A Summer to Remember (15 page)

“I am going back to the house,” she announced. “I begin to see that I should have listened to my relatives in London after all. Stand out of the doorway, if you please, my lord.”

He grinned, and his waistcoat landed on top of his coat. He began tugging his shirt free of his riding breeches. “Four minutes.”

Her nostrils flared. “You would not dare.”

“Ah. That ill-advised word again.” His shirt came off over his head and he wondered if she would swoon.

But she was made of sterner stuff. “You are no gentleman, my lord.”

He tipped his head to one side as he mentally debated with himself whether he would bathe in his breeches or—far more sensibly—in his drawers. “You really ought to aim for some originality, you know. Three minutes fifteen seconds.” He decided reluctantly on the breeches. He had brought an extra pair with him, after all. He lifted one leg to peel off his stocking.

“Please,” she said quietly, “let me go.”

Would he really toss her in, fully clothed? Probably not, he decided. Undoubtedly not, in fact.

“You wanted an adventure, Lauren,” he said. “You wanted a summer quite different from any other you have ever known. You wanted to know what it feels like to live as other people live—people who do not have to earn the respect and love of those who nurture them. You wanted to know exuberance and happiness and freedom from restraint. You cannot have it both ways. You cannot expect these things to drop into your lap if you do not reach out to embrace them. I cannot keep my side of our bargain if you will not allow me to.”

“I do not know how to swim,” she said.

“I will teach you,” he told her. “The water is not even very deep at this point. It is less than shoulder deep.”

“I cannot remove my . . . I
cannot,
” she said.

It was a definite problem. He could see that, given the type of woman she was.

“I’ll jump in and swim for a few minutes,” he said. “I’ll not even glance in this direction. I’ll not even know it for a while if you decide to steal off back to the house. When you are ready, wrap one of the towels about you—they are large—and come to the bank. I’ll help you into the water. Or you can jump in unassisted if you prefer and I’ll not see you at all.”

“Kit,” she said, “I did not know it was going to be like this. I did not
mean
this.”

“Or kisses. Or passion. Or riding. What
did
you mean, then?” he asked her. “Go back to the house if you wish. I will not stop you.”

He turned and strode away to the bank. He dived in headfirst and came up a short distance out into the lake, gasping from the shock of the water’s coldness. He shook the drops out of his eyes and then put his face back under and began a slow crawl in the direction of the opposite bank.

“Kit?”

Several minutes had passed and, though he had not looked back to the folly, he was convinced that she must have started back to the house, probably on foot. But before he could turn his head to look, she called his name again.

“Kit.”

She was huddled over at the edge of the bank, kneeling, all except her head from the chin up wrapped inside the blanket in which he had rolled the towels. He swam a few strokes closer to her.

“The water is freezing,” she said. “I cannot do this. Please don’t make me.”

What she could not do, he guessed, was take off that blanket and expose herself to his view, clad only in her shift. He felt his temperature rise a notch, cold water notwithstanding, at the realization that she must indeed have removed most of her clothes. He swam the rest of the distance and stood a couple of feet from her, both his hands outstretched.

“The moment of truth,” he said. “How strong
is
your desire for adventure? How great
is
your courage to attempt something new and different? And undeniably daring. This is it, Lauren. Now or never.”

She drew the blanket tighter about herself, if that were possible.

“Take my hands,” he said. “Or go back home.”

Back
home,
he had said deliberately. Not back to the house. He could see from the look in her eyes that she understood him. If she wished it, the whole charade could be over with this morning, almost before it had begun. She could return to Newbury or to London with her aunt and cousin.

She moved into a crouch and set first one and then the other hand in his, and with nothing left to hold it about her, the blanket slipped to the grass. Her cheeks flamed, he tightened his grasp on her hands, and she jumped—the lesser of two evils, he supposed, since her slim, shapely legs had been suddenly exposed from the knees down as well as her arms and shoulders and a generous expanse of bosom. She looked a good deal younger than usual.

And then she was gasping convulsively and clawing at him with both hands in utter panic. He grasped her waist and drew her under with him until the water covered their shoulders and she would have only its temperature to contend with and not the morning air as well. He was laughing—mainly at the impropriety of what he had coaxed her into. Her bare legs brushed against his and he was very aware that there was almost nothing between his hands and bare, inviting flesh.

