“I have been known to open a book on occasion,” he said instead.
“Well, I’m delighted you figured it out. I’m delighted with her.” She played gently with the tip of the puppy’s tale. “Am I to take her back to the house with me?”
“You can, if you like, she’s well passed weaned. But it might be easier to take things slowly. Why don’t we start with a little walkabout?”
A furrow formed between her brows. “She’ll not run off?”
“No.”
She looked anxiously toward the stable doors. “You’re certain?”
“She’s too young to outrun us for long, and we’ll not go far. To the edge of the woods and back.” No more than thirty yards from the back of the stable. Just the right distance for the puppy and her nervous new owner. “It will be fun for the both of you, I promise.”
Chapter 13
Anna wasn’t so much nervous about her newly acquired pet as she was thrilled, fascinated, and terrified.
The best part about having a dream was that it could be as far removed from reality as one liked. Anna hadn’t thought of pungent manure and aggressive dogs in her daydreams of a country stroll because she hadn’t needed to. It was just a dream, after all.
And when she’d dreamed of owning her own dog, she’d imagined wiggling tails and happy frolics in the fields. She’d not really dwelled on the fact that owning a dog meant that she would be responsible for a dog. But now she had to, and she found the notion fairly intimidating.
She’d never been responsible for another living thing in her life. Dear God, what if she failed?
Anna pushed the thought aside. It was less than useless to fear what she might do wrong instead of focusing on what she could do right. And what she could do right now was enjoy taking her new dog on a walk with Max.
With excitement edging out her anxiety, she found a bit of soft rope to use as a leash, but rather than risk frightening the puppy, Max scooped up Hermia and carried her outside instead.
Anna suppressed a sigh when they stepped out of the stable. Surely a sweeter picture had never been seen than that of Maximilian Dane standing in the sunshine with a squirming little puppy in his arms. Her puppy, she amended. Max Dane was cuddling the puppy he’d gifted her as an extension of an apology.
This, she decided, was worlds better than groveling.
She was almost disappointed when Max set Hermia down in the field, halfway between the stable and the woods. And some of her confidence was lost when it became clear that the puppy, though ungainly, was both plenty fast and not the least bit interested in accompanying them across the field to the trees.
Hermia sniffed the air, the ground, then turned tail and galloped back toward the stables. Well, Anna mused, at least she didn’t have to worry about it disappearing into the countryside.
“Barn sour.” Max laughed, then he looked at her, grinned and said, “Run toward the trees.”
Anna dragged her eyes from the retreating puppy. “What? Why?”
“Trust me. Make it into a game. Show her it can be fun.” And with that, he called out to the puppy, then turned about and headed toward the woods at an easy pace.
Without giving herself the chance to think better of the idea, Anna picked up her skirts and followed. She felt silly and awkward and absolutely giddy, running across an open field with Max Dane as if they were children at play.
Max looked over his shoulder as she gained on him. “You see?” he called out. “It’s working.”
Anna didn’t need to look back. Hermia galloped right past her on her way to Max. He grinned at the puppy, then dodged left without slowing down to avoid trampling her as she ran directly underfoot.
And then, before she could call out a warning, Max spun forward just in time to collide with a tall, narrow, but evidently perfectly sturdy, young tree.
The accident was so abrupt, so jarring, that Anna simply came to a stop and froze, mouth agape, as Max stumbled back several feet, pressed his hand to his forehead, and let loose a peculiar string of half-curses.
“Sweet holy . . . Son of a . . . Bloody . . . Bloody . . .” He produced a long and decidedly angry groan and then finally, “Damn it.”
And then all Anna heard was her own laughter. It echoed through the trees and set the puppy, now comfortably seated at her own feet, to barking.
She laughed until her sides ached and her eyes filled with tears. Because, God forgive her, she’d never witnessed anything so spectacularly hilarious as the impossibly urbane Lord Dane running headlong into a Scots pine.
“Oh . . . Oh, Lord . . .” She bent at the waist in a combined effort to put the rope around the puppy and to catch her breath. Only the first was successful on the initial try. It took two additional attempts to rein in her glee to the point where she could look at Max without risking another round of laughter.
He was still holding his forehead, but he was glowering at her, his expression one of promised retribution combined with begrudging amusement.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped out. “I am so terribly sorry. Are you all right? Is the injury severe?” She could see for herself it wasn’t, or she’d not have found it all so funny, but it seemed the thing to ask.
“Well enough,” he grumbled and lowered his hand to look at his fingers. “Considering.”
“You’re not bleeding, are you?” She’d wager his pride was seeping out by the gallon.
“No.”
“Shall I run back to the stable for assistance?”
“No.” He swore again, but quieter. And this time, there was a bit of humor mixed in with the obscenities. “I’ve not done that since I was a boy.”
This wasn’t the first time? Anna couldn’t say why that made it all even funnier. “Are you quite certain you’re all right?”
“Yes.” He looked at her, grimacing. “How bad is it?”
The skin above his left eye was a little red but there was no sign of swelling. She doubted there would be. He’d not been going all that fast, really.
