Food. Of course. “That sounds lovely.”
“Excellent.” He let loose with another pair of sneezes, then indicated with his hand a path heading away from the rose garden.
With Danforth leading the way, he fell into step beside her, and in less than a minute he exhaled an audible sigh of relief. “Much better.” She felt the weight of his stare but resolutely kept her gaze fixed on Danforth and the path ahead. If she were to look at him, she feared she’d lose her concentration. No doubt walk into a tree and render herself unconscious.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Botheration, she must look even worse than she thought. “Yes, I’m fine. And you?”
“Fine, although a bit warm. The shade here along the path is most welcome.”
It was indeed. She’d felt as if she were melting when she looked at him, although that had nothing to do with the bright sunshine. “I’m sorry our search wasn’t successful,” she said.
“As am I.” He was silent for several seconds then said, “Thank you for your help. I enjoyed your company.”
“I wasn’t much company. We barely spoke.”
“Conversation wasn’t necessary. It was just nice not to be out there alone.”
An image of him as she’d seen him that first night, returning in the rain with his shovel, flashed through her brain. With her mind filled with the story of Frankenstein at the time, she thought he looked guilty. But now, upon reflection, she realized he’d looked…dejected. Lonely. She knew all too well what lonely felt like.
Several minutes later the path ended at a clearing, in the center of which a large oval lake glistened, its dark blue surface glass smooth except for a pair of regal white swans floating near the shore. Danforth took one look at the swans and bounded toward the water as if he were shot from a catapult. Sarah couldn’t help but laugh at the dog’s enthusiastic splashing and barking as he dashed into the lake. With disdainful squawks of protest, the swans flapped their white wings, skimming the surface to resettle on the far end of water. Clearly satisfied that he’d rousted the intruders, Danforth left the water and trotted back toward them.
“I should warn you,” Lord Langston said, “that Danforth will—”
His words were cut off when Danforth gave his large body a vigorous, all-over doggie shake. When he finished, Sarah turned toward Lord Langston and struggled not to laugh at the drips of water dotting his face.
“Danforth will shower us with lake water?” she provided in her most helpful fashion.
He wiped his wet face with his wet arm and glared at his wet dog. “Yes.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
He turned back toward her. “Does your dog do that?”
Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. “Every chance she gets. Get Sarah Wet is Desdemona’s favorite game.” She leaned down and ruffled Danforth’s scruff, much to the dog’s delight. “Oh, you think you’re very funny, don’t you?” she asked him.
For an answer, Danforth barked twice, then streaked back toward the lake.
Lord Langston shook his head. “You realize he took that as encouragement and we’re going to be on the receiving end of another dousing.”
Sarah grinned. “I don’t mind. Indeed, the cool water feels good after the hot sun.”
“You wore your bonnet today,” he said. “I thought you preferred to garden without it.”
She lifted one hand to touch the wide brim she’d chosen specifically to help shield him from her view. “Normally I do, but for once I thought I’d heed my mother’s admonishments. Bad enough that I’m dirty and smelly and now doused with doggie lake water. If I also had a sunburned face, Danforth would try to bury me in the woods.”
“Doubtful.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’d merely attempt to drown you with…what did you call it? Doggie lake water. Brace yourself. Here he comes.”
Seconds later Danforth skidded to a halt in front of them and once again gave himself a mighty shake.
“Can dogs chortle?” Lord Langston asked in a dark voice, once again mopping his face while glaring at Danforth’s retreating rear end as the dog dashed back toward the water. “Because I believe I heard that beast chortle. With evil glee.”
“Actually, I think it was more of a snicker than a chortle.”
He heaved an exaggerated sigh, and Sarah had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. “I used to swim in this lake as a boy, you know.”
“And now look at you. You don’t even need to jump in. Danforth brings the lake to you.”
“Ah, yes. I am a lucky man.”
After Danforth treated them to a third dousing then raced back toward the lake, Sarah asked, “Does he ever get tired?”
“Oh, yes. Around midnight usually.” He held out a wet, non-too-clean, rumpled square of linen. “May I offer you my handkerchief?”
She extracted a wet, non-too-clean, rumpled bit of lace-trimmed cotton from the pocket of her gown and held it out to him and grinned. “May I offer you mine?”
He arranged his features into an exaggerated stern frown. “Why Moorehouse, are you insinuating that I’m not looking my best?”
She raised her chin and gave an injured sniff. “Why Lord Langston, are you insinuating I don’t look—”
Her words were cut off by another spray of lake water courtesy of Danforth. After he stopped shaking, he turned in a circle, barked twice, then dashed off toward a nearby copse of trees.
“He just told us he’s off to chase some wildlife,” Lord Langston said. “He won’t expect us to wait lunch for him, but he’ll be highly insulted if we don’t save him some.” He inclined his head toward the lake. “Would you care to join me for a bit of hand washing?”
“Absolutely, although I’m afraid more than my hands require washing after this outing.”
“Not at all. You look fresh as a daisy.”
