Beguiling the Baron

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  Tia frowned. “Didn’t she go on visits, or into town for the shops and the markets?”

  “Oh, she did all those things—don’t mistake me. But I expected her to do them alone when I was busy. I could see no harm.” Why were they talking about Mary now? Weren’t they meant to be discussing Polly?

  “You must have been busy all the time, for your wife to have made such a complaint.”

  “I was, and I know it. But I was a man driven. Who wouldn’t be, with the sufferings of the slaves, the lace and blanket makers, the wounded veterans and the starving populace? I worked feverishly to bring about governmental reform—”

  Tia laid a hand on his arm with a soft, “I know you did.”

  He swallowed. Had she any idea what her nearness was doing to him? He wanted her, not her pity.

  Gently, he extricated himself. “I assumed once I’d achieved my ends, there’d be plenty of time to spend together . . . but it was too late. She didn’t tell me . . . she hid from me—”

  “What did she hide from you?”

  “I’ve revealed too much,” he growled. “I’ve dropped my guard. I’m sorry, Tia, but this has to stop. You can’t keep prying into my affairs or my past, for what you discover would hurt you as much as it hurts me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t prying,” she retorted. “I was seeking an explanation for what seemed to me an irrational decision.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “Irrational not to approve Polly’s desire to attend the fair? I think I’ve explained my reasons with perfect logic. What’s really irrational is the way I’ve let you get under my skin, divert me from my duty, and tempt me beyond all reason.”

  “Tempt you? I never meant to.”

  No, of course, she hadn’t. The fault was all his. But if he were to move past this growing obsession with her, he would need her to exercise restraint as well.

  He took her by the shoulders and brought his face close to hers. “My dear,” he ground out, “you’d shrivel up in shame if you could see the visions running through my mind right now. You need to be afraid of me, Tia. You need to keep a respectful distance and never be alone with me again.”

  He gave her a little shake before pushing her away. A cold draught seemed to rush between their bodies, like a vengeful spirit.

  Her eyes searched his face, but he refused to soften his expression. Let her be afraid of him, fear his lusts and desires. Let her agonize over his secrets. They weren’t suited, they would never agree, and she expected too much of him.

  Far, far too much.

  “So.” He took a sustaining breath. “I’ll be traveling to London shortly. I have an elderly aunt who’s expressed a desire to see me. I could be gone some time. Please don’t take any liberties with Polly in my absence. I don’t mean her to be miserable, believe me, but I don’t want her to have too much leeway either, or she’ll take advantage. I mean her to grow up into a young woman with a character so blameless, she’ll never suffer censure on account of her parents, or her past. Now, if that’s all, I’ve business to attend to.”

  He dragged open the door, skinning his knuckles on the wood in his haste. Relishing the pain, he strode away.

  How he’d allowed Tia so close to his heart, he didn’t know.

  She mustn’t get any closer. Absenting himself from Foxleaze was the best way to achieve that end for now. Afterward, he’d return to exactly what he’d been before her arrival, and if she didn’t like it . . .

  Well, he’d have to give their future arrangements serious consideration.

  Chapter 22

  The first thing Tia did after Hal left for London was pen a letter to Lucy, Duchess of Finchingfield. Though increasing with Finchingfield’s second child, Lucy had accompanied her husband to the capital, despite it being the end of the Season. As she’d informed Tia in an earlier letter, she loved him so much, she’d far rather be with, than without him.

  Tia knew exactly what she meant. More so, now she was falling for Hal.

  When she watched his carriage disappear down the drive, it was as if part of her had been hacked away—leaving her in agony.

  Foolish, foolish girl, wasting her affections on a most undeserving man—one flawed beyond redemption. A fact made particularly obvious by the way he’d behaved toward her before he left.

  The letter to Lucy was written and posted immediately afterward, in hopes it would reach London before Ansford did. Tia had charged Lucy with a mission and needed to give her friend time to engineer a meeting between her husband and Hal.

  Without confessing her burgeoning attraction to him, Tia had asked Lucy to write back quickly if Finchingfield noticed any improvement in Hal. The Duke had attended the late Baroness Ansford’s funeral and so would have been present on the cusp of Hal’s descent into melancholia so severe, it verged on madness.

  If the duke did notice a change for the better, it would cheer Tia enormously to think she’d contributed. But it wasn’t only her pride needing the boost. It was her heart.

  If, while in London, Hal reverted to his dour, reclusive self, any improvement she’d wrought in him could be no more than skin deep. She’d have to give up all hope of happiness if this was the case.

  She and Mama would then have to leave Foxleaze. She couldn’t bear it if Hal were to treat her with the same indifference as when they’d first met.

  She’d rather die.

  Four days passed, but Tia heard nothing back from Lucy. She tried to convince herself if there were anything terribly wrong with Hal, her friend would have let her know instantly. So, there remained cause for hope.

  She told herself the longer Hal remained in London, keeping company with his peers and his relations, the more likely he was to return to normality. His sojourn with his Aunt Dorothea might even work to Polly’s advantage, for surely the woman would inquire after her great-niece, and might even prevail upon Hal to bring the girl up to Town on his next visit. Polly would love that.