“The skin is scratched a bit, but not broken. I’d be surprised if it bruised.”
“Hell.” He prodded at the skin gingerly. “I will never live this down.”
“I’ll not forget it.”
“It’s not you who concerns me. It’s the rest of Christendom.” His lips twitched and he gave her a pleading expression that reminded her of why she’d once thought of him as adorable. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to tell a different story as to the origins of my bruise?”
“Depends on the story,” she returned, willing to play along.
“Could we say I was wounded saving you from an animal attack?”
“What sort of animal leaves bruises about the head?”
“Feral horse?” he offered hopefully, making her laugh.
“You want me to tell people you were beaten by a horse?”
He tossed a disgusted look at the surrounding woods. “England has an appalling lack of dangerous animals.”
“But no shortage of hazardous vegetation, it seems. Why not say we were set upon by brigands?”
“Can’t,” Max replied ruefully. “It would create too much of a fuss. Lucien would send out men to search for the villains. Villagers would take up arms. An extended and ultimately fruitless hunt for the criminals would ensue. The pair of us would feel terribly guilty. Well, you would.” He grew quiet and turned his head, his eyes tracking through the thin woods to the fields visible beyond. “Do sheep stampede, do you know?”
The silliness of it all elicited another, albeit shorter, round of laughter from her.
“You saved me from rampaging sheep?” she managed at length.
“And the puppy. You mustn’t forget to mention I saved the puppy.” He smiled and tilted his head as she continued to laugh. “You have the most . . . unusual laugh of any woman I’ve ever met.”
Her amusement faltered at the sudden shift of subject. “You’ve heard me laugh before.”
“And quite li
ked it, but I’d not heard you laugh quite so freely. Nor so loudly. You laugh like a toddler.”
She sputtered a moment, dumbfounded by the comment. “I beg your pardon?”
“From here.” He stepped forward and brushed his fingers across her abdomen, taking her off guard. “You laugh from the belly. Part of why it’s so low, I think.”
His touch sent a shiver along her skin. She ignored the conflicting instincts to both step away and move closer. “I do not. It is not.”
“No need to take offense. There’s no greater laughter than that of a small child’s. It’s uninhibited, completely devoid of artifice. It is the unencumbered, unabashed sound of pure joy.”
She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “I don’t like anyone being hurt, but I clearly enjoyed your run-in with that tree.”
“Mm-hm. It’s the surprise that did it, I think.”
“But I’m not an innocent child.”
“No, never that. Your laughter shares a few common traits, that’s all.” He grinned at her. “Just as my humor does on occasion. There’s nothing wrong with either.”
She felt herself smiling in return. “No, I suppose there’s not.”
Admittedly, if there had been, she’d likely still have let the matter go. She was in too fine a mood to go worrying over the fault in things. Why waste time on what might be wrong when it was so much more fun focusing on what was right?
And it felt ever so right to sit with Max in the grass and play with her new puppy. They tossed sticks for her to chase (which Hermia mostly ignored) and used the rope for games of tug-of-war (which Hermia mostly won) and otherwise spent the next half hour enjoying themselves immensely.
Such a simple thing, to sit in the sun, play with the puppy. Simple but not common, at least not in Anna’s experience, and she was happy to see that Max, with all his experience and sophistication, seemed equally content.
When it came time to return Hermia to her family, Max once again carried her back to the stable. “Next time, we can bring some scraps to lure her into behaving on a lead.”
Anna hid a smile at the words, “next time” and “we,” and stole a glance at Max as they stepped into the shadow of the stable. He’d given her a wonderful present, an unforgettable morning. She only wished she had something to offer in return.
Perhaps she did, she mused as Max set Hermia down with her littermates. “You know, if you’d truly prefer it, I could keep your mishap between the two of us.”
He lifted a single dark brow as he walked out of the stall, closing and latching the door behind him. “That is a very generous offer.”
Anna watched Hermia take three steps, then plop to the ground for a nap. “It can be . . . unpleasant, to be the center of unwanted attention. I hope I did not wound your feelings by laughing so hard.”
“My feelings are far more steeled than that, love. My pride, on the other hand, will require some restorative care. Tell me I’m handsome.”
She laughed again and wondered if she’d ever had a day as fun as this.
He nodded at the sound. “I thought so.”
“What?” she asked, turning from the stall.
“You’ve a lovely sense of humor, Anna. And, I think, a fondness for silliness.”
She considered the events of the day and her reactions to them thus far. “It is possible I do.”
And wasn’t that a fine thing to learn about herself? How very unlike an Ice Maiden.
“I imagine there was little of it to be found at Anover House,” Max commented.
She blinked at that, surprised by his insightfulness. “It wasn’t common,” she admitted.
Her mother’s parties were terrifically obnoxious, nothing more. And Mrs. Culpepper, while a wonderful companion, was simply not a woman inclined to silliness.
Max nodded in understanding. “My childhood home was the same. I much preferred Caldwell Manor.”
“Did you spend a great deal of time here?”
“I did.” He glanced out one of the stable windows at the house. “Even after Lady Engsly passed and Caldwell became a less welcoming place. I still chose it over McMullin Hall.”
