Though she avoided his gaze, she nodded. “He didn’t kill them. He would never do that. He found them, that’s all.”
“I know your brother didn’t kill them,” Giles clipped out. How could she think he would believe such a thing? “I knew him long before they died. He was the last person on earth I would have thought capable of murder. He despised your father for his adulteries, true, but he admired him for his handling of the estate. And your mother . . .” Giles shook his head. “Nothing on earth would have persuaded Oliver to shoot her.”
Her eyes searched his face. “The gossips said he shot her by accident when she came between him and Father.”
“The gossips are idiots. They also say that he shot your father to gain his inheritance. If he did, he certainly behaved oddly afterward—closing up the estate, setting out to destroy himself with drink and women. That’s not the behavior of a man who got the inheritance he wanted.”
She cast him a watery smile. “You’re an absolute dear to say that.”
“And that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever called me.” He smiled in return.
“I’ve been really awful to you, haven’t I?”
“Not too awful.” And now that he knew how badly he’d hurt her that night at the masquerade, he understood why. He went back to what they’d been discussing. “Do you think Oliver would tell me what he saw that night?”
She shook her head. “It took him years to speak to us about it, and every word was hard won. I can’t imagine his agreeing to detail the how and where.”
“Never mind, then,” he said as her tone grew mournful again. “We’ll consider how to handle it another time.” He stood and held out his hand to her. “Let’s leave this place, shall we? We’ve had enough of death and blood and bad memories for one day.”
“We certainly have.” When she let him pull her up into his arms, he nearly kissed her right there.
Then he glanced behind her at the lodge and thought better of it. This wasn’t the place for that. Instead he turned to untether his mare. Offering her his arm, he led her and the horse across the field.
When he stopped on the edge of the woods to tie up his horse and remove the saddlebags that contained their picnic lunch, she asked, “Where are we going?”
He slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and led her into the woods along a well-trod path. “To the pond where we lads used to swim.”
“There’s a pond on the estate?”
“It’s more like a puddle aspiring to be a pond. But it’s pretty and private enough for our picnic.”
When he cast her a meaningful glance, she looked away.
His pulse faltered. “Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he added.
She flashed him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “About what?”
He frowned. “You know damned well about what. You said you wanted a taste.”
“Well, of course,” she said, her eyes bright with mischief. “That’s what picnics are for, aren’t they? Tasting things?”
“You’re tormenting me on purpose, aren’t you?”
A wicked smile crossed her lips as she released his arm to dance merrily along the path ahead of him. “Me? Torment you? I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“Then perhaps I should remind you of exactly what you said you wanted,” he growled, and lunged for her.
Laughter bubbled out of her. “You’ll have to catch me first.” Then she turned and ran.
He lengthened his stride but didn’t bother to chase her. The path came to a dead halt at the pond, so unless she meant to thrash her way through the underbrush around to the other side, which he highly doubted, he would get her in the end.
Just as he’d expected, as he broke free of the woods, he found her pacing before the pond, looking for an escape and not finding one. “The woods are thin on the other side, minx—that’s the only way out.” He opened a saddlebag and removed a small blanket to spread on the ground. “Unless you know how to swim?”
She faced him with a sparkle in her eyes that made his blood roar through his veins. “I’m afraid that isn’t one of my skills, sir.”
“Would you like to learn?”
A look of pure longing crossed her face. “That would be marvelous.” She then seemed to catch herself. “No, we can’t. If I go home with my clothes wet, everyone will know I’ve been up to something naughty.”
“Very well.” He tossed down his hat. “So take them off.”
HETTY WAS SITTING in the library, thoroughly enjoying her discussion with Maria and Oliver about plans for the nursery, when the butler announced a visitor.
“Mr. Pinter!” Hetty said with genuine pleasure as she rose to greet him.
“Mrs. Plumtree,” he murmured with a courtly bow.
