Carroty?
Her brows wrinkled. And where had she heard that before? Thoughtfully, she gnawed on her lower lip.
But the next moment Fox chuckled, distracting her from her thoughts. “When I was still a boy,” he said, “I used to believe a monster lived in our lake.”
“A monster? Like the one in Loch Ness?”
“Bigger. Fiercer.” He laughed. “Whenever I could, I snatched one of the boats to row out on the lake and drop Cook’s chicken baskets into the water.”
“Whatever for?”
He threw her a mock patronizing glance. “Well,” he said, his tone as grave as if he were divulging a great secret, “bread worked with the ducks…”
“And so it follows that something meaty must work with monsters?” Amy dissolved into giggles. “But what if it was a vegetarian monster?”
“A vegetarian…? Oh!” He made a face. “Dash it. No wonder I never caught the tiniest glimpse of it!”
“Oh, you!” Laughing, she poked her elbow into his side.
He looked down at her and, with a smile, tugged at the ostrich feather that adorned her fetching little hat. “Yes, me.”
They shared a long, loving glance and all their laughter fled. Their eyes roamed each other’s faces, drank in the smallest nuances. Amy reached up and with her forefinger touched the corner of his mouth. His lips curved. His hand rose and cupped hers so he could press a kiss into her gloved palm.
The look he threw her was scorching.
Amy shivered.
Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he let go of her arm and slowly, carefully started to undo the row of tiny buttons at her wrist. His fingers tickled over her sensitive skin. When he was done, he raised her hand to his mouth once more, only now… only now…
Her breath caught.
A gleam lit his eyes, and he—
“UNCO SHTAPTON!”
Amy closed her eyes. No!
“Dash it!” she heard him mutter; then he sighed. Amy opened her eyes again, and he gave her a wry smile. “Another time,” he whispered, before he turned to give his attention to his little niece, who came hurtling down the garden path.
When she reached them, she threw her arms around Fox’s leg. “Unco Shtapton!” She scowled at Amy.
He put an arm around the child. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“You muss come,” she informed him, took his hand and tugged. “Come!”
He threw Amy a look, shrugged, and obediently let Annie drag him down the path toward the lake.
A disconcerted young woman in the uniform of a nursery maid came toward them. “Lady Annalea!”
The girl shot the servant a dark look and continued to drag her uncle along.
“Mr. Stapleton, I am terribly sorry,” the young woman said. “She must have heard you and, well…”
“It is all right,” Fox said soothingly. “No harm done.”
“Unco Shtapton!”
“Yes, I’m coming, sweetheart.”
Now the sounds of boyish laughter reached them, and there on the banks of the lake they saw the earl’s two sons skipping stones across the water. At their approach, the children turned.
“Uncle Stapleton!”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Look, look! We’re skipping stones!”
“Just like you taught us!”
Annie stomped her foot. “My unco!”
Here we go again, Amy thought, and decided she had better stay well away from the little girl and her stomping feet. After all, one bruised foot was more than enough!
“Shh, sweetheart.” Fox patted Annie’s shoulder. To the boys he said, “Shouldn’t you be with your tutor at your lessons?”
Philip grinned, displaying his splendid tooth gap. “Nah. Mr. Ford needed to go away to Scotland to look after his mother.”
Richard nodded. “She has fallen ill, or something. Ergo—”
“No real lessons for us.” Pip’s grin widened. “Is it true that father used to be better at skipping stones than you?”
“Ha!” Fox put his free hand on his waist. “Did Lord Rawdon say that? The devil!”
His nephews giggled. Annie scowled. “I dun’t wanna skip stones!”
Her oldest brother smirked. “That’s because you’re a girl. And girls can’t do things like skipping stones.”
Annie’s little face turned dark as a thundercloud. “Can!”
“You cannot!” Dick said.
Amy pursed her lips. No wonder the girl was so grumpy. Picked on by two older brothers? That was enough to make any girl ornery!
