by Louise Allen
They both paused and listened. After a beat of total silence broken only by the chirping sounds of the morning chorus, a succession of rapid, high-pitched woofs could be heard coming from the trees.
‘That doesn’t sound good.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ The bushes beyond rustled violently and the dog barked again, setting her vivid imagination whirring with possibilities. ‘Do you suppose the poor thing is in distress?’
Thea adored animals. The thought of one in pain was too awful to bear. More barking set her heart racing, but answered her question. With images of a poacher’s trap and a grisly death in her mind, Thea picked up her skirts and broke into a run. Twice this last month her uncle’s gamekeeper had found snares on the estate and evidence that someone was helping themselves to his pheasants. If the poor dog’s paw was caught, it would panic and injure itself in its quest to free it.
Thea plunged into the trees, following the sound, then skidded to a halt at the top of the bank at the unexpected sight of an exceedingly pert pair of male buttocks.
Very nice and very naked male buttocks.
A pathetic squeak of shock popped out of her mouth before she covered it with her hands and the buttocks disappeared beneath the water a second before the owner of them turned around, his own hands covering the most important part of his modesty. Which was now quite submerged, but leaving little else to her imagination. Her eyes travelled upwards from those hands to the flat abdomen bisected by an arrow of intriguing dark hair which widened over a broad chest. Muscled shoulders. A gloriously strong set of biceps. Twinkling blue-grey eyes stared cockily right back at her, clearly amused and set in one of the most outrageously ruggedly handsome faces she had ever seen.
‘Good morning, ladies.’
‘Er...’ For the first time in her life, Thea had no words at all. Her cheeks were glowing scarlet and it took all her strength to stop her eyes wandering back to where they had just feasted, making her blink and gape like a hooked fish. Because it was the right and proper thing to do, she immediately averted her badly behaved eyes and stared off into space, mortified.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Harriet’s voice over her shoulder, then she unsubtly nudged Thea with her elbow. ‘I take back everything I said about buckskin, Thea. It is vastly overrated.’ Shamelessly, her friend barged past—no doubt to get a closer look. Harriet would never avert her eyes. ‘And who might you be?’
‘Lord Graham Chadwick.’ In her peripheral vision, the naked man executed a courtly bow with one hand still clutching his unmentionables, apparently completely comfortable and unrepentant in his nudity. ‘But do call me Gray. I am new to the parish.’
‘Ah, yes! You have recently rented Kirton House, have you not? Why—we are practically neighbours, my lord.’ Typically, Harriet was not lost for words. Evidently, she felt the situation warranted small talk, no doubt to prolong the encounter for her own outrageous reasons. ‘I am Lady Crudgington of Exley House and this is Miss Theodora Cranford, your new landlord’s ward.’
‘His ward?’
Hearing herself mentioned by the naked man himself, Thea guiltily looked up, heartily ashamed that her eyes had scandalously manoeuvred to his impressive chest again when she had been trying so hard to keep them properly latched elsewhere. After a valiant battle with the wayward, impetuous inner Thea, her eyeballs reluctantly flicked to his. The cocky smile was gone, replaced with an expression she couldn’t quite fathom.
‘The very one, although Thea has long passed the milestone of her majority, so is technically just his niece now.’ Harriet shot her a loaded glance. ‘Content to wither in her uncle’s house until Cupid sends her a worthy knight in shining armour to finally whisk her away.’
Before her interfering friend began matchmaking in earnest, something she was prone to do at every available opportunity, Thea had to interrupt despite having no earthly clue what she should say. ‘Mr Gray... I mean, Lord Graham... Er...’
Could this be any more mortifying?
‘We heard a dog... I came to rescue it... I didn’t mean to interrupt your... Um...’ Gracious, now she was waffling like a ninny and her silly eyes were darting every which way possible. It probably looked as though she suffered from an uncontrollable facial tick. One which explained why no knight had thus far bothered saving her. Her face was so warm and doubtless so very red with guilt that one could toast crumpets on it if there happened to be some handy.
To save herself from further embarrassment and to give her naughty eyes something suitable to do, Thea rapidly turned her back and stared resolutely at the trees. ‘Put some clothes on, sir! You are a disgrace. What do you think you are about, cavorting naked in my uncle’s stream?’
Hopefully that let him know in no uncertain terms that she did not consider him shining-knight material and was horrified by his total lack of propriety rather than itching to stare unabashedly at his wet body. His shirt and breeches lay in a heap near her feet, so she snatched them up and without turning around wafted them in the general direction of her friend. ‘Give him these! Immediately!’
She could hear him wading towards the bank and, if she turned her eyes slightly to the right, could see Harriet holding his shamelessly discarded garments in such a way that Lord Whatever-His-Name-Was would have to rise out of the water to reach them. She shot her friend a pointed look which was, of course, completely ignored.
‘Tell me, my lord, how exactly did you come to be naked in Gislingham’s brook? Are there no bath tubs in Kirton House?’
‘I apologise wholeheartedly for shocking you, ladies.’ She saw his big hand grab the proffered clothes, then heard the water move as he sunk back into it. ‘But I blame my dog. He led me astray. Trefor is a very bad influence. It is entirely his fault you caught me cavorting.’
At that, something fast and as black as pitch emerged out of the foliage with an enormous stick in its mouth. He took one look at Thea and simultaneously dropped the stick and shook himself, sending a spray of muddy water all over her favourite green-sprigged muslin, before wagging his tail cheerfully.
Then he lunged.
Two big, wet paws hit her squarely on her belly and she lost her balance. Arms waving like a windmill in a gale, she struggled to stay upright. Instinctively she threw one foot behind to steady herself, only to realise too late that she was stood on an incline. Thea tumbled clumsily backwards, her feet lifting from the bank as gravity took over. To her utter horror, she landed with a huge splash in the water mere inches from the irritating naked man’s groin.
Copyright © 2019 by Susan Merritt
ISBN-13: 9781488047183
Least Likely to Marry a Duke
Copyright © 2019 by Melanie Hilton
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
>
