“Don’t be ridiculous,” Judith said, but she could feel his gaze. It warmed her from within, a cup of chocolate on a cold morning. She shook her head.
Her friend smirked. “I knew it. You are in love with him.”
Love? Was she? No. Not love. “I admire him, it’s true, and rather like him. But love seems a bit premature.” No, not love, although the butterflies battling in her stomach might have disagreed.
Judith risked a glance at Lord Caxton, now engaged in conversation with Samantha, who had been allowed to rejoin the company after dinner. The poor girl looked rather thunderstruck. Whatever else he may be, there was no denying Lord Caxton was a dynamic presence. Perhaps feeling her regard, he grinned at Judith.
Judith stumbled. Lord Caxton chuckled and turned his attention back to Samantha.
“Whatever is wrong with you?” Gwyneth asked. “I’ve been talking for five minutes and you haven’t so much as nodded, and now you’re tripping over imaginary rocks in the drawing room.”
“I did not trip over anything but my hem,” Judith lied. “And I was listening.”
“No, you weren’t. When I realized you weren’t attending, I rattled off a string of nonsense, and you didn’t bat an eye.”
Judith blushed. “Fine, I wasn’t listening. I was thinking.”
“About Lord Caxton, I assume.”
It pained her to admit it, but she did. “Yes. But the man is engaged to another.” Her stomach clenched as she thought of Cassandra. That she should be the one to claim him was upsetting in the extreme.
“True. But as I said before, the fact he’s here with you and not in London with her is telling, don’t you think?”
“He likes to do the unexpected. It doesn’t mean he won’t go through with the wedding. The scandal would be devastating for Cassandra, and even he would not defy convention in such a manner. It does not do to make enemies with a duke, especially one as powerful as Bothwell.”
And that realization made her sad. He was, at heart, a kind man, and he would not treat a woman in such a way, even if he had no part in arranging the match, even if he had made an occupation of defying his father.
She sighed deeply, blinked away a tear. “If you don’t mind, Gwyneth, I believe I’ll retire. I’m feeling a bit tired.”
Gwyneth’s eyes were sympathetic as she embraced Judith, her expression nearly undoing the composure Judith was trying so hard to maintain. She bit down on her bottom lip, eased out a slow breath.
“Good night, Gwyneth. If you would please tell my mother I’ve gone up?”
“Of course. Good night, Judith. Do sleep well, and try not to dwell on things you cannot change.”
****
Poor Samantha having been dragged away by her mother, again, Peter was at leisure to study the two women as they turned about the room and smiled whenever he caught Judith glancing at him. Then just as abruptly as she joined her friend in their walk, she fled as if her skirts were aflame.
With difficulty he controlled his impulse to follow her. Her friend watched her go, then turned and sat next to him.
“Good evening, Lord Caxton.”
“Lady Gwyneth, yes?”
“Yes.” She was nearly as tall as he was, at least when they were sitting. She met his eyes, her expression deadly serious. “What are you doing here, Lord Caxton?”
He nearly squirmed under her regard. “I am visiting my godmother.”
“You haven’t seen Lady Howley in several years, or so I understand. Why now?”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact Miss Leslie was here?”
Peter shrugged. It was the only way to avoid admitting the truth of her statement.
“I thought so.” Lady Gwyneth nodded. “You should leave, my lord. You’ll never extricate yourself from your engagement to Lady Cassandra, and your being here is confusing—and hurting—Judith.”
“I could never cause her pain, Lady Gwyneth.”
“So you say, but I understand you’ve already done it once, and now here you are, and she’s run off to cry alone in her room.”
“What?” Judith didn’t seem the sort to cry over anything. She was far too strong. He half rose to go after her when he felt a firm tug on his arm.
“Sit down, Lord Caxton. You can’t very well go to her room. Just be gone by morning.” She gave him a look that brooked no argument, then rose to join her mother on the other side of the room.
Peter leaned back in his chair. Lady Gwyneth had a point, much as it pained him to admit it.
