by Sharon Page
* * *
All the chandeliers blazed and hundreds of people filled Brideswell’s huge ballroom.
Zoe fanned herself. She wore a light dress in soft pink, with small straps and a short skirt, but she was still melting, at her own engagement party. Mother had spent a week crowing that it was the most anticipated event in England.
Zoe had doubted it, but as she stood on the receiving line with Sebastian, she could tell quite a few members of the British peerage were here out of curiosity.
After the long line of guests were inside, Sebastian made the formal announcement of his engagement, kissed her hand, and the orchestra started up. Sebastian swirled her into a waltz. He hadn’t attempted to woo her for days. A friend of his had arrived at Brideswell—a young former army captain, John Ransome. Captain Ransome was a beautiful man with high cheekbones, large brown eyes and full lips. And Zoe had noticed that the two men spent a lot of time together.
As the music faded after the first dance, Sebastian bowed to her. Then he disappeared. She saw him and Ransome near the terrace door. Ransome went out first, and then Sebastian followed.
She wouldn’t mind fleeing this thing, too. Zoe snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing footman. She gave one to Julia, who had come up to her side.
“Typical Sebastian, making himself scarce at his own party,” Julia said. “And he’s taken Captain Ransome. Isobel has been staring at Captain Ransome all night. I think she has a crush.”
Zoe looked where Julia gestured. The dowager—standing with Sir Raynard, who spent any evening he was at Brideswell at the dowager’s side—whispered a few words to Isobel, who flushed and looked at her feet. The girl had probably gotten in trouble for merely looking. Zoe went over. “What’s wrong, Isobel?”
The dark-haired girl blushed. “Oh, nothing, Miss Gifford.”
“You must call me Zoe, my dear, if we’re to be sisters.”
Isobel sighed. At fourteen, she wore a youthful lavender dress with a hemline below her midcalf. “Zoe, there is someone I love, but he doesn’t even see me.”
“Then you must live your life and do exciting things. He would notice you then. You can do anything you want. Have a career, go to university, become a scientist, an author, a painter, an actress.”
“I am going to do exciting things. Then everyone won’t ignore me anymore.” Isobel tipped up her chin, looking happy and determined.
Zoe nodded approvingly, then looked around the room for Langford. He had been on the receiving line, but had disappeared right after that. She moved near the terrace doors. She didn’t want to have to pretend she was a glowing bride-to-be.
And she couldn’t stop remembering...
Richmond slipping the ring on her finger the morning of his flight. She remembered the roar of his airplane, the wash of sunlight as the sun rose on the horizon. Her happiness as she promised to wait for him.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. The oppressive heat of the ballroom. The stares—some quick and furtive, some bold and unflinching. The whispers and titters. Those she really hated. But she couldn’t bear even one more jovial word of congratulations. She had to escape.
On her way out the door, she took a bottle of champagne and she slipped through the terrace doors. For once the night was sultry and warm. She had to put some distance between her and the crowd at the house.
Moonlight sparkled on the lake, down the sloped hill of the lawns. She made her way there.
* * *
Zoe set down her bottle of champagne on the small wooden jetty that stuck out into Brideswell’s lake. She took off her shoes, rolled her stockings off, splashed her feet and squealed. The lake was frigid after the stifling heat of the ballroom.
If she didn’t do something thrilling, she would burst into tears.
Zoe stood and pulled off her dress, looking over her shoulder to ensure the partygoers couldn’t see her. She unhooked her bra, slipped it off and pulled off her silk knickers. She walked to the end of the dock, then dived in. Her muffled cry of “golly” echoed over the water when she came up for air.
She ducked under the water. When she surfaced, she gasped. Moonlight fell on a man standing at the end of the dock. Langford. His tie was loose, his collar open, and he carried a champagne bottle by its neck.
“You are escaping, too,” she called.
He stared at her dress and her bra, the cups pointing upward on the dock. “You are not wearing clothes.”
