Practically Wicked (21 page)

“What am I looking for?” Anna asked.

“This,” he said and brought her to the second stall on the right. There, on a pile of fresh straw, were the six foxhound puppies and their dam.

Anna gasped softly at the sight of them. Her face lit up with unabashed delight. “Oh. Oh, my. Oh, my
goodness
.”

“Foxhounds,” he told her as he opened the stall door. “Lucien doesn’t hunt, but he is fond of the breed. They’re quite affable, good with other dogs, and…”

He trailed off when it became clear she wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to what he was saying.

Eyes fixed on the dogs, Anna stepped into the stall and proceeded to make sounds only a woman could produce without complete mortification—coos and oohs and ahhhs—while the puppies scrambled over each other in a frantic bid to reach the visitors. They were all legs and ears and curiosity.

She knelt in the hay, reaching for them, and laughed when the puppies wriggled and squirmed under her stroking hands. The sound fell like music on Max’s ears, but the sight of her so unguarded and happy was even better.

“They’re so soft and warm.” She rubbed the belly of one and laughed again.

“Choose the one you want,” he told her.

She giggled as the puppy contorted itself in an effort to lick her hand without rolling off its back. “Oh, you are silly, aren’t you? Just the silliest little…” Her hand stilled on the puppy. Her eyes shot to his. “What did you just say?”

“Choose which pup you’d like as your own.”

“My own?”

“You wanted a hound,” he reminded her.

“Yes, I…” She looked at the dogs, then back at him. “Are you giving me a dog?”

“For the sake of propriety, we are to say it is a gift from your brother, but…”

“But it’s from you. You’re giving me a dog,” she said, and there was a notable catch in her voice.

“Well…more or less.” For reasons that baffled him, he suddenly felt equal parts embarrassed and pleased. “It was my idea.” He cleared his throat, fought off the urge to shift his feet. “I wanted another way to apologize for my earlier behavior. I hoped something more tangible than words might be in order. I remember you saying you wanted a hound…Something more substantial than your mother’s lap dogs, correct?” He waited for her nod. “Well then, here you are.”

“My own dog,” she whispered in awe. “My very own hound.”

He recognized her tone and expression as similar to what he’d seen and heard when she’d spoken in the library of having her own books, and he realized that this wasn’t just about having a particular sort of dog, it was about having a pet all her own.

Her mother’s library, her mother’s gowns, her mother’s dogs, her mother’s carriages and friends and parties. There was no missing the disturbing pattern that had emerged over the past two days. Anna had been living as a guest in her own home.

Max found himself toeing at the loose hay at his feet while Anna fussed over the puppies. “You may take your time deciding which—”

“This one,” she cut in, ruffling the head of a large female.

“Well, then. Excellent.”

Her expression turned sheepish. “Did I do that wrong? Is there a right way and a wrong way to choose?”

“Probably, but I’m not aware of them, and I don’t think they apply in this case. Any of these pups will do well for you, as long as you do well by them.” He bent down to scratch at the chosen dog’s back. “A dog such as this needs work. She’ll not be content to prance about the house like a lap dog. She requires exercise and company. She wouldn’t mind the companionship of other dogs.”

She bit her lip, clearly worried. “Perhaps I should rethink this. I don’t have a home of my own at present. I can’t assume Mrs. Culpepper’s sister will welcome a foxhound until I find a cottage, and—”

“You needn’t worry on that score. She can stay here until you’ve settled on a place of your own. I’ll be happy to bring her to you.”

“I can’t ask—”

“Fine. Your brother, who has gifted you this dog, will be happy to bring her to you.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Stop worrying and enjoy the present, Anna.”

She bit her lip again, but this time with growing excitement. “She really is adorable.”

“She’ll need a name.”

“I’ll think of something,” she murmured as she played with the puppy. “Oh, you are a darling. You are. You most certainly are. Simply a darling.”

They laughed as the little darling tottered over to attack his boot with a playful ferocity.

“Hermia,” Anna said. “Her name is Hermia.”

The name sparked a memory. “‘And though she be but little, she is fierce,’” he quoted, delighted at her choice, and with himself for making the connection to Shakespeare.

“You recognized it,” she exclaimed, her face the very picture of astonishment.

He nearly made a flippant comment about everyone having seen
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
at least once, even if it was only a performance offered by ambitious and bored family members in the parlor. But he bit the words back at the last second. It was highly unlikely that everyone, in this case, would include Anna.

“I have been known to open a book on occasion,” he said instead.

“Well, I’m delighted you figured it out. I’m delighted with
her
.” She played gently with the tip of the puppy’s tale. “Am I to take her back to the house with me?”

“You can, if you like, she’s well past weaned. But it might be easier to take things slowly. Why don’t we start with a little walkabout?”

A furrow formed between her brows. “She’ll not run off?”

“No.”

She looked anxiously toward the stable doors. “You’re certain?”

“She’s too young to outrun us for long, and we’ll not go far. To the edge of the woods and back.” No more than thirty yards from the back of the stable. Just the right distance for the puppy and her nervous new owner. “It will be fun for the both of you, I promise.”

 
 
Chapter 13

Anna wasn’t so much nervous about her newly acquired pet as she was thrilled, fascinated, and terrified.

The best part about having a dream was that it could be as far removed from reality as one liked. Anna hadn’t thought of pungent manure and aggressive dogs in her daydreams of a country stroll because she hadn’t needed to. It was just a dream, after all.