What was he doing here?
He should be attempting to get out of his engagement, not tormenting poor Judith. But not being with her was not possible. She filled his senses. Her jasmine rose scent lingered in the air, or so he imagined. His fingers itched to touch her luscious auburn hair. He could still feel the way she fit next to him when they danced, and his lips still tingled from their last kiss.
No, it was not possible to be away from her. He would find a new suitor for Cassandra, and he would win Judith’s heart. Living without her simply was not an option.
Chapter 10
After a sleepless night tossing and turning and trying not to think about Peter Tenwick, Judith went down early to breakfast. Perhaps a walk in the sea air would clear her head of thoughts of him.
And perhaps it would have, were the man himself not already in the dining room.
She stopped and turned on her heel to leave, hoping he hadn’t seen her.
“Miss Leslie.”
Bloody hell. She pivoted to face him. “Lord Caxton.”
“Leaving so soon?”
God, he was handsome. His dark blond hair was uncombed, giving him an adorably mussed look. His waistcoat was a glossy teal today, a color that complemented his blue eyes, which were twinkling with amusement at her discomfiture.
“I, uh, forgot something.”
“Your reticule?”
“Um, yes,” she said, before realizing it was in her hand. “I mean, no.” She tossed the bag on the table and sat opposite him. “Oh, never mind. I was leaving because I didn’t want to talk to you.”
His eyes lost their sparkle and he seemed genuinely pained. “Why not?”
“Because this…” she wiggled her fingers at him, “this whatever it is can go nowhere. You are engaged, and you should stop flirting with me and go home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” he said, his tone husky.
Judith said nothing, just rose to fill a plate with food from the sideboard. She did so automatically, but her appetite was gone.
She felt him behind her, closed her eyes. His body warmed hers, even without touch. She bit back a moan as he leaned toward her, his breath at her ear.
“I want to stay here, with you. Even if it’s the last thing I should be doing.”
She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t want him to stop.
He traced her earlobe with a finger. “You have perfect ears; did you know that? Nibblesome.” His lips replaced his finger, and he trailed kisses down the side of her neck.
She leaned back instinctively, tilted her head to the side. Sensation from his touch shot down her spine, pooling at the base, spreading from her back around her hips to the private spot between her legs.
Then suddenly he was gone, and Judith was aware of a throat being cleared somewhere in the room. She nearly dropped her plate as she turned around, her face hot, her groin tingling.
Gwyneth stood there, her mouth set into a grim line.
Judith risked a glance at Peter, who winked. She couldn’t stop a grin but masked it quickly and returned to her seat. “Good morning, Gwyneth. I hope you’re well.”
“Not as well as you are, apparently.” She filled her own plate then sat next to Judith. “What a surprise to see you here, Lord Caxton. Didn’t you say you were leaving this morning?”
Judith’s gaze flicked between the two. She was missing something.
“I can’t imagine where you got that idea, Lady Gwyneth,” Peter said, then shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
Gwyneth speared a sausage with unusual malice.
Judith cocked her head at Peter. “What is going on here?” Peter arched his forehead and shrugged, the picture of innocence.
Gwyneth glared at him. “My mistake, it seems,” she said.
“So, what are you ladies planning to do this morning?” Peter asked, in a deft move to prevent Gwyneth from stabbing him with her fork. “It promises to be a beautiful day.”
Grateful for the change in subject, Judith said, “I was planning a walk after breakfast. And I understand Lady Howley has arranged an excursion to the beach this afternoon.”
“Capital. May I join you on your walk?”
“No, you may not,” Gwyneth said primly. “I have some matters I wish to discuss with Judith.”
“You do?” Judith asked.
“Yes,” Gwyneth said, “don’t you remember?” She gave Judith a pointed look.
“Oh. Yes, of course, I do.” Judith said, more confused. “I am sorry, Lord Caxton. Perhaps we will see you on the beach.” She pushed her untouched plate away and stood. “I’ll get my wrap, Gwyneth. Shall I meet you in the front hall?”
