Her blush deepened. “But the boys—”
“Are too young to care and I, if you will forgive me for saying so, have seen feminine undergarments before.”
He would have said it was impossible for her to turn any redder, but he would have been mistaken.
“But—” She shivered again.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Now hurry on. The boys and I are hungry.”
She was still hesitating.
“Do I need to help you?”
That got her moving toward the bedroom. “No, of course not.”
“Do be certain to take off everything.” He raised a brow in what he hoped she’d take for a bored, impatient look. “As I said, I know exactly what should be included. If I don’t see every article, I will remove them from your body myself.”
She gasped. “You will not.”
He let his brow drift higher. “I wouldn’t suggest testing that theory.”
“Oh!” She looked like she wanted to stomp on his foot, but realized she was still barefoot so she wouldn’t do much damage. She contented herself with sniffing and giving him a haughty look before closing the bedroom door firmly behind her.
“Would you really take Miss Anne’s things off, Uncle Nate?” Stephen asked. “I don’t think that’s proper.”
“It’s not, but I don’t want her taking sick.” He smiled. “And I know she’s far too sensible to risk her health for propriety’s sake. She just needed to be encouraged to realize that.” He rescued Stephen’s and Edward’s suits from the pile of things he’d carried from the lawn. “Here you go, boys. You need to get your wet things off, too.”
Unfortunately his only dry clothing was his shirt, and it was not heavy enough to restrain a cock that was determined to misbehave. When he peeled off his soaked breeches, the unruly organ sprang free, creating a far-too-obvious tent in the fabric.
Keeping an ear cocked for more thunder, he folded the blanket they’d brought from the house to eat on and wrapped it tightly around his waist. Even Hercules’s cock couldn’t have lifted that.
The arrangement was certainly awkward, though—and ridiculous. He had to pick up the front so he didn’t trip on it when he walked.
He made his way slowly to the hearth, the back of his “skirt” forming a train that caught on everything.
“Blast.” He tugged it free of one of the chair legs.
Stephen and Edward giggled.
“Don’t laugh. You are just lucky your suits didn’t get wet or you’d be wearing one of these, too. How do you suppose women manage the things?”
“I expect they are used to them,” Stephen said reasonably.
Nate grunted and turned his attention to the hearth. The tinderbox was on the mantel, exactly where it had been when he was a boy. In just a few minutes, he had a nice fire going.
“Can we push the table closer, Uncle Nate?” Edward asked. “I’m still cold.”
“Of course. That’s a splendid idea.”
He was moving the last chair when he heard the bedroom door open.
He turned to see Anne standing in the doorway. She’d wrapped a sheet around her body like a Roman toga and then tied a blanket so it fell, cape-like, over her shoulders. Her long blond hair streamed down her back.
She was, unfortunately, completely covered.
And completely, utterly naked under her costume.
Why that knowledge should be so stimulating, he couldn’t say, but his cock was most definitely stimulated. It felt as if it were going to explode.
At least Anne couldn’t see the battle it was waging under his skirt.
She spread her clothes before the fire—they were indeed all there, including her stays—and then straightened. Her cheeks were quite pink, from embarrassment rather than heat, he guessed.
“I’m so sorry I, er, lost my composure outside. You see I, ah . . . that is—”
Lightning lit the room as if a thousand candles had suddenly burst into flame at precisely the same moment and, just seconds later, a tremendous clap of thunder shook the cottage.
Miss Davenport screamed and leapt at him. Instinctively, he opened his arms and then held her as she buried her face in his chest, pressing as close as she could. She was gasping and shaking, overwhelmed by terror.
He murmured what he hoped were soothing noises and looked at Stephen and Edward.
The boys looked back at him apprehensively, as confused by the situation as he was. Thank God they weren’t bothered by storms, too, or his arms would get rather crowded.