“You are not going to drown,” he assured her, “or freeze to death. You will be used to the water soon. It is not so very cold. Hold your breath.”

He drew her down with him until they were fully submerged. He felt her fingernails dig into his arms and saw that her eyes were tightly closed and her hair floating in a dark cloud about her face. He lifted them both to the surface almost immediately.

She surprised him then. She opened her eyes, stared at the bank and at the water, and then into his eyes, droplets gleaming on her thick lashes. “I did it,” she said. And then again, as if it were a moment of immense triumph, “I
did
it.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

He began her first lesson, teaching her how to put her face in the water without panicking, how to blow out through both her nose and her mouth. She was a surprisingly apt pupil. Though perhaps it was not so very surprising. He suspected that she had always been diligent in her efforts to master whatever she set out to accomplish.

Finally he taught her how to float on her back. Once he had convinced her that she would not simply sink like a leaden weight to the bottom and neither be seen nor heard from ever again, she relaxed and followed his instructions. But she would do it only as long as he had a firm hold on her back beneath her shoulders. The last time she tried, he kept his hands braced beneath her until he knew she was relaxed and buoyant, then he slipped them away. She floated alone, her arms stretched out to the sides, her eyes closed. After a few seconds he stepped away and waded around until he was a little way in front of her feet.

“The sky is lovely this morning,” he said. “There are just enough fluffy white clouds up there to accentuate the blue.”

She opened her eyes and gazed upward. “Yes,” she agreed—and then realized where he was. She sank, came up sputtering, and wiped water from her eyes with both hands.

“I might have drowned!” she scolded. And then she lowered both hands, fixed him with a wide gaze of astonishment from her lovely violet eyes, and . . .
smiled
. A full, sunny smile that lit up her face and made her suddenly and radiantly pretty. “I
did
it, Kit.
I floated alone.
”

She came wading toward him and somehow—his mind did not follow the full sequence of events—her arms were twined tightly about his neck and his about her waist and he was twirling her in the water, taking them downward as he did so, and covering her mouth with his own just before they went right under.

Sounds were muted. Time was suspended. There was body heat and there was mouth heat and for the timeless moments while they were submerged there were triumph and exuberance and pride and even joy all mingled together with raw lust.

And then they broke above the surface and were drawing apart and she was herself again—and he was himself once more.

“Your first adventure, ma’am,” he said, deliberately careless laughter in his voice, “safely accomplished and duly rewarded.”

“
Scandalously
rewarded,” she said, eyeing him warily.
“But what could I expect from the infamous Viscount Ravensberg? It must be getting late.”

“Lord, yes,” he said. “And any or all of our relatives might be given the impression that you have been out enjoying the morning air with your betrothed. That would be shocking indeed.”

“I came to Alvesley to lend you countenance,” she reminded him, “not to embroil you in further scandal.”

He chuckled and pulled himself up onto the bank. He ran the few steps to the temple and came back with one towel wrapped about himself and the other in his hand. It was devilish cold out of the water.

“Take my hand.” He bent to haul her out.

She might as well have been wearing nothing at all. He was uncomfortably reminded of the nymphs on the frieze inside the folly—and of his reaction to them as a boy. Clothed, she was a beautiful lady. Wearing only a soaking wet shift, which clung to every slender curve, she was woman and wanton and siren—and eminently beddable. He tossed her the dry towel, stalked off to fetch his clothes from inside, and without a backward glance took them around into the trees in order to dress and leave her some privacy to do the same.

They were on their way back to the house ten minutes later, her horse ahead of his. Apart from the fact that her hair was damp and curlier than usual, she looked like the elegant ice maiden to whom he had grown accustomed. Her towel was rolled up in front of her sidesaddle. She had refused to give it to him, probably, he thought, trying not to dwell on the images that came to mind, because her wet shift was wrapped inside it. Which meant, of course, that she was wearing nothing beneath that very fetching riding habit.

It was all very well, he thought, to have agreed to give her a memorable summer and even a taste of passion. It was quite another thing to find himself with lascivious designs on a woman whose avowed ambition was to live an independent existence as a spinster. His mind needed some distraction.

