Chapter Twelve
Everett drew to a halt and dismounted before the Twilit Hill stables as the sun was setting on a frustrating day. Chasing after his betrothed across the two estates seemed to be his lot in life. He’d returned from his visit to Emily, only to discover Alice had suddenly taken herself off to pay a call upon his nearest neighbors again. It seemed her plan to become acquainted with the residents of the district was bearing fruit, given the number of invitations delivered that morning. Her popularity had left him at something of a loose end, so he’d finally come to Twilit Hill to call upon Taverham, and keep his promise to Whitney.
He handed the gelding off to a groom with a fond pat and headed for the main house. He wasn’t accustomed to using the front door any more than Taverham used his, so he cut through the formal gardens, heading for the nearest set of open doors.
“No, no, no. Stop!”
Everett recognized Simon’s anguished voice instantly, and he took flight for the boy, running as fast as he could toward the walled kitchen garden ahead.
If Emily had slipped her guards, he always feared she’d come straight for the boy first.
He barely registered two servants lingering by the garden gate as he rushed inside to save Christopher.
But the boy was fighting off Whitney Crewe, not Emily.
He stopped in shock but still pulled the boy toward him, out of harm’s way. “What the hell are you doing to him?” he roared at Whitney.
She gaped at him, and then glanced down at Christopher.
The pair then looked up at him at the same time, and only then did he notice they were drenched from head to toe and happy. Christopher’s hair was plastered to his skull and the boy wiped away the drips as he started to laugh.
Whitney’s gown was soaked completely in the front, and she too was laughing at him.
“Did you think I was in real danger, my lord?” the boy asked. “From Whitney?”
Both held teacups full of water rather than tea.
“I’m not sure. I’m still not quite certain what is going on,” he admitted.
He released Christopher quickly, confused as hell as the boy’s laughter grew louder.
He felt a tug on his coat and he looked down.
A little girl stared up at him. “We’re making it rain for the rhubarb,” she said with an adorable lisp.
She smiled widely despite her hair hanging in sodden ringlets around her face, or the fact that her little white smock hung limp from her shoulders to her knees, like that of all the others.
As he took the time to notice more of his surroundings, including seven children of varying ages, he noted that they were similarly disheveled. There was a horde of children standing about laughing, along with Christopher.
Taverham had said the Carrington children were to come and visit for a month soon. Apparently, they had arrived since his last visit.
He looked about again and belatedly realized that they were in fact making some attempt to water the kitchen garden, but getting most of the water on themselves.
They were playing, and Whitney was at the heart of it.
Embarrassed by his overreaction and their laughter, he took another step back. “My apologies for the interruption to your game. I have only just arrived and didn’t understand what was going on. Please continue.”
Whitney peeled her sodden gown from her sides to curtsy deeply, her smile widening. “Thank you, my lord. We were going to anyway.”
She took a step toward Christopher and quickly dumped the contents of her teacup directly over the boy’s hair. Christopher yelled and flung the water from his cup straight into Whitney’s face. The splash made no difference to the woman’s countenance. She laughed and ran away.
So did all the children, and once they had rearmed themselves, the fight resumed in earnest around him.
Mabel ran to the gate, took water from a new pail set upon the ground by a pair of timid servants hiding just out of sight, and flung it haphazardly about her. More than half hit his legs but he couldn’t move. He’d never seen such madness as Whitney Crewe had provoked.
She dashed about the walled garden—being chased or chasing the children. She gave no thought to decorum, no credence to restraint. She did whatever the hell appealed to her at any time of the day or night, apparently.
And Everett couldn’t look away from her face.
She enjoyed battling with each child until it was clear that they were running out of ammunition. Water was growing scarce and the tubs were almost drained.
He glanced back and noticed the pail of water little Mabel was using. He hefted it, and cautiously approached an emptied tub.
Christopher grinned. “Thank you, my lord.”
Everett nodded as he poured it out. “I’ll fetch more.”
He turned—and water slapped into the back of his head. The droplets slithered over his neck and a few even reached his face.
He brushed them aside, fetched another bucket and returned.
Whitney watched him closely as he poured out the water slowly, an impish smile playing across her lips. He would bet his favorite horse that she’d been the one to throw water at him.
Impudent wench.
He’d get her back for that.
Before the pail was drained completely, he flung out the remainder at her.
Most hit Whitney squarely in the chest, but she only laughed and scooped out more water to throw back at him.
A new battle began.
One between himself and Whitney Crewe.
The woman shrieked as he chased her with the remaining pail of water. She fled to the far gateway and bent to collect a new pail.
Everett stopped immediately as she turned, eyes flashing.
“My turn,” she threatened, brushing back fallen strands of her flaming-red hair.
He eyed the pail. “There is a lot more water in your pail than I’ve thrown at you.”
He took a pace back but was captured from behind by Christopher.