She burst out laughing. “Yes, a daisy that’s been trod upon, doused with water, and speckled with dirt.”
Crouching at the edge of the water, she dipped her handkerchief and used it to refresh herself as best she could, noting from the corner of her eyes that Lord Langston simply cupped his hands and splashed water onto his arms, face, and neck. When he stood, she arose, then stilled as he reached up and pushed back his damp hair with his hands, in just the same way he had when he’d risen from his bath.
An image of him gloriously naked and wet slammed into her mind, heating her to the point where she felt certain steam must be rising from her moist clothes. Her handkerchief fell from her fingers, landing in a wet plot on the toe of her boot.
They both bent at the same time and bumped heads.
“Ouch,” they said in unison, both rising, both holding a hand to their foreheads.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you all right?”
No. And it’s entirely your fault. “Yes, thank you. Are you?”
“I’m fine.” He held out her handkerchief. “Your handkerchief, however, has seen better days.”
Taking extra care not to touch him, she reached for the wet cotton square and murmured, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “You’ve been a remarkably good sport about all this. You haven’t uttered even one complaint.”
“That is only because you’ve promised to feed me, and I don’t want to jeopardize my chances of a meal. After I’ve eaten, I’ll complain all you like.”
“And I’ll nod sympathetically and pretend to listen, as a perfect host should. Shall we?” He extended his arm with a flourish, his eyes dancing with mischief. She hadn’t planned on touching him, but given the obvious playfulness of the gesture, she felt churlish to refuse.
Resting her hand lightly on his forearm, she pretended she was touching a piece of wood. There. See? She could do this. Spend time with him in a strictly platonic way. Enjoy his company, his conversation, the way ordinary friends did. Even touch his arm. Everything was going perfectly.
&
nbsp; They picked up her satchel and his knapsack and set up their casual picnic underneath a huge willow, on top of a blanket he pulled from the top of the knapsack.
“Let’s see,” he said, pulling the wrappings off each bundle as he removed them. “We have hard-boiled eggs, ham, cheese, chicken legs, meat pies, asparagus, bread, cider, and strawberry tarts.”
“That’s good for me,” Sarah said with an approving nod that sent her glasses sliding downward. “What did your cook pack for you?”
“A woman with a hearty appetite, I see.”
“Most assuredly. Especially after two hours of digging and a doggie lake bath.”
He shot her a mock reproachful look. “I thought you weren’t going to complain until after you ate.”
“Sorry. I forgot myself. As for the food, a bit of everything sounds perfect. Would you like me to serve?”
“Will I end up with anything on my plate?”
“Probably. Maybe.”
He waggled his brows. “Hmmm. Methinks you merely want to get your hands on my chicken legs.”
She smothered a laugh and gave an injured sniff. “Certainly not. It’s your strawberry tarts I’m after.”
While he poured the cider, Sarah prepared two heaping plates. After handing him his serving, she sat next to him so they both faced the lake, making certain to keep a respectable distance between them. There. See? She could do this. Sit next to him and watch the water and enjoy a meal.
They ate in silence for several minutes, both looking at the lake, and she simply enjoyed the beautiful day and the lovely setting. Birds trilled and ribbons of sunlight winked through the rustling leaves, glittering on the calm water.
“Do you come to this lake often?” she asked, keeping her gaze steadfastly on the glasslike surface.
“Nearly every day. I either walk here or ride. It’s my favorite spot on the estate. I find the water very peaceful.”
“I can see why. It’s…perfect. What do you do out here every day?”
“Sometimes I swim, sometimes I skip rocks, sometimes just sit under this tree. The trunk of this willow has a flat part that is quite comfortable. Some days I bring a book, other days I only bring my thoughts.” From the corner of her eye she saw him turn toward her. “Do you have a lake at your home?”
“No. If I did, I’d be torn as to where to spend my time—at the lake or in the garden.”
“You could always plant a garden near the lake.”
She allowed herself to turn toward him. Alternating ribbons of golden sunlight and dusky shadows trickled between the willow’s slender leaves, painting him with an intriguing palate her artistic eye immediately longed to capture. His hazel eyes rested on her, looking more green than blue, most likely due to the verdant foliage surrounding him. Dear God, she wasn’t certain if the word beautiful should be used to describe a man, but it certainly summed up this man.
Although her breath hitched under the impact of his regard, she was quite proud that she didn’t drop the piece of cheese she held. There. See? She could do this. Look into his eyes and remain coherent and not drop her cheese.
“A garden by the lake,” she murmured. “That would solve the problem.” After taking a sip of cider, she asked, “What sort of books do you like to read?”
“All sorts. I recently reread Paradise Lost and am mulling over what to start on next. Perhaps you have a recommendation? I understand you’re a member of the Ladies Literary Society of London.”
Sarah nearly spewed a mouthful of cider. After swallowing and coughing several times, she asked, “How do you know about that?”
“Lady Julianne mentioned it at dinner last night. So tell me, what does a ladies’ literary society do?”
Good heavens. She could feel blotches creeping up her chest. “We, um, choose books to read and then discuss them.”
