Chapter 20
The groups set off in different directions, and Camilla overheard people trying to guess where the landmarks might be located.
“What shall we search for first?” she asked the twins and read the list to them.
“The sheep,” one shouted. She did not blame Pembroke for being unable to distinguish them.
“The sheep it is,” she exclaimed and moved forward in a random direction.
Pembroke took her elbow and steered her in exactly the opposite direction. “This way.”
“I would have found it eventually,” she said under her breath.
He led them along the meadow where sheep could be found but stopped short of taking them to the pen that was hidden on the other side of the sloping grass. The boys cheered when they saw the sloping roof and ran over to its entrance. On a short post by the door were pebbles painted blue.
“Just take one,” Lady Mary cautioned. “We must save the rest for the other groups.”
“Where shall we go now?” Camilla asked, suggesting a few other spots on the list.
“The tallest cedar!” the other twin shouted. At least she thought it was the other one. It did not help that they were dressed in identical fashion.
This time, Camilla looked to Pembroke, and he gestured forward. The children ran ahead with Lady Mary hurrying after them, and Mr. Moffat bestirring himself to stride with more haste.
“It would be more effective if we were to visit the creek next,” he said at something close to a grumble. “After all, if we were just to cut through those trees there…”
“Ah, but you promised,” she admonished him. “We are here with the sole purpose of entertaining your nephews.”
“And running the entirety of Beechcroft’s grounds, apparently.”
“If necessary.” She grinned, feeling more charitably toward him. He might be one to toy with a woman’s heart, but if he could go against his nature and entertain his nephews, then he could not be all bad. Besides, she reminded herself, he is very good with Evo.
They easily spotted the tall cedar, and from there went to the windmill, after which they discovered the orchard whose location Pembroke admitted to not having known. The gardener’s shed they found with difficulty, and going from there, began to cross other groups.
Pembroke called out, “How many have you got?”
“Three,” Mr. Wilmot said. “And you?”
“Five,” Camilla replied.
Joanna, hearing the answer, waved to them from a different direction. “We have six!”
“Well done,” Camilla called out, smiling.
“Four,” Abigail answered as they met on the path through the woods. Glancing behind her at Mr. Weatherby, she added, “He is not playing. Not in earnest, though I wish he were because we are not moving as fast as the others.”
“It would be unfair,” Mr. Weatherby said, and turning to Pembroke added, “Is that not so?”
He lifted his hands. “I am playing fair. We are not even in the lead.”
By now, people had stopped rushing from one place to another as the size of the grounds had begun to wear them out.
Although some landmarks were close, others required more walking.
Camilla was still determined to win, as were Tom and Henry, but the twins had finally listened to their mother’s pleading and consented to walk.
“Let’s see. We have the creek and the stone wall remaining,” Pembroke said from memory.
“The creek,” Henry declared. By now, Camilla was pretty sure it was Henry. He spoke more quickly than his brother. Lord Pembroke led them in that direction, and as soon as they heard the sounds of water, the boys rushed ahead.
“Careful!” Lady Mary called out.
They did not heed their mother, and Camilla felt a spear of alarm.
Before she could run after them, Pembroke sprinted to where the boys were climbing on top of a wet rock at the side of the creek.
He reached them just as one slipped into the frigid water, and the other went to grab his twin, following suit.
Pembroke was prepared. Plunging one leg into the creek up to mid-thigh, he reached down with both hands and plucked the boys out of the water.
He was forced to put his second foot to catch his balance and pull them to land.
They were thoroughly drenched, blond hair plastered to their heads and, from the way they shivered, looked as though their lips would turn blue on the instant.
“Famous!” Tom said, laughing.
“Yes, famous,” Pembroke said drily, escorting both boys to their mother by their arms. “And you see the tokens were not in the water after all, but right here in plain sight away from the water.”
Lady Mary tried to wipe down their arms and chests, fretting at what the wind would do to them given their wet clothes.
Even Mr. Moffat showed concern. “We will take them immediately to the house and dry them,” he told his wife.
