Pomme declared himself to be Mr. Lambert’s natural successor in the part of Captain Jack. Fiona would play the Spanish princess. Fiona rode up front now, planted between Cam and Mr. Lambert. Pru was glad to see the bold-eyed Fiona paired off with the giant lad, until she heard Cam mention that Fiona was his sister.
After that, all Pru could do was sit in the back of the cart with the children and watch Fiona fling herself at Mr. Lambert.
Very well, perhaps there wasn’t so much flinging as there was normal conversation, but Fiona made Mr. Lambert laugh and that twisted inside Pru for nearly a mile.
Fortunately for Pru’s little-used sense of jealousy, it did not take long to reach the village and the blacksmith. Once the matter of transportation was dealt with, it was to be west to Basingstoke and the Ardmore estate.
Even farther from Fiona. Very satisfying.
With the trade of the expensive curricle and a bit of coin from his pocket, Colin had his choice of vehicles at the hostelry. Although he saw a sporting gig of a previous generation but much like his Cabriolet, he instead purchased a small but comfortable carriage and had the harness changed to fit a single large horse like Hector instead of two ponies.
Miss Filby and the children were shopping for necessities for the drive. When he drove the new vehicle up to where they waited, Miss Filby seemed very surprised by such a practical purchase. Colin gave her a wry look from his perch in the driver’s seat. “Believe it or not, I can be taught.”
She blushed slightly and had the grace to look a bit ashamed of herself, then nodded briskly and handed up the hamper of foodstuffs she’d purchased with the coin he’d given her. “Looks a sight more comfy, guv. Safer for the baby, as well.”
Evan seemed disappointed as he walked around it appraisingly. “Liked the other one, I did. This one’s a bit mumsy.”
Mumsy, yes. Colin smiled to himself. He was a family man now, after all. “Shall we go then? Basingstoke is only a few hours from here.”
Miss Filby rolled her eyes. Colin thought he detected a derisive mutter about “bloody Chantal” again but deigned not to hear it. Without thinking, he held out his hand to Miss Filby to help her in. She stopped in her tracks and frowned at it. “What’s that for, then?”
Colin looked down at his hand. What was that for? That was for a lady, not a servant.
How very odd. He met Miss Filby’s eyes, then quickly looked away. He wasn’t quite up to meeting that stormy gaze, not when he could still taste her mouth and feel her heated dampness in the palm of his hand. “Will you hand me Melody’s bag, please? I’ll put it on top.”
She handed it to him without a word, then clambered in to sit beside Melody. “Come here, miss. I’ve got one of Pomme’s pretty feathers for you . . .”
Colin stowed the rest of their things on top with Evan’s help, then sent the boy into the carriage.
“I want to drive Hector.” The boy glanced away and softened his tone. “If you please, guv.”
Colin smiled. “All right. You can sit up with me and learn the reins. If you can name all the harness parts by dinner, I’ll let you drive.”
Evan smiled then, a real smile, not an I’ve-seen-the-worst twist of his lips. His gray eyes brightened and his thin face lost its usual aged lines. “That’d be grand!”
Colin looked at the carriage to see Miss Filby watching him through the small window. She smiled too, though she looked away a bit too quickly, as well. Once again Colin was reminded of the stunning resemblance between her and Evan.
And of how rarely either of them truly smiled.
He and Miss Filby were very carefully not-talking, he knew. And what would he have to say for himself? He didn’t dare ask for forgiveness again. He’d gone much too far for that. Furthermore, it was too dangerous, for apologizing seemed to cause compulsive kissing.
Pru settled back into her elderly but well-stuffed seat and smiled at little Melody. “Isn’t this nice?”
Melody looked at her with pity. “It’s not like Pomme’s.”
“No, that’s true.”
“Pomme said that riding in the open air was healthy. Pomme said that closed carriages make people sour. Pomme said—”
Pru sighed. She had the feeling that she was going to become very sick of hearing about Pomme before the day was over. She felt the springs give when Mr. Lambert climbed aboard, then less so when Evan followed.