“I could hardly swim in my evening clothes.”
“You are going to freeze in there. It is dangerous, Miss Gifford. Come out.”
She flashed a saucy smile in response to his fussing. “I know a lot of girls who wouldn’t be afraid to walk out of the water right in front of you.”
She said it to challenge him. But he picked up her dress and held it out toward her, the pink beads sparkling under the moonlight. “And you are not one of them. Otherwise, I believe you would have done it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to join me? The water is very...refreshing.”
“Freezing cold. I should know, Miss Gifford. I used to swim unclothed in here all the time when I was a boy.”
“I don’t believe you. I think you acted like a duke from the moment you were born.” She was teasing him—and it was fun. She was laughing now, laughing instead of crying.
“That is not true. No infant in nappies can act ducal.”
She giggled. “Come in for a swim. I dare you.”
He would probably stalk away.
He didn’t—he tipped up the champagne bottle to his lips. It looked decidedly unducal. She squirmed a bit in the water, watching his lips part. Langford had a very beautiful mouth. He drained the bottle and set it down. His jacket followed. He opened his white shirt, undid the cuffs, let it fall. Moonlight spilled over broad shoulders, his muscled back and arms. She gaped—she’d never seen a man built like this. All hard, strong muscle.
Bending his head to focus downward, he undid the fastening of his trousers. At that point, Zoe realized what was happening. The Duke of Langford really was taking off his clothes. He had called her bluff. A lady would turn away. Or surrender and tell him to stop.
But she wanted to see him without a stitch of clothing. She couldn’t resist. Besides, she never turned down a dare.
Slowly, his trousers came down. He kicked them off. He wore white underclothes. She let out a long breath at his lengthy, well-shaped legs that bulged with muscle. Even in cold water, she whimpered, hit with a surge of wild, hot desire.
Langford dived in off the end of the dock, slicing into the cold water. He surfaced several yards from her. Kicking to stay above the surface, he slicked back his wet hair.
She licked her tongue over her lips. How she loved watching his long body move. Even though he bore scars, he was...sexy. She heard the word a lot. Everyone used it when they wanted to be provocative. But when she looked at Langford, soaking wet, grinning, she felt it.
She took two strokes over to him.
“Stay over there, Miss Gifford. It would not be proper for us to be close.”
“We’re swimming naked. We’ve left proper behind, Langford.” She stayed where she was. She was engaged—falsely—to Sebastian, but she yearned to swim to the duke. What would it be like to press against him, wrap her arms and legs around him?
She shouldn’t have dared him. She was going to burst.
“I overheard you tell Lady Julia she looks pretty, on the receiving line,” she said.
He was treading water. “She does. She looks happy and lovely. That is thanks to you.”
The softness of his voice as he said that...made her quiver. “It was very honorable of you. You are a deeply caring man, aren’t you? I never would have guessed it from your cold behavior with me. Though I also never dreamed you woul
d come swimming. You’re quite surprising, Langford.”
“The problem, Miss Gifford, is that I do not want to be cold to you. Even when I’m up to my neck in freezing water.”
There was a long pause.
Then Zoe swam a little closer to him. “What exactly are you saying?”
His wet hair gleamed blue-black in the moonlight. “I am saying that you need to get out of the lake now. Put your dress on and use my jacket and go back to the house. I will not watch as you get out.”
“But I’m not—”
“Go now,” he barked, all laughter forgotten. “You have been drinking. I will not have your drowning on my conscience.”
He sounded icier than the water. But she didn’t believe it. And she didn’t believe he was worried about her drowning. “Admit it. It was fun, though, wasn’t it?”
“Good night, Miss Gifford.”
She was tempted to wait until he gave up and got out of the water first. But cold was seeping into her bones. She swam to the dock and climbed out. She turned around, but Langford was swimming with his back to her.
His words tumbled around inside her head. He had all but admitted he wanted her.
