Whirlwind Wedding

Chapter 6

Elizabeth approached the stables early the next morning, anxious to get out of the house after a restless night spent trying to forget her disturbing encounter with the duke. Had he gone riding? She'd lain awake half the night, listening for rain, but the weather had thankfully remained fair. Hopefully some fresh air and a brisk ride would obliterate her worry and concern, not to mention the disappointment and hurt, aching inside at the realization that she'd never convince him about her visions.

Yet she knew mere exercise would never erase the memory of that kiss. That incredible, soul-stirring, unforgettable kiss that had touched her deep inside and awakened a sleeping passion she hadn't known existed. And kindled feelings… yearnings… she was afraid to examine too closely.

She desperately wanted needed, to forget the exquisite feel of him, the heavenly taste of him. but her heart was simply not cooperating.

She entered the stables and Mortlin greeted her with a smile. "Come to visit the cats, Miss Matthews? Or do ye wish to ride?"

Forcing aside her turmoil, she returned the groom's smile, then bent down to scratch George behind her ears. "Both. How about I visit with the kittens while you saddle a mount for me?"

"Fine idea," Mortlin said. "Look, there's two 'idin' by that 'ay stack that ye 'aven't met."

Spying the two frisky calico furballs, she said "They're adorable. What are their names?" She sent him an arch look. "Or should I not ask?"

Color seeped into Mortlin's thin cheeks and he shuffled his feet. "Well, the bigger one's named Zounds-"

"That isn't so terrible."

"And the other one is, er…" He flushed to the tips of his protruding ears. "I can't say it in front of a lady."

Pressing her lips together to contain her amusement, she said "I see."

"Guess I've got to change the wee beastie's name, but 'twas the first thing what popped out of me mouth when it was born." He shook his head clearly bemused. "Them kittens just kept comin' and comin'. No stoppin' them, there was. Gave me quite a turn, it did."

"Yes, I imagine so." She ran her hands over George's warm belly, then stilled. After gently pressing the furry tummy several more times, she hid a smile. "The gestation period for a cat is about sixty days. I'm afraid I won't still be here when George gives birth to her next litter, or I'd offer to assist you. I'm quite capable in these matters."

"I'm sure ye are, but…" His voice trailed off and his eyes widened to saucers. "Next litter?"

"Yes. I predict George will be a mama again in about a month."

Mortlin's widened eyes bugged out. "Surely the beast is just fat! The kittens aren't even three months old! 'Ow the blazes did this 'appen?"

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the groom's dumbfounded expression. "In the usual way, I suspect." Giving George's tummy one last rub, Elizabeth stood then patted the man's arm. "Do not worry yourself, Mortlin. George will be fine, and you'll have a new group of mice catchers."

"Got more mice catchers underfoot now than I need" he grumbled. "Stubble it, this is supposed to be a stable. I'm a groom, not a cat doctor. I'd best saddle yer mount now-before the blasted feline starts spewin' out babes again."

Suppressing her amusement, Elizabeth entertained herself with the kittens while Mortlin went about his tasks. He soon presented her with a lovely brown mare named Rosamunde and offered her a hand up. She landed in the sidesaddle with a bone-jarring plop that shook her teeth. At home she'd often ridden astride on her solitary rides, but she dared not do so here even though she disliked sidesaddle. The fussy riding ensemble English fashion dictated she wear also irritated her. So many yards of material and poufs and flounces. She thought with longing of the simple, lightweight riding habits she'd fashioned herself and worn in America. Aunt Joanna had taken one look at them and nearly swooned. "Totally unsuitable, my dear," Aunt Joanna had declared. "We must do something about your wardrobe immediately."

Adjusting her heavy skirts around her as best she could Elizabeth started off. At the end of the short path leading from the stable, she paused and looked back. Mortlin was crouched down on his haunches, his weathered face wreathed in tenderness as he gently petted George's swollen belly. He clearly thought she was out of earshot for he said "We'll 'ave to come up with some dignified names for yer new set of babies. Can't have any more of them called Double Damnation."

Smiling to herself, she headed toward the forest. She traveled along the bank of the stream, enjoying the fresh clean air and the sunshine warming her face. She was not, however, enjoying the sidesaddle or the blasted riding habit that imprisoned her legs.

