Lord Will & Her Grace (9 page)

"Why do you say this?"

"Ah, well, the fox, he is a social, cunning
creature, is he not? The wolf, on the other hand, is a dangerous
loner who runs in packs only when it suits him. And there is a
certain attraction to a gentleman like that."

"Karine, I know you mean well, but, frankly I
don't think you know Lord William at all. Oh, he might have taken
part in the war between England and France. There are many who did.
But I'm afraid Lord William isn't what you think."

A knock sounded at the door, signaling the
bath water's delivery. Sophie scurried behind the screen. "And
where is my cousin this morning?"

"Mr. Mornington and his sisters paid a call.
They all decided to take the morning air in the direction of the
cliffs."

IT had been two days since William had
inadvertently drunk seawater and sand while observing the
delectable Miss Somerset ascend the path homeward in a wet,
transparent gown that clung deliciously to her curves.

He smiled in remembrance and motioned his
horse into a gallop along the road leading to the small fishing
port.

She'd managed to avoid him during those two
days although memories of her had not. He couldn't get the image of
her out of his mind—her trusting eyes, and her laughter. And she'd
provoked emotions he hadn't thought he possessed anymore.

At one point in his life he might have held a
bit of romantic drivel in his heart that he had thought passed for
that wilting emotion called love. He frowned at the word. But that
had been for just a short while. A very short while.

A red fox dashed across the road, making his
horse skitter to the side. William brought the gelding immediately
back under control.

Mornington had tried to force him to desist
his wooing activities when he'd confronted William two evenings ago
in the masculine lair of his library.

"I'll not have it. It won't do at all. You
were lucky I was able to divert my sisters and Miss Owen's
attention from the beach before they spied you and Miss Somerset in
that, that heated posture," Mornington had said.

"My friend, you didn't have any scruples
about the lady when I first arrived. May I ask you if you are more
concerned with your sisters's reactions, Miss Somerset's
reputation, or is it your concern for the cousin's tender
sensibilities? Is that what prompted this warning?" William had
asked.

Mornington's face had turned an interesting
shade of scarlet.

"
Mon Dieu
, it's as I thought. Cupid
has flung his arrow and found his mark—and only after what, two or
three encounters with the dark beauty? Are you ready to give up the
ghost in bachelor's heaven, then?"

He had flustered Mornington almost beyond
speech.

His friend had readjusted his cravat and
patted his forehead with a handkerchief. "It ain't right, I tell
you, for any reason. I won't try to hide anything from you. But I
won't allow you to rut about in a careless fashion and ruin lives
in the process."

"I'm never careless, Charles. And I promise
you I won't ruin anyone's life other than my own. Perhaps I will
surprise you."

Mornington had snorted his dissent.

But William had meant it.

As his horse negotiated the uneven road on
this cloudless day, exhilaration coursed through his veins.
Everything was falling flawlessly into place—just like the
successful days of old when he and Farquhar had accepted
assignments to ferret out informants and thwart Napoleon's
missions.

There was something stimulating in the thrill
of the chase. Walking the narrow line between success and disaster
made victory all the sweeter. His courtship of the heiress was
proving more intoxicating than he'd ever imagined.

She was in the cup of William's hand. She was
falling in love with him. He was sure. He couldn't have mistaken
the look in her eyes. And unbelievably, he was quite possibly
falling in—oh, God forbid, he didn't really think that.

He doubted it would ever happen again.
Besides, that first time, in retrospect, couldn't really be called
anything but a foolish youthful passion. He pushed his horse to
gallop faster.

So what was it—that certain yearning for
Sophie Somerset, coupled with obsessive thoughts? It was at least a
surprise. And he liked surprises. William laughed out loud,
startling his horse in the process.

Who would have guessed that it would so
conveniently fit into his pressing needs for capital? He would be
able to face Mr. Derby, and now Mr. Thompson, and settle all the
demands for funds and approve the architectural plans for the bank.
His bank. An institution that would resurrect his family's name
once again in the highest circles of the beau monde.

Today would be the culmination. He would
declare himself, finesse any ruffled feathers over his false
appearances, and celebrate their betrothal. And since he wasn't a
slow top, he would be damned if he didn't finagle a kiss or perhaps
something more into the bargain. Not that he would anticipate the
wedding night. He was a gentleman and far too much in command of
himself to do that, after all.

The little port of Burnham-by-the-Sea was
deserted as all the men who earned their bread via the sea's bounty
had cast off in the glowing light of dawn. Sophie readjusted her
new full-length fishing coat and again checked to make sure that
not an inch of the new pantaloons showed. She had no desire to
shock the inhabitants of the village.

But where was Mr. Seymour? The elderly parson
had promised so faithfully to go fishing with her today. She
wondered if her choice of clothes would overly distress him. Given
the amount of donations she had made to the church, she was hopeful
he would look the other way when she removed her coat when far from
shore.

She turned at the sound of horse hooves on
hardened earth.

Lord William dismounted and called a passing
boy to his aid. With the toss of a coin, the boy took possession of
the reins and led the horse away.

Oh, what was he doing here? And she had been
so successful in her efforts to avoid him until now. She tried to
appear unruffled by his appearance but feared she was blushing.

"Miss Somerset, I am at your service," he
said, bowing. "It seems Mr. Seymour has pressing duties in the
parish. I offered to escort you on your fishing expedition to
relieve some of the poor man's burden. I do hope that is all right
with you, ma'am?"

