“Are you still mad at Oliver for abandoning us?” Augusta asked.
“I was not mad at him.”
Tempest had been mildly vexed with her brother. He had been sullen for days, and was prone to lash out at anyone who deigned to speak to him. Details were scarce, but there was a nasty bruise on his forehead. Oliver had been fighting, which was nothing new. Although he was, on most days, an agreeable brother, he had the devil’s own temperament.
He was not the only one in the family who was quick to anger. Oliver had been fighting again with their father, the Marquess of Norgrave. Her brother refused to talk about what he had done, but when the marquess ordered his son to watch over his sisters, Oliver had viewed the command as a punishment. Perhaps it had something to do with the fight. The particulars did not really matter, she supposed. Oliver had escorted them to the river. Once they had settled in, he unhitched one of the horses and announced that he would return in a few hours.
It was his way of obeying and yet defying their father.
Oliver knew his sisters would not say a word, and Mrs. Sheehan was too smitten with the young earl to betray him. Since her brother did not elaborate on where he was going, Tempest assumed he had left them to seek out his friends or one of the local women he was currently bedding.
Tempest was not supposed to be aware of such things, but she was two-and-twenty years old and the eldest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Norgrave. It was astounding what a lady could learn if she paid attention.
“Besides, Oliver did not abandon us. He will be back.”
“Of course he will,” Mrs. Sheehan murmured, giving Tempest a quick assessing glance. “Aren’t you forgetting something, lass?”
Tempest frowned. She had her sketching notebook and pencil. “I do not think so.”
The older woman tapped her temple with a finger. “Your bonnet, love. You won’t catch a fine London gent with your face covered in freckles.”
Tempest walked over to her chair and retrieved her straw bonnet.
Augusta giggled. “I don’t think my sister can run fast enough to catch a gent.”
“Maybe I don’t wish to catch one,” Tempest said lightly.
Unwittingly, her younger sibling echoed a similar observation made by their father. Now that Arabella was old enough to enjoy the London season, her father had teased that his eldest daughter’s prospects would be cut in half, since many gentlemen preferred young brides fresh from the nursery. The marquess had not intended to be cruel, but the comment cut her to the quick. Arabella was younger and prettier than she.
“Hush,” Arabella said, giving their younger sibling a pinch on her leg.
Augusta squealed in outrage. “Mrs. Sheehan, my sister is a villain!”
The red-haired chaperone chuckled. “Is she now?”
“Quit teasing Tempest,” Arabella ordered in harsh tones. “If our sister sets her sights on a gentleman, she is fully capable of catching him—even if she has a freckled face.”
At the subtle reminder, Tempest grimaced and placed her bonnet on her head, but she did not tie the long ribbons. She walked away from her arguing siblings and Mrs. Sheehan, their voices fading as the distance between them increased.
Wading through some of the taller grass, she followed a small meandering trail that took her to the water’s edge before it veered away to higher ground. She eventually came to a large flattened boulder. Overly warm from her exercise, she sat down and placed her sketch notebook and reticule beside her on the stone surface. She removed her bonnet and waved it in front of her face. The tall grass buffeted by the spring breeze provided the perfect blind. Unless someone floated by her on a small sailboat, no one would even know she was there.
Tempest stared down at her feet. Her shoes were slightly muddy, but they could be cleaned. She thought of Augusta and her taunt about wading into the shallow water.
Should I?
Charlotte Brant, Marchioness of Norgrave, would not approve of such unladylike behavior. Tempest sat quietly for a few minutes and contemplated the odds of being caught. They were practically zero. Grinning, she quickly removed her shoes. She lifted her skirt and petticoat high enough for her to reach her garters and untied them. Finally barefoot, she held on to her skirts as she cautiously walked to the edge of the water. The water still held a chill, but it felt absolutely wonderful.