Dick turned to his uncle. “We showed it to her, Uncle Stapleton,” he said earnestly. “But, you know, girls… One skip, and her stone sinks like a lead duck!”
“Now, now,” Fox said just as earnestly. “You know that you have to make allowances for ladies, Richard.”
Amy’s brows rose. Indeed?
“Given that they’re so much more fragile than us gentlemen.”
His nephews hung on his every word. “Yes, Uncle Stapleton.” They nodded.
Amy had to bite her lip so she wouldn’t laugh aloud. “Oh. Is that so?”
“Naturally.” Fox turned to give her a brilliant smile. “It is how nature made you—much to our delight. Now”—he focused his attention on his nephews once more—“how many skips did you manage?”
Abruptly Dick’s face became somewhat glum. “Eight. And Pip nine.”
Bested by one’s little brother wasn’t too much fun either, Amy supposed. Especially if you had to tell your favorite uncle about it.
“And how many skips can you do?” Pip gazed adoringly at Fox. His cheeks glowed with eagerness.
Fox straightened. From the way he drew back his shoulders, Amy assumed he was puffing out his chest. He was a vain peacock after all, she thought, snorting with silent mirth.
“Well now,” he said, then leaned down to his niece. “Sweetheart, why don’t you go and stand with Miss Bourne?” He gave her a gentle shove in Amy’s direction.
“Unco Shtapton!” the little girl protested.
“Now go, Annie.” Another gentle shove, but more insistent this time.
With an inward sigh, Amy held out her hand. It appeared she would have to brave the stomping feet after all. “Yes, come here, sweetie, and let us delicate ladies stand together.”
Fox’s eyebrows drew together and he threw her a questioning look. But she only gave him a sweet smile and put her arm around Annie’s shoulder as the girl reached her side.
“Well now,” he repeated and focused his attention on his nephews once more. “Have you got a stone for me?”
Eagerly, Dick squatted down to choose a stone for his uncle from the small battery the boys had collected earlier. He handed him a nice flat, round stone.
Fox cleared his throat, then threw a glance over his shoulder at Amy and winked.
Oh yes, definitely a peacock. She waved gaily and watched him strutting down to the very edge of the lake, where he took a while posing for dramatic effect.
Amy rolled her eyes.
But he handled the stone rather expertly, she had to admit. He threw it from his hip and with a nice splash it hit the water. One, two, three…
“Thirteen times!” young Richard crowed and jumped up and down with excitement.
His brother beamed up at Fox. “Spiffing.”
Even little Annie laughed and clapped her hands. “Hooray, Unco Shtapton!”
Fox turned and made an exaggeratedly low bow. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“Wonderful, Mr. Stapleton!” the young nursery maid gushed.
Grinning, Fox straightened and looked at Amy.
She raised her brow. “Not too bad. Now let us see what the delicate young lady can do, shall we?”
Swinging her hips from side to side, she marched toward him. “Stone?” she said to the boys.
Philip gaped at her. “You’re a lady!” he spluttered.
And his brother added, “Ladies don’t ski
p stones!”
“No?” she asked, then squatted down to pick a stone herself. She straightened then walked on, brushing past Fox. The look on his face nearly made her laugh aloud. Gosh, it reminded her of that time at Lady Worthington’s musicale, when—
She frowned. When what had happened?
But the next moment she had reached the edge of the lake, and she shook her head. It didn’t matter anyway. The only thing that mattered right now—a slow smile spread over her face—was to throw a stone and make it dance on the water.
And dance it did!
By the time the stone finally sank, the group behind her had fallen dead silent.
She turned.
“Seventeen skips,” Pip muttered. His brother only blinked, as if in a daze.
“Not too bad for a ‘delicate lady,’ is it?” Smugly, she stepped back onto the path.
The nursery maid started chuckling, and little Annie beamed like a German Christmas tree.
“Dash it!” Fox groaned. “Those cousins again!”
~*~
“I was right, wasn’t I? It were your cousins?” he asked when they continued their walk sometime later.
She threw him a mischievous smile. “Of course. What did you expect?”