“We will help you,” Camilla said.
“No!” both boys exclaimed together. Henry added, “We need only one more token to win. The stone wall. You have to get it for us.”
Camilla looked to Pembroke to see what he wished to do, and he paused before calling out after his sister. “Mary?”
“We will be fine. Find the last token, for heaven’s sake.” She was nearly at a run in the direction of the house, pulling Henry by the arm, with Mr. Moffat hurrying beside Tom.
“I hope they will not catch cold,” Camilla said, frowning as she watched them leave. Lady Mary might be brusque but the love she felt for her sons was evident.
“They are rarely sick, from what I understand.” Pembroke lifted a soaked boot, catching Camilla’s eye. The pantaloons above the boots were wet. “Fortunately, neither do I, but I must say this is dashed uncomfortable. My valet will turn in his notice.”
“Do you need to lean on me for support, Lord Pembroke?” Camilla offered with spurious sympathy. She did not want to show him that she was a little concerned for him as well.
His brows lifted. “Well now that you mention it…” He came over and draped his arm around her shoulder, allowing what felt like, but was probably not, his full weight to fall on her.
“No, no,” she said, laughing and extricating herself from his embrace.
“I am truly sorry for your wet boots. I am sure it is indeed uncomfortable.” Her heart was beating from his nearness and from the nervousness she felt at their exchange, which had grown in intensity—as if they were flirting.
As if he cared for her in earnest. “Let us hurry to this last place and win the contest for your nephews.”
He had gone still and was watching her. She felt it, though she pretended to examine the ivory domino that served as the token for the creek.
“Very well,” he said at last. “I do not precisely know where this stone wall is, but I have an idea.”
As they walked forward, she could hear the squelch in his boots, and her heart wrung in sympathy. Despite her love of the wind, it could be vastly unpleasant when one was wet. “I hope the boys each have their four tokens in the pocket of their coats.”
“As do I.”
They followed a smaller path through the woods that was more of a trail.
Green leaves rustled above them, but it was otherwise quiet.
Camilla did not hear anyone else nearby.
Pembroke, uncharacteristically silent, moved forward with purpose, and she was concerned that the cold was bothering him more than he let on.
“Should we turn back? Perhaps you are not quite comfortable.”
“We are close now,” he said, holding a branch that blocked the path so she might walk by it. His eyes sought hers again, but the expression on his face had become grave, and she did not know why. He gestured in front of them. “If I am not mistaken, it is on the other side of this boulder.”
She looked up. The massive stone was flanked by trees and covered in moss, and appeared as though the other side must continue on to steeper ground.
Curious, she followed him around the boulder and there discovered a perfectly formed stone wall with barely a crevice to mar its surface.
It was so smooth, it looked as though it had been plastered over.
“This is the place,” she said, looking to the top. “And you had not seen it before?”
“No. Weatherby spoke of it to me and told me roughly where it was found. I happened to remember it being near the abandoned cottage.” On his right was one remaining token set on a bit of stone that jutted out from the wall, a dart with a red feather that he picked up and handed to her.
“Well, what do you know? We are the last to find this one. And here I thought it would be the most difficult site.”
“Let us go and win, then,” she said, turning suddenly so that she almost ran into his chest. He put his hand on the wall, hemming her in with his arm, and lifted a finger to her lips. Only then did she hear sounds of running feet on the path along the other side of the boulder.
“We have only two more. The cottage must be this way for there are fields.” It was Evo’s voice.
Pembroke kept his finger on her lips as they listened to the fading footsteps.
Camilla’s whole body was overtaken by the sensation of breathlessness and her heart fluttering.
He stood entirely too close to her and kept her captive with his finger on her lips, and his arm standing guard.
She wished he would not make it so difficult for her to resist him, for she did not trust him.
When all sounds of their competition had died away, he removed his finger and dropped his eyes to hers.
He froze, staring, as though he too had just become aware of their proximity.
Camilla’s back was to the stone cliff, and her eyes went up to his involuntarily.