The young man was always unfailingly polite, a mark in his favor. He’d served the family well so far, and for that she was grateful.
“Tell me, what brings you out to see us?”
With a furtive glance at Oliver, he said, “I’m here to report on the matter you discussed with me a few days ago.”
“What matter?” She searched her mind for what had been going on a few days ago. “Oh, right. Giles Masters.”
Oliver’s head shot up. “What about Masters?”
When Mr. Pinter stiffened, she said, “It’s all right. I don’t mind if Oliver knows.”
Mr. Pinter acquiesced with a nod. “Your grandmother paid me to look into Masters’s personal and financial affairs, since he’s courting Lady Minerva.”
Oliver leaned back in his chair. “And?”
Mr. Pinter removed a notebook from his coat pocket. “Masters is very successful in his profession.”
“Not that it matters, since he gambles it all away.”
“Actually, that’s not true,” Mr. Pinter said. “Everywhere I went in the clubs, people spoke of his wild gambling, but no one could remember the last time he’d lost a truly large sum of money. He seems to gamble a bit here and there, but not enough to create any serious financial problems for himself. He’s having a house built in Berkeley Square that’s nearly completed, and you know that takes some money.”
“That’s good to hear,” Hetty said, though she wasn’t surprised. She was beginning to think there was more to Giles Masters than met the eye.
“Rumor also has it that he’s the most likely candidate to be appointed the next King’s Counsel,” Mr. Pinter went on. “He’s very highly regarded in the Inns of Court.”
Oliver cocked his head. “I knew he’d handled some important cases, but King’s Counsel . . . are you sure? You’d think he would have bragged about it.”
“I forgot to tell you,” Maria put in. “His clerk told me and Minerva the same thing. And he really was quite amazing in court.”
“Was he?” Oliver said with a frown.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Maria teased. “I’m only speaking of his legal prowess, and you know it.”
“What about his personal life?” Oliver asked Mr. Pinter. “Does he have a mistress?”
“Not that I could find.”
Hetty smiled. This got better and better.
Oliver mused a moment. “Any idea why he might have been in Ealing yesterday?”
“None, I’m afraid. After your brother mentioned to me yesterday that he’d seen Masters there, I thought I should follow him today to see what he was up to, but when he reached Ealing he didn’t stop. He just came on here, so I suppose it’s possible he really did just have business—”
“What do you mean, he came on here?” Oliver interrupted.
Hetty’s eyes narrowed. Minerva had been in an awful hurry to go for her walk.
Mr. Pinter looked perplexed. “He’s paying a call on Lady Minerva, isn’t he? When I realized he was headed here, I pulled back, not wanting him to see me. I returned to Ealing and asked a few questions there, then came on here to give my report.”
Oliver rose with a black scowl. “You’re sure he was on his way to the estate.”
“I saw him take the road to Halstead Hall. I suppose he could have passed it by, but I can’t imagine why he would have.”
When Oliver met her gaze, Hetty knew he’d come to the same conclusion as she. “That little weasel,” he growled. “Minerva was acting peculiar at breakfast, too. He’s seeing her in secret. And you know damned well there can only be one reason for that.”
“Now, Oliver,” Hetty began, “you cannot blame the man if he wants to spend time alone with her. You are such a bear when he is around.”
“Because I know what he’s up to!” Oliver shouted. “It’s what I’d be up to if I were in his place.” He marched toward the door. “I knew I should have beaten some sense into that rogue while I had the chance.”
“What are you planning to do?” Hetty called out.
“Find them, even if I have to send the dogs out after them. He is not going to ruin my sister, damn him!”
“I am coming with you.” Hetty looked around for her cane.
Celia chose that moment to enter the library. “Who is Oliver sending the dogs out after?”
“Mr. Masters and Minerva,” Hetty replied as she found her cane. “Mr. Pinter saw Mr. Masters headed this way, but since he never showed up, we think they may be meeting privately on the estate.”
