Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
" D o you think he’ll survive?" Lady Evangeline asked Lord St. George, who stood beside her as the ducal carriage sped back toward London.
"He’ll be perfectly well, if he doesn’t attempt to pat any more wild animals with antlers the size of swords."
As terrible as it was, his lordship’s words made her giggle, and she bit her lip to stifle her laughter at the comedy of errors that had occurred. She turned to glance at the remnants of their ruined picnic, now being cleared away by the servants.
"So much for our day out, my lord. It has been utterly ruined."
"We may still go for a ride, if you wish, before we return to London. There are servants present, so you’re well chaperoned."
"I do believe Rosalind has completely forgotten about propriety with Mr. Fournier’s injury." She started toward her horse, eager to stretch her legs and explore more of the park. "Come, my lord. I think a ride is just what we need."
"I couldn’t agree more," he whispered in her ear as he strode past her toward his mount.
A shiver of awareness slipped down her spine, and she steeled herself to remain strong against her reactions to this man. She would not fawn over the gentleman, no matter how desperately she wished to. He was so devastatingly handsome, and kind. And his bottom looked far too taut in those buckskin breeches as he swung up onto his horse.
She tried to brush aside the image forming in her mind. What would he look like without all that clothing? She laughed at herself. The idea of ever seeing a man thus was almost too comical to consider. And yet, one day such a sight would become her reality.
She would marry. She would lie with her husband.
And they would be naked. Presumably.
The young groom holding her horse’s reins helped her to an overturned tree to use as a mounting block. "Thank you," she said, turning her horse toward the earl. "Shall we go this way, my lord?"
"I’ll race you to that large oak in the distance."
Excitement bloomed in her chest. She nodded. "Go!" she cried, kicking her mount into a canter that quickly turned into a gallop. The air whipped against her cheeks, and she felt her hair tumble loose around her shoulders. The pounding hooves echoed through the field, and she could hear the earl fast approaching behind her. It did not take long before he overtook her, laughing as he passed.
She pressed on, determined to win, but as they neared the ancient oak, she accepted the inevitable. She’d been defeated.
Lord St. George pulled his mount to a halt, a wide grin across his handsome face, his hair dishevelled. If she thought him handsome before, he was now downright deadly. "Better luck next time, my lady. I fear today, at least, I am the victor."
She brought her mount alongside his and, without thinking, smacked his knee lightly with her crop.
"Ouch!" he gasped, rubbing the spot. "That hurt."
"That was for gloating." She reached over and rubbed his leg where she’d struck him, only to realize what she was doing. She looked up and met his gaze and the hunger in his eyes stole her breath. Evangeline pulled her hand away and busied herself with the reins. "So, you’re the winner," she said, attempting to shift the suddenly charged air between them. "What do you want as your prize? I’m assuming you’d like one?"
He stared at her, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Was it the same as her? That this moment, this opportunity, might end in her receiving her first kiss?
She didn’t believe he would be so bold. But a lady could hope. Surely she had not misread the hunger in his blue eyes. Since meeting his lordship, whenever she imagined anything remotely romantic with the opposite sex, it was Lord St. George’s face that appeared. She couldn’t picture another man kissing her, no matter how she tried to manifest the situation.
He rubbed his jaw, a half smile tugging at his lips. "What I want, Lady Evangeline, is too high a price. Even for you."
"You want a monetary sum for your winnings?"
He laughed, loud and carefree, before shaking his head. "No, nothing of the kind. I speak of other celebratory offerings—ones that are too costly to pay." He reached out and tipped her chin upward, his finger grazing her skin before he drew his hand away.
"Tell me what you want, and I shall decide if it’s too high a price." She ignored the fact he had touched her again after she’d told him to not to. Not that she didn’t want him to touch her, she did, desperately so, but he ought not. Not if he did not want to end up married to her.
"No." The word was final. Unshakable.
She narrowed her eyes, unsettled by his refusal. "I demand to know your price, sir."
"We did not agree to a bet before our race. You owe me nothing, Lady Evangeline.”
That answer would not do at all. "It goes without saying that every race has a winner, and the loser must pay a price. It’s what is done."
"Not today. Not this race."
He turned his mount back toward the carriage. In the distance, she could see the servants waiting, their preparations long since completed. A deep roll of thunder echoed across the hills and Evangeline looked behind her and saw storm clouds gathering, the curtain of rain sweeping toward them from the south.
"I think we’re going to get wet," Lord St. George said. "Come. We’ll return to the carriage before the rain reaches us. I’m not particularly fond of a drenching."
"Nor I. Especially after what happened the last time my gown was soaked." She didn’t know why she’d mentioned it—the single most embarrassing moment of her life. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him, though she could feel the weight of his gaze against her cheek.
They galloped back to the carriage and reached the vehicle just in time before the heavens opened. They tied their horses quickly to the back of the carriage and ordered the servants to return home, before climbing inside as the first fat drops of rain began to fall.
Gusts of wind followed, sending leaves skittering across the road, and what had once been a sunny day now turned dark and foreboding.
"Where did this storm come from?" Evangeline gasped, tugging her skirts down after the wind had lifted them above her ankles. She was damp but not soaked, unlike the poor servants who were now exposed to the full force of the storm.
The carriage rolled forward, and rivulets of water streamed down the windows, blurring the view.
"This rain will make the roads slippery," St. George said. "It’ll be a slow journey back to town."
"Do you think we’ll reach London before nightfall?"
"I hope so. Unless we get bogged."
Evangeline leaned back in the squabs and let the motion of the carriage soothe her. With every turn of the wheel, they were closer to home.
She glanced across at Lord St. George and found him watching her. The moment their eyes met, he turned to the window, though there was nothing to see.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, and something about the gesture made her stomach flutter. He looked…bedraggled. As though he’d just emerged from some scandalous tryst.
"I can only assume, based on your outing with Mr. Fournier today, that he is one of your leading admirers," Lord St. George said. "Am I to congratulate you on an upcoming betrothal?"
Evangeline hesitated. She knew she ought not discuss such matters with him, and yet—he was her brother-in-law’s dearest friend. And he had proven himself a gentleman in every way.
Sadly…
"I do not think so, my lord. I’ve had doubts for some time, but after today—after seeing how poorly he handled a crisis—I no longer find him as attractive as I once did."
"I’m surprised you did not faint along with Mr. Fournier. Your sister does not seem to possess the same robust constitution as you, Lady Evangeline."
"No, she does not. But I’ve always been too bold, too eager to experience new things. I suppose, in doing so, I’ve scraped my knee more times than any of my sisters."
"You have scars, then, my lady?"
"Oh yes. Many." Without thinking, Evangeline lifted her gown and slid her stocking down past her knee. "See this here? I was chasing a butterfly through the gardens at home. I thought it exotic, but it turned out to be a common, brown-winged sort. I tripped and landed on a rock. Bled terribly. Had Mr. Fournier seen it, he would’ve fainted dead away."
Lord St. George reached forward and pulled her stocking gently back up over her knee. His gloveless hand was warm, but a little rough and the feel of his touch on her skin was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. She clutched at her chest, certain her heart had ceased beating. His eyes met hers before he lowered her gown back over her knees.
Everything in her stilled.
Her breath caught. Her pulse quickened.
She clutched the squabs, desperate to keep from lurching into his lap like a wanton. One more touch—just one—and she feared she would forget propriety entirely.
And that would never do at all.