Evan must be in ecstasy. He’d formed quite a passion for horses, and for Hector in particular. Someday he would be able to buy a dozen horses like Hector if he wanted.
All they needed to do was survive six more years until Evan could finally claim his inheritance.
Six more years.
On their own.
The next time that Melody’s diminutive bladder forced a stop, Mr. Lambert declared that it was fully time for a picnic lunch. Pru obeyed with alacrity, taking down the basket that had been purchased and pulling out the generous portions of cold ham, cheese, apples, and hearty brown bread. Mr. Lambert drank ale from a clay bottle while Pru and the children enjoyed the crisp, cool water from a nearby rivulet.
When Pru wasn’t minding little Melody, or trying to keep Evan from depositing insects into Mr. Lambert’s ale, she found she was enjoying the journey. It had been years since she’d seen anything but stone and cobbles. The spring day was warm and bright, the only clouds of the charming puffy variety.
A blue and gold day, Pru’s mother would have called it, and dragged everyone from their occupations to go on a picnic. Pru’s father would grumble good-naturedly that he ought to spend the day on his accounts or his papers or polishing his coin collection, just to make his wife turn her snapping gray gaze upon him, cheeks aglow with indignation. “A day like this is a gift, Atticus Filby, and one is never to ignore a gift!”
“You’re the gift,” he would retort, and he’d grab her about the waist and waltz her breathless while Pru and Evan giggled at their antics.
“Our picnics used to be just like this,” Pru murmured to Evan. “Remember?”
But she could tell from the blank look he gave her that he didn’t remember at all. She shook her head and smiled away the frown between his brows. “No matter, love.” She ruffled his overlong hair. “Go catch me a butterfly, will you?”
That was all the prompting Evan needed. In seconds he was galloping across the meadow, little Melody scampering at his heels, caroling for him to wait for her.
Now, to see him running in the sunlight like an eager puppy, thin legs pumping, big feet stumbling, falling to roll unharmed in the meadow grass, Pru felt the loss of his childhood like a needle to her heart.
I ought to have made sure he played more. I ought to have tutored him more carefully. So much of what he deserved had been slighted in favor of cold, hungry survival.
Even with such regrets winding through her, she could not help but laugh when he tripped into a small brook and came up dripping, a rueful grin brightening his thin face. Melody was most impressed with his adventure and made sure to land rump first in the trickle as soon as possible.
Pru stood and brushed herself off, ready to assume her nanny duties once more. To her surprise, Mr. Lambert strode past her and swept the soaked, giggling tot into his own arms.
“You’re a pretty sight, Mellie. Don’t you know mermaids only live in the sea?”
Pru stepped forward. “I’ll take her, sir.”
Mr. Lambert grinned down at her as he continued to dangle Melody out at arm’s length. “No need, Miss Filby. I am perfectly capable of changing a suit of clothing.”
He whirled, swinging Melody, whose feet swished wildly through the air as she shrieked with glee. He stopped and pretended to inspect the child. “Tsk-tsk,” he muttered. “You’re still wet. That won’t do at all.” Whereupon he spun her again with vigor, making her squeals echo out over the meadow.
When he finally staggered to a halt, Colin noticed that young Evan was watching with wary envy. After he plunked Melody down to stagger deli
ghtedly in circles in the grass, he gazed at the boy for a long moment.
He’s not your problem. He’s not your son.
He was no man’s son, poor lad. What must it be like, to be a boy without education or connections? What would it be like to be so small and powerless? How could a good man—an admirable man—grow from such poor soil?
“Evan, I could use a man’s help with Hector. A quick rubdown will make him shine like a piece of new coal.”
Evan’s eyes, those stormy gray windows, rose to meet his. “Don’t know ’ow.”
The boy’s tone was sullen, but Colin could see the flush of eagerness rising up that scrawny neck. He gave the lad an unconcerned nod. “No man does, at first.” He tossed his damp daughter onto his shoulders and began to stroll back to the carriage. Then he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “It’s too bad, though. Someone needs to ride him to the stream.”