Tempest closed her eyes and tipped her face upward, enjoying the contrasting heat on her face and the coolness of the water. It was a decadent feeling as she defied convention. Her father had high expectations for his eldest daughter, and so far she had managed to disappoint him. Last season, her father thought he had found the perfect gentleman for her. What Lord Rinehart lacked in good looks, he had gained in title and wealth. The marriage would have provided the marquess with certain political advantages, and Tempest had been agreeable to her father’s plans.
There had been only one problem.
The gentleman fell in love with another lady and banns had been posted before the Marquess of Norgrave could interfere.
Naturally, her father had laid the blame at her feet.
Tempest managed to roll her eyes, even while they were tightly shut. Her hair had been too dark because the gentleman had preferred a fair-haired lady. Her tongue was too sharp, for what man desired a lady more intelligent than himself. Then there was her height. She had been precisely three inches taller than her prospective husband, which her father claimed had much to do with her choice of shoes. It was ridiculous, but she had held her tongue. There was no point in arguing with her father when disappoint weighed heavily in his heart. He proposed that she slouch the next time she encountered a gentleman shorter than she. After last season, she doubted she could do much worse to embarrass her father.
Her eyes snapped open at a shout of surprise. Instinctively, she backed away from the water. The shout was followed by masculine laughter. Were they laughing at her? No, she was being foolish. If she could not see them, then they were unaware of her presence. Pushing deeper into the grass, she realized that she was standing on a finger of land that jutted out, bending the river and obscuring her view of the other side. As quietly as she was capable of, she walked to the other side. Tempest winced at the occasional sharp rock and sticks that scratched and tried to poke holes into the soles of her feet. She used her hand to sweep aside some of the tall grass, but what she glimpsed made her drop to her knees and hold her breath.
There were three half-naked men on the other side of the river’s bank.
“It’s freezing, you arse!” the dark-haired gentleman who was submerged to his neck complained to his companions.
Shirtless, the man with dark blond hair sat near the water’s edge as he removed his boots and stockings. “You should never have accepted the bet!”
Another gentleman stood between his two friends. Wearing only buckskin breeches, he was slowing working his way into the deeper portion of the river. “Stop complaining, Thorn. You should join us, Chance. The water is quite invigorating.”
“If freezing your testicles off is your definition of invigorating!” the man called Thorn shouted back, causing his friends to erupt in laughter.
Tempest was not offended by their coarse talk. She had heard worse from her brother and father when they were unaware that she was listening. From her view, she could distinguish that all three gentlemen were young and possessed well-formed physiques. The heat blooming in her face had nothing to do with the sun.
“Damn me, Chance, you are a braver man than I,” the brown-haired man said as he moved closer to the fellow who had lost the wager.
His comment made little sense to Tempest until she noticed the man at the riverbank was removing his breeches. He turned to discard his clothing and presented her with a nice profile of his backside. She hastily covered her mouth to muffle her high-pitched squeak of surprise and averted her gaze away from the gentlemen.
Her heart received another shock when she saw Arabella standing behind her.
“Dear heavens, you gave me such a fright. What are you doing here?” Tempest whispered furiously.
“I thought you might like some company,” Arabella replied, her eyes narrowing at her sister’s dirty bare feet and the high color in her cheeks. “What are you doing? And why are we whispering?”
“It is better if you do not know,” Tempest said. Better for me. How could she explain away that she had been watching three half-naked gentlemen? Worse, Arabella might tell Mrs. Sheehan. Or her mother. “We should leave.”
“No,” her sister countered. Arabella moved closer and crouched down so their heads were level. “Not until I see what you are looking at. Is it a rare bird?” Her eyes widened as she peeked through the tall grass. A soft noise that sounded like a hiccup escaped her lips. She clapped her hand over her mouth and glared at Tempest.
However, she was not looking at her younger sister. Through their natural blind, she was disheartened to see that they had been discovered. The three gentlemen were staring back at her, their expressions of various levels of surprise and indignation as they realized that they were not alone. The man called Chance quickly covered his genitals with his bare hands.