“I’ve got him, Whitney!”
She sauntered forward with a saucy sway of her hips. “Well done, lad.”
She flung her water but it mostly missed him, flying over his shoulder to hit the ground beyond. Still, enough water slid down his legs and into his riding boots to make him shiver.
“You’ll pay for that,” he promised with a sincere smile, and once Christopher let him go, he rushed back to the gate. “We need more water,” he told the laughing gardeners. “A lot more.”
They rushed away to do his bidding, he hoped, and Everett returned to the battle.
He probably looked foolish chasing the children about, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. The play might have been meant for the children but he was enjoying himself as he hadn’t for a long time, or at least not since he’d been their age.
He put a wall at his back as the youngest children rushed past, chasing one another during a brief respite. They were happy children, for all that they were orphans. He could see why Christopher spoke of them so often. He was their leader. They did everything he suggested without question and without complaint.
Everett folded his arms and smiled as the screaming grew louder. No wonder the boy’s spirits had been so low until now. He’d been lonely, and clearly used to a different life before returning to his father.
Everett knew what that was like. Just lately his home had felt so empty and cold. Unlived in, even with guests underfoot. He was still not used to Emily’s absence, not that he wished to bring her back into society with him after what she’d done.
Water suddenly cascaded over his head, and he cried out in shock, spluttering to catch his breath.
He turned to look behind him and noticed the tips of a ladder disappearing behind the wall he’d been leaning against. Infuriated, he jumped to catch the edge of the wall to see who had snuck up on him.
His assailant, of course, was the only person who’d ever be impertinent enough to attack him.
He hauled himself over, as he’d done many times as a boy, and dropped to his feet on the other side. He shook the water out of his hair. “That was terribly underhanded, Miss Crewe.”
Whitney backed up a few steps, her hand extended, an empty pail lying between them. “Now, my lord. Don’t do anything you’ll regret later.”
He advanced. “I rarely regret anything when it comes to you.”
“Then do your worst, my lord. I’m ready,” she said as she beckoned him to follow with her fingers. “Catch me if you can,” she dared him.
He pursued her, pail at the ready, but as she backed up another step, her heel caught on a tree root and she started to fall. Everett dropped the pail and darted forward to catch her before she hurt herself.
He jerked her into his arms, staring down at her merry face and flashing eyes. His breath caught at her triumphant expression. She was so open. She was happiness through and through.
He suddenly wished he had kissed this woman. “I have you.”
“Do you?” she challenged. Whitney grasped him by the shoulders, eyelashes fluttering. “Or do I have you?”
Her grip firmed, and Everett, eager to win, pulled her tighter into his arms.
Her fingers drifted up into his hair and he shivered. Whitney felt so good against him. He lowered his lips toward hers, but turned away at the last minute. He held his cheek against her bright hair and breathed in her scent again. He remembered too well the night he’d lost himself in wickedness with her. Despite the lack of kisses that night, Whitney claiming to be unromantic, he’d never been more aroused. And he was excited now with her pressed against his body.
Whitney made a little sound, half gasp, half moan, as he held her close.
He backed her up against the nearest tree, eagerly exploring her curves once more.
She pushed against him weakly. “Acton, do you make a habit of seducing women?”
Her question startled him more than words could say. He was seducing her, and he’d never meant to. He drew back to stare at her, cheeks warming under her scrutiny. “No.”
She stared at him too, her breasts rising and falling fast beneath her damp gown. “Probably a good idea, since you are to marry,” she warned, but then a smile teased the corners of her mouth upward. “But I do feel special.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that but he fought his own smile. At least she was not offended by his manhandling. “What the devil am I doing following you again?”
“I am asking myself the same question. You don’t want me.”
“And you’ve made it clear you don’t want me.” He was engaged to marry, and yet he was filled with doubts about himself and pretty much everything in his life. The only certain thing was his attraction to Whitney. He cleared his throat. “I do not regret what just happened.”
“I’d be offended if you did,” Whitney promised, eyes flashing. She gestured toward the gateway. “I have to go back to the children. I promised their mothers I would watch over them.”
Confused by the abrupt change in her manner, he fell into step and stopped at the archway when she did. In their absence, the children had settled down to watering the plants at last. They crisscrossed the walled enclosure, working together to get the job done. Each one appeared half drowned and vastly untidy, but all seemed very happy.
He leaned against the wall, away from the temptation of Whitney Crewe. “What brought this on?”
Whitney leaned against the opposite arch, her eyes fixed on him. “The long journey had made them quarrelsome, so…a little chore disguised as a game…and Lady Carrington has an hour or so of peace now, and will have seven very sleepy children by bedtime.”
“You’re very good with children.”
Whitney laughed. “My cousin would claim that is because I still am one.”
