The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series)

by Collette Cameron

  Step. Bounce. Step. Bounce. Step. Bounce.

  Goodness, it made Adaira dizzy to watch. His lordship’s arm would sport a bruise from the pounding it was taking. Couldn’t he feel them hammering away, or was he simply unwilling to call her attention to the faux pas?

  Or, was he enjoying it?

  Whipping round, Adaira pointed to a skiff. “Seonaid and Isobel, you take that boat with Flynn. Dugall and I’ll share another.” Adaira lowered her voice. “Quickly then, let’s get on the water.”

  She stepped toward her boat. “See who approaches?”

  As one, the others, except Flynn, turned to peer down the path.

  Oh, that was subtle, featherheads.

  Isobel’s gorgeous eyes widened. She needed no further prompting. She grabbed Seonaid’s hand and practically dragged her to the waiting footman.

  “Prudent to make haste, I should think.” Flynn stepped into the boat, and took up the oars.

  Dugall’s eyes narrowed. Taking Adaira by her elbow, he propelled her to a skiff. Swiftly settling on the seat, she lifted her parasol creating a convenient barrier to the intense sun and equally intrusive scrutiny of Lord Clarendon and Count von Schnitzer. Flicking her gaze upward, she eyed the parasol’s three-inch fringed edge. It was quite a useful apparatus after all.

  “Hurry, Dugall. Let’s be away.”

  Dugall obliged, his powerful arms propelling the boat several feet from the dock with one strong stroke. Safe. Thank goodness. The tiniest twinge of guilt speared her uncharitable actions. She dismissed it with a mental shrug. The count made her skin crawl. She recognized the look in his eyes. It had glittered in another’s.

  Her stomach lurched sickeningly.

  A single boat remained. One of the approaching foursome, most likely Freidrick, since he held Irmgard, would be required to remain on land.

  “Ho there, wait Dugall,” the earl called.

  Oh, rot.

  “Devil it,” Dugall muttered beneath his breath. He met Adaira’s gaze, a question in his dark eyes.

  She sighed, resigned. Damn her vow to be a gracious lady today. “There’s nothing for it. We cannot risk offending his lordship or the others.”

  She sagged on the bench seat. “Turn the craft about.”

  Which one of the gentlemen would join them? The count or Freidrick, she guessed for, Mrs. Winthrop was attached to the earl like a barnacle on a ship. Adaira refused to examine why that rankled.

  Eyeing the Austrians, she opted for Freidrick. His father was by far the more disturbing of the two. “Do join us, Freidrick. I should love to have Irmgard’s company.”

  The pup wagged her tail when she heard Adaira’s voice.

  “Yes, do go along, Freidrick. I’d prefer not to have that creature underfoot in our tiny vessel.” Mrs. Winthrop nervously eyed the boat, then the lake. “Just how deep is the water, my lord?”

  Lord Clarendon’s gaze hovered on Adaira, before alighting on Mrs. Winthrop. “It’s neck high until you get one hundred yards offshore. You’ve no need to fear. I’m adept at rowing, and I’m a strong swimmer should the need arise.”

  Mrs. Winthrop didn’t look the least reassured.

  “We’ll stay to the edges if you’re concerned.” Was his voice tinged with a trace of impatience?

  Relief replaced the strained expression on her face. “You mistake me, my lord. I wasn’t concerned for myself. I know how to stay afloat, but do your Scottish guests?”

  Like an otter, madam.

  Lord Clarendon quirked a brow at Adaira.

  Did he expect her to answer? Humph.

  There were three others just as capable. With the thoughts rambling around in her head at present, it was far wiser to keep quiet. Otherwise, she’d say something she’d regret.

  She was pleasantly surprised at how well they’d got on today. Except for the moment when he’d first entered the carriage.

  Dugall grinned and winked at her. “Me lord,” he said, “we all swim. There be a loch very near Craiglochy, if ye recall.”

  Why did Dugall insist on speaking with a thick brogue? He could speak the King’s English perfectly well.

  “Indeed, so there is.” Lord Clarendon guided Mrs. Winthrop to their boat. “See, there’s no need to fret.”

  She frowned, worry once again lining her face. “But, Otto, do you or Freidrick swim?”

  Adaira pressed her lips together. The woman was grasping at excuses not to go boating. Why didn’t she just beg off, then? Adaira slid her focus to the earl. Because Lord Clarendon clearly intended to participate whether the reluctant widow did or not. Heaven forbid she allow him an inch or two to breathe.

  Stop it, Adaira. It’s not like you to be churlish.

  With an irritated sigh, the count said, “Yes, Helene, vee do. Either get in das boat, or return to das picnic. You’re delaying our departure. I for one am anxious to spend some time with dese lovely damen.”

  Though he’d said ladies, he kept his predatory gaze on Adaira the whole while.

  So, this is how it feels to be hunted.

  She touched the cross at her neck. If only it could ward off evil. She’d wave the necklace before the von Schnitzers until they sprinted back to their musty tombs in terror.