When she reached the area where the stream widened and spilled into the lake, she pulled Rosamunde to a halt. She was wriggling her bottom around desperate to untangle her legs from the yards of ungainly material binding them, when she felt herself slipping from the saddle. A startled yelp of dismay escaped her. She grabbed for the pommel, but wasn't quick enough. She fell ignominiously from the horse, landing on her backside.

Unfortunately she landed right in the mud.

Even worse, she landed on a slippery steep incline. She slid down the slimy, wet embankment, screaming all the way, and landed in the stream with a loud splash. She sat stock-still, speechless with shock. Her legs stuck straight out in front of her, her boots completely submerged under the muddy water. Cold water lapped at her waist.

"Have an accident?" a familiar voice asked from behind her.

She gritted her teeth. Clearly he was unharmed thank goodness, but she did not care for him happening along to witness her humiliation. "No, thank you. I've already had one." Perhaps if she ignored him he'd go away.

Her hope was in vain.

"Dear me," the duke said tskmg his tongue in a sympathetic fashion. She heard him dismount and make his way down to the water's edge. "You seem to have gotten yourself into a bit of a predicament here."

Turning her head she glared at him over her shoulder.

"I am not in a predicament, your grace. I'm merely a bit damp."

"You're also horseless."

"Nonsense. My mount is…" Her voice trailed off as she scanned the area. Her mare was nowhere in sight.

"Probably halfway back to the stables by now. Must have been all that screaming you did on your way down. Makes some horses very skittish. Apparently Rosamunde is such a horse. Pity." His smoky eyes gleamed at her, clearly indicating his amusement. "I'd ask if you are all right, but I seem to recall that you possess a most robust constitution."

"That is correct."

"Are you hurt?"

She tried to lift her legs and failed. "I'm not sure. My riding habit is soaked and so heavy, I can barely move." Her irritation tripled when she realized she did indeed need help. "Do you suppose I could trouble you for some assistance?"

He stroked his chin as if seriously pondering her question. "I'm not certain if I should aid you. I'd hate to risk getting all wet and dirty. Perhaps I should leave you there and go back for some help. I could return in, oh, about an hour or so." He looked at her, brows raised. "What do you think about that?"

She didn't think much of it at all. In fact, she was pretty well sick and tired of his amusement at her expense. She'd spent a sleepless night worrying about him and now he stood before her, perfectly fit and healthy, and all but chortling at her. The arrogant man deserved to have that smug look wiped off his face. But she could barely move.

He turned as if to walk away and truly leave her stranded and her temper snapped. Picking up a handful of mud she slung it, meaning to make a splash and gain his attention.

Unfortunately he chose that exact instant to turn around.

Worse, she threw the mud with more force than she'd intended.

The large gooey blob landed smack in the middle of his chest, splattering his pristine white shirt. The goop slid down his body, smudging his immaculate buff breeches, landing with a soft thud on the toe of one of his highly polished riding boots.

Elizabeth froze. She hadn't meant to hit him… had she? Good lord he did not look pleased. A horrified giggle bubbled up in her throat and she fought to contain it. His expression clearly indicated that laughing would not be in her best interests.

He didn't move. His eyes followed the ruinous downward path the mud had streaked on his clothing, then he raised his gaze to hers.

Plastering a sunny smile on her face, she said "You no longer need to worry about getting all wet and dirty, your grace. There appears to be a rather nasty stain on your attire."

"You're going to regret doing that." His voice held more than a small amount of menace and his eyes bored into hers in a threatening manner. "You'll be very sorry indeed."

"Pooh," she scoffed. "You don't scare me."

He advanced a step. "You should be scared."

"Why? What are you going to do? Throw me into the water?"

He advanced another step. "No. I believe I'll throw you over my knees and thrash the living daylights out of you."

She raised her brows. "Thrash me? Truly?"

"Truly."

"Oh, dear. Well, as long as I'm to be thrashed I might as well really deserve it." She launched another handful of mud. This one landed with a wet splat against his belly.

Austin froze. He looked down at his ruined shirt in stunned amazement. Few men would dare push him this way. He couldn't believe she had the nerve to hit him once, let alone twice with mud. She was going to pay dearly for this. Very dearly indeed.

