Chapter Nine
The minute Suzanna descended the stairs at Hawkins Manor the next morning, she hurried toward Miss St. George and linked her arm with hers. Lady Montford had elected to bypass the picnic, since she’d sent word to both Lady Hawkins and Suzanna that she had the beginnings of a megrim. Lord Montford said he would stay with his wife, which had Suzanna wondering how much of a megrim Cousin Eunice had.
Today, Suzanna was determined to avoid Giles. No walks in the garden, no partnering in games, no whispers in her ear as they sat drinking tea. Today she would make every effort to encourage the other gentlemen at the party.
The single, titled gentlemen.
She’d tossed and turned the night before, touching her lips with her fingertips, remembering the feel of Giles’s warm mouth on hers. Her racing heart when he’d touched her with his large, warm hand—the hardness she’d encountered when he’d pulled her close, and how she wanted to rub her woman’s parts against him. She had groaned, recalling the sound of their heavy breaths mixed with the scent of early summer flowers.
Each memory had brought another tingle to her nipples, another ache between her thighs. She might be an innocent, but she’d learned enough over the years to recognize passion. There were only three days left to the party, and she was determined to do everything in her power to stay far away from the rakish Mr. Templeton.
“I’m very excited about the picnic.” Miss St. George’s curls bounced as she practically jumped up and down like a small child. But her enthusiasm made Suzanna smile, reminding her how very young Miss St. George was. In her first Season, and only seventeen years, everything was new and exciting to the young girl.
“As am I.” She urged Miss St. George to walk toward the front door. She’d like to be outside, perhaps even in one of the carriages, before Mr. Templeton joined the group.
Her heart plummeted when they walked through the door and Mr. Templeton waited on the pathway. “Good morning, ladies.” He bowed slightly. “You are both looking exceptionally lovely.”
Miss St. George blushed and gave a slight dip. “Thank you, Mr. Templeton.”
Suzanna raised her chin and gripped Miss St. George’s arm tightly. “Good morning, Mr. Templeton.”
His smirk told her he remembered his threat to kiss her every time she called him Mr. Templeton. At least in private, which she had no intention of ever being again.
He glanced up at the brilliant blue sky, with only a few puffy clouds. “It appears we are to be blessed with excellent weather once again.”
“Yes, I’m so happy about that.” Miss St. George giggled, and Suzanna smiled at the young girl, feeling so much older than her three and twenty years.
“Mr. Templeton, I understand there will be rowboats. Do you row?” Miss St. George’s large blue eyes regarded him with a longing only a young girl, new to the Marriage Mart, would exhibit. She’d not yet learned to curb her excitement. Suzanna almost felt pity for her. Once she spent a year or two in Society, all her girlish charm would segue into ennui.
Suzanna jumped at her chance. “I’m certain Mr. Templeton is quite adept at rowing. No doubt he will be happy to take you for a ride, Miss St. George.” She smirked at his expression that went from happy to a near scowl.
However, his years of training in good manners kicked in, and he smiled at Miss St. George. “I will be pleased to take you on a rowboat ride.”
That settled, Suzanna’s spirits rose. Time spent on the lake in a rowboat would give her the opportunity to converse with the other men at the party and even have one of them take her out in a boat near the time Mr. Templeton and Miss St. George were about to return.
Feeling quite satisfied with her maneuver, she urged Miss St. George forward. “Let us take this carriage.” She turned and offered Mr. Templeton a bright smile. “We will see you at the picnic.”
Her stomach muscles clenched as he studied her carefully. Oh, Lord, it was obvious from his expression that he was already planning something. She shivered as she took the footman’s hand to climb the two steps into the carriage.
The three carriages and the men riding horses began the journey to the picnic area. Miss St. George waxed on and on about Mr. Templeton. How handsome, how charming. How delighted she was, and thankful to Miss Blake, for suggesting Mr. Templeton take her on a rowboat ride. The girl was so enthralled, Suzanna imagined she was already planning the menu for the wedding breakfast.
