Upon arriving at the edge of the cliff, where the path dropped into the cove, Margaret extracted her hand from George’s arm and moved away to stand by herself. “You mustn’t feel you need to come down simply because I am doing so.”
“I’m quite happy to, my dear.”
But Margaret would not wait for him to go ahead of her, nor would she wait for the younger set, of which a few of the ladies appeared somewhat reluctant when presented with the actual rocky path that wound through the steep terrain. Without saying a word to anyone, she marched determinedly toward the trail, hitched her skirt up, and carefully chose her steps.
She glanced backward when some gravel sounded behind her but rather than George descending, it was the other man who’d taken up most of her thoughts.
Her breath hitched, and she turned away abruptly. As much as she’d tried to forget everything that had transpired between the two of them, she’d failed miserably.
“My uncle has decided to remain at the top and has charged me with ensuring that Dear Lady Asherton does not plummet off the side of the path and meet with a violent death.” His voice taunted her. Unless that was simply Margaret’s imagination. She did not know him all that well, after all. Aside from those few minutes she’d spent in his bed, he was a virtual stranger.
And those other few moments in a dark closet.
She only knew the taste of his mouth and the texture of his skin. Her face flushed hotly as she inadvertently recalled the moment that the tip of his tongue grazed her palm.
A stranger though!
“I’m perfectly capable. I’ve hiked down thousands of times.” Well, perhaps not thousands, but it was hardly as though she was some doddering old aunt. She failed to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“Oh!” A gust of wind swooshed from below and her hand flew to her head, but she was not quick enough. Almost like a bird, her favorite hat was tossed in the wind, floated, and then disappeared out of sight.
She stood staring dumbstruck at the loss of it long enough for Lord Rockingham to catch up with her.
“It was bound to happen,” he commented in an offhand manner as he arrived beside her.
“It was my favorite,” she said to the wind and then flicked her glance sideways.
Whereas she was staring off in hopes that her hat would magically come flying back up to her, he had been studying her unapologetically.
“I quite prefer you without it. You are sunshine itself, in that gown.”
Margaret rolled her eyes heavenward. “You are absurd.” The man flirted as easily as he breathed.
“Not at all. I hope my uncle appreciated your efforts.” Hands behind his back, as though daring the path to trip him, he stepped in front of her and indicated they should continue along their journey. “Speaking of Uncle George, have you discovered the answer to your question yet?”
“That is none of your business, My Lord.”
“So, you have not.”
“And it is none of your concern.” She picked her steps carefully as she followed behind him.
“Oh, but it is. As a person who has… proprietary knowledge of your requirements, I feel I’d be shirking my responsibility if I was not concerned.”
“Oh, please.” Margaret knew she needed to chastise him for his impertinence and yet she found herself grinning as she picked her way down the uneven terrain. He truly was foolish in his brash confidence. He was too young to see the world as anything other than his very own kingdom to conquer.
The path made a hairpin-like turn, steeply winding around and then revealed the most harrowing stretch of the hike. He waited for her, and she strolled right past. She had not once met with injury or come even close in the numerous times she’d navigated it.
“You’re like a goat.” His laughter floated up behind her. “Perhaps I should take your hand so that you can keep me from falling.”
Cool fingers wrapped around her wrist, and he moved closer behind her.
“You are the most absurd young man,” she accused although she was unable to hold back her own laughter.
“And you are an adventurous young woman,” he rejoined.
“Not young,” she asserted. He was teasing her again.
“You are not yet thirty, even.”
“For another three days.” The milestone birthday was so near as to be a forgone conclusion by now. If she were a man, she would be just reaching her prime. As a woman, as a woman of her advanced age, she had already become somewhat invisible. Despite that, George had noticed her. He was providing her with an opportunity to have a child of her own. Marrying him might be the last chance she had to matter to someone… to be needed.
Her foot slipped, and Lord Rockingham’s other arm came around her. “Careful now, old woman. I don’t fancy carrying you out of here.”
“You are absurd!” she accused him again. But he was not really calling her old, and it didn’t bother her nearly as much as George’s gentle protection. “How old are you, anyway? One and twenty? Two?”
“Good lord, no.” His answer caused her to slide him an incredulous glance. The wink he gave her nearly caused her to lose her footing again. Because at the same time, she contemplated that he must be at least a full decade younger than her, she reluctantly concluded that she’d spent the most sensual moments of her life in his bed.
“Do not tell me you have not yet achieved your majority.”
“Why would it matter? Because instead of dreaming of your intended, you now dream of me?”
She kept her gaze on the ground in an effort to hide the truth. Because she had dreamt of him. She’d relived those moments in his chamber over and over again.
“Age matters.” She spoke to herself as well as to him. The entire situation was inappropriate and such thoughts on her part needed to be nipped in the bud. Not only because of Lord Rockingham’s age but because of his relationship to George.
They stepped carefully down the steep section in silence, not uncomfortable but charged with unanswered questions and something else—attraction. Plain and simple attraction.