“You there! Come out!” the dark-haired one demanded. He stood, revealing more of his torso.
“Good grief, he is planning to swim to this side!” Tempest scrambled to her feet and pushed her sister forward. “Hurry, before they catch us!”
Thankfully, Arabella was obedient, and the two women retraced their steps out of the grass. At the boulder, Tempest slipped her feet into her shoes and grabbed her stockings. Her sister retrieved her sketching notebook and pencils.
“Keep to the trail, Arabella,” she said, glancing back even while she nudged her sister forward.
“Do you think they are following?”
Poor Arabella was terrified. Tempest tried to think of something that would reassure her. “I highly doubt they saw anything more than a glimpse of clothing in this tall grass, and it would be foolhardy for them to pursue us without their clothes and boots. By the time they dress and retrieve their horses, we shall be gone. With luck, they will assume it was a few boys playing a prank on them.”
“And what if they come across our little group? What are you going to say to Mrs. Sheehan?” her sister demanded, sounding winded from their hasty retreat. “Oh no … what will we tell Oliver?”
“Don’t be a goose!” Tempest snapped. “If anyone questions us, we will lie.”
“But—”
She gritted her teeth. “Do you want to be the one who explains this embarrassing debacle to father?”
“No,” her sister replied, slowing down as she considered the possible punishments that they might receive for their outrageous behavior. “If father learns of this, he may not permit us to join him and mother in London.”
It was an appealing thought. Tempest shook her head. “He will never know if you keep your mouth shut and leave the lying to me.” As an afterthought, she added, “If it comes to that.” Tempest abruptly halted and listened. A minute later, she asked, “Do you hear anything?”
Arabella listened. “No. What do you hear?”
She did not hear the sounds of three angry half-naked gentlemen thrashing their way through the tall grass in search of them. “Nothing. I told you that they wouldn’t chase after us. Catch your breath while I put on my stockings. Mrs. Sheehan will have questions if she sees my bare legs.”
Her sister sighed. “She wouldn’t be the only one with questions. Do you want to explain to me why I caught you spying on three gentlemen?”
Tempest laughed. Arabella sounded peevish, but she could not muster a lot of guilt, because her own heart was pounding in her throat. She sat down and roughly pulled off her shoes. “What do you think I was doing? Our father has high expectations for me this season, so I thought I would try my hand at finding a husband. I don’t know about you, but I think it went smoothly.” She glared up at her sibling as she tugged on her stocking. “Any other foolish questions? No? Excellent!”
The brisk walk back to their camp was done in silence.
Chapter Four
“A couple of wenches?” Thorn buttoned the front flap on his breeches. “Are you certain?”
St. Lyon chuckled and shook his head.
“I saw a woman with dark hair,” Mathias muttered for the third time. He pulled his shirt over his head. “She was speaking to someone. I did not get a good look, but I suppose it could have been a man.”
“Maybe it was a lovers’ tryst?” St. Lyon suggested.
Mathias’s gaze searched the riverbank for some sign that their unwelcome observers had returned, but they were alone. “I doubt it. All of us swam over and searched the area. The grass is rough and the ground uneven and muddy. No, someone was watching us.”
And he intended to find out why. His confrontation with Marcroft and his parents’ reaction to his announcement that he would be residing separately from the family had left him edgy for days. Oh, his mother and father had spoken enthusiastically about him claiming his grandmother’s house and their plans for London, but something seemed off balance. Mathias could not explain to his friends the reasons for his unease, but he trusted his instincts.
He sensed his parents were keeping something from him.
“You think Marcroft had anything to do with this?”
Mathias casually rubbed some of the dried mud off his boot. “Perhaps.” He grimaced. “Though it does seem unlikely. I can’t see him skulking in the tall grass just to get a glimpse of our white arses.”
Thorn laughed. “So do you want to ride on and see if we can catch up to our little mischief-makers or do you want to head home?”