“Did Lady Muir hurt herself recently?” he asked her. “Or is the limp habitual?”

“She was thrown from her horse,” she told him, “while she was married. Her leg was broken and apparently not set properly. She also suffered a miscarriage.”

“And widowhood not long after?” he asked. “She cannot be any older than you.”

“One year older,” she said. “Lord Muir died as the result of a horrible accident in their home. He fell over a balustrade into the hall below. She was with him at the time. As you may imagine, it took her a long, long while to recover—if she has fully recovered even now. It was a love match, you see.”

Kit did not comment. What was there to say about a young woman whose life had been so dogged by tragedy? Apart from the limp, one would not know she had suffered at all. She smiled a great deal and was charming and personable.

How impossible it was, he thought just as if he were making a startling new discovery, to know people from their outer demeanor. How myriad were the masks people wore.

Lauren Edgeworth’s back was rigid with ladylike dignity. Yet less than half an hour ago she had smiled with sunny exuberance and flung herself into his arms. Simply because for the first time in her life she had floated on her back.

He smiled with silent amusement and at the same time felt a curious ache in his throat, almost as if he were on the verge of tears.

10

L
auren was not late for breakfast, as she had feared she would be. There was even time for her maid to do something to disguise the dampness of her hair after she had changed her clothes. She went down with Gwen and her aunt, both of whom called at her room first to tell her how favorably impressed they were with their welcome to Alvesley, and how well they liked Lord Ravensberg. And how happy they were for her, of course.

The whole family was assembled for breakfast, with the exception of the dowager, who always remained quietly in her own apartments for most of the morning before going out for her daily walk, the countess explained. The earl himself seated the ladies, placing Lauren to his right, Aunt Clara to his left.

“You went riding with Ravensberg this morning,” he observed to Lauren. “I saw you leave the stables.”

“Yes, my lord.” She smiled. “The early morning air was fresh and invigorating. We rode through the woods to the temple folly on the far bank of the lake. The view from there is quite splendid.”

“Yes, indeed,” he said.

“You have been on an outing already this morning?” Aunt Clara asked, all astonishment. “
You,
Lauren?
Riding?
”

And swimming too, Lauren thought. How terribly mortified she would be if the earl had witnessed that too. But she had
floated
.
Alone.
And then she had lost her head—something a lady never did—and launched herself at Kit in her excitement. And he had kissed her. Or had she kissed him? But that possibility did not bear thinking of.

Gwen was laughing. “Lauren has never been an early riser,” she said. “And riding has never been her favorite form of exercise. I believe you are having a positive influence on her, Lord Ravensberg.”

“I do hope so. But perhaps, ma’am,” he replied, mischief in his eyes, “it was merely the effect of coercion. I threatened to haul her out of bed in person if she did not appear in the stables of her own volition.”

Lauren felt her cheeks flame.

“Kit!” his mother said reproachfully.

Aunt Clara laughed.

“That would do it,” Gwen said gleefully.

“The exercise has whipped a healthy glow into your complexion, Miss Edgeworth,” the earl told her. “Sydnam, will you be ready after breakfast to help me inspect the new roofs on the laborers’ cottages?”

“Certainly, sir,” his son replied.

Kit, Lauren noticed, was not invited to join them. Neither did he suggest it himself. Of course, Mr. Butler was his father’s steward. But even so . . .

The countess planned to call on her neighbors during the morning to deliver personal invitations to the festivities for her mother-in-law’s birthday.

“Kit will attend you this morning,” she said to her guests.

“But may I not be of some assistance to you, ma’am?” Lauren asked.

“That is extremely kind of you.” The countess looked approvingly at her. “Yes, thank you, Miss Edgeworth. It would certainly be appropriate for me to introduce Kit’s betrothed to the neighborhood. Lady Kilbourne, Lady Muir, would you care to accompany us too?”

It was decided that all four of the ladies would go visiting.

It was Sydnam Butler who introduced an awkward note into the discussion of the various morning plans. “Will you be calling at Lindsey Hall, Mother?” he asked. “Will you be taking an invitation there?”