“I’m coming.” Gwyneth rose as well and took Judith’s arm. “Shall we?”
Judith allowed herself to be propelled out of the room and out the front door. “My wrap?”
“You don’t need one. It’s quite warm.”
It was indeed warm, but the sun was in her eyes and she missed her bonnet. Gwyneth was clearly not to be deterred, however, and they were halfway through the garden before Judith dug in her heels.
“What has gotten into you, Gwyneth?”
Gwyneth toyed with a curl at her ear, a sure sign she didn’t want to talk about something.
“Well?” Judith resisted the impulse to stomp her foot.
Gwyneth sighed. “Fine. Last night after you retired, I advised Lord Caxton to return to London.”
“What? Why on earth would you do that?”
“Because he’s not good for you, Judith. He can’t marry you, of course, and I don’t want to see you ruined by him.”
Judith tamped down her rising fury. She took a deep breath. “I appreciate your trying to protect me, Gwyneth.”
“But you’d like me to mind my own business.”
“Yes.”
Gwyneth grasped Judith by the shoulders. “I can’t. Not after what I saw in the dining room.”
Judith’s flesh heated as she remembered Peter’s touch, his kisses on her neck, the sweet smell of tea of his breath. “Nothing happened,” she lied.
“Please, Judith. I’m not a fool. I saw very well what happened and can easily imagine what might have happened had I not walked in when I did. You’re lucky it was me and not Lady Wilcox.”
Gwyneth regarded her with a pleading expression. “Promise me you will keep your distance from him, Judith. Please? I will have no choice but to tell your mother if you don’t.”
“You’ll tell my mother what, exactly?”
“That you are becoming dangerously close to Lord Caxton, a confirmed rogue who is engaged to another woman.”
Every instinct told Judith her friend was right. Just as her heart told her she couldn’t stay away from the man. For now, she hugged Gwyneth. “I promise,” she whispered, knowing she’d break it in a heartbeat if given the opportunity.
****
The day remained as fine as Lord Caxton had promised. The sky was a vivid blue with only a wispy cloud here and there. Now attired in her bonnet and a wrap, Judith still blinked at the bright sun as they made their way to the open carriages that would take them to the beach.
Judith and her mother rode with Lady Howley, Gwyneth, and her mother. Judith suspected Gwyneth had somehow arranged this so she could keep an eye on her.
“Don’t be dismayed at the sight of the buildings in town. Folkestone has decayed somewhat in recent years, but the natural landscape is as beautiful as ever. Rumor has it they are making plans to build a railway with a stop here. We are close to France, after all. On a day such as this one, you can see all the way to the French coast.” Lady Howley continued in this vein, pointing out interesting sites and landmarks for the edification of her visitors. After a while Judith stopped listening, as the views of the sea were far more interesting than their hostess’ lecture. The dark blue waters of the Channel sparkled in the sun, contrasting with the bright greens and browns of the rocky landscape they passed. The waves lapped gently on the beach beneath them, punctuated by the occasional cries of a seabird.
Turning her attention away from the water, Judith kept her gaze fixed on the back of Peter’s head as he rode in the other carriage, his hair ruffling in the breeze. He was leaning toward Lord Kingsley, engaged in animated conversation, gesturing wildly with his hands.
Gorgeous hands, strong, with long fingers. Hands that could be gentle, bringing pleasure and delicious sensation. But now they were simply tools for emphasis, never still. He pointed this way and that, and at one point he nearly knocked Lady Ormonde’s magnificent hat off her head.
“What is so amusing?” Gwyneth whispered in her ear.
Judith blinked. “Amusing?”
“You laughed out loud.”
“Did I?” She’d had no idea. It had been funny to see Lady Ormonde smack the top of her hat to press it more securely onto her head, then glare at a clearly oblivious Peter. She wanted to know what he was talking about.
