Covered hers without warning. Aster closed her eyes and absorbed the bliss of heated, personal contact. Before she could shake free of the spell, Lord Theo groaned at her eager response, grabbed her arms, and hauled her to her feet. His kiss did not break for a moment, but deepened, until she thought she floated on air.
He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her tight against hard masculine muscles. And appallingly, rather than push him away, she caught his lapels and kissed him back, kissed him as if he were the last man on earth and everything she desired. Her lips tingled and softened, and his curved to take her in as if she were a luscious fruit.
Then he invaded her open mouth with his tongue in a carnal demand that even she understood—and succumbed to. She couldn’t inhale enough of his masculine scent, the rough brush of his whiskers, the hard arms holding her. She wanted this so very badly . . .
He lowered his hand from her waist to her bottom, and she nearly swooned from pleasure. This was why women married.
And why she could not.
She struggled to stop. She needed to push away. But his kiss—his kiss sent desire to parts she hadn’t known existed. She needed to explore this amazing universe of sensation he opened to her. His hand cupped her buttock and squeezed in acknowledgment of their shared path to knowledge.
The spaniel barked a warning.
Aster hastily shoved away. Theo reluctantly let her. A dark blur raced across the new carpet—too small to be even the smallest puppy.
Behind the blur raced one of Great-Aunt Nessie’s kittens. And the hound puppies. And Bree. And Jacques—all shouting and wielding nets and various instruments of capture.
Aster grabbed the paper she’d been reading earlier. Flustered and overheated, she pushed a straying curl from her eyes.
“No,” she said to herself as much as to Theo. “No, no, and no. It is impossible.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, and she saw nothing resembling resignation in his expression. But he swung on the anarchy, grabbed a net from Jacques, and brought it down over his brother’s head in an immature fit of frustration.
Jacques shouted and swung wildly at his brother.
Before two grown men could end up rolling on the floor in fisticuffs, Aster bent and grabbed the kitten racing for her skirts. “Bree, upstairs. Let Lord Theo chase the rats.”
Just like that, she’d remembered her place. What Lord Theo wanted was not just a general for his undisciplined household. It had a great deal to do with creating heirs—and she did not dare have children. Not until the planets realigned or the universe exploded.
He had his soul mate waiting for him out there—and it couldn’t be she.
Holding her head up so no one could see her tears, she marched out, clutching the howling cat, leaving Lord Theo to the chaos of his home.
Seventeen
The day of the fete dawned cloudy—to suit Theo’s mood. Mr. Browne, the new steward, arrived with a list of tenant complaints that began with the wet weather ruining their cottage gardens.
Theo wondered what they expected him to do about the rain—build glass houses? And then he began pondering the expansion of his small glass manufactory to include sheets of glass that might protect plants from the elements more cheaply than a conservatory.
He lost interest in the tenant complaints and began calculating the type of glass needed and was deep into specifications when the vicar and local squire arrived. To his irritation, they demanded that he attend some fete event that Duncan had promised to officiate—back in the day when he was still appearing in public.
“Perhaps you ought to ask Montfort to do that,” Theo suggested maliciously, rubbing his brow to gather his scattered thoughts. He didn’t do public occasions. He had no ability to demonstrate bonhomie and slap people on the back.
“They’re expecting the marquess,” the vicar insisted. “It’s a rare honor for the village folk to have his lordship in their midst. To them, you are even more exceptional. It’s not as if they see you in attendance at church.”
Ah, retribution. Theo understood the concept. He’d generally punched the nose of anyone attempting to get even with him, but that had been back in school. These were men of authority, and he respected them, most of the time. If they meant to get even with him for neglecting the church, he couldn’t very well punch them in the nose.
“I don’t suppose I could read them a lecture on how the moon phases affect the tides and possibly the weather?” Theo asked without hope.
“Just hand out the ribbons,” the squire said. “You’ll do fine.”