  “Thom, please help me assist Mrs. Winthrop,” the earl said, his hand at her elbow.

  In a huff, her cheeks red as ripe plums, Mrs. Winthrop allowed Lord Clarendon and Thom to help her into the vessel. Not however, without several little screeches and clumsy steps which had the boat rocking precariously.

  Freidrick wasn’t happy. He’d obviously hoped to share a boat with Isobel. With a mumbled oath, he climbed into Adaira’s skiff, taking the seat next to her. Irmgard whined. The pup tried to crawl into Adaira’s lap, but Freidrick held her fast.

  He speared her a resentful glare. Lord, but he was peevish and immature.

  She dared a peek at Count von Schnitzer. From the scowl shadowing his face, it was apparent he wasn’t pleased either. He ran a finger the length of his thin mustache, his gaze holding a dark promise. Another shiver stole over her. Two surlier men, she’d never met. Surely, they hadn’t expected everyone else to exit the boats so the seating arrangements would meet with their approvals?

  With a sniff, the count took his seat, the earl in his wake. At last everyone was established in a boat. Lord Clarendon manned the oars of his craft. No surprise there. Adaira didn’t doubt the count was the type who disdained something as menial as rowing a boat. That was for inferiors, though a British earl was of the same rank as a continental count.

  Truth to tell, the earl was by far the more muscular of the two. The count tended toward the thin side. A shotten herring, skinny fish, as Dugall and Ewan were want to say. Most appropriate. There was something cold and slimy about the Austrian.

  Hugging the perimeter of the lake, the three vessels moved leisurely toward the oaks bent over the water. Their height cast cooling shadows a good distance onto the lake’s surface.

  The earl’s boat went first, then hers, and lastly Flynn’s.

  The bunching of Lord Clarendon’s muscles beneath his coat proved most distracting. He caught her perusal. A cocky grin split his face.

  Heat bloomed across Adaira’s cheeks. She started to tilt her parasol to hide her flaming face when Mrs. Winthrop threw a flustered look over her shoulder. Her eyes thinned to slits. She tossed her head haughtily and faced frontward once more.

  Adaira suppressed a sigh of frustration. Had it only been her and her family, she might have indulged the urge to dip her feet in the cool water and get some relief from the day’s heat.

  Boating should be great fun, but the brooding presence of the Austrians and Mrs. Winthrop’s frequent squeals and nervous fluttering dampened the pleasure. More like dried it to a shr
iveled token of what it could have been.

  “It’s blessedly cooler on the water,” Adaira said to ease the awkward silence that had settled over the trio of boats.

  “Indeed,” murmured the earl. Did she detect the slightest trace of mockery in his low tone?

  Seonaid’s quiet, “So true,” was followed by Isobel’s, “Quite a welcome relief.”

  “Clarendon, ‘pon my rep, with the day’s heat, you should have scheduled a swimming outing,” Flynn said.

  “I may indulge in a swim later anyway.” Dugall stopped rowing. He dabbed the moisture from his upper lip and forehead, then deliberately rocked the boat from side-to-side.

  “What say you, Addy. Want to go for a swim?”

  Freidrick snarled, “Aus. Stop!”

  He struggled to hold on to the squirming puppy.

  Dugall had the grace to look shamefaced.

  “Do accept my apologies.” Perfectly enunciated, there was the slightest hint of distaste in his tone.

  Irmgard kept trying to crawl into Adaira’s lap. Freidrick became increasingly irritated with the dog’s efforts to get away from him.

  “I’ll hold her. I don’t mind.” Adaira reached for Irmgard, who leaped for her arms.

  “Nein! She’s mine.” He jerked the puppy back, hurting her hind leg.

  Irmgard reacted instinctively and nipped his hand.

  “Du Gott verdammten hund!” He tossed the terrified dog over the side of the skiff.

  “No!” Adaira jumped to her feet. “How could you, you despicable piece of sh—”

  Tearing at her bonnet’s ribbons and kicking off her shoes, she jumped into the water. The last thing she heard before sinking beneath the surface was a chorus of voices.

  “Dumme kuh,” Freidrick sneered.

  Seonaid gasped, “Addy!” as Isobel cried, “Adaira, dear God!”

  “Silly chit.”

  “Das fräulein will drown.”

  “Don’t worry. She’s a strong swimmer,” Dugall assured Mrs. Winthrop and the count.

  “Not surprised, no indeed,” Flynn said, humor ringing in his voice.

  And, lastly, Roark’s enraged, “Hell and the devil.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Well, Adaira had her wish. She’d cooled off, quite nicely at that.

  Panting for breath and clutching the shaking puppy in her arms, she sloshed the last few feet to shore. Her soaked gown impeded her trudging progress. She stopped just short of the beach. Many of the pins were gone from her hair. It flopped onto one shoulder. What wasn’t pasted across her face, that is.