It was impossible. Crazy. They didn’t even like each other. But as she pulled her dress over her wet body, then slipped his dress dinner coat on, she wished he had turned around and taken a good long look at her.
Then invited her back in the water for a kiss.
* * *
“I want to go to university and learn how to perform surgery like Dr. Campbell and become a woman physician,” Isobel declared at dinner the following night.
The dowager gasped, “Good heavens, why would you want to do something like that?”
Zoe paused in cutting her slice of stuffed veal roast. She said, “That is wonderful, Isobel.”
“Miss Gifford said I could go to university if I wanted, Grandmama. I want to do it to help people. Women do become surgeons and doctors. I met Dr. Campbell with Julia, and he told us the most fascinating stories. He has held a human heart in his hands. He has seen the human brain. In slices, even, so it can be studied. He showed me—”
“Isobel!” the dowager cried. “Julia, you allowed this doctor to show these shocking things to Isobel? She is not yet fifteen.” The dowager’s gaze also narrowed on Zoe.
Langford cleared his throat. He set down his cutlery. Zoe rolled her eyes. He would tell Isobel off, be stiff and cold and annoying. She prepared to defend Isobel as Langford’s deep baritone flowed over the table.
“Grandmama,” he said, “it appears young women don’t find these things shocking anymore.”
Zoe’s fork fell to her plate. The clatter could barely be heard over the dowager’s sputtering shock. Langford was defending his sister’s interest in medicine?
“I see no reason why Isobel shouldn’t go to university,” he went on.
“Isobel should marry. It is what ladies of our class do,” the dowager countered.
“I believed that once myself,” Nigel said.
The dowager arched her brows. “It is your duty to barricade the door to these ridiculous notions. And answer me this—if Isobel is up to her elbows in blood, cutting open cadavers, what gentleman will marry her?”
Sebastian groaned. “This conversation is making it hard for me to enjoy my dinner.”
“I agree,” Maria declared, sounding unusually forceful. “I do not want you dabbling and discussing these things, Isobel. Many of the ideas held by these physicians are not godly and they are not proper.”
Isobel gazed around at her family.
Langford said quietly, “Do not worry about fighting battles for the cause of women tonight, Isobel. There will be plenty of time.”
“But you agree with them, don’t you?”
“In my heart and soul, I probably do. But in my head, I know I cannot keep Brideswell—or you—living in the past. I do not want you to please me and be unhappy. Now let us eat dinner.” Nigel turned to Julia. “What of the summer fete? What plans do you have for this year, Julia?”
“Same as every year,” Julia answered smoothly. “Coconut shies. Rides. And a tug-of-war between Brideswell’s men and the villagers.”
Zoe gazed toward the duke. She couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said.
He lifted his head. Held her eyes.
Later, in the drawing room, when the men joined them after brandies, Zoe walked up to him. Quietly, she said, “Let me take you flying tomorrow. I dare you.” Then she turned and walked away.
* * *
Having seen so many planes crash, he did not want to go up in one. They looked to be made of fabric and balsa wood. Fragile and filled with fuel to ensure they burst into a fireball on impact.
However, Nigel refused to lose face in front of Miss Gifford.
As he approached her aeroplane, parked in the lower meadow near the house, she climbed out of the cockpit and stood on the wing, holding one of the struts. Her bottom was round and shapely in her trousers. Her scarf whipped around her neck.
He’d had a hellish time for the past few days. One of his closest friends, Rupert Willington, was close to dying. And he’d received several letters from the sister of a young man who had been in his regiment. The girl’s name was Lily Bell, and her brother was dead.
Lily Bell’s words—her pain and anger—had grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t let go.
Perhaps part of the reason he’d agreed to Miss Gifford’s dare was to see if “grasping life” really could save you from pain.
Miss Gifford let her body lean back in a long, slender line as she gripped the strut. “Are you ready to put your life in my hands, Langford?”