Celia’s gaze swung to Mr. Pinter, then darkened. “So Gran’s got you spying on us now?”
“Not all of you,” he said. “Just the ones who cause trouble.”
The flippant remark gave Hetty pause. Mr. Pinter was never flippant. Pretending to be looking for her shawl, she kept an eye on the pair.
A light flush stained Celia’s cheeks. “I suppose you include me in that number.”
Mr. Pinter smiled, but his eyes did not. “If the shoe fits, my lady . . .” he drawled.
“I’d be careful, Mr. Pinter,” Celia said coldly. “If you take to spying on me, you’re liable to find yourself at the wrong end of a rifle.”
“Trust me,” he said in a voice of silk over steel, “if I take to spying on you, you’ll never know it.”
Hetty had heard enough. “Come, Celia. I think you’d better go with me and Oliver to look for Minerva.”
With a sniff, Celia headed for the door. Hetty observed Mr. Pinter watching Celia walk away. When his gaze dipped down to her bottom in a look of frankly male appreciation, Hetty groaned.
It appeared that she might have a problem. She liked Mr. Pinter, truly, she did. But when Oliver had suggested hiring him, she had made some inquiries, and she had learned a few things that she suspected even Oliver did not know. Like the fact that he was a bastard, with a whore for a mother and an unknown father.
Hetty had been fine with Oliver’s marrying a Catholic American of no rank, and Jarret’s marrying a brewster with a bastard son. Maria was an heiress, after all, and Annabel was of a good family. Even the rogue Mr. Masters was the son of a viscount.
But Hetty wasn’t so sure she wanted the bastard son of a whore in the family. Then again, Celia didn’t seem to like Mr. Pinter, so perhaps she was worrying for naught.
“Are you coming or not?” Oliver roared from down the hall.
“We’re coming!” Hetty called out.
She would have to decide what to do about Mr. Pinter later.
Chapter Fourteen
Minerva gaped at Giles. Surely she’d misheard him. “What?”
“Your clothes. Take them off.” His eyes shone with promise as he shed his coat and waistcoat, then tossed them down on the blanket. “You can swim in your shift and drawers. They would dry in no time.”
“But my hair—”
“Stuff it up beneath that cap of yours afterward, and no one will be the wiser.”
Heat rose in her cheeks as he removed his boots, then his trousers and stockings. This was a bit more than she’d bargained for.
Then again, the idea of stripping down to her shift, of being in a pond in the outdoors, half-naked, gave her delightful shivers. How did he always manage to find the one thing that would make her want to be wicked?
Especially when he yanked his shirt off over his head and tossed it onto the blanket. My oh my oh my. She’d seen her brother’s bare chests by accident a time or two, so she knew how a man’s chest was supposed to look, but a shirtless Giles was a wonder to behold. He had the most glorious muscles, covered with a sprinkling of brown curls that narrowed to a line down his belly, disappearing beneath his drawers.
His prominently bulging drawers.
She jerked her gaze up to find him looking her over, too, as if imagining her undressed. “I’d do almost anything to see you in your shift, darling. Hell, I’d do almost anything just to see your hair unbound.”
He made her feel like a wanton. It was a feeling she rather enjoyed. “You mean, like this?” she said and removed her bonnet and cap, then took her pins out one by one and dropped them into her bonnet.
His eyes darkened to slate as her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. “God, it’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”
He strode up to fill his hands with her hair, and his voice dropped to a husky murmur. “I’ve been waiting to see your hair like this for six years, ever since that house party at our estate in Berkshire. Do you remember? The one you attended with your brothers?”
Her pulse leapt. “I’m surprised that you remember.”
Looping her hair over one shoulder, he turned her around so he could work loose the fastenings of her gown. “I can’t forget,” he admitted. “The first night we were there, you wore an elegant dinner dress that was cut low enough to bring any man to his knees.”