“I am not surprised by that,” he said. But when she frowned, he quickly clarified why. “Louth seems a very serious fellow. I don’t think he’d have joined in.”
“He’s a good man but not much like me, I am sorry to say.”
That he easily believed. “What is the rest of your family like?”
Whitney glanced down at her bejeweled fingers, and then clasped her hands together. “Louth is my only living relative. My mother and his were cousins.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I am, was, an orphan. Just like these children.” She shrugged. “My parents died when I was quite young, I barely remember them now. I went to live with my aunts and uncles. None of them had children, so it was a lonely life, even if they doted on me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was well loved, but they’re all gone now.” She held out her hands, displaying the odd collection of rings on her fingers. “This is all I have of them.”
He counted the array of mismatched rings she wore, and his heart squeezed painfully, especially with the way she played with an incomplete one. “You have lost a stone,” he noted.
“A casualty of my carelessness.” She winced and turned the empty setting into her palm. “I keep hoping to discover it somewhere.”
He frowned. “What was it? The stone?”
“It was an emerald,” she told him. “My uncle Willard traded gems sometimes and he told me it was the best he’d ever come across.”
Everett had found an emerald among his clothing the night he’d met Whitney. Without knowing her identity, he’d tucked it away, hoping to meet the owner again and return it. But later, because Whitney would never agree to see him alone, he’d not been able to confirm if it had been hers. “I have it, Whitney. I have your emerald.”
Whitney blinked. “You do?”
“When I called to see you in London, it was in my pocket to be returned to you.”
“Oh.” Whitney surprised him by not asking for it immediately. Instead, she smiled and said, “I’m glad to know it was not lost after all.”
He’d almost lost it to a thief the night his engagement had been announced, though. Probably wise not to mention that and worry her unnecessarily. He searched his pockets, finding it tied into his handkerchief. “There.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It means the world to me.”
“It’s very valuable,” he agreed.
“I always assumed it was, but that is not why I wanted it back.” She clenched it tightly in her hand. “I could easily buy a new stone.”
Curious, he dared ask about her situation. “Your parents provided well for you?”
“Yes, and my aunts and uncles made me their beneficiaries, but I’d rather have my family back than have their money,” Whitney confessed.
He caught her hand and squeezed. His glove squelched and dripped water onto the ground between them.
She shook off his grip with a soft laugh. “Are you here to see Taverham or your bride?”
He flinched. “Are Alice and her parents here?”
Guilt filled him because, once he’d seen Whitney, all thoughts of his bride had vanished from his mind. He hadn’t given one thought to what he was doing, and to whom he was doing it with.
“Not now. They must have left, oh, a mere half hour before you arrived.” Whitney bit her lip, her smile growing pained. “The children were too noisy for the Quartermanes to tolerate, I suspect.”
He glanced toward the children again. They were loud, but it wasn’t intolerable. “So you brought them outside to play.”
She nodded, but given the way her smile fell, he sensed there was something more on her mind. He was slowly beginning to understand this woman. Too late perhaps, but he felt better for it. Right now, given the silence and her tense posture, she was holding back her thoughts from him, and he suddenly wanted to know them. “What is it?”
For a moment, he didn’t think she would answer him, he was being terribly nosy today, but then she tipped her head from side to side and sighed deeply. “When you leave today, be sure to return home straight away. Alice is very keen to see you.”
“For what purpose?”
Whitney straightened her shoulders. “The usual conversation between betrothed couples, I imagine.”
Wedding talk again? Gods, he’d rather not have to endure that conversation. Mrs. Quartermane was still hinting it was not too late to return to London for a marriage at St. George’s by special license. “I am on my way to speak with Taverham.”
“He was in the rose garden with Carrington last time I saw him. Smoking cigars.” Her nose wrinkled with distaste. “You should hurry and join them, and then leave to go straight home.”
“If you think I should,” he said slowly as he held Whitney’s gaze a long moment. “But I had intended to visit my sister after I speak with Taverham. Emily is lately complaining about my nighttime visits.”
“How often do you go to her?”
“Most days, unless there is work to be done. She’s become despondent in her solitude.” He winced, knowing Whitney had no reason to care about Emily’s state of mind. “I intend to take her out into the garden and enjoy the sunshine with her for a little while today, to see if that lifts her spirits.”
“It is a good idea. It is also good of you to care so much, after the embarrassment she must have put you through,” she murmured.
“She is my sister. I cannot turn my back on her now when she needs me,” he said, throat growing tight.
Whitney’s expression softened a little more. “It’s a nice day for a stroll.”
“Within the garden walls, not without,” he promised her quickly. “She’s not strong enough to go far without my support.”
She nodded slowly. “I am very sorry to hear it. But don’t forget to seek out Alice after that,” she reminded him.
When she smiled again, he felt uneasy because it was very obviously forced. “I won’t forget Alice,” he murmured, wondering if that would always be true.