Whirlwind Wedding

Chapter 3

Just before dawn the next morning, Elizabeth tiptoed from her room carrying her knapsack.

"Where are you off to so early, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth nearly jumped out of her skin. "Good heavens, Aunt Joanna, you startled me." She smiled at the woman who had opened her heart and her home to her without question. "I thought I'd walk the grounds and do some sketching. Would you care to join me?"

A horrified expression crossed her aunt's plump face. "Thank you, dear, but no. The early morning dew would completely wilt my feathers." She lovingly patted the long ostrich plumes protruding from her chartreuse turban. "I'm going to read in the library until breakfast." Aunt Joanna cocked her head to one side and Elizabeth leaned back to avoid the feathers. "Are you feeling better?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"His grace informed me last evening that you'd retired due to the headache."

Warmth crept up Elizabeth's neck. "Oh! Yes, I'm feeling much improved."

Her aunt eyed her with open curiosity. "Obviously you had an opportunity to speak with the duke. What did you think of him?"

He is devastatingly attractive. And lonely. And he thinks I'm a liar. "He was very… charming. Did you enjoy the party, Aunt Joanna?"

An unladylike snort erupted from between her aunt's lips. "I was having a merry time until Lady Digby and her dreadful daughters surrounded me and I couldn't escape. Never in my life have I encountered such a gaggle of twittering fools. I'll be stunned if she manages to marry off even one of those buttertoothed harpies." She reached out and patted Elizabeth's cheek. "She is green with envy that my niece is so lovely. We won't have any trouble finding you a husband."

"In case you haven't noticed, Aunt Joanna, we can barely find me a gentleman to dance with."

Her aunt waved a dismissive hand. "Pish posh. You're simply unknown. No doubt some gentlemen are put off because you're American, what with last century's Rebellion and this most recent series of skirmishes. But things have settled down again, so it's only a matter of time."

"A matter of time for what?"

"Why, until some nice young man takes notice of you."

Elizabeth refrained from pointing out that so far nearly everyone who had taken notice of her had found her lacking. Holding her bag aloft, she said, "I've packed a snack, so I'll see you after breakfast."

A frown puckered her aunt's brow. "Perhaps I should ask a footman to accompany you." Before Elizabeth could protest, her aunt rushed on, "Oh, I suppose it's not necessary. You go along, dear, and enjoy yourself. After all, no one except us is even awake. Who on earth would you meet at this ungodly hour?"

Elizabeth strolled along, relishing the quiet that was broken only by the rustle of leaves and the ravens' caws. She chose paths at random, not particularly caring where she went, just happy to be outdoors. After a while, the forest thinned out to a wide meadow where bees hummed hovering around sweet-smelling honeysuckle. Colorful butterflies flitted over clumps of red and yellow wildflowers.

She soon reached a picturesque lake. Pale shafts of hesitant gold light peeped down between leafy tree branches, offering a dawn-kissed shady retreat. Removing her sketch pad from her knapsack, she sank down on the grass and propped her back against the trunk of a huge oak tree.

A frisky squirrel peeked at her from a nearby tree branch and she quickly sketched him. A family of timid rabbits made another subject before they hopped away to the safety of the tall grass. She drew a detailed picture of Patch, her heart pinching as she thought of her beloved dog. She'd wanted desperately to bring him to England but he was old and infirm and she knew he wouldn't have survived the rigorous ocean journey. She'd left him behind along with a piece of her heart, with people who loved him almost as much as she did.

Forcing aside the melancholy that thoughts of Patch evoked she drew a likeness of Gadzooks. When she finished however, she quickly banished the kitten from her mind. If she thought about the furry beast, she'd recall the rest of her time in the garden… and the man she'd met there. The man whose hidden sadness and loneliness had touched her heart, a man she knew had secrets that tore at his soul.

She'd offered to help him, but she'd spent half the night wondering if she'd been too hasty. The Duke of Bradford obviously did not believe in her second sight.

Could she somehow convince him? After last evening, it did not appear so, but she wanted, needed to help him. Wanted to erase the shadows she'd felt darkening his happiness. And needed, for herself, to try and make up for the havoc she'd caused in America. Surely her guilt would ease if she could somehow reunite the duke with the brother he believed dead.

No, she had not been too hasty in offering to help him. In fact, she was determined to do so, whether he wanted her to or not. All she needed to do was provide some sort of definite proof that his brother was indeed alive. To do that, however, she'd need to touch him again.

