Lord Hawthorne drifted into the dining room with the second wave of gentleman. Taking the empty chair beside Natalie, he sat down and greeted those around her. As more and more of the gentlemen arrived, it could not help but be noticed that not one of them had declined to partake of the earl’s scotch. Voices were louder than usual, and some slurred their words. Many of them forgot their manners, placing elbows upon the table and ignoring the carefully folded napkins completely.
Natalie sat still as a statue. Lord Hawthorne had chosen to sit beside her!
Chapter Nine
Feeling particularly amenable, Garrett turned to lazily regard Natalie. She was a child in a woman’s body, a spoiled debutante. He ought to treat her as one.
Except that he wanted her. And if he were honest with himself, he’d wanted her since the moment he first laid eyes upon her in London nearly two years ago.
But who was Lady Natalie Spencer, really? The spoiled chit who’d spurned him in London, or was she this new minx? Flirtatious and innocent? Likely, she could not answer these questions herself. Her actions were brash and inappropriate for a young unmarried woman of the ton. And yet, she did not seem to lack moral fortitude. She merely seemed to be too curious for her own good.
And, although scoffing at the concept earlier that day, Garrett was now unbelievably considering the unfathomable notion of marriage to her. Not only to satisfy his physical needs, but to satisfy her father, and also to help smooth the path of rebuilding the Hawthorne earldom. Was this all incredible luck on his part or a gilded trap? Good God, he must be foxed!
“And how did you spend your day, my lady?” he asked, perhaps condescendingly. “I understand the ladies were to travel to Bath for the day. Did you purchase a new bonnet, or perhaps a bright new ribbon or two?”
“Both, to be certain,” she said, oh, so casually, glancing at him sideways. “You are recovered from your…ah…injury?” She appeared adorable and alluring this evening, shy, even, after last night’s debacle. A rosy pink blossomed on her cheeks as she seemed to struggle to meet his eyes. When she did so, she could only hold his gaze for a moment before once again finding her food fascinating.
Garrett winced at the remembered shock and pain of the night before. “We can thank the Almighty that such injuries pass quickly and leave no permanent damage.” Or he wouldn’t have spent the day riding about on a horse, that was for damn sure.
The afternoon had been enjoyable and enlightening. Upon examining the efficiencies Ravensdale’s steward had incorporated into the irrigation systems, the earl proffered a large jug of fine scotch. Following a visit to the last tenant’s farm, the gentlemen’s pace slowed considerably. In fact, they stopped several times on their way to refill flasks from the jug the earl’s assistant transported on the back of his nag. By that time, the men were conversing on numerous topics such as horses, cards, gambling, agriculture, philosophy, or women. Garrett found his own thoughts constantly returning to an impetuous young lady. Dared he even consider her father’s suggestion? The more scotch he drank, the more confused he’d become.
When Lady Natalie had first appeared in society, Garrett had known her for a woman he could never pursue. She’d represented all he’d spurned for most of his adult life. And why would such a woman even consider him? The financial security he could provide came along with a tarnished title. Lady Natalie needed neither. And so, he’d contented himself with admiring her from afar. And then she’d become engaged to the Duke of Cortland.
But now she was not.
In fact, it seemed she was no longer off limits at all.
Their brief encounters over the past two days had awakened something inside of him. She amused him and yet, somehow managed to affect him sexually. Would he ever want more from her? His immediate instinct to the threat of a leg-shackle had always been to flee. Being tied to one woman for life was, in a word, terrifying.
Garrett had never desired steady companionship from anybody, let alone a woman.
But as today progressed, a voice in his head contemplated the hare-brained idea planted by Ravensdale.
He could have her in his bed every night.
As she had shown the previous night, she yearned to explore her sensual nature. Under the right circumstances, of course, Garrett would be more than pleased to assist her in this endeavor. He would introduce her to all manner of carnal experiences. He’d hastily dismissed visions of the lady beneath him, or possibly riding him, as soon as he’d begun conjuring them. Physical arousal and riding horseback were not conducive to one another.
Her conversation did not bore him.
In fact, he found bantering with her—well, amusing. Although he’d spent a great deal of his life seeking pleasure, he could not recall any woman who entertained him as much with simple conversation. This thought muddled his mind a bit.
Marriage to Lady Natalie would include the full backing of the Earl of Ravensdale.
Although he’d planned upon undertaking the rebuilding of the Hawthorne earldom alone, the road would be smoother with the public endorsement of one of the ton’s wealthiest members. It was not the wealth that mattered, so much as the power and influence the Spencers carried.
He could have her in his bed every night.
Oh, yes, he’d already considered this fact. He pictured her as she had been last night on her knees, in her nightclothes. He remembered the soft feel of her breast in his hand.
Now, sitting beside her, his senses buzzed. She’d been in his thoughts all day. She was becoming something of a possibility. For now, though, he simply wanted to touch her.
He reached his hand over to her lap and grasped her tiny wrist. She did not startle, as he thought she might, but he felt her breathing quickened. Each of them continued conversing with the people seated around them as though nothing whatsoever were untoward. Her skin felt like the petal of a rose. Her hand, fragile and delicate.