Her traitorous eyes. She knew there was an invitation in them.
“Why do you keep me here?”
Wordlessly, he shook his head and dropped his arm, but his gaze held her prisoner still.
“Why do you seek out my company at all?”
His eyes bore into hers. “I miss your smiles. The smiles you used to give me so freely. I am determined to win them back again.”
She took in a shaky breath. “I don’t trust you, my lord.” His honorific she spoke with an edge in her voice to remind him that they were not on intimate terms.
He clearly did not understand the message because he took a step closer until her vision blurred, and brought his hand back up to the wall, this time deliberately facing her squarely and leaning in until she could feel the stone behind her.
“Do you not, Camilla?”
She clutched her hands behind her back, the feather of the dart in her fingers, for fear that if she kept them at her sides she would reach up and grab on to his coat as a woman drowning and pull his lips the remaining distance to hers.
As it turned out, she did not trust herself either.
The air grew thick in the narrow space between them, and still he did not move.
“Do not call me ‘my lord.’ It is Pembroke when in public, if you will. Rowe when we are alone,” he murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest.
“We have no reason to be alone—or to use such intimate names between us.” Her voice was thready and feeble. She knew she sounded weak, and it was infuriating. He would think he could do anything he pleased.
“Why should we not? Considering our history.” The memory of his conversations with her in Miles’s library during the storm—and then the drawing room with Augusta in his arms—rushed back as fresh as if it were yesterday.
They had been sitting and talking as intimately as if they were already married.
But they weren’t! He had never even expressed a clear desire to court her, much less proposed marriage. A protest rose up in her.
“What history? You come to our house because your cousin is married to my sister. That is the extent of our history.”
He stood upright, and she sucked the air into her lungs that had come between them, but he did not remove the arm that hemmed her in.
Her liberty was short. With his free hand, he reached behind her back and pulled her arm from where she had tucked it.
The dart fell from her nerveless fingers as he placed her hand flat against his chest. Her eyes were pinned to her hand, pale against his navy coat.
“Is that all, Camilla? Does my heartbeat not tell a different story?”
His expression was more serious than she had ever seen it.
She made the mistake of looking up at him, then letting her gaze drop to his lips.
He took that as permission, and in one fluid movement, threw his arms around her and pulled her close, crushing her against him and kissing her as though his life depended on it.
His lips demanded hers, and Camilla responded just as eagerly.
She was all fire, consumed by his lips exploring hers, and her insides were like melted treacle.
I won’t be able to move from this spot. I will have to be carried from here.
Like a hunger that had been sated, his kisses eventually lightened and became more tender.
She followed his lead as her senses returned.
At last, he pulled away with a curious look in his eyes and something on his lips that might have been a smile.
He leaned down and picked up the dart, handing it to her. “We must not forget this.”
She was unable to respond, for she was attempting to discern what to make of his expression. His look was still grave and there was both a flash of consternation and something else she could not identify.
“I suppose I should not have done that, but a man only has so much strength.”
She looked up at him, questioning. Did he regret their kiss?
Had she tempted him against his will? She had no experience with such things and could not know if she had done wrong.
Except that ladies did not kiss gentlemen if they were not engaged to them.
And probably not even then. That she did know. The treacle inside of her solidified.
The wind ruffled his curls, and shouts resounded in the distance of someone claiming their second-to-last token.
“I suppose it was not your smiles that I was missing,” he said, “but your lips.”
Her doubts increased at the intensity of his gaze, for he did not appear to be happy at the revelation.
“I suppose I will have to marry you now.”
Camilla’s heart sank like a stone. In a flash, in a half second, a series of understanding ran through her.
He had given into some momentary insanity—an impulse—that made him want to kiss her, a woman he would not ordinarily think of in such a way.
Heaven knew she could not have avoided the kiss herself—she had not the stamina.
But to hear from his own lips that his unwisdom now led him to being forced to marry her was more humiliation than she could bear.
She turned and ran.