Heat shot through her at the thought. He'd haunted her sleep, his handsome face, his intense eyes, his strong body. He'd made her wish, for one useless instant, that she'd looked beautiful and elegant, and that a man like him might actually be interested in her for more than a fleeting moment. And he had been interested as she'd discovered when he'd touched her hand. He had wanted to kiss her.

His thoughts had come to her so clearly, so unexpectedly. Her breath caught at the thought of his lips caressing hers, his strong arms pulling her close, pressing her against his body. What would it feel like to be kissed by such a man? Touched and held by him? Heaven… It would feel like heaven.

A sigh escaped her, the sort of feminine sigh she'd thought herself incapable of. Shifting herself to a more comfortable position, she gave in to her longing, closed her eyes, and imagined what his kiss would feel like.

Austin caught sight of a yellow skirt fluttering in the breeze and reined Myst to a halt. Bloody hell, was he never to find himself alone?

He would have turned back, but he'd ridden Myst hard for the last hour and the gelding needed a rest and a drink.

Resigned to making idle conversation for a few moments with one of his mother's houseguests, he approached the lake. As he rounded the huge oak tree, he drew up short.

It was her. The woman who had disrupted his sleep and invaded his every thought since he awoke. The woman he needed to find out more about. She sat beneath the shady tree, her eyes closed a half smile touching her lips.

He dismounted and walked quietly toward her, studying her all the while. Shiny auburn curls surrounded her face in windblown disarray. He scrutinized her in an unhurried fashion, taking in her porcelain skin, long lashes, and those remarkable, tempting lips.

His gaze continued downward drawn to her slender throat and the creamy skin that glowed above her modest bodice. Her legs appeared impossibly long under her muslin gown.

The breeze dislodged another curl from her somewhat haphazard chignon, and it brushed across her mouth. Her lips twitched several times and her eyes peeked open a crack as she flicked the bothersome lock aside.

Austin knew the exact instant she saw his black riding boots in front of her. She stiffened and blinked. Then her gaze traveled upward and she gasped.

"Your grace!" She bounded to her feet and performed a curtsy that most would have labeled graceless, but that he found utterly charming.

"Good morning, Miss Matthews. It seems you were correct when you predicted you would not be hard to find. I seem to run into you everywhere I go."

Heat flashed in Elizabeth's cheeks. How discon-certing to be daydreaming of a man kissing you breathless only to open your eyes and find that very man watching you. And good heavens, what a wildly attractive man he was.

The filtered light from the rising sun shimmered on his raven hair. A single, windblown lock fell across his forehead lending him an almost boyish appeal completely at odds with the compelling intensity of his gray eyes. Aristocratic bearing and masculine strength all but oozed from his tall, rugged frame.

A stark white shirt covered his broad shoulders. He wore no neckcloth and the strong tanned column of his neck rose from the opening in the fine lawn. Her heart sped up at the sight of a few dark hairs peeping up from that intriguing opening before his shirt thwarted her view.

His wide chest tapered in a perfect V to narrow hips, and his long, muscular legs were covered in buff breeches that disappeared into shiny black leather riding boots. She imagined a string of broken-hearted females littered the streets of London. He'd certainly make a wonderful subject to sketch.

"Do I pass inspection?" he asked in an amused drawl.

"Inspection?"

"Yes." A half grin touched his lips. "It's an English word meaning 'to examine thoroughly'"

Although he was clearly teasing, hot chagrin flooded her. Good heavens, she was indeed staring at him as if she was starving and he was a banquet. But at least he no longer seemed upset with her.

"Forgive me, your grace. I'm simply surprised to see you here." Her eyes narrowed on a mark on his cheek. "Did you injure yourself?"

He gingerly touched the spot. "A branch caught me. 'Tis only a scratch."

A soft nickering claimed her attention and she glanced at the magnificent black gelding drinking from the lake. "Are you enjoying your ride?"

"Very much." He looked around. "Where is your mount?"

"I walked. It's a lovely morn-" An image flashed in her mind cutting off her words. A horse rearing, a black horse very much like the one drinking from the lake.

"Are you all right, Miss Matthews?"

The image vanished and she dismissed the vague impression. "Yes, I'm fine. Actually, I'm-"

"Most robust."

She grinned. "Yes, I am, but I was going to say I'm hungry. Would you care to join me in something to eat? I brought more than enough." She dropped to her knees and began unloading food from her knapsack.

"You packed breakfast?"