His musings were interrupted by a mud ball whizzing by his ear. It missed his face by less than a hair.

That did it. He splashed into the water, grabbed her by her arms, and hauled her to her feet. "You're aware, of course, that this means war," he ground out, his gaze raking her flushed laughing face.

"Of course. But keep in mind who won the last time the Americans and the British engaged in battle."

"I'm most confident of your defeat, Miss Matthews."

"I'm most confident of your defeat, your grace."

Austin halted at her words, his eyes narrowing on the mud splattered across her pert nose. Her gold-flecked gaze met his with sparkling challenge, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her dimples peeked out. His attention riveted on her full, lush lips. A tingle ran through him, recalling the feel of those lips crushed beneath his mouth. He forced his gaze upward and met her eyes- golden brown orbs brimming with laughter.

She was utterly impossible. Impertinent beyond all measure. His clothing was ruined and he was standing in the damn lake. He was wet, uncomfortable and… furious.

Wasn't he furious?

A frown pinched his brow. Yes, of course he was. Furious. He absolutely was not amused. Not in the least. This was not at all funny. And he certainly was not enjoying himself. Not a bit.

"Prepare yourself to be thrashed" he warned. Turning toward the embankment, he pulled her along.

"You'll have to catch me first!"

She yanked herself free of his restraining hand and lifting her sodden skirts to her knees, treaded her way farther out into the lake. "Come back here. Now."

"So you can thrash me? Ha! I think not!" She backed several more steps away, until the water came to her waist. Suddenly her musical laugh rang out. "Good heavens! You should see yourself! You look so funny!"

Austin looked down. His wet filthy shirt clung to his chest like a second skin, and black muddy stripes adorned his riding breeches. Several dead leaves clung to his ruined boots.

"I would wager you've never been so disheveled in your entire aristocratic life," she said, laughing. "I must say, you're looking most distinctly un-dukelike."

"Come here."

"No."

"Now."

She shook her head, her smile never faltering.

Austin stalked forward plowing through the chilly water, filled with purpose and grim determination. And somehow managing to conceal his unexpected and unwanted amusement. Damn woman. She was nothing but a plague on a man's sanity. He'd expected her to try to flee, but she stood her ground and awaited his arrival with a bright smile on her lovely face. He stopped a foot from her and waited.

"I started out this morning feeling rather grim, but this episode has cheered me considerably," she said her dimples winking at him. "You must admit that this is rather humorous."

"Must I?"

She squinted in an exaggerated fashion and peered at his face. In spite of himself, a grin tugged at his lips. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "I saw that smile." For the life of him, he couldn't explain why he found this debacle amusing. The "Notorious Duke of Bradford, England's Most Eligible Bachelor"-covered in mud, lake water lapping at his hips, conversing with a woman whose beaming smile held not a bit of remorse, only amusement. The esteemed members of the ton would take to their beds in shock if they could see him now, utterly filthy and bedraggled accompanied by an equally filthy and bedraggled American.

Her gaze dipped to his wet shirt. "This was a lovely shirt. I'm sorry it's ruined your grace, truly I am." Reaching out, she brushed her hand over his wet sleeve, then raised her gaze to his. "It was not my original intention to hit you with the mud, but once I had well, it seemed a pity not to take advantage of the opportunity. To be perfectly candid I think you needed something to make you laugh. And as for me, this adventure is the most fun I've had in months."

Austin's muscles jumped reflexively under her light touch. He searched her eyes for any signs of deceit or falseness and saw nothing but innocence and warmth. This was the most fun she'd had in months. Hell, he certainly could say the same. Of course, it wasn't necessary to tell her that.

Heaving a resigned sigh, he asked, "Does calamity follow you everywhere, Miss Matthews? This is the second time you've fallen practically at my feet."

"I fear that falling in such a manner runs in my family."

"What do you mean?"

"It's how my mother and father met. Mother came out of a millinery shop and tripped and fell at Papa's feet. She twisted her ankle in the fall, and Papa tended to her wound."

"I see. At least you come by your unfortunate propensity to tumble honestly."

"Yes, but I wouldn't call it unfortunate."

