then against the inside of her slender wrist. Only when he began to lean ever so slightly closer did her eyelids flutter open. She tugged her hand free and looked away.
His body burned for her, the memory of her skin still on his lips. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless. Yet, the moment had passed. Her gaze was on the castle wall, not him, discouraging him from doing what he desperately desired.
Filtered sunrays found a thinness in the fog through which to peek.
“Would you like to return to the castle, Miss Chambers?” he asked hoarsely.
“No, but I do suppose it would be sensible to head that direction.”
Willing his body to cool, he stood first before helping her down from the rocks. She took his arm, and they walked towards the slope that would take them around to the servant’s entrance.
“It’s not that I dislike you because you’re titled,” she said abruptly. “It’s only—. Well, we’re from different worlds. I can’t relate to the polished version of you. You’re always formal and stuffy.”
He could not help but laugh at that assessment. Not quite the image he had of himself. No one had ever accused him of being formal or stuffy.
“But I like this version of you. Very much.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, as though providing a diagnosis after an examination. Her words, however, flip-flopped his heart.
Opening the wooden door in the curtain wall, he held it for her to enter the castle grounds. Halfway through the doorway, she paused. She stared at him as though she had more to say. But then, she did something he never would have expected.
Placing two warm hands against his chest, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.
It was not a quick peck. It was a slow kiss wherein she brushed her mouth against his skin, tickling her lips with his stubble before pursing her lips. She held the kiss, as though memorizing the feel of him.
Just as slowly, she retreated, her hands still against his chest.
He knew he was blushing. He could feel his ears growing hot and his neck flushing. Before he could make a move of his own, she patted his chest, turned away from him, and walked with quickened steps towards the castle, leaving him standing alone in the doorway.
Walter stepped into the morning room, ravenous.
The space flooded with sunlight. Two walls of windowed, double doors afforded an uninterrupted view of the ocean to the east and the inner courtyard to the west. Two sideboards of food stood to either side of a walk-in fireplace, lit to combat the chill from the evening’s rain.
Disobedient eyes searched the room for a glimpse of Miss Chambers.
No signs of the enchantress.
Only Mama and Uncle Cuthbert were at the table, not that he expected Roddam or Lizbeth to join them when they had a new babe to coddle. Ignoring his grumbling stomach, he joined the siblings, greeting his mother with a kiss to her cheek and his uncle with a pat on the back. Cuthbert was bright eyed and jovial, laughing at whatever Mama had been saying.
“Do join us, Walter,” she said. “I’m regaling Cuthbert with how unceremoniously Sebastian tossed me from the room last night.”
Walter chuckled. “And yet you’re laughing about it. I suspect you weren’t at the time.”
“Oh, heavens no! I was most put out.” Even as she said it, she chortled, all forgiveness in light of the happy outcome.
As his mother rattled on, he made his way to the sideboard to snatch the remaining soft-boiled eggs and toast. Not for a moment did he pay any real attention to what else he put on the plate; his mind was too fixed on if Miss Chambers would join them for breakfast. Would she act differently around him now? Would she be disappointed that he had changed? His cheeks were smooth from Kory’s shave, his hair styled with a light touch of cologne, his attire an older set but one of his favorites, worn in honor of Lady Freya’s arrival.
Never was his look frippish or toffish, at least not in his opinion, nothing to his old Oxford mates who bordered on dandyism. He liked a neat look, clean lines, simple embroidery, no lace or frills but a tidy cravat that showed good taste. He typically favored the trone d’amour knot, but not too starched.
Try as he might, he could not see himself how Miss Chambers described. What had she meant by preferring him raw? He had stared at himself in the mirror long enough for Kory to ask if all was well. The reflection revealed only himself, no insight to what she liked or did not like about him. While he could appreciate her desire for a man of humble origins, he disliked that she saw his title rather than him. He was who he was. He was born an heir, and now he was a baron. There was no pride or shame in holding a title, merely a fact of life. He was who he was.
His plate a mountain of delights, he strode back to the table and took the seat next to his mother. She was still chattering, entertaining her brother with some tale about toddlers she had seen in Hyde Park during the Season.