He knew she was goading him, teasing him. “Unless you are willing to let me fly your plane, Miss Gifford. And since I do not know how to fly, I doubt that would be wise.”
Seeing her plane made him think of fields in France, where the planes were lined up, ready to fly into battle. He clenched his fists. There would be no Baron von Richthofen trying to shoot them down today. But even though the War was over, good men were still dying—
He had to stay in control. “It’s a warplane.”
She nodded. “Repaired and rebuilt.” She crouched and ran her hand up and down a strut, then leaned her cheek against the gleaming metal piece.
Damn, the woman exuded sexuality with her every movement. She tossed a leather flying helmet and a pair of goggles to him. “I want to show you how to have fun.”
“Why?”
That caught her by surprise. She cocked her head as she placed her goggles over her eyes. “You’re unhappy and I want to prove that you have to grasp life with both hands and live it.”
That was why he was here, but he said, “In the air, you are risking your life.”
“Which makes you feel more alive. Climb aboard, Langford, and buckle yourself in.”
He climbed into the front seat, fastened himself in as she instructed. The aeroplane roared to life, vibrating around him. The plane began to move and Miss Gifford guided it toward the lawns. Once on the smooth grass, the plane moved faster and faster. Suddenly the earth seemed to drop away. His stomach lurched. They rose higher and the trees grew smaller.
What held this damned thing in the air? He looked back. Her red-painted lips curved in a confident smile. “Hang on for the ride of your life,” she shouted over the roar of the engine, the sound of the wind. They were racing toward the clouds and the sun.
Nigel looked around him, able to see forever. Never had he experienced anything like this. He could see the sea at the edge of the country and the glow of sunlight on the dark water. The earth below him looked like a patchwork quilt.
Then Miss Gifford sent the aeroplane hurtling higher, climbing faster and straighter. The sudden ascent le
ft his stomach behind. He swallowed hard, fighting the fear.
She leveled off, then banked in a wide turn. She suddenly pointed the plane downward and he gripped the sides. The engine screamed as the plane tore toward the earth. Then, when he thought they were doomed to crash, they made an arc and climbed upward. She was making a loop in the sky. They were upside down, and Nigel gritted his teeth, expecting his harness to give out and to find himself plummeting to the ground.
She rolled the plane as if it were a barrel. He hung on to his rising nausea. Excitement and fear and horror coursed through him. All the sensations of battle—without the shooting. He felt a rush of emotion, a roar of excitement. This was damned thrilling.
Miss Gifford banked the plane again and brought it toward Brideswell.
He didn’t want the ride to end. He turned and watched the concentration, confidence and intelligence on her face as she guided the plane down.
The plane jolted as the front wheels touched down, and then the tail wheel made contact. She slowed the plane, which shuddered violently as it rolled over the lawn.
“So, did I thrill you?” she demanded as the plane came to a stop.
“Yes, I loved every minute up there. I got a chance to touch the heavens. I have to admit it, Miss Gifford. I have never felt more alive and thrilled.” God, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to haul her against his body hard and kiss her until she melted in his arms.
She cocked her head. “I thought you would look less stiff when you’re thrilled. I thought a flight might thaw you out. Even when you go swimming nude, you manage to act like an icy duke.”
Thaw him out. He felt as if his body were on fire. “I assure you I do not feel icy right now. Thank you for this chance to fly.” Then, because he knew he owed it to her, “You were right. When I was up there, I could not feel anything but excitement and joy.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said softly.
7
FAST DRIVING
Sebastian came to Zoe after dinner in the drawing room. In a low voice, he said, “You took Langy flying. And you were with him down at the lake on the night of our engagement party. He sneaked back into the house through his study, but he did so soaking wet and without his coat. Zoe, people are going to start talking.” Sebastian’s green eyes were filled with hurt. “You aren’t falling for my brother, are you? I want you to fall in love with me. I know it’s going to take time, and I’m willing to wait.”
