Chapter Seventeen
Everett came up spluttering, attempting to lift Whitney off of him to get out of the water. Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy, as the slippery woman had fallen into a fit of giggles unlike anything he’d ever heard from a proper lady. As her gown grew sodden, it seemed even harder to separate themselves.
“Oh, lud!” Nancy screamed as she raced toward them. “My lord. Miss Crewe. What happened?”
“An accident.” Whitney finally got her hands on the sides of the tub and heaved herself upright. Mucky water cascaded over him again, and he covered his face to avoid the worst of the deluge. “That wasn’t supposed to happen to me too,” Whitney promised.
She was helped out, and then stared down at her skirts in disappointment. “Oh no, and this was one of my favorite gowns, too.”
“I’m sure it can be saved,” Nancy Blake promised. “Are you all right, Everett?”
Blake pulled Everett out with one strong jerk, and he stood dripping water from every inch of his clothing and skin.
“Perhaps consider your wardrobe before you attack me next time,” he muttered, flicking his arms and sending a shower of water droplets everywhere.
“Next time?” Whitney asked, all innocence and teasing curiosity.
He shook his head, but smiled. Of all the women to become drawn to, he’d never expected Miss Crewe to crash into his life, and for him to like the disruption to his orderly and proper existence. “Becoming entangled with you seems inevitable.”
Her smile grew wide. “It is not deliberate, I swear.”
He snorted and flicked his hands again. Whitney sidestepped being struck, still grinning. It was remarkable how a quick dunking had cleared his head of the drink, too. He was feeling rather good now, much better than the pleasant buzz the ale had delivered earlier that day.
He hadn’t been drinking because of Taverham. The marquess would calm down—eventually—and they’d go on as neighbors and friends probably forever, most likely.
He’d come here to avoid Miss Quartermane and to set tongues wagging about his drinking. Getting Whitney Crewe mixed up in his endeavors to make himself appear poor husband material wasn’t part of his original plan, but unwittingly, Whitney had helped in ways he hadn’t imagined. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a few villages peering at them from a distance. Tongues would definitely wag now—and none of it would be good for Whitney, though.
Blake gestured to the smithy. “You two had better come and dry off inside before the gossips see you.”
Too late, Everett feared, but he’d not planned this encounter.
“A very good idea,” Whitney agreed, struggling to walk toward the smithy in her wet gown. “Hurry up, my lord, before you catch your death.”
Although tempted to walk home as he was, mucky and dripping wet to add to the gossip, he followed her inside. It wasn’t his intention to tarnish Whitney’s reputation or friendship with Alice, but they did have Nancy and her husband to act as chaperones.
Once inside, she moved swiftly to the blaze and stood as close as could be considered safe.
Even so, Everett warned her back. “Be careful of your gown.”
She held out the sides from her legs. “I think I’m too wet to catch alight.”
He stared at her, at how her damp gown revealed every curve of her body in front of the blaze. There wasn’t much left to the imagination after his quick perusal. Whitney pushed her hair back from her cheek with the heel of her hand.
“Your hair isn’t wet.” Why wasn’t she angrier with him for ruining her dress? Nancy would have been furious. “Are you really all right?”
“Oh, yes. A bit of water never hurt anyone. Your body saved me from a full dunking, I suspect. I do hope this sort of thing doesn’t become a habit for us though. Getting drenched when I’m around you is sure to become tedious.”
Her cheeks colored a little with a blush, and his mind strayed to other ways to warm her and get her wet.
Blake choked on laughter behind him.
Everett scowled at the man and turned around. “What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing, my lord. I’ll give you privacy,” he suggested with a wink, and then, eyes averted, slipped out the back door.
“Thank you,” Whitney called after him as she began to peel off her short spencer. The garment was very soiled and dripped dirty water in an unending stream onto the dirt floor, even before she started to wring it out. She glanced his way, frowning. “You should remove your coat, and waistcoat, too, before you become chilled through.”
