rescued damsel.
Swathed in a white chemise, which
clung to every nuance of her body, the lady trembled. Wet tendrils of reddish
brown hair hung to her waistline. Pale ice blue eyes watched him wearily. Her
teeth chattered and she wrapped her arms around her middle.
“Thank you for the rescue,” she
said.
“You’re most welcome. May I be of
further assistance?”
She shook her head, sending
droplets of water over them both. She gnawed at her lip, pushed hair from her
eyes, and said, “Why are you in the estate’s garden, in a storm, no less?”
He wished to ask the same of her,
but the sight of her scantily clad frame tortured his already frazzled mind.
“Sir? Why do you stare at me so?”
The discomfort in his legs and
bum from his less-than-graceful catch distracted him from his salacious
thoughts and he said, “I came to enjoy the flowers.”
The lady dropped her arms to her
sides, and if not for the covering of hair that wound over her shoulders, she
would have appeared completely nude.
Luke forced himself to look away
and mentally chanted, I am not a cur like Chadwick, I am not a cur like
Chadwick.
“Sir, begging your pardon, but
this hardly seems the time. Besides, you’re not in the public gardens. This
land belongs to the Baron of Stockport. One does not just drift into these
gardens and enjoy the flowers.”
He turned. A gentleman should
always face a lady when speaking to her.
His throat clenched as the chant
died away and he allowed his gaze to rove over her form for only a moment.
Clearing his throat, he spoke. “You don’t say? And what about you? Why are you
dropping from windows during a torrential downpour into the baron’s private
gardens?”
“I — I, um…” She tapped a finger
to her chin. Whatever her internal deliberation, she didn’t take long to say, “I
have every right to be here.”
“Do you now?” he asked.
“I do.”
“And why is that, my lady?’
She gnawed on her lip and Luke
fought his body’s carnal reaction to take over the chewing himself.
For a moment he believed she
would tell the truth and reveal her identity as Baroness Stockport, or that she
would accuse him of looking like her husband, but when she continued in silence
he thought of other concerns. They couldn’t continue to stand here. If the
lightning didn’t strike them then they would be spotted by the night watchmen,
neither of which he was prepared for.
Taking a chance, he grabbed her
arm and attempted to guide her to a safer location. She protested by digging
her heels into the mud and leaning backward. Wind from the storm kicked higher
and Luke’s fear escalated. They were running out of time.
Lightning flashed and lit up the
afternoon sky. She placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my word!”
“We need to move. The storm is
getting worse,” he said, hoping to distract her.
In a breathy tone, she said, “The
resemblance is uncanny.”
She moved forward and placed her
hands upon his chin, rotating his face and continuing to gasp.
“We need to move now. You don’t
want to be caught.” The last words were said with a hint of a threat.
“I won’t move until you tell me
who you are.” She backed away and crossed her arms over her chest.
Instead of waiting for
compliance, he hoisted her over his shoulder. She pummeled his back and kicked
above his waist. He kept his grunts of pain to himself, unwilling to give her
the satisfaction.
Gruffly, he announced, “I’m
Chadwick’s brother.”
The statement halted her beating
and he continued forward, skating on the slick grass toward the house.
Lightning struck and lit a crevice in the wall. He headed there. As soon as he
entered the tunnel, he dropped his burden and she yelped.
“Next time, don’t beat your
rescuer,” he said, his breath strained.
Smidgeons of light drifted
through the opening and she stood and massaged her behind. The action drew her
wet gown taut across her unrestrained chest, and he fought his desire to
Swathed in a white chemise, which
clung to every nuance of her body, the lady trembled. Wet tendrils of reddish
brown hair hung to her waistline. Pale ice blue eyes watched him wearily. Her
teeth chattered and she wrapped her arms around her middle.
“Thank you for the rescue,” she
said.
“You’re most welcome. May I be of
further assistance?”
She shook her head, sending
droplets of water over them both. She gnawed at her lip, pushed hair from her
eyes, and said, “Why are you in the estate’s garden, in a storm, no less?”
He wished to ask the same of her,
but the sight of her scantily clad frame tortured his already frazzled mind.
“Sir? Why do you stare at me so?”
The discomfort in his legs and
bum from his less-than-graceful catch distracted him from his salacious
thoughts and he said, “I came to enjoy the flowers.”
The lady dropped her arms to her
sides, and if not for the covering of hair that wound over her shoulders, she
would have appeared completely nude.
Luke forced himself to look away
and mentally chanted, I am not a cur like Chadwick, I am not a cur like
Chadwick.
“Sir, begging your pardon, but
this hardly seems the time. Besides, you’re not in the public gardens. This
land belongs to the Baron of Stockport. One does not just drift into these
gardens and enjoy the flowers.”
He turned. A gentleman should
always face a lady when speaking to her.
His throat clenched as the chant
died away and he allowed his gaze to rove over her form for only a moment.
Clearing his throat, he spoke. “You don’t say? And what about you? Why are you
dropping from windows during a torrential downpour into the baron’s private
gardens?”
“I — I, um…” She tapped a finger
to her chin. Whatever her internal deliberation, she didn’t take long to say, “I
have every right to be here.”
“Do you now?” he asked.
“I do.”
“And why is that, my lady?’
She gnawed on her lip and Luke
fought his body’s carnal reaction to take over the chewing himself.
For a moment he believed she
would tell the truth and reveal her identity as Baroness Stockport, or that she
would accuse him of looking like her husband, but when she continued in silence
he thought of other concerns. They couldn’t continue to stand here. If the
lightning didn’t strike them then they would be spotted by the night watchmen,
neither of which he was prepared for.
Taking a chance, he grabbed her
arm and attempted to guide her to a safer location. She protested by digging
her heels into the mud and leaning backward. Wind from the storm kicked higher
and Luke’s fear escalated. They were running out of time.
Lightning flashed and lit up the
afternoon sky. She placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my word!”
“We need to move. The storm is
getting worse,” he said, hoping to distract her.
In a breathy tone, she said, “The
resemblance is uncanny.”
She moved forward and placed her
hands upon his chin, rotating his face and continuing to gasp.
“We need to move now. You don’t
want to be caught.” The last words were said with a hint of a threat.
“I won’t move until you tell me
who you are.” She backed away and crossed her arms over her chest.
Instead of waiting for
compliance, he hoisted her over his shoulder. She pummeled his back and kicked
above his waist. He kept his grunts of pain to himself, unwilling to give her
the satisfaction.
Gruffly, he announced, “I’m
Chadwick’s brother.”
The statement halted her beating
and he continued forward, skating on the slick grass toward the house.
Lightning struck and lit a crevice in the wall. He headed there. As soon as he
entered the tunnel, he dropped his burden and she yelped.
“Next time, don’t beat your
rescuer,” he said, his breath strained.
Smidgeons of light drifted
through the opening and she stood and massaged her behind. The action drew her
wet gown taut across her unrestrained chest, and he fought his desire to
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