After several minutes, Garrett began rubbing the underside of her wrist. Her pulse raced beneath his thumb.
Natalie was certain the other guests must be aware of the emotions boiling up inside of her! The instant his hand possessed hers, it encompassed all her awareness. Her entire being suddenly focused on the feelings he created with a simple touch, a light caress. The more he held her hand, the more her body felt drawn toward him. Like a physical hunger, his nearness enflamed and, yet, overwhelmed her.
As though underwater, Natalie turned her head and watched Hawthorne converse with Lord Malmsteen. Fully distracted by her own inner turmoil, she comprehended none of their conversation. She then glanced around at the other guests near her. Not one had the slightest clue that the man beside her was seducing her with just the touch of his hand. And yet she felt as though she were turning to liquid, as though her bones were melting.
Did Hawthorne know of the havoc he created inside of her? Of course, he must! Unwilling to sit docilely while her heart raced madly, she shook the slipper from her foot and edged it over to Lord Hawthorne’s. Most conveniently, he’d exchanged his boots for buckled shoes this evening. In a daring move, she pressed the arch of her foot onto the top of his ankle. As she did so, both of his eyebrows rose at once. His foot felt hard; his ankle felt hard. She knew from the previous night that his legs were hard all over.
He was not a soft man in any way whatsoever.
Her foot rose slightly when Lord Hawthorne lounged backward and stretched his legs out in her direction. He’d done this intentionally! He was making it so that she could explore his person more thoroughly with the tender sole of her foot. The expression on his face remained impassive.
Feeling the need to participate in the conversation somehow, Natalie met Lord Hawthorne’s eyes innocently. “What did you think of my father’s irrigation system? Do you not think it clever that he extended the canal to transport loads of coal right through the village? Oftentimes, I am amazed by the feats of man.”
Lord Hawthorne appeared surprised by her comment. Perhaps he was as distracted b
y her touch as she was by his, for he took a moment to absorb her words. Natalie knew her father’s estate covered a tremendous amount of land, and the system designed and implemented was quite impressive. She had paid attention, even as a girl, to what sustained her family’s wealth.
“It is inspiring.” His answer referred to the canal, and yet a zing of awareness shot through her. “Water in Great Britain can be either a blessing or a curse. When managed properly it can, for the most part, be the former. Even so, the powers of nature cannot always be contained.”
Like passion. Like whatever was building between the two of them.
Still holding his gaze, Natalie explored his stocking-covered ankle with her foot. “Before my father took over the earldom, many of the fields often flooded. Under his management, the lake was constructed and the channels dug out in order to contain the water.” She grimaced and added, “It is most effective—most of the time, anyhow.”
“An admirable system,” Garrett declared. “An excellent model to be considered.” He grazed her palm with the tips of his fingers. “Do you swim in the lake?”
His voice sounded low and gravelly. Heat spread from her chest to her thighs. Were they really discussing water? And swimming?
Natalie swallowed hard before answering. “Yes. There’s a beach on the south side. Sand is brought in every two or three years. Father made it a point that we all learn.” She removed her foot and ran the V of her toes down the back of his ankle. “He knew of too many needless drownings and did not wish to lose any of his children thusly.” But Natalie did not want to discuss her father. “Do you swim, my lord?”
He smiled at her with the sensuality she’d always noticed before. “I manage to stay afloat.” Likely he did better than that. “I didn’t learn to swim as a boy. I learned after I’d reached my majority—in the ocean while visiting a…friend. My friend’s late husband’s estate extended along a few miles of both hazardous and swimmable beaches. The process was humbling.”
Just then, Lady Natalie’s mother stood and invited the ladies to join her in the drawing room. The announcement shattered their private cocoon of intimacy. Natalie reluctantly slid her foot back into her slipper. When she went to withdraw her hand from Hawthorne’s grasp, his fingers tightened.
For a moment, a hunger burned in his eyes as she glanced over at him. She stared back boldly before dropping her gaze to their hands. His grip loosened suddenly.
She stood on shaky legs and followed the ladies out.
Chapter Ten
Wandering into the drawing room, Natalie’s thoughts remained with Garrett Castleton. There was more to him than she had thought. Was he truly a rake? Was he a gentleman at heart? Upon leaving Raven’s Park, would he go back to his disreputable ways? And how was it that he appeared more handsome every time she laid eyes upon him?
Examining the handkerchief she’d been embroidering for the past twenty or so minutes, she cursed. Not paying attention had produced disastrous results. The delicate flowers were now a riotous splash of dandelions and weeds with no order whatsoever. Such work could almost be considered artistic if the back of the fabric didn’t consist of crazy knots and loops.
She jumped guiltily when her mother addressed her. “I cannot imagine what you have been thinking about that would cause you to lose your concentration.” Her mother gestured toward the handkerchief with a disdainful glance. “That fabric, I believe, is irreparable.”
The other ladies looked over at the embarrassing results in her lap and clucked their tongues. Aunt Eleanor winked.
The unwanted attention shifted to the entry when the gentlemen appeared, many still cradling their port. A few drifted out to the terrace and lit cigars, but Lord Ravensdale placed his hand upon the Duke of Monfort’s shoulder and steered him toward Natalie’s chair.