  It was now Sunday, another fine July day. After all religious duties had been attended to, Tia was left with time on her hands.

  A perfect day to take Polly sketching. Only partly for pleasure, for it was still a lesson of sorts, and Tia didn’t see how Hal could object.

  “Where are we going, Miss Wyndham?” Polly asked as they donned their sunbonnets.

  “Down to the river. Have you ever tried to draw water before?”

  “You can draw water? Really?”

  “Well, a representation of it, anyhow. But if it proves too difficult, there may be a kingfisher, or a water vole, or some interesting plant.”

  Polly pulled a face. “I had far rather draw a plant—I know how they work. A stem, leaves, flowers—simple. Voles and birds never stop moving.”

  “You must view them as a challenge. Observe closely and sketch while you can recall what you see. You may at least capture the essence of the animal, even if you can’t record the detail.”

  Polly seemed unconvinced, but asked politely, “Do you think I might sit on the lawn if I put my apron beneath me?”

  “Only if the grass isn’t wet. Otherwise, we shall make do with the fallen tree trunk.”

  It seemed odd, on a well-run estate like Foxleaze, that the dead lime tree had never been taken away. But it made an admirable seat, with its trunk resting on the riverbank and the outer branches overhanging the rushing water. The latter made an excellent perch for kingfishers.

  “What’s that, Miss Wyndham?” Polly had set down her paint box and was pointing at the place where the great trunk forked. Nestled in the joint, in a damp mossy depression, grew a plant with bright green leaves. “Is the tree growing again?”

  “Unlikely.” Tia leaned out as far as she could and looked. “It may be a fern of some kind, growing out of the dead wood. I’m really not sure. I can see
more than one, I think.”

  “Can I pick it and press it in my book? It looks most unusual.”

  “But it’s out of reach.”

  “Oh, please, Miss Wyndham.”

  Tia gave a sigh of resignation. Her charge was clearly losing respect for her, trying to influence her with fluttering eyelashes and a simpering tone. From whom had she learned such a trick? As if she couldn’t guess.

  “I’ll get it for you. I don’t want you falling in.” Gathering up her skirts, she clambered onto the trunk where the riverbank seemed most shallow and started edging out toward the plants.

  It was farther than she expected, and she didn’t want to trust her weight to the old branches, so she lay flat along the trunk and inched forward on her stomach. She was at full stretch, her fingers brushing the green fronds, when a great shout smote her ears.

  Glancing back in alarm, she saw Hal bowling down the slope toward them, looking thunderous. She gave a great gulp of surprise, started to retreat, slipped down the curved trunk of the tree, and landed with a splash in the water.

  Chapter 23

  Hal’s heart contracted when Tia fell in. His feet flew across the turf, and he tore off his jacket as he raced to the riverbank, almost tripping over the kitten, who seemed to think this was some kind of game.

  When he saw his daughter’s anxious face, Hal forced the fear from his own. “Polly, your kitten’s come down to find you. Pick him up, so he doesn’t fall in too. I’ll rescue Miss Wyndham. Don’t worry.”

  Casting off his shoes, he slithered down the bank, then used the trunk as a guide to find Tia. By the time he’d waded out where it was deep enough to swim, she’d emerged, spluttering and disorientated. Summoning all his strength, he made a single lunge for her before she could submerge again.

  After a brief struggle—and a few unwelcome mouthfuls of water—he set her upright and stabilized his own footing. He pulled her against his body and rubbed frantically at her back to ease her coughing.

  “I’m all right, Hal. You can release me now. My feet are touching the bottom.”

  Taking her by the shoulders, he held her away from him. Thoroughly soaked, her hair hung in black tendrils down her face, her thin gown plastered to her breasts like a second skin. His hands went up to her cheeks, brushing the hair away, and he rested his forehead for a brief moment against her brow. “Foolish, idiotic girl. Are you trying to drown yourself? It would surprise me greatly to learn you can swim.”

  “I’ve seen it done. I know the principle.”

  “But what on earth possessed you to crawl along the tree like that?” His hands slid from her shoulders down her arms, needing to reassure himself she was still all there. Her stubborn spirit hadn’t been dampened by her experience.

  Unfortunately.

  “I was picking a fern. It was perfectly safe—if you hadn’t suddenly bawled at me like that and given me a fright, I wouldn’t have fallen in.”

  His fingers tightened. The urge to shake her was powerful, the desire to kiss her even stronger. She glared mulishly back at him until a small voice from the riverbank called, “Miss Wyndham?”

  Hal glanced up to see Polly hovering anxiously above them, the struggling kitten in her arms. “It’s all right, my dear,” he called. “I’ll have Miss Wyndham out directly. She’s rather wet but otherwise, I believe, unharmed.”

  “Polly, don’t worry. Hal,” Tia added in a softer voice, “you can let go of me now.”

  “I certainly will not. Do you think you can flounder out on your own, in a waterlogged dress? You weigh a good deal more now than you did when you went in, and the bank is muddy. I’ll lift you onto the tree so you can work your way back along it.”