He pulled her gown down until it fell into a puddle of muslin at her feet, then dispensed with her single petticoat. “Your hair was put up, but you had one long sausage curl draped just here.” He trailed his fingers down the front of her from shoulder to corset, making her blood heat. “I had this fanciful notion that if I just pulled it, your entire coiffure would unravel like a skein of yarn, and I’d finally see you with your hair down.”
For a moment, the thrum of need in his voice seduced her. Then memory returned. She pivoted to face him. “Your fascination with my hair didn’t last long. That very evening you disappeared with a widow, and we didn’t see you for the rest of the visit.”
He blinked. “That’s only because—” A look of chagrin crossed his face.
“Because what?” she asked coldly.
His lazy smile was decidedly false. “Because you weren’t available.”
That wasn’t what he’d been about to say. She was almost sure of it. With a skeptical expression, she turned away, but he caught her about the waist and pulled her close so he could work loose the ties of her corset. “Don’t you remember? That’s when that fool Winthrop was courting you. Never left your side the whole weekend.”
She’d completely forgot about Lord Winthrop, the man with five children who was determined to find a mother for them. “I thought I’d never get rid of him. He followed me everywhere like a lap dog.”
When Giles had finished removing her corset, she faced him once more. “But you know perfectly well that even if he hadn’t been around, you wouldn’t have made any attempt to be near me.”
“True,” he said. “You had a tendency to snap my head off in those days.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. He was right.
“And you’re going to snap my head off in a minute, too,” he went on.
“Why?” she asked.
He grinned at her. “Because of this.” Without warning, he picked her up and headed for the pond.
“Giles Masters, don’t you dare!” she cried, trying to wriggle out of his arms. “I told you, I don’t know how to—”
He tossed her into the pond. She felt a moment’s panic as she went underwater, but it vanished when her leg hit the bottom and she realized the water was only about four feet deep.
She rose out of the water to glare at him. He was standing calf-deep in the water and laughing he
artily, the wretch.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” Walking toward him, she glanced at a spot behind him. “You’re not going to find it so amusing when that snake gets you.”
He turned his head, and she lunged forward to grab his calf and pull hard. He struggled to regain his balance, but it was no use—he couldn’t gain purchase on the slippery pond bottom. He slid right into the water at her feet.
He came up sputtering and laughing at the same time. “You’re going to pay for that, sweetiekins.”
With a grin, she backed into the pond. “What will you do? Drown me in four feet of water?”
His smile faded. “Actually, there’s a drop—”
She heard him dimly as she plunged under the water. But before she could even think to panic, he had her and was lifting her so her head was above water.
He pushed the hair from her face. “Thought you’d start the swimming lessons without me, did you?”
Though she could just touch the bottom with the tips of her toes, she clung to him. “I learn from doing.”
“Yes, well, you’d learn from drowning, too, but I don’t think sink or swim is the most effective way to learn.”
“So you are going to teach me?” she asked, though her heart was racing, both from her near mishap and the feel of his hands on her waist, holding her above the water.
“Whatever my lady wants,” he murmured, eyes gleaming.
For the next half hour, he showed her how to float, how not to panic in the water, how to propel herself through it. It was exhilarating—she’d never been afraid of the water, but neither had she ever been entirely comfortable in it. He made it seem as if navigating it was nothing.
They were standing shoulder-deep in the pond when something slithered over her foot. She shrieked and grabbed onto his shoulders. “Something touched me!”
“It’s probably just a fish.” Then his gaze dropped to her mouth, and the next thing she knew he was kissing her deeply, thoroughly, boldly. The “fish” was forgotten as she dug her fingers into his shoulders . . . his masterful shoulders, thick with muscle. She could hardly breathe—he was making her blood run too hot.
One of his arms encircled her waist, anchoring her to him. “Look what I’ve got,” he murmured against her lips. “A water nymph, out for a gambol.” His free hand fondled her breast, so sweetly, so softly.
How to Woo a Reluctant Lady Page 17