"Well, not exactly breakfast. Just some raw carrots, apples, bread and cheese."

Austin watched her, intrigued. He'd never been invited to such an informal picnic. Here was a perfect opportunity to spend some time with her. What better way to ferret out her secrets and determine exactly what she knew about William and the blackmail letter? Settling himself on the ground next to her, he accepted a slice of bread and a chunk of cheese. "Who packed your picnic?"

"I did. Yesterday morning, before leaving London, I helped Aunt Joanna's cook with a problem. In gratitude, Cook told me I could help myself." She polished an apple on her skirt.

Austin bit into the cheese, surprised that something so simple could taste so good. No fancy sauces, no muted clink of silverware, no servants hovering. "What did you do to help Cook?"

"She cut her finger and suffered a wound that required several stitches. I was in the kitchen searching for some cider when the accident occurred. Naturally, I offered to help."

"You sent for a doctor?"

She raised her brows, amusement lurking in her eyes. "I treated the injury and then stitched her up myself."

Austin nearly choked on his cheese. "You stitched her wound?"

"Yes. There was no need to bother a doctor when I was perfectly capable of taking care of her. I believe I mentioned last evening that my father was a physician. I often helped him."

"You actually performed er, duties!"

"Oh, yes. Papa was a very good teacher. I assure you, Cook was well taken care of." She offered him a smile, then bit into her apple.

Austin's gaze was drawn to her full lips, glistening with apple juice. Her mouth looked moist and sweet. And incredibly tempting. Not that he believed she could actually read his thoughts, but in light of her odd perceptiveness, he jerked his attention away from her lips.

"It is such a lovely morning," she said. "I wish I could capture the colors of the sunrise, but I have no talent for watercolors. Only charcoals, and I'm afraid they only come in one color."

Austin cocked his head toward the sketch pad next to her. "May I?"

She handed him the tablet. "Of course."

He examined each drawing and could tell at once that she was very talented. Her bold strokes rendered images so vivid so startling, they appeared to leap off the page.

"Did you recognize Gadzooks?" she asked looking over his shoulder.

The gentle scent of lilacs surrounded him. "Yes. It's an exact likeness of the little devil." Glancing up from the sketch, his attention was captured by the intriguing gold flecks in her eyes. Huge, golden brown eyes, the color of fine brandy. Her steady gaze met his and held him captive for a long moment. A spark ran through him, igniting his pulse. Although he sat on the ground he suddenly felt as if he'd run a mile. This woman had the oddest effect on his senses. And his breathing.

He cleared his throat. "Have you had the opportunity to meet Gadzooks's family?"

"Only his mother, George, last evening."

"Then you must stop by the stables and meet By Jingo, By Jove, By Jupiter, and the rest of them."

Laughter bubbled from her. "You're making up those names, your grace."

"I'm not. Mortlin named the beasts as they were born… and born… and born. There were ten in all in this last litter and the names grew more, er, inventive as the births continued. Decency prevents me from saying some of them." With an effort he forced his gaze back to the tablet. "Whose dog is this?"

The merriment faded from her gaze. "That's my dog. Patch."

The sad longing with which she looked at the picture tugged at him, prompting him to ask, "Where is Patch?"

"He was too old to make the journey to England. I left him with people who love him." Reaching out, she ran a gentle fingertip over the drawing. "I was five when my parents gave him to me. Patch was so tiny, but within several months he'd grown bigger than me." Slowly pulling her hand away, she said "I miss him terribly. Although he'd be impossible to replace, I hope to someday have another dog."

He handed her back the tablet. "These are very good Miss Matthews."

"Thank you." She cocked her head to one side. "You know, your grace, you would make an interesting subject."

"Me?"

"Yes indeed. Your face is…" She paused and studied him for a long moment, tilting her head from left to right.

"That bad?" he asked in mock horror.

"Goodness, no," she assured him. "Your face is most interesting. Filled with character. You wouldn't mind if I sketched you?"

"Not at all." Most interesting? Filled with character? He wasn't sure if that was good or bad but one thing was certain. Those weren't the flirtatious words the women of the ton would use to describe him. It seemed at least as far as men were concerned Miss Matthews was artless and without guile. Unbelievable. And damned unlikely. But I'll discover whatever game she s up to soon enough.

"Perhaps you'd sit under the tree?" she asked scanning the immediate area. "Prop your back against the trunk and make yourself comfortable." She gathered her supplies, and in spite of feeling rather foolish, Austin did as he was bid.