He managed to sit down on a bench by the table and pull Anne down beside him. She whimpered and climbed into his lap as lightning flashed again. Thunder boomed and rain lashed the windows. He tightened his hold on her.
“Stephen, why don’t you get some food out for you and Edward,” Nate said in as normal a tone as he could manage. “Miss Davenport and I can eat once the storm has passed.”
“I’m not hungry,” Stephen said, looking anxiously at Anne.
“Don’t be afraid, Miss Anne,” Edward said. “We’re inside now. The storm can’t get you.”
“And it’s moving off.” Nate threaded his fingers through Anne’s long hair, damp from her tumble into the lake, and cradled the back of her head. “Listen. The thunder is growing fainter.”
They all listened. There was another low, faint rumble, and then nothing.
Finally Anne shuddered and pulled away. He let her go, and she slid off his lap and onto the bench.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, studying her hands.
“It’s all right, Miss Anne.” Edward patted her on the arm.
She made a sound that was a cross between a sob and a laugh and hugged him, and then at last she looked up, but at Stephen, not Nate.
“I know I’m silly to be so frightened of storms,” she said. “But someone I knew was hurt in one, and I’ve never quite got over it.”
Who? Nate studied her profile since she wouldn’t look at him directly. It must have been someone important to have affected her so.
“I like storms, Miss Anne,” Edward said. “They’re exciting.”
This one certainly was.
“But you do have to be careful of them, Edward,” Nate said, “especially around the water. Miss Davenport was quite right to hurry us inside.”
Anne smiled quickly at Nate with what looked like gratitude before turning back to Edward and Stephen. “I do wish I wasn’t so afraid of them, though. I’m sorry I upset you.”
“I’m not frightened by storms,” Edward said. “I’m very brave.”
Stephen snorted. “You’re afraid of the dark, Edward.”
Edward’s little jaw hardened and he looked as if he would deny it, but then he leaned his head on Anne’s shoulder. “Only a little bit.”
“We’re all afraid of something,” Nate said without really planning to.
“Really?” Stephen stared at him. “What are you afraid of, Uncle Nate?”
Marcus marrying. Marcus dying.
Sharing that would be far too honest.
“Spiders.”
“Spiders?!” Miss Davenport choked back a laugh. “Are you really afraid of spiders?”
“Well, I don’t like them. And I was afraid of them when I was Stephen’s and Edward’s ages.” He grinned. “And now I’m afraid I’m going to die of hunger. Why don’t you see what’s in that basket, Stephen?”
* * *
Anne walked up through the woods from the boathouse with Lord Haywood while Stephen and Edward ran on ahead. “The boys seem happy.”
The marquess nodded. “Yes. I’m glad we took them to the island.”
Lud! The island. The storm. My complete loss of self-control.
Lord Haywood must realize her reaction had been far too violent to have been caused by an acquaintance’s injury. He was waiting for her to tell him the details she hadn’t wanted the boys to hear.
It’s none of his concern. I hardly know him.
And yet she felt she knew
him very well, perhaps even better than she knew Jane or Cat.
Lord Haywood could have got angry when she’d . . . well, gone mad, really, out there by the water. He could have argued with her or ridiculed her. He’d done neither. And when that last bolt of lightning had lit the cottage like the sun and the crash of thunder shaken the windows and she’d jumped into his arms, he’d held her as close as she’d needed.
She’d felt protected. Safe.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Heat flooded her face. Her cheeks must be red enough to glow.
“Ah. Perhaps they’re worth more than a penny then.”
“Oh, no. A penny is too much.”
The boys were out of sight now, but not out of earshot. She heard them shouting, kicking stones along the path and rustling through the leaves.
If I call them back or catch up to them, I won’t have to tell Lord Haywood about Mama.
The marquess wasn’t pressing her. He was just walking along beside her, gazing at the trees.
Which made it impossible to keep silent.
Or perhaps she wanted to tell him. She hadn’t talked about that terrible day in years.
