A Scandalous Marriage by Cathy Maxwell Page B

taking off her shoes. “I have my secrets too, my lord. Why, I’m the best tree climber in all Nottinghamshire.”
    “You’re joking.”
    “No, Julian and William could never keep up with me.” Her eyes danced with excitement. “Come along, Huxhold, be adventurous.”
    He laughed to have his own words turned on him. “We have no trees here.”
    “Of course not. I’m going to climb you.”
    Now she had his attention. Intrigued, he made a step with his hands. She placed her stocking foot in it, knocked off his hat, and climbed up on his shoulders with the balance of a trained acrobat.
    Devon pushed her skirts aside with his nose. He stood very still lest she fall. He faced the opposite warehouse; she faced the windows.
    “Why, Miss Carrollton, you are a hoyden,” he said with mock sincerity.
    Her peal of joyful laughter rang loud and clear.

    “Yes, I am, my dear Huxhold. A terrible hoyden. To be honest, I miss the freedom of being myself. It seems the only time I can be me is when I’m with you. Now move over two steps to the right. I can’t see in the window.”
    Just to tease her, he took a step to the left. She had wonderful balance and laughingly coaxed him in the direction she wanted to go. It was fun. It was silly. But it was also spring, and they were young, and it seemed completely right and natural.
    Leah directed him. “Closer to the window. Over a bit. Ah, yes. I can see!”
    She attempted to rise up on her tiptoes. Devon held her slim ankles. It would do no good to anyone if she fell.
    “This window is so dirty,” she complained.
    “It’s the salt air.”
    “Yes,” she agreed absently. She rubbed a spot clean before making a disappointed sound. “I can’t see a thing. There are rolls of fabric, but they are covered in sackcloth.”
    “I know.”
    “You knew!” she echoed with a quiver of indignation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “Well, I would have, but then you started climbing me and it was a temptation I couldn’t resist.”
    “Temptation?” she asked suspiciously.
    Devon nodded. “Very much of a temptation.” To add meaning to his words, he lightly nipped her ankle.
    She wiggled at his touch, giggling. “Stop that.”
    “Stop that or you’ll what?” he demanded, looking up at her. He let his fingers stroke the silk of her stocking.
    “Or I will be very angry,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Let me down now.”
    “I can’t. You’ll have to climb down the way you came up,” he quipped, anticipating the feel of her body skinnying its way down his—and the kiss he would claim at first opportunity.
    They were so involved with each other that they didn’t see the man turn into the narrow walkway between the buildings until his drawling voice said, “Huxhold, amazed to see you in these parts. Don’t come here often myself.” It was Sir Godfrey Rigston, a friend of his grandfather’s.
    Leah made a soft cry, and Devon felt her go rigid with the fear of discovery.
    “Sir Godfrey,” he said in greeting, attempting to act as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to have a woman standing on his shoulders.
    Sir Godfrey stared up with no little curiosity, but since Leah’s back was to them, Devon hoped she was safe from recognition. “What brings you down to the wharves this time of day?” he asked.

    “No purpose,” Sir Godfrey answered. He was a portly man with a protruding lower lip and a nose like a parrot’s beak. He enjoyed wearing a curly wig. “Had a friend preparing to sail with the tide and accompanied him for the ride. Seemed a good place to visit on such a fine day.”
    “That it is.”
    “I say, Huxhold.”
    “Yes?”
    “Is that a woman standing on your shoulders?” the man asked with perfect English understatement.
    Leah muffled a small sound with her hands as Devon answered with equal seriousness, “Yes, Sir Godfrey, it is.”
    “You lead a devilishly fine life, Huxhold,” the older man confided.
    “I believe I do,