"Really? Why is that?"

She hesitated and he found himself mesmerized by her suddenly serious brown eyes. "Because it's how I first met you." A tiny smile curved her lips. "Even though you are somewhat arrogant and more than a little pigheaded I find that I… well, rather like you."

Austin stared at her in blank astonishment. "You like me?"

"Yes. You're a warm and caring man. Of course," she added in a dry tone, "you manage to hide that fact quite well sometimes."

"Warm and caring?" he repeated in a bemused voice. "How did you reach that conclusion?"

"I know because I touched you. But even if I hadn't, I would still be able to tell." Her gaze settled on his muddy shirt. "You've been an exceptionally good sport about all this. I'd wager you've never done anything like this, have you?"

"Never."

"I thought not. Yet you eventually managed to see the funny side of this episode, although your initial shock was quite evident." Her gaze turned speculative. "You keep people at arm's length, thus cultivating an aloof, cool air. However, you treat your sister with kind indulgence and your mother with warmth and courtesy. I've spent enough time with you and observed you with enough people to know what sort of man you really are… how good and decent you are."

Tightness invaded his chest, her words confusing him, throwing him off balance. He was further surprised when a heated flush of pleasure flooded his face. He had to forcibly jerk his thoughts away from the staggering notion that this woman considered him warm and caring. Decent. And good to his family. If you knew how I failed William, you would realize how wrong you are.

Before he could fashion a reply, she said "I realize our meeting last evening ended on a strained note, but might we not start afresh?"

"Afresh?"

"Yes. It's an American word meaning 'all over again.' I thought, perhaps if we tried very, very hard we might be… friends. And in the spirit of blossoming friendship, I'd like you to call me Elizabeth."

Blossoming friendship"? Bloody hell, now he'd heard everything. Friends? With a woman? And this particular woman? Impossible. There were only a handful of men he called friends. Women could be mothers, sisters, aunts, or lovers, but not friends. Or could they?

He searched her face and it struck him just how different she was from any woman he'd ever met. How was it possible that, in spite of her strange claims of visions and the fact that she obviously had secrets, she made him feel she was trustworthy? Whatever it was, he couldn't deny, even to himself, that she attracted him like a moth to a flame.

If she wished to believe they were friends, he'd do nothing to disabuse her of the notion-at least not until he'd found out everything he needed to know from her.

But with each passing moment it was increasingly difficult to believe that she was involved in any way with blackmailers or schemes of any sort.

Clearing his throat, he said "I would be delighted to call you Elizabeth. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Amusement twinkled in her eyes. "Your grace."

He nearly chuckled at her obvious tone and expectation for him to return the honor. Didn't she have any notion how impertinent it was for her to even imply that she call him something other than "your grace"? Such familiarity, such intimacy, was completely beyond the pale.

Intimacy. A sudden, overwhelming longing to hear his name pass her remarkable lips assailed him. "Some people call me Bradford."

"Bradford" she repeated slowly, drawing out the syllables in a soft, husky voice that had him clenching his teeth. What would hearing her say his Christian name do to him?

"A few people call me by my given name of Austin."

"Austin," she said softly, shooting a hot tingle straight through him. "It's a very fine name. Strong, commanding, noble. It suits you perfectly."

"Thank you," he said taken aback not only by her compliment but by the pleasurable warmth it sent trickling down his spine. "My friends call me Austin. You may do so if you wish."

He inwardly groaned astounded by his unprece-dented offer. He must be losing his mind. What the hell would people think of her if they heard her call him Austin? He'd have to warn her not to say it in front of anyone-to call him that only when they were alone together.

Alone together. Bloody hell, he was losing his mind!

"Why, thank you… Austin. So, am I forgiven?"

He jerked his attention back. "Forgiven?"

"Yes. For, urnmrnm…" She glanced down at his ruined clothes.

He followed her gaze. "Ah, yes. The extremely sad state of my attire. Are you truly sorry?"

She nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes."

"Do you promise never to do such a dastardly thing again?"

"Hmmm. Do you mean never-as in never again in my entire life?"

"That was the general idea, yes."

"Oh, dear." She pursed her lips, but her eyes glowed alight with mischief. "I'm afraid I cannot make such a far-reaching promise."