  Thank God she was an experienced swimmer, and the boats had been less than seventy feet offshore. The weight of her wet gown and under garments had been far greater than she’d expected. With the pup clutched to one shoulder, she’d fought to kick her legs and swim forward with her free arm. Twice, she’d turned onto her back to catch her breath.

  Brushing a hand across her breastbone, her breath caught. Her necklace. Where was it? She grasped her neck. Finding the chain, she tugged the cross loose from her tangled hair. Her breath left her in a whoosh.

  Peeking between the streaming tresses plastered to her face, she saw her parents bolting along the path. Naturally, the rest of the party charged along in their wake, no doubt buzzing conjecture. The ton’s denizens were worse than vultures on carrion. She’d given the gossips enough fodder to fuel their fires all winter, bother it all.

  Adaira pursed her lips to still her chattering teeth and in belated compunction. So much for not making a spectacle of herself. Sucking in a ragged breath, she glanced down and froze. The dress clung to her like a second skin. Her nipples, pebble hard, protruded through the thin material.

  Tucking the shivering puppy under one arm, she plucked at the filmy fabric. Drat. Sodden, the cloth immediately hugged her once more.

  Oh, she’d done it up brown this time. She might as well be naked. Never mind the peeresses in London often dampened their gowns to make them cling to their curves. If it weren’t for her stays and chemise, there’d be no need for anyone to imagine what lay beneath her gown. She shuddered. The count was most probably staring at her bum this very minute.

  Still, what was Adaira to do? She couldn’t let the puppy drown. She shoved wet hair out of her eyes, then snuggled Irmgard against her chest. At least she could hide her breasts that way. By all that was holy, she wouldn’t apologize for jumping into the lake. Hurt as she was, the pup mightn’t have made it to shore. She was a tiny dachshund too, likely just weaned.

  That bastart had hurt Irmgard’s back leg. The poor dear had a small gash on her side from where she’d hit the boat when the churl tossed her overboard. What other abuse had the dog endured at his hands?

  Hot rage surged through Adaira. Just wait until that spawn of Satan was ashore. She’d—

  Blast, her riding crop would come in handy right now. If she were a man, she’d call him out. She whipped around at the loud splash behind her. Lord Clarendon tromped through the water, pulling his boat the last few feet to land.

  His boots are ruined.

  He’d an expression she’d never seen on his face before. The sun glared behind him, haloing him in ethereal light like an avenging god. She ducked her head, hiding her face against the pup. She wasn’t up to his chastisement. Not yet. She closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer.

  Please don’t let him admonish me in front of everyone.

  Cautiously opening one eye, she dared a peek at the count. The bounder was ogling her, lust glimmering in his gaze. Mrs. Winthrop, a vise-like grip on her bench, sat pale but composed. There was a strained look about her mouth, as if she struggled to hold her tongue. No warmth or pity shone in her round eyes.

  She visually inspected Adaira toe to top. No, gloating satisfaction better described the look on the widow’s face.

  Unbuttoning his coat, Lord Clarendon slogged toward Adaira. His perusal traveled from the top of her dripping head, to her feet still in the lapping water. The chiseled angles of his face settled into hard lines. His mouth was pressed into a frown. His eyes blazed, but not with anger.

  She felt naked beneath his scorching stare. With an odd pang under her ribs, her heart sank to her soggy stockings. She’d disappointed him . . . again.

  “I’m sorry.” And she truly was. She’d meant to show him she could be a lady. That she was every bit as refined as the tonnish damsels whose company he typically kept. Why it mattered she couldn’t say. It just did. And it shouldn’t, drat it all. “I only meant to. . .”

  “Hush, Adaira.”

  He shrugged out of his coat, his signet ring boldly gleaming against his tanned hand. Where were his gloves? His hat?

  And what was he doing?

  He wrapped the jacket around her shoulders. After tugging it closed in front, he secured a button across her arms as she cuddled Irmgard.

  Oh, how thoughtful.

  She whispered, “Thank you. I am awfully sorry. I. . .”

  He gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head, while perusing the gathering crowd through hooded eyes. “Not now.”

  Daring to meet his lordship’s gaze, she swallowed a gulp of air. Expecting anger, she was taken aback at the gentleness in his eyes. His gaze lingered on her mouth almost as if he wanted to kiss her. A different kind of warmth swept her, causing her pulse to thunder.

  The other boats docked. Her family scrambled out of their vessels. Dugall planted his foot on the craft he vacated. He gave the bow a mighty shove. Freidrick toppled onto his bum, legs waving in the air. Her brother and sisters rushed across the dock, joining her parents. Worry and concern etched their faces, but none bore censure.

  His lordship gestured to the footmen with two fingers. “Thom, Oscar, please come assist Count von Schnitzer and Mrs. Win
throp from their boat.”

  The footmen hurried to do his bidding, leaving an infuriated Freidrick to fend for himself—by deliberate design, Adaira would bet.

  She bit back a laugh as the brattling tried to step from the boat, only to fall backwards into it again, cursing and flailing. He finally angled a knee onto the dock, and in an undignified manner, crawled from the craft.