The duke, ever the stoic, glanced at her blankly as he and her father took their seats upon the adjacent settee. “Good Lord,” her father exclaimed, “what on earth are you embroidering there, daughter? Has some newfound style for handkerchiefs come into fashion?” He laughed as Natalie tucked the offensive piece of cloth into the chair behind her.
“I’d like to see any embroidery you produced, Father,” she retorted. Parents could be so annoying.
The haughty duke raised one eyebrow at her.
Her father then remembered why he’d come over. “The duke here has invited your mother and me, and you of course, to join him on his estate. I was just telling him how much I thought you would enjoy such an outing. Especially since you’ve been confined to Raven’s Park all summer.”
Her father seemed to expect some sort of response, so Natalie forced herself to smile graciously. “Oh…um…that would be…er, lovely.” Argh! Had her father already drawn up betrothal contracts?
At last, the duke deigned to speak. “I maintain a first-rate stable and dressage arena upon my estate. Your father says you are an excellent horsewoman. Of course, you shall be most welcome to make use of the facilities.” Although his words were welcoming, his eyes were not. Such a cold man!
“How kind of you, Your Grace,” she murmured. And then out of nowhere she felt a heightened awareness. The air within the room suddenly charged, much like the air outside before a summer storm.
Lord Hawthorne had entered. Casually propping himself against the back of a loveseat, he unashamedly observed her. He wasn’t smiling, but she sensed his amusement. He flicked his gaze toward a large floral arrangement, and his eyes twinkled further. She nearly laughed out loud. He had remembered her desire to deter the duke’s suit.
The duke and her father continued their own conversation, Natalie more than happy to stay out of it. A few women gathering around the pianoforte plucked out some tentative notes.
Her mother beckoned. “Come over here, dear, and play for us.”
Dutifully, Natalie excused herself and followed her mother’s wishes. She actually enjoyed this feminine pursuit. Needing no written music, she placed her fingers on the keys and played notes she heard in her head. She, in no way, fancied herself a great musician, but she did enjoy entertaining others. It was a vanity she could live with and feel no guilt whatsoever.
Settling herself upon on the wooden bench, she began in the upper register with a few convoluted scales and arpeggios from left to right. As her mood lifted, she interspersed personal melodies with songs she’d memorized years ago. She did not play loudly. She played so people could continue conversing around her. She often marveled at the construction of such an instrument. She also marveled at the constraints her various musical instructors had attempted to put upon her playing.
They’d used every means at their disposal to convince her to play written music that was boxed in to specific counts and keys. Such restrictions annoyed her. She believed that, once she understood the instrument and how it worked, she ought to be able to play whatever she wished. Two of her instructors had quit in frustration. After the fourth such instructor resigned, her parents deferred to her inclinations at last and allowed her to play as she wished.
Dismissing such memories, she slowed her music down and then sped it back up at will. Her music was a story, and she the storyteller.
After a few minutes, the hair on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end. Lord Hawthorne had moved to sit behind her. She faltered a few notes and then halted her play altogether. Her music reflected her mood and her feelings. She was not comfortable playing something while thinking about Garrett Castleton. And she could not help but think about him with him watching over her shoulder.
The notes would be too loud, too bold. She looked down at her hands at a loss. Nobody else paid much heed to her playing, so she did not feel compelled to continue. Sliding to the side of the bench, she stood and tamped down the impulse to stretch like a cat. Sometimes her muscles tied up in knots if she played for too long. Lord Hawthorne stood as well.
“Would you care to stroll outside?” he asked. “We shall stay close enough to the house so that you don’t
need to worry about—being chaperoned and all that nonsense.” Eyes that were nearly black twinkled down at her. His playfulness was something new. She liked it.
Natalie agreed with a nod. Slipping her hand upon his arm, she allowed him to lead her outside through the terrace doors. Going in the opposite direction from her father’s cigar-smoking cronies, they stepped from the marbled patio onto the grass and walked toward a distant folly.
Garrett had attended several recitals, but he’d never heard a young lady play like Lady Natalie. At times her music sounded quiet, reflective, and relaxing, and then it would change, becoming angry, even chaotic. Then again, she would drift into something whimsical or exotic. It had taken several minutes before he realized she was not playing any arrangement ever written. The music came from within her. She created in the moment.
Like the lady herself, the music intrigued but also baffled.
“A chaperone is not only for my protection, you know, my lord.” Together they strolled away from the lights pouring through the drawing room windows and french doors. “My brothers, when paying attention to any particular young lady of gentle birth, are adamant about keeping chaperones within a safe distance.” She laughed a little before continuing. “When Darly—Darlington, my eldest brother—was one and twenty, he very nearly found himself betrothed to the vicar’s daughter. If not for my mother and Aunt Eleanor’s watchful eyes, he’d have a full nursery by now. The girl’s mother had purposely left them alone in the rectory. Luckily, Mother and Aunt felt a strong urge for spiritual guidance that morning.”
“What happened?” Garrett asked, intrigued despite himself. Stories like this normally bored him, but he enjoyed listening to her talk. Her perspective charmed him.
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