“What time?” he asked in weariness, consulting his pocket watch. The tea party was still half a day away.
“At noon,” the squire said in satisfaction. A portly man who’d raised his children and now had time to interfere in all things related to the village, the squire folded his hands over his ample belly. “If you are to act in your brother’s place since his tragic accident, we must introduce you around.”
Theo wondered what gossip rampaged that they were already considering Duncan out of the picture, but he wasn’t interested in encouraging the conversation. “We are expecting guests, but I shall be there at noon, as promised.”
After their elders left, Hugh and Hartley hurtled into the study with two spaniels and a hound on their heels. “May we go to the village?” they asked in unison.
Theo raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Since when do you ask permission?”
“Lady Aster said we must, so you know where we are. They’re to have an archery contest and a sack race and they’ll have Bath buns and sausages,” both boys shouted excitedly, their various choices of fun intertwining into one whole.
Theo had a vague recollection of making himself sick by stuffing a quantity of fete food down his gullet, then rolling down hills in some mutant form of racing. He supposed he could hope the twins would considerately heave into the bushes before returning home.
He removed some coins from a drawer and handed them over to the boys. Remembering Lady Azenor’s words, he warned, “Do not interrupt the ladies’ party this afternoon unless you are bleeding and broken in three places, understood?”
They cheered and ran out without making any promises. He tried to remember if he’d had tutors or anyone with him when he and his brothers had run wild at that age, but he couldn’t recall any. He’d trust that the squire or vicar or someone would see they didn’t cause too much trouble.
By noon, he’d worked his way through stacks of invoices and ledgers and was almost ready for a walk in the fresh air to clear his muddled brainpan. About the only person in existence who had not crossed his threshold was the one he most wanted to see . . . Lady Azenor.
But after he’d committed the mortal sin of kissing her until they were both embarrassingly hot and bothered, and asking her to marry him, she’d disappeared. He ought to resent her rejection, but it only made him more determined.
He prayed she had not left for home as she’d threatened earlier. He was reasonably certain if there was any perfect match in his stars, it was the annoying little general, not some unknown stranger.
She’d asked him about asteroids—then listened to his reply without yawning. Even living in his lonely outpost, he recognized that a woman like that was rare—even if she did believe in illogical superstition.
In desperate circumstances, he could overlook a little madness.
After traversing all the main rooms in hopes of seeing the lady, Theo headed out into the damp wind. The twins had said she was about. He would have to wait for the party.
Hoping to hasten the tedious duties ahead, he rode his horse into the village. Mobs of people roamed the square, chatting and laughing and eating unpalatable food. To his surprise, there were a surprising number of fancy London carriages lined up along the church grounds. The lady’s guests were apparently as intrepid as she to brave the weather. He hitched his gelding to a post and hurried toward the tent where the judging was usually held.
It hadn’t occurred to him to dress for the occasion until Lady Azenor intercepted his path by holding up her dainty gloved hand. She was garbed in filmy blue frippery from the fabric holding down her enormous straw hat—hiding her bountiful curls—to the frills at her bodice concealing her delightful bosom, and even at her hem, covering her neat ankles. He hated that gown.
She glanced disapprovingly at his untied cravat. “Your guests are here. They are gathering in the tent to watch the cow judging, along with everyone else. Where was your valet this morning?”
“Hiding.” Theo hastily twisted the wrinkled—and probably spotted—linen into some semblance of order. “All the ladies are here already?”
“Of course they are! We invited them to attend the fete.” She buttoned his waistcoat while he fumbled with the linen. “You do own a hat, do you not?”
“Not one as ugly as yours,” he countered, having already gathered that the broad brim made it impossible to tease her with more kisses. “No time to return for it. I take it I am late.”
“Is there a reason your valet is hiding?” She stepped back so he could finish his buttons. When he didn’t immediately fasten his frock coat, she tugged it impatiently.