Her response did not please her friend. “Yes, you did. It was Lord Caxton, I assume, who caught your attention.”
“Actually, it was Lady Ormonde. Didn’t you see her almost lose her hat? What is that on the brim, can you tell? It looks like a drunken possum.”
Mollified, Gwyneth giggled, earning them both frowns from their respective mothers. Undeterred from her mission, Lady Howley acted as if nothing untoward had occurred, and continued her dissertation on the bird life of Kent.
Thus diverted from her perusal of the back of Lord Caxton’s strong hands and handsome head, Judith spent the rest of the ride in whispered conversation with Gwyneth about nothing in particular. She was almost disappointed when they arrived at their destination, which proved to be a derelict pier jutting into the water from a sandy beach. The tide was out, so there was plenty of room to explore. It was a bit chilly for swimming despite the warmth of the day, so Judith was pleased not to have to change into a bathing costume.
Lady Howley, however, had no such qualms. After inviting other women to join her but hearing only refusal, she strode to a lone bathing machine not far from the pier and disappeared inside. The footman who accompanied them to the beach pushed it into the water then discreetly withdrew. Although fascinated to see what the eccentric woman might put on, Judith allowed herself to be led off by Gwyneth to explore the pools left by the receding tide.
After a short while, Gwyneth was called away by her mother, so Judith stood alone by the shore, poking at a crab with a piece of driftwood when a cloud obscured the sun.
“What are you doing to that poor crustacean?” the cloud asked in a familiar voice.
Judith shaded her eyes with a hand and peered at Lord Caxton. She leaned back on her heels. “Goodness. You are large, aren’t you?”
“There’s the refreshing candor you exhibited on the night we met,” he said, laughing. “I wondered when I might see it again.”
“I’m not sure my mother would call it either refreshing or candid. She’s much more apt to call it impulsive and obnoxious.”
“How fortunate she’s over there, then.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the pier.
Judith scanned the beach for the rest of the guests. Lady Howley’s white head floated in the water, and the others roamed on various parts of the beach in groups of two, three, and four, leaving Judith quite alone with Peter. She was sure neither her mother nor Gwyneth would approve.
/>
Excitement surged through her veins.
“Shall we explore those caves, Lord Caxton?” She pointed to a dark patch at the end of the beach.
“I doubt we’ll get there before your mother stops us, but I’m willing if you are.” He winked, and the thrill settled into her belly, where it completely overran her good sense.
She looped her arm through his, and they set off down the beach.
“You seem quite at home near the water, Miss Leslie, yet I believe you come from the Midlands, do you not?”
“I do. But my mother is Scottish, and we spent our summers on Loch Lomond. I swim like a fish.”
“How intriguing.” His gaze roamed the length of her body as if he were gauging her buoyancy. “What sort of fish?”
“Does it matter?”
“Certainly. Fish are quite different, you know. There are those which swim near the surface, stopping now and then to snatch a dragonfly. Others stay near the bottom, flitting over the sand and feeding off scraps other creatures leave behind, drab in color and usually quite ugly. Then there are fish who swim near the middle, neither too cold nor too warm, too dark nor too light. Those fish, of course, are the most vibrant and colorful.” He stopped and looked her over once again. “Yes, I believe you’d be that sort of fish. Beautiful, swift, and clever, gracefully dancing in the rays of the sun filtering through the water.”
Judith’s mouth dropped open. Never had anyone called her beautiful, let alone graceful.
“I’ve rendered you speechless. Is that a first?”
Judith snapped her mouth shut. “Yes, I rather think it is. What a lovely thing to say. I’m sure no one has ever used any of those words to describe me, let alone all of them in a single sentence.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek. “They are all true.”
Judith swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “Oh, my,” she said, her voice croaky. She stared at his lips, willing him to kiss her even as one part of her brain knew they’d be spotted.
He licked his lips but kept his distance, dropped his hand to his side. “I believe we have caves to explore, Miss Leslie. Shall we?”
Treasure Her Heart Page 7