"How's this?" he asked once he found a comfortable spot.

She knelt in front of him. "You look tense, your grace. Try to relax. This won't hurt a bit, I promise."

Austin adjusted his position and drew a deep breath.

"That's much better." Her eyes roamed his face. "Now, I'd like you to reminisce for me."

"Reminisce?"

Amusement sparkled in the eyes. "Yes. It's an American word that means 'to recall past events.'"

Suspicion pricked at him. Was she trying to glean information from him? Keeping his expression carefully blank he asked "What do you want to know?"

"Why, nothing, your grace. Just think of one of your fondest memories while I sketch. It will help me to capture your expression correctly."

"I see." But he didn't see at all. Fond memory? Of what? He'd sat for several portraits, all of which hung in the gallery at Bradford Hall, and he'd had to do nothing save sit immobile for interminable lengths of time. He searched his mind and came up totally blank.

"Surely you have one fond thought lurking in there somewhere, your grace."

Not bloody likely. But he wasn't about to let her know that. Determined to dig up a happy thought, Austin concentrated while she continued to watch him.

"Just let your mind wander… and relax," she said softly.

His gaze moved past her and settled on Myst grazing nearby. An image of William popped into his mind… William, at thirteen, running to the stables behind Austin, and Robert close behind his older brothers…

"You're sporting a most intriguing smile," she said. "Will you share your thoughts with me?"

He considered refusing, but decided no harm could come in telling her. "I'm thinking about a grand adventure I shared with my brothers." Warmth spread through him as he recalled the day in vivid detail. "We were forced to flee to the stables after we'd schemed to force Caroline's sour-faced governess to resign her post. We'd rigged a barrel of flour and a bucket of water over the woman's bedchamber door. When she opened the door, her outraged screams shook the rafters. We hid in the hayloft and howled with laughter until we could barely breathe."

"How old were you?"

"I was fourteen. William was thirteen and Robert ten."

The memory faded slowly, like a plume of smoke wafting on a gentle breeze.

"What other mischief did you boys get into?"

Another image immediately popped into his mind and a chuckle worked its way up his throat. "One day, that same summer, the three of us were walking by the lake when Robert, who's been a devil since the day he was born, dared William to shuck his clothes and jump in, an activity that our father strictly forbade. Not to be outdone, I immediately dared him to do the same. Within moments, we were all stripped bare, splashing and diving, enjoying the time of our lives. But we suddenly realized we weren't alone."

"Oh, dear. Did your father come upon you?"

"No, although that might have been better. It was our friend Miles, now the Earl of Eddington. He stood on the shore, his arms laden with our clothes and an unmistakable look in his eyes. We raced off in hot pursuit, but Miles was too fast. We were forced to sneak into the house, without a stitch on, through the kitchen." He shook his head and laughed. "We managed to avoid Father, but the kitchen staff had fodder for their gossip mill for months."

His laughter faded and a rapid succession of memories flashed through his mind: he and William swimming together, fishing together; explaining to William the intricacies of where babies come from, then laughing uproariously at the expression of horror on his face. Then, years later, sharing a meal at their club, or a laugh at the faro table, or a race on horseback. So many moments shared… moments that were gone forever. God, how I miss you, William.

"I'm finished."

The soft words broke through Austin's reverie. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I'm finished with your sketch." She held the tablet out to him. "Would you like to see it?"

Austin took the sketch and studied the picture intently It depicted him as he was not used to seeing himself. The man in the picture appeared completely relaxed leaning back against the tree trunk, one leg drawn up, his fingers casually linked around his raised knee. His eyes held a mischievous gleam, and a small smile played around the corners of his lips, as if he were thinking of something amusing and happy.

"Do you like it?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder to study her handiwork.

Her light lilac fragrance again assailed his senses. Shiny hair lay in wild disarray around her lovely face. One long auburn curl brushed his upper arm and he stared at it, a slash of dark red against his white sleeve, and he fought the almost irresistible urge to reach out and touch it.

He cleared his throat. "Yes. I like it very much. You captured my mood perfectly."

"You mentioned a younger brother named Robert."

"Yes. He's away, traveling on the Continent."

She studied him intently. "And William-you love him very much."

A lump lodged in his throat. "Yes."

He didn't comment on her use of the present tense. God yes, he'd loved William. Even at the end when he'd claimed he didn't… when he'd witnessed with his own disbelieving ears and eyes his brother's unthinkable treason.