He really shouldn’t like her fussing so much. “Jones? I am not accustomed to anyone caring what I wear, hence I am an insult to his profession, and Dunc threw a shoe at him. He’ll probably go missing shortly. Want to find another old soldier to polish my shoes?” He finished buttoning and yanked a few wrinkles out of the fabric.
“My uncle was the one who recommended Mr. Browne. Our family has a bad habit of rescuing good people from the workhouse. Uncle Calum is quite pleased that the marquess had the exceptional good taste to hire a hardworking man, even if he has only one arm.”
“Remind me to look into your family before they start sending prostitutes to tend the nursery,” he said dryly. “You did say your father was an earl and not a bishop, didn’t you?”
Unoffended by his language, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “My father is a Scots earl who grew up in India—not precisely your traditional English sort. The uncle in question is his younger brother, who manages the family mining interests and what little farming is done on the estate. I believe Mr. Browne served in a regiment with him at one time.”
Theo rewarded himself with the pleasure of placing a hand at her back, just above the supple sway of her hips as they hurried toward the tent. Fat drops of rain began to splash the already muddy grounds. “I don’t know one cow from another. I trust all I’m expected to do is hand out ribbons.”
“And look like a marquess,” she said in a dry tone he did not mistake.
“My boots are polished to a fine shine,” he said. “Who can ask for anything more?”
“I dislike to mention this—but your fine shine has acquired a distinct odor. I wouldn’t look too closely if I were you. This is a cow pasture, after all.”
Flashing him a smile that had the power to bowl him over had she not just grounded him in reality, the lady hurried into the milling crowd inside the tent, leaving him on his own.
Amused, aroused, and irritated, all at the same time, Theo hastened to shake the hands of the dignitaries waiting for him.
As chairman for the fete, Margaret was on the dais as well. Even though Theo was perfectly aware that she had once hoped to stand up here in the marquess’s reflected glory, he scowled and took the far side of the platform from her.
***
Aster circled among her friends, welcoming them, giving them directions to the Hall, admiring frippery—while keeping the corner of her eye on Lord Theo on the ceremonial platform. She had already learned the dark-haired sylph on the dais wearing a pleasant smile and a London gown was the woman who had been affianced to Lord Ashcroft. She should have made more effort to discover the lady’s birthdate. In person, Miss Caldwell didn’t seem as unlikable as Aster had expected her to be.
A roped-off section in front of the dais separated animals from the crowd, but rough men laying wagers on the contestants pushed and jostled the ropes. Always wary of potential disaster, Aster watched and stayed to the rear of the tent.
Having spent most of her growing-up years in the Edinburgh residences of her mother and father, she had very little experience with country fetes. She’d attended a few church festivals where the women baked and knitted and showed off their handiworks, but that didn’t involve smelly sheep and cows in a tent. If it weren’t for watching hatless Lord Theo awkwardly hand out ribbons and shake hands, she’d make her excuses and head back to the house.
Realizing her heart raced a little too fast while watching his lordship, Aster pasted on a smile and began edging toward the exit. She patted hands and reassured everyone they were welcome to arrive at the Hall whenever they were ready.
As she reached the tent entrance, a loud crack of thunder preceded a precipitous cloudburst of rain, and she groaned in dismay. A gust of wind caught the canvas overhead, and the crowd glanced anxiously at the swaying tent poles. But warm and dry, most people returned to watching the highlight of the fete—although Aster assumed it was the presence of the rarified aristocrats providing the entertainment, not the cows.
Hoping this was just a shower, Aster waited at the exit for a chance to run for the covered carriage she’d had the wisdom to order earlier.
Outside, fete attendees raced for the church or their own homes. She watched the twins roll under a farm cart, still devouring their sausages as if they were starved.
Inside, the nervous animals lowed and bleated. The humidity increased the stench, and she almost wished she dared brave the rain to escape. At least her family was back at the Hall, so her presence wasn’t endangering them.