“It was my mother, and I saw it happen.”
“Oh.” Concern darkened his eyes. He didn’t ask what she was talking about—he knew.
She felt his compassion and that loosened her tongue further. “It was three days after we’d got back from London and my first Season.”
Those few weeks in Town had been trying, but also quite special. She’d got to see Mama in her element. An earl’s daughter, her mother had been the toast of the ton the year she’d made her come-out. And she’d still had so many friends—real friends, not just social acquaintances. Her connections had made Anne’s come-out much easier than it would have been had she been merely Miss Davenport from Davenport Hall.
Anne had finally felt . . . well, not precisely close to her mother, but closer. She’d begun to admire her for who she was, rather than continually wishing she were someone she wasn’t. And she’d hoped they would get closer still.
And then everything had changed.
“Mama suggested we go for a walk that afternoon. It was a beautiful day without a cloud in the sky.”
If only we’d gone earlier or later or taken a different route.
“As we approached Loves Water, the sky suddenly got dark.”
She hadn’t been frightened then. She’d been excited. She’d stopped to watch the wind whip the lake into little waves and to feel it rush past her face and tug at her bonnet. Mama had walked on ahead, up a little rise to look out over the water.
“There was no warning.” Dear God, she saw it all again, every horrible second, as if the lightning that had killed her mother had burned the images into her memory—into her heart—forever. “I had just turned to follow Mama, when there was a blinding flash and a deafening boom, and then rain poured down for perhaps five minutes. It was over almost as soon as it began.”
She’d stopped walking, she was shaking so badly. Nate’s arm came round her, pulling her against him, but that didn’t stop the shaking inside.
“I ran to Mama.”
She was crying now. She could feel Nate’s hand rubbing her back, comforting her as he had in the cottage.
“She was lying in a heap by the lake.” At least she hadn’t fallen into the water. Her body wasn’t lost like Isabelle Dorring’s. “Her lips were blue. She wasn’t breathing.”
“I’m sorry,” Nate murmured by her ear.
“I keep thinking I’ll get over it.” She pushed away from him and wiped her face with her fingers until he handed her his handkerchief. “It’s so silly—so childish—to be afraid of storms.”
She pressed her lips together, sniffed several times, and then gave up and blew her nose soundly.
“No, it’s not. Thunderstorms are dangerous.” Nate’s words were so calm and matter-of-fact, they were a balm on her suddenly raw-again wound.
He didn’t say more. He just offered her his arm, and they started walking up the path again.
“I usually pay closer attention to the weather so I can get inside long before a storm comes,” she said. “If I think it will be very bad, I . . . I hide.” She looked up at him. “You might be the only person besides my father—well, and now Stephen and Edward—who knows about my, er, problem.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
Strangely, she wasn’t worried at all.
“You lost your mother,” Nate said. “The death of a parent is never easy. But witnessing such a violent and unexpected event likely caused a severe shock to your nerves. My friends who have fought in the wars tell me that the sights and sounds and smells of the battlefield haunt them for years, waking them from a sound sleep sometimes.” He laid his hand on hers where it rested on his arm. “Though the nightmares usually fade with time.”
She nodded. “Things are better now. In the beginning, I couldn’t sleep at all. Now I rarely dream—or even think—about what happened.” She shrugged. “Unless, of course, there’s a storm.”
The boys were waiting for them when they came out of the woods.
“We’re hoping you’ll go with us to the nursery,” Stephen said.
Edward nodded. “Hedlow won’t be happy.”
“Well, I am not happy with Hedlow,” Anne said. She needed to get her mind off the past and dealing with this Hedlow person seemed like the perfect solution. “Though perhaps we should talk to your mother before we confront your governess. What do you think, Lord Haywood?”
“I think the boys’ mother is headed our way now.”
Lord Haywood was correct. Mrs. Eaton must have spied them from the terrace, because she was hurrying down the stairs to the garden.