“It is rather far,” she said. “I believe I will have a servant take over a card.”

“When all the other invitations are to be delivered in person?” Kit said. “It might be construed as something of a slight, might it not, Mother?”

“I daresay,” she said briskly, “they will not be able to attend anyway. Though of course an invitation must be sent. Now, I believe we ought—”

“I will ride over there and be your messenger,” Kit said. “It will give me something to do this morning.”

There was an awkward little silence.

“But I would like to come with you, Kit,” Lauren told him. “Can you wait until after we return? It would appear strange that I have been introduced everywhere else except Lindsey Hall.”

The earl cleared his throat but then, when everyone looked his way, appeared to have nothing to say.

“I do understand all the awkwardness of the present relations between Alvesley and Lindsey Hall,” Lauren assured the earl and countess. “I know what has happened, and I have explained it to Aunt Clara and Gwen. I really do believe that Kit and I should do our best to prevent any permanent estrangement. We should go together this afternoon. How the Duke of Bewcastle receives us and whether he and his family attend the birthday celebrations will be their decision.”

“Oh, my dear.” The countess sighed. “There is really no need for you to do this. The duke and his family can be very . . . Well, they do not take kindly to having their will crossed. This is entirely a problem for us to handle.”

“But I am to be one of your family, ma’am,” Lauren reminded her.

“It is certainly the right thing to do. I applaud your courage, Miss Edgeworth.” The earl was looking at her with considerable respect. “Ravensberg will wait for you.”

Kit, Lauren saw when she looked across the table at him, was regarding her with steady, unsmiling eyes.

The rest of the morning was busy, but it offered nothing beyond the range of Lauren’s experience. They called upon six families, three in the village, three in the country beyond it. Partly in fulfillment of her bargain with Kit, partly because it was second nature to her anyway, she made herself agreeable and charming. She was, of course, the focus of everyone’s curious attention as the affianced bride of Lord Ravensberg. She had her main reward when for a few moments as Mrs. Heath showed off her flower garden to Aunt Clara and Gwen before they returned to the barouche, she walked at the countess’s side.

“You are an extremely pleasant surprise,” the countess said.

Lauren looked inquiringly at her.

“We have heard very little that is good about Kit since his return to England last year,” his mother said. “We were quite dismayed when he came home two weeks ago and told us about you. We expected the worst, I must admit. It is an enormous relief to discover that he has chosen a perfectly charming lady.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Lauren flushed with pleasure. “But were you very disappointed? About Lady Freyja Bedwyn, I mean?”

“Redfield and the Duke of Bewcastle—both this man and his father before him—have always dreamed of an alliance between our two houses since our lands adjoin,” the countess explained. “Our eldest son died before he could marry Lady Freyja. Redfield thought a match with her would suit Kit. We both did. We were taken entirely by surprise when he came home with news of his betrothal to someone else. I cannot say I am entirely disappointed, especially after meeting you. I think you will do very well for my son. Perhaps you will be able to persuade him to settle down at last.” She sighed. “And to be happy again.”

There was no time for any further conversation together. Soon they were in the barouche and Aunt Clara was exclaiming over the beauty of Mrs. Heath’s garden.

Lauren was left to deal silently with her guilt. How were Kit’s parents going to feel when she broke off the engagement at the end of the summer? They were real people. They were not the heartless tyrants she had imagined when Kit had told his story in Vauxhall, but parents who wanted the best for their son. They wanted his happiness.

How could she have agreed to this deception? No—how could she have
suggested
it?

The need to confide in someone was suddenly almost overwhelming. She met Gwen’s eyes across the barouche. Gwen was smiling at her and looking happy—happy for
her
. She had been terribly hurt for Lauren’s sake by the events of last year. She felt disloyal, Lauren knew, for loving Lily and for feeling happy about her brother’s happiness. She thought now that Lauren had found her happily-ever-after.

But a bargain was a bargain, Lauren decided. She could not tell anyone the truth until this was all over.

Less than two hours later Lauren was sitting beside Kit in his curricle. It was a perfect summer afternoon, but Lauren, shielding her complexion beneath the shade of a parasol, was in no mood to enjoy it. She was uncomfortable for two particular reasons. She kept remembering the early morning with considerable embarrassment, and she was more nervous about the coming visit than she cared to admit.