Walter did not listen. Instead, he eyed the door between bites, eagerly awaiting Miss Chambers’ arrival. After their encounter this morning, he was encouraged to court her. Seeking out permission had seemed rash when they had spoken so little, but now that she showed clear interest, it was the logical next step. Until that morning, he had suspected her pride regarding her life as Miss Chambers was holding her back. And perhaps it still was. Somehow, he would need to combat that to show her life with him was worth the leap.
The door to the morning room opened. Walter’s pulse raced. Swallowing his bite of toast whole, he looked to the door, ready to rise to his feet.
Lord Roddam stood in the place Walter had expected to see Miss Chambers. His heart sank. His eyes also watered from the too-large piece of toast he gulped.
“Liz and I would be honored if you would all join us in our private sitting room. Freya is awake and ready to meet her family, though I suspect she will not be awake for long.” Roddam awarded them a tired but soft-hearted smile.
It took less than a second for Mama to screech with excitement and abandon her breakfast, Uncle Cuthbert at her heels. Walter shoved an egg-coated piece of toast in his mouth, whole. Then he grabbed another piece to go. It would not do to meet the newest member of the family with a growling stomach.
The troupe followed Roddam through the downstairs corridor, into the gallery, and up the grand staircase. When they reached the great hall, which now served as the armory, Miss Chambers stood waiting.
No, not Miss Chambers. Lady Lilith. Very much Lady Lilith.
Walter’s breath caught. Just as it had the first day. Nay, not like the first day. Different. He physically could not breathe.
Miss Chambers had transformed since he last saw her only a few hours before. She wore a robe à l’anglaise of silk taffeta woven with alternating green and gold vertical stripes. The green was striking on her. The sleeves were elbow-length with turned-back cuffs. Around her bosom was a delicate silk fichu with lace ribbons.
Her dress was so decidedly different from her usual choices, he did not know what to make of it. It was an older dress, to be sure, one Walter suspected had been Liz’s during a previous Season, but it looked stunning on Miss Chambers, though the hem was a good bit too short, made up for by a lengthier petticoat.
Her hair was braided, but instead of hanging down the length of her back, it was coiled in a wreath around a top knot. Of everything about her to see, he was most taken by the slope of her neck, elongated by the updo. What he would not do to kiss the skin just there.
She seemed unsure of herself with a grim expression and clenched hands, but as he approached, her demeanor softened. She thrust out a determined chin and smiled ever so coyly, looking at him rather than the others.
“Brava! Brava! Our he
roine in the flesh!” Mama cried out, startling him from his admiration.
Miss Chambers looked far more startled. Her eyes widened, and her brows knit. She stared at his mother as though the woman were quite mad.
Mama was undaunted. She flurried to Miss Chambers with arms outstretched and embraced her in what had to be the century’s most awkward hug, as one party stood rigid while the other tittered.
“Without your cunning,” his mother said, “my niece and great niece might not be here today. I might have been a tad unjust last evening, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me. Now, show me the way. Onward!”
Roddam and Uncle Cuthbert were already halfway up the spiral, stone steps to the library before Miss Chambers guided his mother and him behind them. At the far end of the library, they went through a pocket door leading to the couple’s private sitting room, a descriptor wholly understated given the room was the length and width of the great hall below. Walter’s own humble home could not compare to the grandeur of a castle, and he preferred it that way, just as he knew Miss Chambers would, as well.
A sizeable breakfast tray perched on a table in the middle of a circle of chairs. All too clearly, Liz, Roddam, and Miss Chambers had eaten here instead of the morning room but had requested a fresh tray in case the others were still peckish after being interrupted at table.
Lizbeth and Lady Freya sat waiting.
Liz looked drawn but glowed with happiness, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, signs of weariness showing in her rounded shoulders and sleepy smile. She cradled a swaddled bundle making gurgling sounds.
Walter stayed back, watching his family coo over both the new mother and new babe.
It was not that he did not want to see or hold Freya, but that he was merely the cousin, the bachelor cousin with no experience around babies. This moment was for his Uncle Cuthbert and his Mama. Mama fussed over Liz while Cuthbert exclaimed over the baby, taking the infant into his arms to cosset.
The Baron and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 3) Page 9