"Yes. I loved him." He handed her back the tablet. Her gaze riveted on his cheek. "Does your injury pain you?"

"It stings a bit."

"Then I insist on preparing you a salve." She pulled a satchel from her knapsack.

"What is that you have?"

"My medical bag."

"You brought a medical bag on a walk?"

She nodded. "Whenever I walk or ride. As a child I constantly skinned my elbows and knees." A teasing gleam entered her eyes. "As you already know my fondness for crawling about in the bushes, I'm sure this doesn't surprise you. Papa finally fashioned a bag for me to bring along whenever I left the house. I've pared the supplies down to the bare minimum and the bag isn't heavy."

"How did you manage to skin your knees? Didn't your skirts protect you?"

A blush washed over her cheeks. "I'm afraid I tended to, er, hike my skirts up a bit." His surprise obviously showed because she quickly added "But only when I climbed trees."

"Climbed trees?" A picture of her, long limbed and laughing, her skirts hiked up to her thighs, flashed in his mind leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

She shot him a teasing smile. "Have no fear, your grace. I stopped climbing trees several weeks ago. But I still bring my bag with me. You never know when you may run across a handsome gentleman in need of medical aid. I find it best to always be prepared."

"I suppose that's true," Austin murmured oddly pleased she thought him handsome, yet surprised that her words did not strike him as flirtatious-merely friendly.

He watched with interest as she removed several pouches and small wooden bowls from the satchel. Excusing herself, she walked to the lake, returning with a container of water. After setting her supplies around her, she set to work, her face a study in concentration.

"What are you mixing?" Austin asked fascinated by her unusual actions.

"Nothing more than dried herbs, roots, and water."

He didn't see how a few herbs and water could help his stinging cheek, but he remained silent and simply watched her, reminding himself that the more he observed her, the more he would learn about her.

When she finished she knelt in front of him, then dipped her fingers into the bowl of salve. "This may sting a bit at first, but only for a moment."

He eyed the creamy concoction dubiously. "What possible good can that do?"

"You'll see. May I proceed?"

When he hesitated she raised her brows, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Surely you're not afraid of a bit of salve, your grace."

"Of course not," he all but huffed irked that she would suggest such a thing, even in jest. "By all means, apply the salve."

She leaned forward and gently rubbed her cream into his injured cheek. It stung like the very devil and he forced himself not to pull away and wipe off her ridiculous remedy.

In an effort to distract himself from his fiery skin, he turned his attention to her. An expression of concern puckered her brow as she dabbed on more of the salve. Streaks of early morning sunlight dappled through the trees, shooting her hair with red and gold highlights. For the first time he noticed the smattering of tiny freckles on her nose.

"Just a bit more, your grace. I'm nearly done."

Her warm breath touched his face. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his throat tightened. Damn it, she possessed the most incredible mouth he'd ever seen. He suddenly realized that not only did his cheek no longer sting, but her gentle touch was sending ripples of pleasure streaking through him.

His entire body pulsed to life. The desire to kiss her, to feel those amazing lips crushed beneath his own, to touch his tongue to hers, slammed into him, overwhelming him. If he leaned forward just a tiny bit…

She abruptly leaned back. "Does it still sting?"

He blinked feeling dazed. And unkissed. "Ah, no. Why do you ask?"

"You moaned. Or perhaps it was more like a groan."

Annoyance, at both her and himself, surged through him. Here he was, fantasizing about kissing her, his trousers growing increasingly uncomfortable, moan-ing-or was it groaning?-and she wanted to know if she was hurting him.

She was damn near killing him.

He was truly losing his mind. He needed to focus on the matters at hand, but it was damn hard to do with her so tantalizingly close. Concentrate on William. The blackmail note. What she might know about them.

"Thank you, Miss Matthews. It feels much better. Are you finished?"

She frowned then nodded while wiping her fingers on a square of cloth. He wondered what she was thinking, his curiosity aroused by her silence and troubled expression.

"Is something wrong, Miss Matthews?"

"I'm not certain. May I… touch your hand?"

Heat snaked down his spine at her request. Without a word, he lifted his hand.

She pressed it tightly between her palms and closed her eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, her eyes slowly opened. There was no mistaking the fear and concern shadowing them.

"Is something amiss?"

"I'm afraid so, your grace."

"Did you, er, see William again?"

"No. I saw… you."

"Me?"

She nodded looking worried. "I saw you. I felt it." "What did you feel?"

"Danger, your grace. I fear you're in grave danger."