  Hal kept an arm about her waist as they pushed against the sluggish current, and hefted her up onto the trunk, where he was treated to the sight of her delectable derriere wriggling about as she tried to settle herself safely.

  His body reacted swiftly and decisively, catching him completely off-guard. He bit down hard on his lip, willing his painfully throbbing member into abeyance. He could not emerge from the water in his present state.

  Tia had shuffled along the trunk until she reached level ground and now stood upright on the bank, trying to squeeze the water from her hair while Polly bustled about behind her, wringing out the bottom of her dress. The water had molded the muslin to Tia’s form so perfectly, nothing was left to the imagination.

  He almost groaned aloud. With the white dress detailing every curve and dip of her body, and her arms uplifted to her flowing hair, her pert nipples pressing against the wet cloth, she was every inch the image of her namesake. Galatea, a marble statue of a woman so beautiful, King Pygmalion had fallen in love with it and begged for it to be given life.

  His manhood jerked painfully against the constriction of his sodden breeches. “Miss Wyndham,” he called in a strangled voice. “Please cover yourself. Use my jacket—it’s on the ground behind you. Go straight up to the house and change.”

  “Why? It’s warm enough for me to dry out here if I wring myself out. Anyway, we’re waiting for you.”

  They might have a long wait. He cursed softly and started unbuttoning his waistcoat, steadying his footing against the river’s flow.

  “What are you doing, sir?”

  “Since I’m already soaked, I thought I might as well have my swim now. I missed it while in London.”

  Both members of his audience stared at him as if he were mad, but he removed the garment and tossed it upon the bank, then leaned against the tree for support while he took off his ruined stockings. The shirt would be an encumbrance, but there were too many interested eyes upon him, so he remained inside it.

  “I’m going to swim up and down for a bit. Go back to the house, both of you. Miss Wyndham, you really must change out of your wet things. I don’t want you becoming ill.”

  Expecting to be obeyed, he reached for the middle of the river with long, powerful strokes, putting all his energy into the act of swimming to force his thoughts away from the act of making love.

  Gradually the flowing water cooled and calmed him, both mind and body, as it always did. Here he was free, at peace, all his sins and guilt washed away by the current, along with responsibilities and cares.

  When his limbs finally began to tire, he turned about and splashed his way back, heading for his usual bathing place by the willow tree, where the shallow bank was cleaner, and he was unlikely to be observed. But when he thrust out to avoid the dead tree at the site of the earlier near-catastrophe, he discovered the onlookers hadn’t gone back to the house.

  Good God! Would Tia never do as she was told?

  Was he going to have to teach her a lesson?

  Chapter 24

  Coming to a halt by the tree, Hal grabbed onto it and growled, “Miss Wyndham, why have you not gone indoors?”

  “Polly was afraid you might drown, so I let her watch you swim, to reassure her. I’ve found it quite instructive as well.”

  “You must dry yourself,” he commanded, shaking the water from his hair. Why wouldn’t the wretched woman ever listen to reason?

  “I will, I will. I already have a bit,” she assured him but made no sign of returning to the house.

  Now his errant body was under control, he could ensure she went back indoors—on his shoulder if necessary. He scrambled up onto the tree trunk to avoid getting muddy, used his bare toes to get a firm grip, and walked carefully along its length before leaping down onto terra firma.

  A curious sight met his eyes. Tia had cast off his jacket from around her shoulders and was running in wide circles on the grass, flapping her skirts out in front of her to dry them. Polly skipped along in her wake, clearly enjoying this diversion from lessons, and her kitten—who evidently liked the new game—chased around their feet in an apparent
effort to trip them up.

  He became aware of an unaccustomed tension in his stomach, spine, and shoulders. With a painful shudder, the pressure burst out through his lungs, and he laughed aloud.

  Once he began, he couldn’t stop. His sides ached, the tears rolled down his cheeks, and his gut clenched and unclenched in an unremitting spasm until he feared he was about to shatter.

  A gulp of air turned into a sob, followed by another, wracking his whole body. Hal pressed his hands against his face, deeply humiliated. Through the maelstrom of emotions, he heard Tia’s voice. “Polly, take your kitten into the house and feed him. Afterward, you can go back to the nursery and read for half an hour before luncheon. Your father is perfectly well. Only, he’s laughed too much at our silly antics and needs time to recover. Go.”

  The sound of scurrying footsteps accompanied Tia’s arm winding about his heaving shoulders as her soft body pressed against his side. He leaned toward her and grasped the fingers that curved against the muscle of his upper arm, struggling for control.

  The sobs continued, but they sounded more like hiccups now.

  What a fool I’m making of myself. In front of Tia, too.

  For three years he’d stored up this agony. During those years he’d tried to be strong. Grieving, yes, but dry-eyed, for gentlemen never wept. Especially not those of noble birth.

  Hal sucked in a trembling breath. He ought to behave like a man and release the warm, delicate fingers he held. But they offered a comfort he hadn’t known for an exceedingly long time.