“I should have seen that one coming.” He shook his head. “You must think me the world’s biggest fool.”
“Don’t take it so hard.” Deciding she could afford to be magnanimous after besting the poor man, she patted his arm. “It was an understandable enough mistake—given the delicacy of young ladies and such,” she simply couldn’t resist adding.
He groaned. “I’ll never live this down. But at least my niece is now wholly and utterly smitten with you after you’ve shown her how to do the skipping.” His eyes twinkled.
“Just as well. I certainly wouldn’t wish her to stomp on my foot again!”
In an instant his teasing gave way to concern. “Oh yes, your foot. Is it very bad?”
She lifted one shoulder. “It’s a bit bruised.”
“Oh, I must look at it!”
“What?” She laughed. “You’re impossible!”
“No, no. I must kiss it better.” He drew her along the path. “Come on, there must be a bench somewhere around here.”
Still laughing she complied. “If you think I’ll let you talk me into shedding my boot and stocking, you belong in Bedlam!”
“Hush. This is serious. Oh, look here! There’s the small pavilion. Even better than a mere bench.”
“There are pineapples on top of it.”
“Stone pineapples.” He urged her to sit down onto one of the benches in the pavilion.
“Why are there pineapples on top of it?” It struck her as absurd.
He shrugged. “Because grandfather liked pineapples?” he suggested. “I really don’t know. Now show me your foot.”
She laughed. “You’re mad.”
He went down on one knee in front of her, which brought their faces nearly on one level. With an impatient gesture, he whipped his hat off his head and put it on the other bench. A few strands of coppery hair tumbled into his face.
Oh my, she thought. He looks delicious. Her stomach lurched. This time, her laugh sounded more like a squeak. “You are mad.”
Putting his hands on the bench on each side of her, he leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “Mad with love,” he whispered.
This time her stomach didn’t only lurch, it somersaulted. Oh my. Ohmyohmyohmy.
He drew back and reached for her foot. “Now, let me do proper penance for my sins. Right foot?”
Amy opened her mouth and drew in a deep breath. “Really, this is not—”
“Right foot?”
They stared at each other. Those playful freckles across his nose were terribly deceptive, she thought. He might be playful, but first and foremost he was as stubborn as a mule!
He raised a brow. “Right foot?”
She heaved a sigh. “If you need to know—yes,” she grumbled.
“Fine.” With deft fingers he started unbuttoning her half boots, while she peered down to watch his progress.
“You will ruin your breeches and stockings,” she told him.
“So Hobbes will have my head.” He flashed her a roguish smile. “The things I do for my lady…” One of his big hands curved around her heel. With a slight tug, her boot came off. Fox put her stockinged foot onto his thigh.
Amy scowled down at his bent head. “This is most improper!”
“Umhm. Nice stockings.”
She blushed—actually blushed. Then was mortified. “You cannot comment on my stockings!” she blurted.
He raised his head, and when he noted the heightened color in her cheeks, started chuckling. “Oh, my sweet.” He leaned in to buss her cheek, not caring that her foot slid forward and bumped against his belly.
“Gracious!” she groaned. She put her hands against his chest and felt his chuckles turn to rumbling laughter.
His warm breath caressed her ear. “Don’t tell me that the same young woman who didn’t bat an eye at the sight of Lord Elgin’s very nude marbles, now quakes at the thought of showing me her unstockinged foot?” he murmured.
Ineffectively, Amy tried to push him back. “This is different.” She gritted her teeth when he wouldn’t budge. “Those were statues. This is me!”
He pulled back, his brow knitted in a frown. “Did I just say ‘Lord Elgin’s nude marbles’?” His lips twitched; then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Amy dropped her forehead into her palm. Why was it that males seemed to take so much delight in racy jokes?
Still chuckling, Fox wiped his eyes. “Uh… I… uh…” He gulped and made an obvious effort at bringing his hilarity under control.
Amy folded her hands in her lap and regarded him, her brows raised.