“There is still plenty of daylight. I see no reason why we should not enjoy the day,” he replied, but his friends were not fooled by his careless tone.
He was eager to catch up to their little spies.
* * *
Much to Tempest’s relief, she and Arabella returned to the camp without incident. Mrs. Sheehan looked up from her sewing long enough to assess that the girls were unharmed before her gaze lowered to tend to her work. Augusta had fallen asleep on the blanket.
Everything seemed so tranquil. If not for her soggy hem and the streaks of dirt on her skirt, Tempest could almost believe she had just awoken from a bad dream.
“Not a word to anyone,” she whispered to Arabella before she reclaimed her chair, which was positioned in front of the easel. Her sister returned to her book, content to forget the entire incident.
Tempest opened her sketching notebook to a blank page and retrieved the pencil that had rolled off her lap and onto the ground. She was too shaken to focus on her landscape, so she absently sketched while she tried not to count the minutes.
Fifteen minutes later, her heartbeat had slowed to its natural pace. The three men had allowed them to escape. There would be no awkward confrontation. What had occurred had truly been an accident. Tempest had been unaware of the men’s presence until she overheard their laughter. Of course, it had been wicked of her to spy on them. She was confident she would have slipped away without notice if her sister had not startled her.
Almost an hour had passed when the last of the tension eased from her shoulders. Tempest and Arabella had been spared, and she silently sent her gratitude to the heavens. Her gaze lowered to the pencil drawing she had been working on. Her riverbank scene included three male figures. Their modesty remained intact from their varied poses, but even her rudimentary outlines revealed the men were unclothed. A half smile formed on her lips. The prudent thing would be to burn the drawing when she returned home.
The squeak of leather and a welcoming nicker from a horse heralded her brother’s return. Tempest raised her head to greet Oliver, but the words dried in her throat. There were three gentlemen approaching them on horseback. At first glance, all three men were handsome in their own individual way, she thought, as they guided their horses away from the river’s edge and toward Tempest. Th
eir horses and the expensive saddles complemented the air of confidence that enveloped her even from a distance. Their visitors were noblemen, and that knowledge should have been a comfort, since she and her sisters were without their protector. Nevertheless, all she felt in her stomach was a growing dread. Earlier, when she had come across the three half-naked gentlemen in the river, she had not gotten a good look at their faces. The damp buckskin breeches two of the men wore were proof enough that she was about to meet the three men she had hoped to elude.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” The blond gentleman she recognized as the one who had removed his breeches tipped his hat in greeting. There was no anger or suspicion in his clear gray eyes as he studied her as intently as she did him. Beneath his hat, she knew his medium blond hair lightened near his temples and the top of his head. His symmetrical features and strong square jaw added strength and character to his face. Otherwise, his features would have been too feminine. Her gaze did not linger on the bruises on his cheek. She was too familiar with unpredictable males and their desire to resolve most problems with their fists. They revealed that the man in front of her was not afraid to mar his handsome face or fight for what he wanted. It would be unwise to underestimate this gentleman.
Tempest abruptly shut her notebook.
“Good afternoon, gents,” Mrs. Sheehan said genially. “A lovely day for a ride, is it not?”
“Aye, madam,” the dark-haired gentleman replied. His build was leaner than his friend’s, but his dispassionate, almost bored expression hinted that very few things surprised him. His dark green gaze surveyed the area they had chosen for the afternoon. “It appears you ladies have claimed a pretty spot.”
“Indeed.” The whisper of fabric, and their chaperone had put aside her sewing. Mrs. Sheehan rose from her chair and approached the three gentlemen. She placed herself in front of Tempest. “Have you traveled far?”
“A few hours,” was the blond-haired gentleman’s vague reply. Tempest wondered if he was their leader, since the other two seemed content to allow him to direct the conversation. It was disconcerting the way his gaze kept returning to her. “Are you ladies alone?”
You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want Page 3