And when she’d dreamed of owning her own dog, she’d imagined wiggling tails and happy frolics in the fields. She’d not really dwelled on the fact that
owning
a dog meant that she would be
responsible
for a dog. But now she had to, and she found the notion fairly intimidating.

She’d never been responsible for another living thing in her life. Dear God, what if she failed?

Anna pushed the thought aside. It was less than useless to fear what she might do wrong instead of focusing on what she could do right. And what she could do right now was enjoy taking her new dog on a walk with Max.

With excitement edging out her anxiety, she found a bit of soft rope to use as a leash, but rather than risk frightening the puppy, Max scooped up Hermia and carried her outside instead.

Anna suppressed a sigh when they stepped out of the stable. Surely a sweeter picture had never been seen than that of Maximilian Dane standing in the sunshine with a squirming little puppy in his arms.
Her
puppy, she amended. Max Dane was cuddling the puppy he’d gifted her as an extension of an apology.

This, she decided, was worlds better than groveling.

She was almost disappointed when Max set Hermia down in the field, halfway between the stable and the woods. And some of her confidence was lost when it became clear that the puppy, though ungainly, was both plenty fast and not the least bit interested in accompanying them across the field to the trees.

Hermia sniffed the air, the ground, then turned tail and galloped back toward the stables. Well, Anna mused, at least she didn’t have to worry about it disappearing into the countryside.

“Barn sour.” Max laughed, then he looked at her, grinned and said, “Run toward the trees.”

Anna dragged her eyes from the retreating puppy. “What? Why?”

“Trust me. Make it into a game. Show her it can be fun.” And with that, he called out to the puppy, then turned about and headed toward the woods at an easy pace.

Without giving herself the chance to think better of the idea, Anna picked up her skirts and followed. She felt silly and awkward and absolutely giddy, running across an open field with Max Dane as if they were children at play.

Max looked over his shoulder as she gained on him. “You see?” he called out. “It’s working.”

Anna didn’t need to look back. Hermia galloped right past her on her way to Max. He grinned at the puppy, then dodged left without slowing down to avoid trampling her as she ran directly underfoot.

And then, before she could call out a warning, Max spun forward just in time to collide with a tall, narrow, but evidently perfectly sturdy, young tree.

The accident was so abrupt, so jarring, that Anna simply came to a stop and froze, mouth agape, as Max stumbled back several feet, pressed his hand to his forehead, and let loose a peculiar string of half-curses.

“Sweet holy…Son of a…Bloody…
Bloody
…” He produced a long and decidedly angry groan and then finally,
“Damn it.”

And then all Anna heard was her own laughter. It echoed through the trees and set the puppy, now comfortably seated at her own feet, to barking.

She laughed until her sides ached and her eyes filled with tears. Because, God forgive her, she’d never witnessed anything so spectacularly hilarious as the impossibly urbane Lord Dane running headlong into a Scots pine.

“Oh…Oh,
Lord
…” She bent at the waist in a combined effort to put the rope around the puppy and to catch her breath. Only the first was successful on the initial try. It took two additional attempts to rein in her glee to the point where she could look at Max without risking another round of laughter.

He was still holding his forehead, but he was glowering at her, his expression one of promised retribution combined with begrudging amusement.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped out. “I am so terribly sorry. Are you all right? Is the injury severe?” She could see for herself it wasn’t, or she’d not have found it all so funny, but it seemed the thing to ask.

“Well enough,” he grumbled and lowered his hand to look at his fingers. “Considering.”

“You’re not bleeding, are you?” She’d wager his pride was seeping out by the gallon.

“No.”

“Shall I run back to the stable for assistance?”

“No.” He swore again, but quieter. And this time, there was a bit of humor mixed in with the obscenities. “I’ve not done that since I was a boy.”

This wasn’t the first time? Anna couldn’t say why that made it all even funnier. “Are you quite certain you’re all right?”

“Yes.” He looked at her, grimacing. “How bad is it?”

The skin above his left eye was a little red, but there was no sign of swelling. She doubted there would be. He’d not been going all that fast, really.

“The skin is scratched a bit, but not broken. I’d be surprised if it bruised.”

“Hell.” He prodded at the skin gingerly. “I will never live this down.”

“
I’ll
not forget it.”

“It’s not you who concerns me. It’s the rest of Christendom.” His lips twitched and he gave her a pleading expression that reminded her of why she’d once thought of him as adorable. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to tell a different story as to the origins of my bruise?”

“Depends on the story,” she returned, willing to play along.

“Could we say I was wounded saving you from an animal attack?”

“What sort of animal leaves bruises about the head?”

“Feral horse?” he offered hopefully, making her laugh.

“You want me to tell people you were beaten by a horse?”

He tossed a disgusted look at the surrounding woods. “England has an appalling lack of dangerous animals.”

“But no shortage of hazardous vegetation, it seems. Why not say we were set upon by brigands?”

“Can’t,” Max replied ruefully. “It would create too much of a fuss. Lucien would send out men to search for the villains. Villagers would take up arms. An extended and ultimately fruitless hunt for the criminals would ensue. The pair of us would feel terribly guilty. Well,
you
would.” He grew quiet and turned his head, his eyes tracking through the thin woods to the fields visible beyond. “Do sheep stampede, do you know?”

The silliness of it all elicited another, albeit shorter, round of laughter from her.

“You saved me from rampaging sheep?” she managed at length.

“And the puppy. You mustn’t forget to mention I saved the puppy.” He smiled and tilted his head as she continued to laugh. “You have the most…unusual laugh of any woman I’ve ever met.”

Her amusement faltered at the sudden shift of subject. “You’ve heard me laugh before.”