A streak of lightning followed immediately by another loud clap of thunder warned the storm was directly overhead. Aster turned worriedly to check on the proceedings on the temporary raised platform where Lord Theo and the other dignitaries continued handing out ribbons.
As she watched, a fistfight among the gamblers broke out near the rope. The crowd shuffled out of the way. The animals shifted, and Miss Caldwell looked uneasy, holding out her hand to steady herself on the nearest male arm, which happened to be Lord Theo’s. How had she worked her way to that side of the dais?
Rather than comfort the nervous lady, the ungentlemanly astronomer leaped off the platform to break up the combatants. Aster rolled her eyes at this typical Ives behavior, but admittedly, stopping the fight seemed smarter than escorting a fainting female. He had said he was done with hysterical women.
She admired the muscular strength of Lord Theo’s punch that laid flat one of the irate gamblers who swung at him. With the swiftness of expertise, his lordship shoved aside a blow from another swinging fist and popped his assailant’s nose until it bled scarlet. Apparently living in a brawling family taught one boxing skills.
Pushed to their limits by the yelling and shoving, the cows abruptly broke free of their enclosure. With bawling moo’s, they yanked on ropes and scattered sheep.
Frightened, the entire herd of animals fled in every direction—including into the makeshift platform. As one large steer smashed into a prop holding it up, the whole deck listed to one side. The no longer dignified dignitaries slid sideways into the trampled filth.
Appalled, Aster covered her mouth with her palm as Miss Caldwell and her fancy gown hit the mud along with the vicar and squire. She was pretty certain the lady’s screams were more furious than terrified.
She searched for Theo in the melee of muddied farmers and gentlemen flinging punches below the collapsing platform. To her relief, she spotted him rising from the mayhem, shaking the drunken gamblers by the back of their coats.
That’s when the other half of the herd burst through the ropes in his direction—and straight at the tent pole.
Aster’s screams joined those of all their guests and the villagers.
***
Temper roiling, Theo dropped the drunkards and grabbed the tent pol
e. Cows and sheep milled and trampled the crowd—including his lady guests—driving them into the storm. The wind tossed the soaked canvas, and rain poured underneath, turning the trampled grass to a sea of mud.
So much for his polished boots.
With despair, Theo watched Lady Aster open her ugly umbrella and hasten her friends to a waiting carriage. She no doubt blamed her damned stars for mad cows and Englishmen. The rest of her guests would just have hysterics and leave.
He was almost convinced his own planets were crashing from the heavens, telling him marriage wasn’t in his cards, that he’d be forever alone. He had been fine with that when all he knew was the stars, but now that he’d been burdened with the weight of the world, he understood that he’d only been half living.
One sturdy lady in silk and lace dared the trampled cow pen to pet a few animals and calm them down. Remembering his vow to marry any woman who could help him with his hated chores, Theo tried to memorize her features so he might pay attention to her should she survive the storm.
She smiled at him but didn’t attempt to push through the herd to help him hold the pole steady. He couldn’t blame her there. Besides, he supposed ladies didn’t speak to gentlemen to whom they’d not been introduced. He couldn’t remember being introduced to her anyway.
The storm blew off as hastily as it had arrived. The tent pole sagged from the weight of the dripping canvas and the sloppy mud, but the farmers were leading out the last of the cows. Lady Azenor had apparently rescued her friends. And the rest of the crowd had dissipated.
Theo looked for the lady who had petted cows but she was nowhere about.
Envisioning a lonely future of miserable village fetes, rioting farmers, and a servant-less household, Theo slopped through mud to his horse, wondering if it was too late to run off to Africa. He shook his head in disbelief as his soaked nephew ran up—carrying an umbrella.
“Lady Aster sent the carriage in case it’s still raining,” Hugh announced, handing him the umbrella. “She says you’re to go in the back way and change first.” He fretted at his lip as they walked, apparently attempting to remember all his instructions.
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