The one thing he would not do was abandon her to take up his political campaigning once more. That was a mistake he’d no intention of making twice.
He gazed at his reflection again. The color had returned to his cheeks, and a beam of sunlight slanting through the window picked out the dark gold-blonde of his hair.
He raised an eyebrow at himself. He could actually be quite a handsome devil if he put his mind to it. But not wearing funereal black.
Blue and gold had been his gaudy colors of choice—not for the House, of course—and he wondered if he still had anything like that in his closet. Foolish as it seemed, he had no idea, since Symons ruled that realm.
There was a shout from outside, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
Dear God, was this horde of vandals going to destroy his house as well as his garden? Tia had a lot to answer for.
He gnawed on his lip. He owed her an apology first. It would be difficult, but if he wanted to have any kind of future with her, he must swallow his pride and relax his rules. It would also be painful, like bursting, new-born, out of a too-tight skin, but he’d do his best.
Fear clutched at his heart. What if he offered for her and she refused? This wasn’t the first time he’d been hideously unpleasant to her.
He must act fast if he was to save the day. Decision made, he leapt from the chair and pulled the bell rope for his valet.
Chapter 35
Tia lingered on the half landing, with only the once-fearsome suit of armor to keep her company. Hal had been gone a long time, and she didn’t know if she should go in to him, or whether it would be better to wait.
Eventually, she could bear the uncertainty no longer, so she hurried up the stairs and along to the door connecting his half of the house with the rest. Once through and into the corridor, she made her way to his suite of rooms, then hesitated.
The sound of voices reached her from behind his dressing room door. Shifting closer to listen, she could make out the clipped tones of his valet, Symons. What were they talking about? Hal had seemed too angry to want to indulge in conversation with anyone. What was going on?
She’d raised her hand to knock, when the door swung open, making her jump. Hal stood there, doing up the buttons on the front of a bright yellow waistcoat embroidered with daisies. Her jaw dropped.
He’d also donned a pair of breeches in cream silk, and now wore a jacket of pale blue, with a striped yellow lining. This colorful ensemble was topped by a cream silk cravat. Her eyes widened. Gazing past his shoulder, she caught the eye of his valet, Symons—and thought she saw him winking.
As Hal stood there in all his magnificence, gazing down at her with his bright blue eyes, she was reminded forcibly of statues of the sun god Apollo. Hal was like the god in mortal form . . . had Apollo ever dressed in modern-day clothing.
She cast around her addled brain for something to say but found nothing. Certainly, nothing that could be voiced in a servant’s hearing.
Hal stepped forward, shot her a look that set fires blazing up and down her body, and strode off toward the cloister stairs. She hurried after him in total confusion, but his rapid stride soon left her behind. Why gaze at her as if he was mentally stripping her naked, then march off without a word?
She pursued him to the foot of the stairs leading into the cloisters, then hung back in the shadow of an archway as he approached the nearest group of adults. Was he going to throw them out? Had the moment she’d been dreading arrived?
Heart in mouth, she saw him greet them with a brief bow. The response was immediate—the ladies became flustered, and the gentlemen were clearly taken aback. It was barely a moment, however, before everyone seemed to be trying to talk to the master of Foxleaze at the same time.
He began a perambulation of the garden party, and Tia followed in his wake, like a faithful dog who’d been chastised and was unsure of its welcome.
The effect of Hal’s presence among his guests made her think of a bear sticking its paw into a beehive. Everywhere there was an excited buzz and hum, affecting even the children. They all watched, awestruck, as the splendid owner of the abbey strode amongst them in all his finery, honoring them with the light of his smile and his compelling personality.
When Polly saw her papa and ran to fling her arms about him, Tia’s eyes grew moist. But she had no time to reflect on this development, because a small child tugged on her skirt, wanting to know when Blind Man’s Bluff would be starting because it was his favorite game. Much as she would have loved to trail after Hal, she had duties to perform.
Throughout the remainder of the hot August afternoon, she was kept busy supplying the children with games, cakes, and lemon cordial. Some of their parents approached and complimented her on her skills with their offspring, thanking her for hosting such a pleasurable event.
It delighted her to hear such praise, but beneath her cheerful aspect, her heart was raw. Every time she spotted Hal, he was surrounded by a throng of chattering, enthusiastic people. When he could escape such attentions, he was most likely dashing to the assistance of some young female, helping to open an awkward parasol, positioning a chair, or tuning up an instrument.
Every female in the place was as affected by his good looks and virile allure as she was. At least it seemed like it, from the way they simpered, dropped their reticules and handkerchiefs for him to pick up, and fluttered their eyelashes at him when he complied.
More than once, Tia seriously contemplated running off to her room to have a damned good cry. Henry Pelham, eighth Baron Ansford had, it seemed, finally been restored to Society.
But was he now lost to her?