The hook set then. Poor little fish never stood a chance. Evan worshipped the big gelding. As Colin turned back about and began to make his way through the meadow, he soon heard the swish-clomp-swish of oversized booted feet through the tall grass behind him.
He caught sight of Miss Filby as she carried the empty hamper back to the carriage. She strode through the grass, the waving strands of green no match for the forward progress of her sensible dark skirts. What an odd girl.
Our picnics used to be just like this.
Whose picnics? Hers and Evan’s? Had there once been another life where such things were common? Evan didn’t seem to recall it, if there had been. Perhaps she had not always been so poor.
It bothered him to think of it. She’d had a very hard time of it. He wondered if there was something he could do about it.
He refused to wonder why, above all the other similar stories in the world, the problems he cared to solve were hers.
CHAPTER 15
“No! I don’t wanna get back in the carriage!”
Melody’s quick ascent into the nearest tree took Pru back for only a moment. Their picnic had been all too brief. Pru could hardly blame Melody for her reluctance, but Hector was refreshed and back in the harness and the day was passing. “Evan, go on. Keep ’er from goin’ too high.”
“Why do I have to do it?” Evan scowled convincingly.
Pru only lifted a brow. “You’re dying to climb and you know it.”
His scowl darkened but he sprang into the tree with a physical eagerness that belied that thunderous brow.
From behind her, Pru heard Mr. Lambert chuckle. She turned to meet his amused gaze.
“You are wonderful with him.” He smiled. “He’s fortunate to have you as a sister.”
His approving smile stole her breath. She turned to the carriage and began to lift the hamper up.
Large competent hands took it away from her before she’d even wrested it to waist height. Startled, she turned to find herself nose to cravat with him. God, he was big! How could she have forgotten so quickly?
She’d managed to keep her distance from him all day, carefully not thinking about the night before. Now it all came back like a rush of fire through her veins.
His mouth on hers. His hands on her body. Her nipple hardening to his eager touch.
Flee at once.
She tried. Stepping away did her no good, for her back only contacted the side of the carriage with a hollow thud.
He gazed down at her with a frown, still standing much too close. “Are you unwell again?”
Unwell? Let’s see, my heart is pounding, my palms are damp, and I think my knees have turned to water. All I can think of is how you felt pressed against me last night as you kissed me senseless. The way your big hands felt on my skin. Your mouth on me.
Does that sound well to you?
“I . . . I am very well, thank you,” she muttered quickly. “You simply startled me.”
He tilted his head. “What did you say?”
She’d slipped up again! Remember who you are . . . and who you cannot be!
Plunking a fist on one hip, she tossed her head to meet his gaze. “I said you made me leap a foot, you did! You’d best not be sneakin’ up on a lass like that, you great lout!”
He blinked. “I’m a lout?”
The very idea was patently ridiculous. She couldn’t keep back a snicker. “Well, you got the size for it, anyway. Could do with some practice but I think you’ll pick it up in no time.”
He laughed out loud then, a rumbling sound that went right through her belly and made her toes curl. Then he smiled down at her with his crooked grin and her toes tightened further.
“Thank you for the encouragement, but I think I’ll pass on that particular challenge.” He smiled at her with a gentlemanly little nod and turned away, still chuckling. “Lout?”
Once the sound of Mr. Lambert’s amusement faded, Pru realized that she could hear the faint musical tinkling sound of the nearby rivulet. The sound alone made her wild with the need to cool her heated blood.
Looking about her, she realized that Mr. Lambert was busy with the horse and Melody and Evan were still enthusiastically climbing the nearest tree. No one would miss her for a few moments.
Following that liquid siren call, she pushed through fifty feet of bramble until the brush ended to reveal another branch of that lovely trickling stream rushing through a narrow green strip of meadow. Tiny wildflowers dotted the green, giving sweetness to the air. Birds fluttered languidly away, too soothed by the ease of their existence to care much about her presence. It was heavenly, like a painting that made one long for winter’s end.