Kit seemed disinclined to talk as he drove along the country lane at a pace that seemed far too recklessly fast to Lauren. But she would not reprove him. She just wished he would talk about the weather or some other safe topic. Had she
actually
been in the lake with him this morning
in her shift
while he had worn nothing at all above the waist? Could it possibly have been merely a dream? But no, her dreams had never been that bizarre. She twirled her parasol.

“I have realized,” he said without turning his head, “that it is a sign of emotion even when you are looking perfectly composed.”

“What is?” She looked blankly at him.

“You send your parasol for a spin,” he said, “and fan my cheek with the breeze it whips up. It is a sign of emotion. It betrays you.”

“How utterly foolish,” she said, holding her parasol quite still.

“Are you nervous?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then you should be,” he said.

An ancient wagon top-heavy with a load of hay was lumbering toward them. Kit deftly drew his curricle to the side of the road so that the hedgerow brushed alarmingly against the wheels, and grinned in acknowledgment of the farmer, who was bobbing his head and pulling respectfully at his forelock while his wrinkled face was wreathed in smiles. The horses did not reduce speed. Lauren slowly released her death grip on the handle of her parasol as they drew clear and had the narrow road to themselves again.

“There are six Bedwyns,” Kit continued just as if between two sentences he had not put both their lives at risk, “none or most of whom you may be about to meet. And not a one of them will be feeling kindly disposed to either of us. They are, in order of birth, Bewcastle himself, who succeeded his father to the title when he was just seventeen, Aidan, Rannulf, Freyja, Alleyne, and Morgan. Their mother was apparently a voracious reader of the history and literature of old Briton—hence their outlandish names. Bewcastle is Wulfric, though not many people outside his own family have ever called him that. We were all friends and playmates during our growing years except for Bewcastle, who was too superior, and Morgan, who was too young. Aidan is doing his bit in the Peninsula. The others are all at home this summer, I believe. They are all hellions, Lauren, regardless of gender. It has occurred to me since this morning that in agreeing to your offer to accompany me here I have perhaps agreed to feed the lamb to the wolves.”

It all sounded dreadfully alarming. But she had been taught that civility and gentility were the answer to all of life’s ills, that the outer demeanor was all-important, any inner uncertainties being something to be kept strictly to oneself.

“I am not afraid,” she said. “I came to Alvesley to help you establish yourself here on your own terms. It was part of our bargain. The attempt to mend the breach between your two families is necessary.”

They had turned off the narrow country road they had been following for several miles and were proceeding up a wide, straight avenue lined with elm trees toward an imposing stone mansion, which appeared to be a blend of so many architectural styles that it was impossible to label it with one word. Yet it was magnificent. It was Lindsey Hall, Lauren supposed. She ruthlessly ignored the queasiness in her stomach.

“It occurs to me,” Kit said, “that you are fulfilling your side of our bargain with single-minded devotion, Lauren. I am going to have to apply myself more diligently to mine. I will owe you some exhilarating adventure after this afternoon. And some grand passion.”

“I am not going swimming again today,” she said hastily. “Or kissing you again—ever.”

He chuckled. “Actually,” he said, “I had tree climbing in mind.”

Her mind exploded with alarm, but there was no time to pursue the matter. The avenue divided into two branches close to the house and circled about a large and magnificent flower garden with a marble fountain at its center. Water spouted thirty feet into the air, creating the impression of a million diamonds and an array of rainbows against the summer sunshine. Kit helped Lauren down before the front doors and relinquished his horses and curricle to the care of a groom, who had come running from the stables.

“The house is a hodgepodge of various architectural styles,” Kit explained as he rapped the knocker against the door. “All courtesy of generations of dukes and earls before them who extended and improved without pulling anything down. The great hall, as you will see, is pure Middle Ages.”

He was quite right, Lauren saw as soon as they stepped inside. The ceiling was oak-beamed, the plain walls hung with weapons and coats of arms and faded old banners. One huge fireplace dominated the wall opposite the door, and a massive oak table took up most of the central floor space.