So, another young lady was smitten and had fallen for his charms. It seemed every woman wanted to marry him, except her. She sighed, reminding herself it wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry him, but…
Sometimes she believed the only reason he continued to pursue her was for the challenge. She was probably one of the very few women who had not succumbed to his charm, and fallen at his feet.
Suzanna gazed out the window at the passing scenery. Hawkins Manor was spread out on over eight thousand acres, Lady Honora had told her, which encompassed the manor house, fields of crops and livestock, as well as a few smaller farms, in addition to the village and church.
As the entourage left the manor house area, they headed to a wooded expanse, where a large pathway had been cut. Dappled sun shone on the ground, trees, and undergrowth as the wheels of the carriages rolled through. Small animals scurried for cover, no doubt frightened by the noise of their group.
Suzanna breathed deeply. She so loved the country, and the smells one could experience only there. She’d never been overly fond of London, with the noise, stench, and confusion. Hopefully, once she married, her husband would be amenable to them spending most of their time in the country.
Husband.
Just the word brought her spirits low. Naturally, she wanted to marry. She desired her own home, husband, and eventually a family. Children to love and nurture. She’d been trained since the nursery what was expected of her. Where her duty rested.
But she’d always intended—at least until Mother’s suggestion about marrying a titled lord had turned into a demand—to marry for love. How wonderful to be bedded by a man who loved her, and whom she loved, as well. To bear their children, manage their home, grow old together. She had never considered such an impossible feat, to find someone to meet those wishes, and still possess a title to please her mother.
Then Mr. Templeton, with his soft warm lips and mesmerizing eyes, had swept into her life like a raging storm. And declared he would win her hand.
…
Giles rode alongside the carriages headed to the picnic area, chatting with Hawk and Cam as they left the manor house behind. Despite contributing to the conversation, his mind remained fixed on Suzanna. Very clever of her to manipulate him so he would be stuck with the young, giggling Miss St. George in a rowboat. Exactly where he had expected to have Suzanna to himself for a good hour.
Being familiar with the lake, he had planned a visit to a little cove out of sight of the picnic area, but not so far as to cause gossip.
Not one to be thwarted, however, his mind bounced from idea to idea that would give them time alone. It had been obvious from their very first kiss that Suzanna was not indifferent to his regard. He would never force his attentions on a woman—there were too many who welcomed his touch for that—but her fear stemmed from knowing she was affected by him.
Ah, the chase! Never had it been so enthralling. And the reward was something he would enjoy the rest of his life. Suzanna in his bed, in his home, in his life. Their children clinging to her skirts and her, well-loved and protected, slumbering in his arms each night.
“I say, Templeton, I wish you would win the gel, so we can enjoy your company again.” Cam scowled at him from atop his horse.
“I agree,” Hawk added. “You’ve been here and not here since we left the manor. Cam just asked you a question—twice—and you still haven’t answered.”
Giles grinned in his friends’ direction. “A man on a mission needs time to plan and maneuver.”
Cam snorted. “As I said, win the girl, so we can go back to the way things were before you became addlepated.”
One by one, the carriages came to a rolling stop. The deep green grass, an array of wildflowers, and the bright sunshine made for a perfect picnic spot. Tables and chairs had been set up in a large grassy area, brimming with starched white tablecloths, china, silver, and crystal. Giles smirked. A typical ton picnic.
About five hundred yards ahead, a small lake, the sun glistening on the soft waves like diamonds, gave the area a littoral feel. Several bobbing rowboats had been secured to a wharf that extended into the water.
More than a dozen women, in an array of colorful gowns with matching parasols—quickly opened to protect delicate skin—spilled from the carriages, exclaiming delight over one another as if they had not been at the same house party together for days. Giles rode Gallant to a small wooded area where he dismounted, turning his horse over to the groom who had been stationed there.
Suzanna rested her parasol on her shoulder. Her pale rose gown, with a deeper rose ribbon under the breasts and along the hem, brought out the creaminess of her skin that rose tantalizingly above her neckline. Her eyes sparkled with joy as she chatted with Lady Honora.