“What sort of books?”
The blotches reached her neck. Thank goodness she hadn’t removed her bonnet. At least the brim offered her some protection should the blotches creep higher. Returning her attention toward the lake, she said, “Literary works. Would you care for another egg?”
“No, thank you.”
She felt the weight of his stare and kept her own gaze focused straight ahead on the water. “Where do you suppose Danforth is?” she asked.
“Why are you changing the subject?”
“What subject?”
“The Ladies Literary Society of London.”
“Perhaps you missed the word ‘ladies.’”
“Which would obviously prevent me from being a member, but surely doesn’t prevent you from discussing it with me.”
“Are you a lady?”
“No.”
“Are we in London?”
“No.”
“Do you see any literary tomes upon this blanket?”
“No.”
“I believe that’s enough said.”
“Hmmm. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
She hoisted her chin. “As a member of the Ladies Literary Society of London, I am well acquainted with Hamlet, my lord. Your quote from act two, scene three, however, is in error in this case.”
“Is it? I wonder…”
She applied her attention to her hard-boiled egg, but found it difficult to concentrate knowing he was staring at her.
Then he chuckled. “Ah. I believe I understand. You ladies aren’t reading literary works at all, are you?”
Botheration. The man was too clever by half. Before she could even think of an answer, he continued, “So what are you reading? Something salacious and scandalous, I’ll wager. Something that would send your mamas racing for the hartshorn.”
Adopting her most prim tone, she said, “I’m certain I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come now, Sarah. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“Didn’t we at some point determine that curiosity killed the cat?”
“Yes. And immediately thereafter determined that we weren’t cats.”
Memories flooded her and her heart skipped. Of course. And then he’d kissed her. And she hadn’t been the same since that moment.
“Tell me,” he urged softly.
“I’ve nothing to tell.”
“If you do, I’ll tell you something about me that no one else knows.”
Unable to stop herself, she turned toward him, noting the teasing challenge in his eyes. Warning bells rang in her brain, reminding her that it was that same teasing challenge that had convinced her to allow him to watch her bathe. And look at the havoc that had wreaked.
Yes. It was the most unforgettable experience of your life.
True. Which was not good, as she had to forget about it. And thinking about it now, while she was alone with him, was a particularly poor idea.
And while she was sure she could accomplish the task of forgetting about her bath—most likely—now the dratted man had found another way to tempt her. A way she knew she’d never be able to resist. She moistened her lips. “A secret for a secret?”
His gaze flicked down to her mouth. “Yes. Sounds like a fair trade to me. Would I have your word that what I tell you will not leave this shady spot?”
“Of course.” The words popped out before she could stop them. “Would I have your word?”
He laid his hand over his heart. “On my honor, your secret would be safe with me.”
After a quick mental debate, she decided no harm could come from telling him, especially as he’d given his word. And the prospect of hearing his secret was simply too tantalizing to pass up. There. See? She could do this. Swap silly secrets just as she would with any of her other friends.
“Very well. I admit that the Ladies Literary Society focuses on…less traditional works.”
“Such as?”
“Well, we’ve only recently formed and therefore have thus far only read one book.”
“Which I take it wasn’t authored by Shakespeare.”
“Correct. We read Frankens
tein.”
Keen interest flared in his eyes. “The Modern Prometheus,” he murmured.
“Have you read it?”
“I have. It’s an interesting choice for your ladies’ group, one which would understandably raise eyebrows, given the grisly nature of the story and the scandalous behavior of the author.”
“Which is precisely why we named ourselves as we did—to avoid those raised eyebrows.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I’d wager that you had a strong reaction to the book.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you are one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met. I’ve no doubt you’d describe Frankenstein as a nincompoop. And I easily imagine that the plight of the monster tugged on your soft heart.”
An odd sensation ran through her at his eerily accurate assessment, which, while correct, still sounded somewhat insulting. She raised her chin. “ Frankenstein created a being that he utterly rejected solely because of its appearance. To call him a nincompoop is to actually insult all the other nincompoops. And if feeling sympathy for a poor, abused, unloved creature makes me softhearted, then so be it.”
“It does indeed make you softhearted—and I mean that in the most complimentary way. I’ve no doubt that if you’d come across the monster, his entire life would have been different. You’d have accepted him, unconditionally. Helped him. Taken him under your wing and shown him the kindness he so desperately wanted and needed.”
His words stilled her. “How do you know that? Perhaps I would have been horrified by his frightening size and visage.”
“No. You would have taken his ugly, gigantic hand in yours, led him to your garden, where you would have taught him the finer points of tortlingers and straff wort, and conversed with him as if he weren’t different in any way. You would have befriended him and helped him, just as you’ve befriended and helped the Dutton sisters and Martha Browne.”
She blinked and stared. “How do you know about the Duttons and Martha?”
“Your sister spoke of them to Lord Surbrooke, who in turn mentioned them to me. It is very kind of you to help them as you do.”
Sleepless at Midnight Page 21
