The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) by Frances Fowlkes Page A
Authors: Frances Fowlkes
Ads: Link
still had her eyes on the marquess and his prize.
“Yes, this way.” Albina stepped past Henrietta, but stumbled, her hand clutching Henrietta’s arm to steady herself in the sodden grass.
Henrietta, however, was not prepared for the sudden imbalance and tottered into the mud—with Albina alongside her.
…
Simon’s breath caught, his entire body stiffening as two daughters of Amhurst splashed into the marshy, wet earth. Feminine screams rent the air—along with muffled laughter and thinly concealed sniggers.
He rushed forward, bent his knee, and lowered himself into the mud, uncaring how much of the muck stained his breeches and boots, for it nowhere compared to the amount covering the two women.
Lady Henrietta lifted her head, her eyes bright against the dark slop dripping down her face. He was certain, were the layer of mud removed, her skin would have burned ten degrees of red.
“M-m-my lord,” she stuttered. Her eyes widened, even as more sludge dribbled down her face, half concealing her eye.
She had lifted her hand to no doubt wipe away the slimy dollop, when Lady Albina sat up, splattering both Lady Henrietta and him with thick clumps of wet earth. “Oh, Henrietta,” she cried. “How clumsy you become when you are nervous.”
To the best of his recollection, it had not been Lady Henrietta who had tumbled first into the mud, but the sister who glared in her direction.
Stunned, Simon sputtered, extending his palm to Lady Henrietta. “My lady, grab hold of my hand.” Both Lady Albina and Lady Henrietta reached for him, the unexpected sodden weight of both women tugging him forward and pulling him head first between them.
Simon quickly sat up and reached for the handkerchief in his front left jacket pocket. There, beside him, was Lady Henrietta, her eyes twinkling, her bright teeth flashing against the dark mud, looking all for the world as though she wished nothing more than to laugh.
And why shouldn’t she?
He was drenched, covered in a layer of muck no single handkerchief could possibly absorb.
And sitting beside a woman whose beauty could not be hidden beneath any amount of brown earth.
A deep rumble started in his chest, and his glee burst forward, loud in the quiet of the marsh. His heart warmed at the absurdity of the moment, at the very idea an earl’s daughter would rather laugh at life’s folly than pout at her misfortune.
Lady Henrietta startled, her eyes blinking, her mouth widening.
She giggled, her hand shooting out to cover her lips. Mud slung over her, drenching her hair, and she laughed harder, her rich high peals complementing his own.
The party did not, at least in its entirety, share in the mirth. While Satterfield and Lady Isabella added their laughter to his, Mr. Livingston, Miss Saxton, and even Lady Sarah refrained, their near reproachful expressions a stark reminder of the breach in decorum. Earls and their kin did not cover themselves in mud.
He stood abruptly, the laughter dying on his lips. Offering both of his hands to Lady Henrietta, he spaced his feet apart to ensure he did not repeat his earlier infraction.
She lifted her hand and placed it in his, her firm grip surprisingly strong through the mud and thin layer of her glove.
His heart pounded, though not from the exertion of righting her, but from her nearness…and the immodest way her dress clung to her curves.
She peered up at him, her face beaming. “Thank you.”
Were they alone, he would have kissed her, mud-encased lips be damned. But as it were,
Lady Albina cleared her throat and held up her hand, which he grasped, lifting the other miss out of the slop.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said in crisp, staccato tones, clearly not sharing in their merriment. “I am afraid I will have to withdraw my earlier offer. I am unable to lead you to the kitchens in my present state.”
He nodded. Similarly indisposed, neither was he. But should Satterfield somehow win the wager, the man was hell-bent on
“Yes, this way.” Albina stepped past Henrietta, but stumbled, her hand clutching Henrietta’s arm to steady herself in the sodden grass.
Henrietta, however, was not prepared for the sudden imbalance and tottered into the mud—with Albina alongside her.
…
Simon’s breath caught, his entire body stiffening as two daughters of Amhurst splashed into the marshy, wet earth. Feminine screams rent the air—along with muffled laughter and thinly concealed sniggers.
He rushed forward, bent his knee, and lowered himself into the mud, uncaring how much of the muck stained his breeches and boots, for it nowhere compared to the amount covering the two women.
Lady Henrietta lifted her head, her eyes bright against the dark slop dripping down her face. He was certain, were the layer of mud removed, her skin would have burned ten degrees of red.
“M-m-my lord,” she stuttered. Her eyes widened, even as more sludge dribbled down her face, half concealing her eye.
She had lifted her hand to no doubt wipe away the slimy dollop, when Lady Albina sat up, splattering both Lady Henrietta and him with thick clumps of wet earth. “Oh, Henrietta,” she cried. “How clumsy you become when you are nervous.”
To the best of his recollection, it had not been Lady Henrietta who had tumbled first into the mud, but the sister who glared in her direction.
Stunned, Simon sputtered, extending his palm to Lady Henrietta. “My lady, grab hold of my hand.” Both Lady Albina and Lady Henrietta reached for him, the unexpected sodden weight of both women tugging him forward and pulling him head first between them.
Simon quickly sat up and reached for the handkerchief in his front left jacket pocket. There, beside him, was Lady Henrietta, her eyes twinkling, her bright teeth flashing against the dark mud, looking all for the world as though she wished nothing more than to laugh.
And why shouldn’t she?
He was drenched, covered in a layer of muck no single handkerchief could possibly absorb.
And sitting beside a woman whose beauty could not be hidden beneath any amount of brown earth.
A deep rumble started in his chest, and his glee burst forward, loud in the quiet of the marsh. His heart warmed at the absurdity of the moment, at the very idea an earl’s daughter would rather laugh at life’s folly than pout at her misfortune.
Lady Henrietta startled, her eyes blinking, her mouth widening.
She giggled, her hand shooting out to cover her lips. Mud slung over her, drenching her hair, and she laughed harder, her rich high peals complementing his own.
The party did not, at least in its entirety, share in the mirth. While Satterfield and Lady Isabella added their laughter to his, Mr. Livingston, Miss Saxton, and even Lady Sarah refrained, their near reproachful expressions a stark reminder of the breach in decorum. Earls and their kin did not cover themselves in mud.
He stood abruptly, the laughter dying on his lips. Offering both of his hands to Lady Henrietta, he spaced his feet apart to ensure he did not repeat his earlier infraction.
She lifted her hand and placed it in his, her firm grip surprisingly strong through the mud and thin layer of her glove.
His heart pounded, though not from the exertion of righting her, but from her nearness…and the immodest way her dress clung to her curves.
She peered up at him, her face beaming. “Thank you.”
Were they alone, he would have kissed her, mud-encased lips be damned. But as it were,
Lady Albina cleared her throat and held up her hand, which he grasped, lifting the other miss out of the slop.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said in crisp, staccato tones, clearly not sharing in their merriment. “I am afraid I will have to withdraw my earlier offer. I am unable to lead you to the kitchens in my present state.”
He nodded. Similarly indisposed, neither was he. But should Satterfield somehow win the wager, the man was hell-bent on
Similar Books