“You do not really intend to marry him, do you? If nothing else, he’s too old for you.” Lord Rockingham finally broke the silence.
Margaret shook her head. “Men are never too old for anything. A lady is nothing but too old once she passes the age of five and twenty.”
“You are not too old for me.” He was, indeed, a grown man. But he was a very young grown man. Margaret’s foot slipped and had he not been holding her wrist; she might have landed on her bum.
“I don’t know why we are even arguing over this. I am too old.”
“You did not seem too old the other night.”
Margaret exhaled loudly. “That matters not.”
He would not let it be. “Let me understand you properly. Passion matters so much that you were willing to seduce my uncle, who, by the way, is over twenty years your senior, but not at all with me, who is only a few years your junior.”
Margaret exhaled loudly again. Even if he was interested in her now, it would not last very long… And he was George’s nephew! “Leave it be. If our first meeting had been a normal and… proper one, I daresay you would not have even noticed me.”
“Possibly,” he answered, disappointing a tiny piece of her—a vain piece of her that wished he had denied the lowering truth. “But not likely.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
She drew her hand away from his as the path evened out in an attempt to place some distance between them.
“Four and twenty,” he finally said. “And I would have noticed you. I am certain of it. You are not like the other ladies here.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know that you are courageous. I know that you are compassionate. At the same time, you are proper and proud. You are interesting—an intriguing combination of woman, Margaret.”
“Lady Asherton,” she corrected him. Dear God, what was wrong with her? Because she warmed at his wo
rds. They fed something in her that had felt starved for so very long. Toward the end of her marriage, she had been a friend, a confidante, and a caretaker to her husband. Lawrence had appreciated her. He had needed her. But at some point, she had ceased to feel like a woman.
The terrain leveled out and the dirt and rocks turned into an even stretch of nothing but sand. The sound of crashing waves drew her attention, tempting her to remove her shoes and wade into the surf.
“You know you want to do it. The sun is yet warm and this might be your last opportunity before the cold sets in.” His words seemed to echo her thoughts. There was no guarantee that it would be warm enough to wade in at the end of the house party, or tomorrow, even, for that matter.
Lord Rockingham had already lowered himself to a nearby rock and was removing his boots.
She had not been in the ocean, in the water, since before Lawrence passed away. Why was that? She would not remove her boots. She would not wade into the foaming waves that practically called out to her. She would wait and watch the others from a nearby boulder until everyone was tired and sandy and then she would hike back up.
Just as she went to sit down, a voice carried across the sand.
“There you are, My Lord!” Miss Drake and, behind her, a handful of other young people had emerged from the path onto the beach. “And Lady Asherton! How very brave of you to hike down before anyone else could go before you! You are so very sturdy and independent.”
And yet, her words did not feel like a compliment of any sort.
“Surely, Lord Rockingham, you do not plan on going into the water. Lady Asherton, you must talk some sense into him.” Mrs. Glenda Spencer spoke up from behind the young blonde woman. The second lady couldn’t be much older than twenty, herself, but had married into one of England’s most prominent families.
Both of the young women’s assumptions irked Margaret. She wondered that she had never found herself feeling so annoyed by such comments before attending this house party.
“I have no reason to talk Lord Rockingham into or out of anything. He is his own person and must arrive at his own decisions.”
His laughter echoed off the rocks that surrounded the cove.
“All that aside, why would Lady Asherton attempt to stop me from doing something she intends doing herself? Nothing scandalous about dipping one’s toes into the sea, last I heard.” He directed his words toward those who had just arrived, but Margaret felt as though he was daring her.
The sideways glance he slid in her direction confirmed her suspicions.
Miss Drake hugged her arms at her elbows and flicked a glance toward where the waves folded onto the sand and then bubbled and frothed before halting and then retreating.
The sea captured Margaret’s attention as well. “The summer is over, and the days are growing short,” she announced. “And I daresay that the water is like to turn one’s toes into tiny chips of ice.” She met Mrs. Spencer’s gaze, knowing Lord Rockingham was watching her. “But I daresay, this is bound to be our last opportunity this year, and I’ll simply have to take my chances.” And with that, she bent forward and began unlacing her half-boots. It had been too long. Far too long.
By the time she had removed both shoes and stockings, several of the other young people were doing so as well. A few were already frolicking at the water’s edge. A shrill cry from one of the young ladies was followed by a collection of laughter.
The ocean was relatively calm, and the sun shone warmly down from a cloudless sky. How could they not wade into the water on such a perfect day?
Sebastian could not help but appreciate the sight of the most proper Lady Asherton hitching her skirt up in order to venture into the foam of cresting waves. And then, as though lured by the sea itself, she moved farther into the surf where smaller waves crashed harmlessly before rolling to shore. A few more daring steps and the bottom half of her gown was soaked.
She didn’t seem to mind.
Raising one hand to keep her hair from covering her face as the wind whipped it out of her coiffure, she turned her back to the sea and gazed up at the cliffs. Sebastian’s breath caught. He couldn’t help but wish he had his sketchpad so that he could capture her image and perhaps some of her essence in that moment.