“Excellent. Let’s go meet her.”
Stephen and Edward hung back, letting Anne and the marquess lead the way.
“Mrs. Eaton,” Anne said as soon as they got within speaking distance. “I need to—”
But Mrs. Eaton ignored her, rushing straight to Lord Haywood. “Oh, Nate, how glad I am to see you. I was worried when the storm came up, though of course I knew you would keep the boys safe.”
“Did you get my note?” he asked.
“Yes. Hedlow and Arthur have already left the premises—together, I might add, not that I think for a moment such a connection will survive. You can be sure I gave neither a reference.” Then she turned to Stephen and Edward. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on, boys?”
“Hedlow told us not to,” Stephen said.
“Or we’d be sorry,” Edward said.
No one was paying Anne the least bit of attention.
She swallowed her annoyance. Of course they weren’t. This was between Mrs. Eaton and her children. And Lord Haywood was Mrs. Eaton’s childhood friend.
But where is Papa? He should be involved, too.
“Well, the problem is over now,” Mrs. Eaton told the boys. “You will not see that woman again.”
“But who will be our governess, Mama?” Stephen asked. “Is Winkie coming back?”
“No.” Finally, Mrs. Eaton glanced at Anne before turning her attention back to her sons.
She looks nervous. Is she going to ask me to watch the boys?
The notion had made Anne angry when it had occurred to her back in Loves Bridge, but now that she’d met Stephen and Edward, she’d be happy to take charge of them for a short time. She didn’t have the training to be a governess, though, and they were bright boys. They needed—
“One of the maids will stay with you tonight. Lord Davenport has gone off to London to procure a special license. When he gets back tomorrow, we will be married and we’ll all move to Davenport Hall. We’ll hire a new governess there.”
Anne blinked at Mrs. Eaton.
Papa is being married tomorrow. He’s gone off to get the license without saying a word to me.
She waited for the pain to knife through her. Instead, common sense pointed out she�
�d been gone all day. When was Papa supposed to have talked to her? It wasn’t as if this marriage was a surprise. That cat had been let out of the bag last night.
“Huzzah!” Edward threw his arms around Anne. “We get to live with Miss Anne.”
“I’m too old for a governess, Mama,” Stephen said. “I should have a tutor.” He looked to Anne for support.
Anne opened her mouth to agree—and stopped. Mrs. Eaton was frowning. She did not look like she would take Anne’s opinion in good grace.
And, really, what do I know about the matter?
“I’m sure your mother and my father will discuss things, Stephen, and come to a sensible decision.”
Mrs. Eaton looked relieved—until Nate weighed in.
“I had a tutor when I was six and went away to school when I was eight.”
Mrs. Eaton glared at him. “Stephen is not going away to school next year!”
“I didn’t say he was. I just said I did.” Lord Haywood shrugged. “He’s not a baby any longer, Eleanor.”
“I know that.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand, Nate. You don’t have any children.”
Lord Haywood frowned. “But I was a child, Eleanor. I was a boy. I remember what it was like.”
The boys’ eyes were going back and forth between the adults. It couldn’t be good for them to be listening to this conversation. They’d heard far too much adult talk in their short lives as it was.
“Pardon me for interrupting,” Anne said, “but I’m afraid you must excuse me. I wish to have a bath before dinner.”
Mrs. Eaton finally focused on Anne—and her eyes widened. “My word, what happened to you? Your hair is hanging down your back, your dress is quite bedraggled, and your bonnet—where is your bonnet?”
Did the boys look nervous? Anne wasn’t about to tell tales.
“I’m sorry to say I fell in the water.”
“How on earth did you do that?”
Edward buried his face in her bedraggled skirt.
She patted the back of his head. “I slipped. Now I really must go. As you see, it will take some effort to put myself to rights.”
She thought she saw Lord Haywood grin at her with approval as she left.
Chapter Fourteen
How to Manage a Marquess Page 19