“Uh…” He coughed. Grinned. Coughed again. “I apologize,” he finally managed, his expression suitably serious.
For a heartbeat or two.
The next moment his face split into a wide grin. “Still. Very pretty stockings.” He pointed to her foot, which still rested on his thigh. Gently he cupped her foot in his hand, rubbed his thumb over the forget-me-nots embroidered on the white stocking. “Sweet.”
Delightful tingles spread up her leg, but not wanting to let him see how much this simple touch affected her, Amy said primly, “I take much pride in my stockings, I must inform you.”
“Pride, eh?” His hand crept up her calf and made her grip the edge of the bench because she suddenly felt rather weak.
And warm.
Definitely warm.
His eyes twinkled mischievously as he met her gaze. “So you admit to harboring peacockish feelings? How very shocking, Miss Bourne!”
She opened her mouth for a reply, but he chose that moment to brush his finger in a feather-light caress across the hollow of her knee. “Oooh,” she breathed.
His expression softened. “Yes, ‘oh,’” he murmured, and leaned in to drink her sigh from her lips. “Sweet.” He drew back to smile at her. “Very sweet.” With swift fingers he opened the bow at the top of the stocking and slid it down in a smooth stroke, all the while not breaking eye contact. Only when the stocking was off did he look down. His lips curved. “And sweet feet, too.” He tapped against her pink toes, ahhed and oohed over the bruise on the back of her foot. When he bowed his head to actually kiss it better, Amy closed her eyes and decided she was way beyond blushes, beyond mortification.
However, Fox soon proved her wrong. He started scattering kisses on her ankle and from there moved upward, bunching her pelisse and dress in one hand.
“What—?” Amy’s eyes shot open. “Fox!” Instead of an answer, he tickled her instep. “Stop it!” she gasped between giggles.
They engaged in a short, laughter-filled tussle over whether her dress would go up or not, and ended up kissing. Not short pecks this time, oh no! Hot, open-mouthed kisses that made her head swim and her hea
rt sing. Somehow her fetching hat came to land on the ground behind the bench, and somehow his cravat became rumpled and halfway undone.
By the time they finally walked back to the house, Amy felt terribly tousled: her lips still tingled from his kisses; she could feel her hairdo hanging askew; and her hat would need a new ostrich feather. Yet Fox hadn’t fared better: cravat no longer immaculate nor snowy white, mud stains on his stockings and breeches, and his hat—she really wondered what had happened to his hat. One of them must have inadvertently leaned upon it.
“Heavens!” she groaned. “We must slip in through a side door. And creep up the back stairs!”
He laughed and pressed her hand. “Relax.”
“There is a backdoor, isn’t there? Oh, what would your family think if they caught us like this?” They would think her a wanton, that was for sure!
“Don’t fret.” He pressed a quick kiss onto her temple. “They will think we are very much in love.”
“But it is unseemly!” she wailed. She might have blown up any number of things in the past, why, she had even turned a whole manor house blue, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been taught about proper conduct and decorum. What was wrong with her?
His eyes widened in mock horror. “That we’re very much in love?”
She sent him a glare. “No, you great oaf. That we’re behaving like… like…”
“People very much in love?” he asked helpfully.
She swatted at his arm. “Like barbarians! Savages!”
“Savages, eh?” he mused. “I like the sound of that!”
“Fox!”
“Amy.”
With his eyes all shiny and sparkling, how could she possibly be mad at him? She sighed. The next moment, however, her head jerked around. “Did you hear that? There’s somebody coming! Quick, what shall we do?”
Manfully, he tried to hold back his laughter. “J-jump into the bushes?” he teased.
She cast wild looks here and there. “A statue? We could hide behind a statue,” she whispered urgently. “Where’s a statue?”
Fox pointed toward a small cherub. “This one?” He cocked his head to the side and eyed it thoughtfully. “On second thought, I hardly think both of us would fit behind it, do you?” He quivered with suppressed laughter. The sheephead! She gritted her teeth and kept walking.
Bewitched Page 12