“Did you know the first marchioness well?”
“As well as a child can, I suppose. I knew she was marvelous woman, a true lady. She taught me how to laugh at my mistakes rather than define myself by them or turn myself into knots dreading their consequences. And she taught me how to find the humor in every situation . . . She tried, rather,” he amended. “I was not as gifted a student as Gideon.”
“I’d say you fare well enough.” It wasn’t every peer of the realm who could laugh at himself for running into a tree. “She was very important to you, the marchioness,” she guessed softly.
Max didn’t immediately respond except to nod his head once. He turned from the stall and gestured her forward in an invitation to continue their walk. It wasn’t until they were clear of the stable that he spoke again.
“You asked me once why I tend toward overprotectiveness where Lucien and Gideon are concerned.”
Anna snuck a sideways glance at his face, but found she couldn’t read his expression. “You said you would tell me another time.”
He nodded, cleared his throat. “I promised Lady Engsly I would watch over her children. I made that promise to her on her deathbed.”
He couldn’t have been more than a boy at the time. “That was very selfless of you.”
“She asked it of me.”
“Asked it?” That couldn’t be right. “How old were you, exactly?”
“Not more than thirteen.”
“Good heavens.” What sort of burden was that to put on a child? Pretty flowerpots or not, the woman was an idiot.
“You would judge her for it,” Max guessed and shook his head. “Don’t. She didn’t ask for herself, or for her children. She asked it for me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It gave me a purpose,” he explained. “It made me feel . . . trusted, valuable.”
“Didn’t you otherwise?”
“I was the second son of parents who felt they really only needed the first.”
“They were wrong.” In every way imaginable, they were wrong. “I am sorry your mother and father were not able to see your worth.”
“Ah, well.” He flashed her a crooked smile. “It’s not an uncommon story, is it? And in hindsight, I know I was valued as a friend by Lucien and Gideon, and as a brother to Beatrice, and even Reginald on occasion. But at the time, I’d felt rather . . . beside the point. One of Lady Engsly’s last acts was to grant me a sense of importance until I was old enough to find it on my own.”
“Which you’ve done with aplomb,” Anna teased, thinking that perhaps Lady Engsly’s request had not been wholly idiotic.
Max grinned at her. “Do you think?”
She laughed softly as a memory came to her. “Do you recall telling me I had to do what you said because you were a viscount?”
“Good Lord, no. I assume I shared that gem at Anover House?” He snorted in amusement. “I’m fair surprised you sat with me as long as you did, and that you wanted anything to do with me after. I must have been near unbearable, drunk as I was.”
“To be honest . . . I found you adorable. Though I am glad to see you’ve tempered that vice in the years since. That kind of behavior wouldn’t be quite so endearing if it occurred on any sort of regular basis.”
His footing faltered. “Adorable.”
“Yes, quite.”
“I see. I honestly don’t know how I feel about that.” He repeated the word quietly, as if tasting it, then made a face as if he didn’t care for the flavor. “You’ve not shared that sentiment with anyone else, have you?”
“Only Engsly,” she assured him. “He’s the one who told me you’ve tempered your drinking and—”
“Only Engsly? Good God, woman.” He let out a pained laugh. “Between the tree and your professed opinions of me, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
He’d never hear the start of it, as she was lying. It was just so much more fun to watch him squirm than it was to speak of deathbed promises and heartless parents.
“Adorable?” he asked again, slanting her a pleading look. “Truly?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Not handsome? Or dashing? Or wickedly charming?”
Oh, yes. “Sorry, no.”
“Devilishly rakish?”
“You just ran into a tree.”
“Right.” He reached out and gently caught her elbow, stopping them in a small copse of trees where they were hidden from view of the house. His eyes settled on her, determined, and he took a purposeful step forward. “Right, then.”
Before she could utter a word, he slipped an arm around her, strong and sure, and pulled her close.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, the question being, of course, entirely rhetorical. A blind man could see what he was about.
He bent his head, a wicked smile playing at his lips. “Remedying a misconception,” he whispered.
And then he was kissing her, his mouth moving over hers in gentle demand.
It didn’t occur to Anna to pretend maidenly affront. It might be wrong, irresponsible, and reckless, but in that moment, she didn’t care . . . unexpected or not, the kiss was welcome.
Rather than pull away, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him back.
And she thought, This is wonderful. It was even better than the kiss in the nursery, because it was a kiss she’d never thought to have again. And of course, because sobriety and four years of maturing had changed Max from a boy who could turn over a girl’s heart with charm and sweetness to a man who could devastate a woman with confidence and skill.
Anna grabbed handfuls of his coat and pulled him closer. She felt wicked and free and terribly impatient. As wonderful as the kiss was, she wanted more. She wanted him closer, his grip tighter, her hands moving over him faster. And she rather thought she was going to get what she wanted, which was why she was stunned when Max pulled his lips from her suddenly. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers briefly dug into her shoulders, and then he released her and stepped away.
Practically Wicked (Haverston Family Trilogy #3) Page 16