She grinned when she caught him watching her and at the same time, a larger set of waves came rolling into shore. Sebastian moved to call out but not in time. One rogue wave, much larger than those that had crashed before it, rose up behind her and crashed into her shoulders. An instant later, a second wave submerged her completely.
He rushed into the water toward her in case she required assistance but then breathed in relief when her face emerged. She sputtered in shock but then burst into a fit of laughter.
She reminded him of springtime—of a flower daring to bloom.
He was glad that Uncle George had not made the climb down the cliffs. She would not, Sebastian knew, have relinquished her inhibitions to swim if his uncle was present.
Others were wading into the water now, emboldened by Lady Asherton’s decision to swim, and sounds of laughter and a few coquettish screams competed with the wind and the crashing waves. He had no interest in anyone else in that moment, however. She had captivated him.
Standing beside her in water that nearly reached her shoulders, Sebastian reached out to steady her.
“It’s been too long since I last did this.” She grinned and would have been submerged again if he hadn’t placed his other hand on her waist and lifted her.
But she did not need him, really. Before he realized her intent, she had thrown her head back, closed her eyes, and floated, her hair and dress billowing in the water.
Sebastian ducked under the surface, stealthily swam a few feet and then rose up and toppled her. Her response was to send a splash in his direction and dive into the coming wave.
“Minx!” He dove after her.
She broke the surface on the other side appearing almost like a mermaid.
Until she slapped more water in his direction. “Beast!”
Nothing could tire a person out the way that a good swim could. Together they jumped with the incoming waves and gave themselves up to each surge. A few times the water drew them toward one another, even causing their bodies to collide. He’d allow his hands to remain on her person longer than necessary, and he did not think he was mistaken to think that she did the same.
Although he knew she would never admit to it.
He teased her and flirted with her. And she laughed. He wondered how long it had been since she’d last allowed herself such freedoms. When had she last played?
Only after Mrs. Spencer had announced no less than three times that they ought to return to the top of the cliffs did everyone emerge from the sea, water dripping from gowns and shirts and breeches.
Shining strands of hair plastered themselves along Lady Asherton’s face and neck and with nothing to distract the eye, her natural beauty became even more evident.
Stunning.
Sebastian tamped down the inappropriate thoughts racing through his mind when he noticed drops of water glistening from her cheeks and onto her décolletage. He swallowed hard when her full lips stretched into a wide and infectious smile.
If they were alone, he would have kissed her. But they were surrounded by other people and she was George’s betrothed, blast and damn!
Sebastian brushed sand off his breeches and squeezed some of the water from what had been a fine linen shirt earlier that morning. He frowned. It was dismaying to realize one was jealous of his uncle.
This woman was an entirely different one than the demure widow who’d walked beside George earlier that morning. She’d turned what might have only been a pleasant hike into a memorable adventure for the entire group.
She had been the first to swim but not the only one and when all of them emerged from the path at the top of the cliff, she was not the only lady with her hair undone wearing a damp and wrinkled gown.
Sebastia
n halted at the cliff’s edge and watched as his uncle rushed to Lady Asherton’s side, frowning in concern. Or was it disapproval? Knowing his uncle, Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if it was both.
Had he watched her from above?
“My dear Lady Asherton! What have you done to your hair? And your gown!” George stepped in front of her, almost in an effort to hide her, and then glanced over his shoulder at the others who’d remained at the top of the cliff.
She’d lost most of her hairpins and the few she had left failed to hold the ebony strands in place. It pleased Sebastian—the fact that her hair would defy his uncle.
“You’re going to catch your death, my dear.” George fussed at her as though she was made of glass, a frown etching lines in his forehead.
“It’s practically dried already. The sun is warm, George.”
George frowned at her use of his given name and her smile died on her lips.
“Lord Rockingham was kind enough to lend me his jacket. I am fine.” Her voice cajoled. She did not turn to look back at Sebastian, although his uncle did.
“My thanks, nephew.” George went to remove his own jacket. “It looks as though you have need of it yourself.”
“I’m fine. Lady Asherton may keep it until she is indoors again.”
Sebastian watched her from the corner of his eye and marveled that not quite an hour ago she’d been splashing seawater in his direction.
She was George’s intended. Even he ought not to be so very debauched as to persist with such thoughts as he’d been having all afternoon. For his uncle’s betrothed!
As he watched her smooth her gown and attempt to tidy her hair, he could not believe that she could go through with it. No public announcement had been made and yet she’d not denied it. She had admitted her concerns to him, however. She must be having doubts.
She cannot go through with it.
“Lady Danbury,” George demanded his hostess’s attention. “We’d best return at once to Land’s End. Otherwise, half of your guests are like to catch their death. Margaret, you will ride back in a carriage with me.” George was already guiding her away from where the young people gathered upon reaching the top.
Lady and the Rake (Lord Love a Lady Book 6) Page 6