"Why, yes," she said, attempting to compose
herself. "Yes, of course, my lord." Was there no excuse she could
invent on short notice? How was a day spent alone with him to be
borne? "But, really, I would not inconvenience you. I think I shall
wait for another day. And I now remember that Mr. Mornington and
Mari mentioned their interest in fishing as well."

"Mornington, spend the day fishing? I don't
believe the man has ever set foot in a boat again after becoming
violently seasick on his grand tour."

"Oh, I see."

"Now then, do you have everything we will
need? Tackle, bait, refreshments?" His eyes held a glint of
amusement.

She thought frantically. Before she could
reply, he had taken his decision.

"Good. Then we're off." He leaned down to
reposition the small boat on the ramp. The next moment, he launched
the fishing vessel from the moss-covered slope into the sea. Sophie
hopped into it at the last moment, and he followed her, taking up
the oars to put some distance from the shore.

"I thought this might be the perfect
opportunity,
chérie
," he said, "for your promised lessons
on, let's see—Character, Distaste for dandies, and wasn't it also,
the Error of my ways?"

She found he was looking directly at her when
she dared to raise her eyes. His eyes crinkled in the corners.

"Why yes, that would be an excellent topic
for today, my lord."

"Do you think you could find it in your heart
to call me 'William'? 'My lord' sounds so… so formal. We've become
great friends, haven't we?"

"Perhaps, but I think I'd better not. I shall
try to avoid any use of your name at all, in future, as I don't
want to offend."

He was rowing with expert dexterity.
Evidently, he had spent a good deal of time around boats. It was in
conflict with his usual dandyish existence. But now that she had
somewhat regained her wits she noticed he was dressed in much more
somber, practical clothing than usual.

It was unmercifully hot. He stopped rowing
for a moment to peel off his bottle green coat.

She felt awkward, watching him work the oars.
The great muscles in his tall frame strained against his shirt. And
the muscles in his long legs… well, they were straining too. Sophie
forced herself to look at the water. She dragged her hand alongside
the boat to cool herself.

"
Chérie
, the sun is blazing. Really,
you should remove that heavy coat," he said.

"I'm perfectly comfortable, my lord."

"You're afraid to show me your pantaloons,
then. There's no need to be embarrassed. I'm well familiar with
your female form already and you've nothing to fear from me. Truly,
I've your best interests at heart." He sported a poorly disguised
sly grin.

Wretched man. "Why am I not surprised by your
lamentable lack of talent in putting a lady at ease?"

He laughed.

The heat and humidity was causing William's
lawn shirt to stick to the contours of his broadly muscled chest.
All at once she was dizzy. Perhaps it was the heat, more likely it
was the sudden remembrance of his chiseled, steaming form, naked
from the bath.

In disgust, she took off her coat. "Ah,
chérie
, that's much better. And it also serves to increase
my desire—"

She inhaled sharply.

"—to finish the job of rowing to the cove."
He winked at her. "If I really wanted to embarrass you, I'd tell
you that you look like the goddess Diana the Huntress in those
delightfully snug pantaloons."

Sophie couldn't think of a single way to lead
him off the topic and sincerely hoped silence would do the
trick.

He'd put a good deal of distance between them
and the shore and finally they were within a few oar strokes of the
cove.

"Do you know if the fishing is good here?"
she asked.

"I have the port master's word on it," he
replied. "It also has the added benefit of being secluded. And I'm
in need of a private audience with you."

What
?

"I beg your pardon?" What was he about? Oh,
why couldn't he be serious and refrain from ridiculous
innuendo?

"Patience,
chérie
, patience."

He stopped rowing suddenly. They drifted
among the small swells, wavelets lapping against the sides of the
little boat.

She reached for one of the fishing rods.

"No, you must hear me out now, my darling,
for I've something of importance to tell you. Then you shall have
your day of fishing, if you desire it still." His lips curved into
the familiar devastating smile.

Sophie shivered.
My darling
?

And then Lord Will leaned forward to grasp
her hands in his own. They were warm and very solid.

"Sophie, darling," he murmured. "Surely, you
have guessed that I've become… fond of you?"

At the use of her given name, a flutter of
excitement shook her. He was playing a game, trying to make her
laugh.

"You are deliciously refreshing," he
continued. "Truly a lady different in almost every respect from
other females I've known. Your goodness, indeed, your character,
and your courage and honesty intrigue me."

Sophie finally dared look him full in the
face again. His deep voice, and heavy-lidded eyes resonated her
senses.

"In fact"—he arched an eyebrow—"I do believe,
I'm fall— No, I cannot say such romantic nonsense in daylight. And
I doubt an impassioned, overused sentiment will make you swoon into
my arms." He lowered his voice. "You shall just have to wait to
hear it under the covers." His dimples appeared alongside his
dazzling white smile and he winked.

What
?

Lord William tilted his head and waited. "I
do believe this is the part where you're supposed to throw your
arms about me and declare your undying love in return,
chérie
," he said. "But I suppose it's too much to ask in
this unsteady vessel."

Surely, she imagined what he'd just said. His
lips had moved, but he couldn't have implied he was in love with
her. Her body grew cold despite the sun.

"Perhaps," he continued, "you're convinced my
character is so beyond salvation that I'm proposing marriage in an
attempt to win our little wager?
Chérie
, I would be more
than willing to wear fisherman's rags in Hyde Park for at the
least, let's say, a week—although I hope you would take pity before
that—if you do me the honor of becoming my wife."