He hesitated. Stripping off in front of Whitney Crewe again was the last thing he should do if he wanted to be considered a gentleman. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I can control myself, you know,” she told him with a heavy sigh.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you fear removing your clothes will incite my passions, I can assure you, I’m too uncomfortable to contemplate any seduction right now.” She glanced his way, and then winked. “It is possible to resist your manly appeal, my lord.”
He snorted. “You have already done so.”
“You are engaged, so I must.” Whitney sighed. “It was fun though.”
“Fun?”
“How we met.”
He scowled at her. “Hardly the right word to describe that scandalous night.”
That night had been one he couldn’t forget, despite trying so hard for so long.
Her chin dropped and she turned her face away. “Then how do you describe it?”
He frowned at the uncertainty her question suggested. He eased closer, making sure his breath would not strike her face when he spoke. “Hell.”
Whitney laughed softly. “Was that before or after I took away your breeches?”
“Definitely hell afterward.”
“And before?”
Her eyes grew wide, vulnerable, as she met his gaze, and he couldn’t summon up his former irritation over her hasty departure. Meeting Whitney had been unplanned and definitely a shock to his senses. “Some meetings defy description and are unforgettable,” he promised.
He set his bare hand to the curve of her back and traced a circle on the damp material over her spine. Her breath hitched, and he drew back quickly, afraid of what that reaction might lead to next.
Whitney fell silent as she wrung water from her skirts, flashing him a glimpse of her slender legs as she did so. He hadn’t seen very much of Whitney the night they’d met, but he wanted to now. Damn it all. He was supposed to have put this woman behind him by now, but nothing he tried had ever managed to purge Whitney from his imagination. Would he ever forget her?
She straightened suddenly and offered her hand. “Friends?”
He’d never had a female friend, only a sister. He wasn’t entirely sure he could be a friend to a woman like Whitney and not desire her, but he nodded and shook hands with her. He’d rather have Whitney as an ally than an enemy any day. “I’d like that.”
“Why did she call you by your first name?” Whitney asked suddenly.
“I’ve known Nancy and her husband since I was a boy.”
Her brow rose. “Yes, but why does Nancy use your first name when her husband does not?”
He laughed. “First girl I ever kissed,” he confessed.
Whitney’s face lit up with amusement. “So you’ve always been drawn to red-haired women?”
“Apparently,” he admitted with another laugh. “They tend to cause me trouble though.”
“We are never boring,” she said, grinning widely.
Nancy Blake returned, arms full of fabric, and Whitney cooed in pleasure. “Dry clothing.”
Blake returned too, carrying a blanket.
“Oh, this is so pretty,” Whitney gushed as she was presented with Nancy’s best blue gown to wear. She glanced at the Blakes and about the chamber. “Now, how are we to do this?”
“Do what?” Everett asked.
“Change my clothes. I’d rather not trudge water inside their home if I can avoid it. Besides, its warmer here by the forge than anywhere inside could ever be.”
His mind blanked. Whitney naked in such a setting should not excite him. Even if it did.
Everett swallowed hard. He grew hard, too.
Blake handed him the edge of a blanket, still smirking, and keeping Whitney on the side nearest the fire. He and Blake turned away while the women chattered as Whitney stripped off her wet clothing and donned Nancy’s best dress.
He peeked once or twice, catching a glimpse of pale skin and one luscious breast as she raised her arms high.
“Oh, the material is so deliciously soft against my skin,” she said with glowing approval to Nancy. “Thank you so much for the loan of it. I’ll have it returned straight away.”
“There’s no hurry,” Nancy promised. “I’ll next wear it on Everett’s wedding day.”
Everett’s stomach dropped at the reminder that he had still to prove himself unworthy of Miss Quartermane’s hand in marriage. He had to do more than get drunk and fall into water troughs to make that happen, and as he was finally allowed to lower the blanket, he considered what else he might do to speed the end of his engagement.
“Are you not changing?”
“I will be fine as I am.”
Although she appeared unconvinced, Whitney did not argue with him about becoming chilled again. She left her soiled gown with Mrs. Blake, acquiescing to Nancy’s desire to launder the garment for her. “I’ll return for that later in the week, shall I?”
Nancy nodded, stroking her fingers over the fine garment possessively. “It will be ready.”