Chapter 36
The weather had refused to break, resulting in an uncomfortably sultry night. Hal’s thoughts were too tangled to facilitate sleep, and his guilt gnawed at him until it hurt. He tossed off the sheet and rose, crossing to the open window to see if any breeze was to be had.
Not much. Sighing, he gazed in the direction of the folly. He hadn’t gone across there after supper to continue his homage to Mary—the urge remained, yes, but the compulsion had lost its power now. Besides, he’d been wearied from his trip to London, and his exertions in the afternoon.
So, in view of that weariness, why had the gods only permitted him an hour’s sleep before goading him into wakefulness again?
It was Tia. Of course, it was. He couldn’t exorcise the image of her shaken expression when he’d railed at her this afternoon. His behavior had been inexcusable, and he hadn’t yet found the opportunity to apologize. Each time he tried to corner her, she seemed to be doing something for Polly or the other children. He began to wonder why he had servants at all if nobody bothered to use them.
Unless, of course, she was deliberately avoiding him.
He pressed against the windowsill, enjoying the cooler air on his naked flesh, but it wasn’t cold enough. The only answer was a swim. It would banish any further hope of sleep, but perhaps when he came back in the chill air of the morning, he could set his thoughts straight and decide what he needed to say to Tia.
Pulling on breeches, shoes, and a shirt, he turned to appraise himself in the glass. Frowning, he recalled how grim an aspect he’d presented yesterday, with fury issuing from every pore. From now on, he must make the effort to smile a good deal more.
Particularly at Tia.
His gaze dropped to the miniature portrait of Mary, propped on the dressing table. Picking it up, he stared at it for a long time. Eventually, with a murmured apology, he opened a small drawer and placed the picture inside. A modest beginning, but better than no beginning at all.
As he lit a lantern to illuminate his walk, the flare of light seemed to burn the cares from his shoulders, offering him the promise of a better, brighter future.
A finger of moonlight grazed the path as he struck out towa
rd the stand of trees by the river. He kept to the verge, not liking the sound of his feet on the gravel, a sound that seemed to tear the peace of the night asunder. One of the wolfhounds, Zacky, bounded up to sniff at him, and greet him. But instead of loping back to his post as he should, the dog pricked up his ears and nosed at his master, staring pointedly down the driveway.
“What, boy? Have you seen a fox?” Hal fondled one of the coarse ears and allowed his hand to be licked. The dog kept pace with him as he strode onward, its tail swinging cheerfully from side to side, but it remained alert.
Some animal must have disturbed him. If it were an intruder, Zacky would be growling with his hackles up. Hal slowed down, and peered into the darkness, but could see nothing save the shadowy shapes of a few rabbits scattering out of their path.
“It’s only rabbits, Zack. Go home now boy, home.” He pointed, and gave the dog’s rump a shove, prompting the animal to wag its tail even more before bounding off.
Cautiously, Hal sought the shadow of the lime trees, making sure to keep any noise to a minimum. But when he came to his bathing place, he discovered it already occupied.
Tia stood there, ankle deep in the water, her thin cotton nightgown pulled up to her knees.
Paddling? Tia was paddling? At first, he was annoyed she should be out in the darkness all by herself, particularly dressed only in a nightgown. But he’d promised himself not to be angry with her anymore. Besides, the dogs knew her and would protect her from any danger. A mild rebuke for making herself vulnerable must suffice.
It was abundantly clear she had no idea he was there because the next moment she grasped the hem of her nightgown and dragged it over her head.
He stood spellbound, feasting his hungry gaze on her shapely legs, her delightful pear-shaped buttocks and slender waist, and the graceful curves of her shoulders. She twisted to throw the garment on the bank behind her, treating him to a glimpse of her firm, ripe breasts with their rosy nipples—before she saw him.
With a shriek of surprise, she covered herself with her hands and splashed noisily into a deeper spot, submerging until only her head was showing. He winced on her behalf—the water there was cold, and she hadn’t given herself time to get accustomed to it. It was imperative she exit immediately and get dry.
“Tia,” he called softly, as he walked to the bank. “Come out before you catch a chill. No, don’t frown at me—it’s merely advice, not an order.”
“I’m not frowning. How can you see in the darkness anyway?”
He could see quite well at night—he was used to it. But for now, for the sake of her dignity, he’d pretend he couldn’t. “I assumed you would be. You can’t be happy that I came upon you so unexpectedly.”
“Were you watching me? How long have you been there?”
“I wasn’t watching you. I’ve only recently arrived—I wanted a swim as it was too hot to sleep. I presume it’s what you were thinking too. Or did you plan to dance naked in the woods like a maenad?”
“I don’t like being spied on. Now turn your back so I can come out and dress.”
“I suppose I could. But while you’re a captive audience, there are a couple of things I’d like to say to you.”
“Can’t they wait until daylight, when I’m properly garbed and comfortable?”
Preferably not. This was far more entertaining. “I think my words will have more impact now. First, I want to apologize for being such a brute. I will never behave like that again.”