First she scouted the bank, hoping to find . . . yes, there it was! She plucked an herb she knew well, crushing it in her hands. Bending to the little stream, she filled her hands and splashed again and again, closing her eyes as it cooled her burning skin. Not enough, not nearly enough!
Pru cast a quick look about her, then lifted her skirts to kneel on a grassy bit of bank. It would only take a moment. No one would see her be so shameless.
Quickly, she reached behind her neck and nimbly undid the top buttons of her gown, then pulled her arms from the sleeves. Once the bodice was rolled about her waist, safe and dry, she bent to scoop the crystal water with her hands.
Heaven. She rinsed her arms and the back of her neck, cooling her blood, sending that confusing passion into memory where it belonged. Soon her chemise was soaked but she only enjoyed the respite of cool water upon her skin.
Dare she rinse her hair? She frowned at the stream. It was only a trickle, no deeper than a teacup. Perhaps if she lay on her back . . .
When Colin followed the sound of water through the overgrowth, it was only his thirst he wished to sate. When he stumbled upon Miss Filby, spread out upon the grassy bank like a pagan offering, a drenched naiad with her full breasts upthrust to the sky and her chill-hardened nipples pressing pink and rigid against the thin, wet cotton of her chemise and her sunset red hair flowing into the stream, rippling into the current like liquid fire . . . well, rather a different desire rushed to the fore.
Want her.
Want her now.
God, she was delicious. He stood, trapped by the sight of her, by the tumbling imaginings of her, of the cool feel of her skin, so ivory and perfect against the green grass. Of the heat of her mouth once he parted those pink lips with his thrusting tongue. Of the weight of those stunning breasts in his hands, of the taste of her nipples, of the way they would become diamond hard as he sucked them, of the resilience of her firm stomach as his mouth traveled down and as his hands moved up those shapely calves . . .
His cock hardened in seconds.
Colin forgot that he ought not to look. He forgot that he ought not to even want to look. There was no thought in his mind that did not involve Miss Prudence Filby, naked, panting, and impaled upon him, wrapping his cock in her wet heat, wrapping her firm thighs about his hips, sucking on his tongue as he took her hard and deep until she screamed aloud in animal ecstasy.
The sc
ream that rang out over the pleasant grove wasn’t precisely one of carnal climax. It was more of the “Oh my god, there’s a pervert staring at my bosom!” variety.
Colin leaped back into the greenery as if a shot had rung out, but it was too late. He’d been hit.
“Mr. Lambert!”
Don’t stand. Really. Now is not a good moment to stand. Think of something else. Something cold. Something cold and boring. Something cold and boring and painful.
“Mr. Lambert, I can see your boots sticking out of that bush!”
Closing his eyes against the humiliating inevitability of the coming scene, Colin rose from his brushy hiding place. “Miss Filby.”
She stood before him with her arms folded protectively before her, dressed once more, pinned up right and tight, though her soaked hair tumbled over her shoulders and dripped a dark ring around the neckline of her gray gabardine gown.
He knew what that drab gown hid now, damn it. He could see right through it as if by magic, see directly through to the lavish opulence of her magnificent breasts, to the precise rose tint of her pointed, perfect nipples, to the way her navel dipped deeply into her taut, firm belly.
Hellfire, a sight like that would throw any fellow! Any man might forget he was a gentleman, just for a moment!
Or several, long, lecherous minutes.
Or a lifetime.
Dear God, he was in serious trouble with this woman!
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry again. And then, well, yet more.”
Apologizing again. You know what happens when you apologize.
In two strides, he stood before her. Breathing hard, he gazed down into those thundercloud eyes. Curling red tendrils of damp hair surrounded her oddly appealing face. Not pretty, not exactly, though she was much improved from when he’d first met her. Delicate, yes. Otherworldly, absolutely. Almost elfin . . .
Changeling woman. Had she emerged from the shadows of that stage specifically to enchant him? Had his fate been written by some ancient hand, a destiny awaiting him, only to be woken when he’d walked into that theater with his child in his arms?
Rogue in My Arms: The Runaway Brides Page 11