When Whitney said her goodbyes, Everett followed her outside quickly. Perhaps Whitney might have some ideas on how to sabotage his engagement, but then he dismissed his thought immediately. He could not ask her, his newest friend, to help him with this. “I cannot go all the way, but I would like to walk you as far as the boundary fence.”
“In case I stumble upon another bull in the field?”
“There is another body of water you could fall into along the way.” He grinned and gestured to a narrow trail leading into the woods. “No point another gentleman getting himself drenched, should you catch another man’s attention. It’s much shorter to go this way than walking the long road.”
Whitney agreed, and he led her onto a corner of his land that many of the locals and servants used to reach Twilit Hill from the village. As they passed into the woods, he heard the sounds of a well-sprung carriage traveling through the village behind him. A quick glance revealed the Quartermanes were finally returning to Warstone, and he was glad to have missed them.
He pulled Whitney on when she would have stopped to wave at them, steadfastly turning his back on all he’d thought he’d once wanted.
They stepped into the woods, and at once a sense of peace swept over his skin.
Beside him, a soft gasp left Whitney’s lips as she looked around with wide eyes. “How beautiful and peaceful.”
She was not afraid; she was enthralled by her surroundings.
He caught her hand and tugged her along at his side.
They didn’t have long to be friends. Just a few brief days and then she would be gone. “Tell me more about your trip.”
“There’s not much more to say.”
He frowned. “Will you be traveling with friends?”
“Yes and no. I have engaged a married couple to travel with me. We meet in Dover next week but they come highly recommended. They have made the trip before as companions to an acquaintance of mine. They each know enough language to help ease my way though most countries.”
“My sister always wished to travel, and if Miranda had not returned, we would have spent last summer traveling in foreign lands, you know.”
“I hadn’t heard about that.”
“Once Miranda came back, Taverham changed his mind about going, of course, not that I hold his decision against him.”
“You must be so disappointed. How did your sister take the news?”
“As badly as you can imagine anyone in love would.”
She winced, but then wound her arm through his. “My cousin always promised that he’d travel with me, but when I saw how much in love with Iris he was, I knew he’d change his mind, too, and not join me.”
“Love does strange things to people with plans, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed it does,” she agreed with a soft, sad sigh.
He drew her a little closer, as close as he dared as they passed beneath two towering birch that leaned toward each other, forming an arch. “Here, look at this. There is a local legend that claims that when two unattached people pass through this arch, they will have love and prosperity forevermore. Many carve their initials in them.”
Whitney slipped from his grip, glancing up quickly. “Did you bring Alice here?”
He shook his head. “No, and I probably won’t. Alice dislikes the woods, and has no room in her heart for myths.”
“She’s a practical woman.”
“Unlike you,” he noted.
“I’m practical,” she protested.
“Practical isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I describe you.”
Her eyes widened with what he suspected was fear. “How do you describe me, and to whom?”
“To everyone I meet, I say you are an agreeable young woman with impeccable connections,” he promised. “But to myself, I say Whitney Crewe is a woman of remarkable intellect, frighteningly impulsive, and as passionate as the wilderness surrounding my home.”
He saw her gulp. Saw her dismiss his honest compliment as ridiculous flattery, and his heart melted a little more. He should never have been alone with her, but he could not regret that he was finally coming to understand the woman who’d seduced him was not confident in her appeal now. She was not a brazen flirt with everyone, but she had firmly caught his attention, as he had caught hers he suspected, and he wanted more of her than he could let her know.
When he smiled at her, Whitney turned away. “We should go. Miranda will be wondering where I am,” she whispered, as she hurried ahead of him toward a fork in the path through the forest. There were many paths to take, and she could easily become lost without his help.
“Then let us not disappoint the marchioness,” he said as he ran to catch up with her. He held out his hand, and she reluctantly placed hers in his again. He drew her down the proper path toward Twilit Hill, and not the one that circled back toward the village. “Now, tell me, where are you lodging before you depart on this ship of yours?” he asked, simply for the pleasure of hearing more of her upcoming adventure.