“And if I choose not to forgive you?”
He stooped and gathered up her nightgown. It was still warm, imbued with her delightfully feminine, lavender scent. He flung it onto his shoulder. “I can choose to withhold this.”
She gasped in outrage, bringing a grin to his face. “You want to play games, Hal?”
“Oh, very much. It would make you blush if you knew how much.”
There was a pause. “I’ll consider forgiving you if you put my nightgown within easy reach of the shore and turn your back while I get out.”
“Agreed. In part.” He laid the garment on the riverbank, a foot clear of the water. Then he crouched, gazing at her where she lurked in the moon-rippled water, her hair streaming about her in tantalizing swirls.
“Please take yourself further away.”
He grinned back at her. “I will, but you must promise me something in return.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “What must I promise?”
He said simply, “To marry me.”
Chapter 37
There was a great wallowing sound from the river. Panic clutched at him—had Tia lost her footing? He was already kicking off his shoes when she emerged again, steadied herself and spluttered, “I think I must have water in my ears. What did you say?”
His shoulders relaxed. “I asked you to marry me.”
A long silence ensued while the darkness seemed to close in on him, as if eager to hear the rapid beating of his heart. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his brow, owing nothing to the heat.
She was going to refuse him. And who could blame her? What kind of heartless rogue caught a woman off-guard and used veiled threats to persuade her into marriage?
He needed different words, different deeds. Hal began to disrobe.
“What are you doing?” There was alarm in her voice.
“I’m taking off my clothes.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
He chuckled. “I don’t want them getting wet when I come in to fetch you.”
She sank farther until the water came to her chin. “I don’t need fetching.”
“You’re going to come out on your own?” He pulled off his shirt.
“I might.”
“Might isn’t good enough. Now you can look away if you want to, but my breeches are coming off, too.”
She didn’t look away. He grinned broadly, hoping he didn’t appear too lecherous, enjoying himself more than he had in years. Her eyes never left him as he waded out to join her, and most of the time—if not all—they remained above the level of his chest.
The cold water washed over his skin, making him catch his breath, as delicious shivers rippled across his belly and buttocks. “Tia, I’m in deadly earnest.”
“About marriage, or about me coming out?”
“About both. I desire you above anything. I could learn to be happy again if you would allow me to become your husband—as well as your friend.”
“This is all rather sudden.”
He waded closer. “No, it isn’t. You know how much I want you. Now, will you give me your answer before we both freeze to death?”
“Am I not allowed some time to think about it? This declaration is a bolt out of the blue.”
He shook his head. Ah. Her teeth were chattering. Rapid action was required. Lifting her chilled body into his arms, he cradled her against his chest. Water flowed from her luscious curves, sending sensual rivulets down his belly and thighs as he strode back to the shallows.
His manhood swelled in response.
Businesslike, he set her down, holding her with one hand as he gave her his shirt with the other. “Dry yourself.”
When she gave no sign of taking it, he rasped, “Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”
Grumbling, she seized it from him and turned her back.
With a shrug of resignation, he pulled on his breeches, knowing they would be soaked through in moments. Well, if it dampened his burgeoning ardor, it would be no bad thing.
Once his shoes were back on, he peered past his shoulder to see if Tia had finished drying herself.
She hadn’t moved. She was staring at him. Had she been silently observing him all this time? He must look ridiculous, with no shirt on, no stockings, and breeches that stuck to him like a second s
kin, with a rampant hardness distorting the front of them in a way she was hardly likely to miss.
“Tia, I’m sorry.”
She dropped his shirt. Her hands fell away from her body.
He swallowed painfully, once. Twice. “Tia—”
“You dry me.” Her voice was an inviting purr. “Afterward, I’ll dry you.”
Slowly he picked up the shirt, then feasted his eyes on her moon-slick nakedness. The urge to run his hands and his lips over every single inch of her was overpowering. She was well-named Galatea, for every line, curve, shadow, dip and mound of her body was absolute perfection. She could have been the model for Pygmalion’s statue, a breath of ecstasy captured in marble. The gods had truly blessed him tonight, but he was far from worthy of such a gift.
It took every ounce of his self-control, but he did as she wished and started rubbing the shirt briskly across her enticing curves, making sure his fingers never made direct contact.
She moaned softly as he worked across her buttocks and when he came to her rosy-peaked breasts, she reached for him, gripping him hard by the shoulders.
The need to take each peaked nipple in his mouth was so strong, he was dazed and shaken by his efforts to resist.
No. He wasn’t going to tumble her on the ground like some love-crazed country boy but do the thing properly in the comfort of his bed, with plenty of time at their disposal and no fear of discovery.
He stood back, trying to ignore the painfully throbbing demands of his manhood. “Lift your arms,” he ordered roughly. As soon as she did so, he slipped her nightgown on. Now she was decently covered, he hoped to give his violently aroused body a moment’s respite.
Beguiling the Baron Page 16