"I see." He heaved a sigh of resignation. "Well, in that case, can you possibly endeavor to behave yourself long enough for us to make it back to the house?"

"Oh, yes," she agreed with a beaming smile. "I can promise that."

"Thank God. In that case, I suppose I'll have to forgive you. Let's get out of this water before we shrivel up." He turned and started back toward shore. "Are you coming?" he asked when she didn't follow him.

"I wish I could, but I can't," she said struggling to move. "My feet have sunken in the mud and my skirts are too heavy to budge." Her dimples winked. "Do you suppose I could trouble you for some assistance?"

Austin looked heavenward. "The last time you asked me that I ended up receiving a mud bath." He glared at her. "I trust you'll recall your promise to behave yourself? I could leave you out there, you know."

She held her hand over her heart. "I promise."

He sloshed his way back to her, muttering uncomplimentary words about females in general. "Put your arms around my neck."

She did so and he swept her up into his arms, nearly staggering under the combined weight of her and her sodden clothing. Cold water poured from her garments, sluicing down his body, while mud oozed from her boots. She nestled her face on his shoulder and his body tightened in reaction to the feel of her wet body snuggled against his chest. He bent his head and breathed in the flowery fragrance of her hair. Damn it, even covered in mud she still smelled like lilacs.

Once on the shore, he lowered her until her feet touched the ground her body slowly dragging along his. Her wet clothes clung to her, outlining her curvaceous shape, and he swallowed a groan. Her hardened nipples were clearly outlined against the damp material, and her legs appeared endless. God, she was incredible. Even slathered in mud, he wanted her.

His entire body pulsed to life, and when she tried to step back his hands tightened on her waist. God help him, he'd never wanted to kiss a woman more. Even as warning bells clanged in his head, he moved his mouth slowly toward hers. He had to taste her again… just one more time.

She slapped her palms against his chest. "What are you doing?"

"I was preparing to collect my payment."

"For what?"

"My ruined attire."

"By kissing me?"

"Of course. It's an old and noble custom here in England. One kiss for a muddy shirt and breeches. Did no one tell you?"

"I'm afraid it has not come up in conversation."

"Well, now that you know, you'd best pay up. Otherwise, it's debtors' prison for you."

She raised her brows. "One kiss?"

"I'd be happy to charge you two. In fact-"

"Oh, no," she said hastily. "One is fine."

"Well, since you insist…" He drew her closer, until her breasts brushed his chest, then covered her mouth with his own.

The instant their lips met, he was lost. Utterly and completely. Lost in the silky feel of her, the warm taste of her, the soft, flowery scent of her. Every rational thought slipped from his mind as his hands ran up her sides and cupped her full breasts. He teased her nipples into points and she gasped dropping her head limply back. He took immediate advantage, running his lips down the long slender column of her throat, each touch dragging him deeper and deeper into a heated haze where nothing existed but the woman in his arms.

"Austin…" she breathed. "Please. We must stop."

Expending an effort that nearly killed him, he lifted his head and gazed into her dazed desire-filled eyes. Lust smacked him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He wanted nothing more than to peel off her wet gown and make love to her. And if he didn't move away from her now, he might do just that.

He stepped back and immediately missed the feel of her pressed against him. Unable to resist the urge to touch her, he reached out, took her hands, and entwined their fingers.

Elizabeth pushed the hazy cobwebs from her mind. For the second time, this man had kissed her breathless. Mindless. Until nothing mattered but him.

But she'd had to stop. She'd allowed him more liberties than any decent woman would. But the effort had cost her. She'd wanted nothing more than to let him continue kissing her, touching her, igniting her skin, filling her senses with his heavenly taste and woodsy scent.

At that instant he squeezed her hands and his thoughts filled her mind with breathtaking clarity.

He wanted to make love to her.

Wanted to peel off her wet gown and touch her. Everywhere.

Making love. Love. Heat flooded her and her heart nearly jumped from her body. Is that what this feeling was? This bone-melting, can't-breathe, can't-stop-thinking-about-him, ever-want-his-kiss-to-end feeling? This overpowering need to help and protect him?

Dear God, was she falling in love with Austin?