All he could think of was striding across the space separating them, throwing her over his shoulder, and returning to the house to find the nearest bed. But those thoughts were dangerous, given his body’s reaction and the fact that he was in public.
He joined Cam and Hawk as the group headed to the tables and chairs. Servants were pouring champagne and lemonade. Suzanna settled in a chair, safely guarded by Lady Honora on one side, Miss St. George on the other, and Miss Fenster across from her.
Well played, Miss Blake.
Not to be deterred, he wandered over to the table and sat alongside Miss Fenster, immediately giving his attention to Suzanna. “Tell me, Miss Blake, are you adept in pall-mall? I understand there’s to be a game before luncheon is served.”
She waved her hand at him. “I’m afraid I have no talent in sports, Mr. Templeton.”
“Excellent!”
Her eyes flew to his face, obviously startled. “Excuse me?”
“I have never enjoyed the game, myself, so I hope when the others play, you might join me in a walk around the area. There are some exquisite flowers I would love to show you.”
Giles worked hard to keep from bursting out with laughter at the conundrum he’d just caused her. She would have to be downright rude to refuse him in front of the others. His fingers tucked into the pockets of his waistcoat, he leaned back in his chair, watching her wrestle with her desire to smack him over the head with her parasol.
“Certainly, Mr. Templeton. I would love to take a stroll with you.” The words barely made it past her clenched teeth, her jaw was so tightened. She had the look on her face of having just tasted something horrid.
“Wonderful. While we wait for the game to start up, may I bring you ladies some champagne or lemonade?”
“I would love lemonade,” Miss St. George said, her face quite red, which he didn’t think had come from the little bit of sun to which she’d been exposed.
“Lemonade for me, as well, Mr. Templeton.” Both Miss Fenster and Lady Honora spoke at the same time.
He looked in Suzanna’s direction, his brows raised.
“I would prefer champagne, if you please.” She offered him a brittle smile. If looks could kill a man, his funeral would be the next morning.
Instead of signaling a footman, he returned with a tray he’d confiscated from one of the servants and distributed the drinks to the ladies. He sat and conversed with them until Lady Honora stood and said, “I believe this is a good time to form teams for pall-mall.” She moved away from the table, calling the guests to gather.
Giles jumped up and pulled back Miss Fenster’s and Miss St. George’s chairs. They shook their skirts and followed Lady Honora. Suzanna sat, tapping her foot in the grass, which probably did not give her any sense of satisfaction, since no sound came of her efforts.
He rounded the table and assuring that no one was near enough to hear him, he pulled out Suzanna’s chair. “I am so looking forward to our walk, Suzanna.”
“Miss Blake,” she said through gritted teeth.
He took her arm and tucked it against his side. As they moved forward, he whispered into her ear, “Score one for my team.”
She stomped on his foot, pressing as hard as she could, then continued on, as if nothing had happened, smiling contentedly, twirling her parasol.
…
Despite her smile, Suzanna was not only angry. She was scared. She didn’t want to be strolling along with Mr. Templeton. She wanted to be free to have other gentlemen approach her. They’d spent so much time together since the house party had begun, she was certain the other men thought she was practically spoken for.
With a forced smile plastered on her face, they walked toward the lake. At least he was keeping her in view of the others. She had no fear he would attempt to kiss her with the others watching. At least she hoped he was too much of a gentleman for that.
“I really wanted to take you out in the rowboat. ’Tis the sort of thing a man does with his lady when they’re courting.”
“We are not courting.”
They stood and examined the lake. “This is truly a lovely spot for a picnic.” Suzanna took a deep breath of the fresh air. “I do so love the country.”
“More than London?”
“Truth be known, I detest London.” She twirled her parasol, enjoying the way she forced him to duck to keep from being hit by it.
“You do?” he asked, placing his hand on the parasol handle to stop the spinning. “You don’t revel in the balls, parties, routs, the theater, and everything else that I’ve been led to believe a young lady of the ton adores?”
She shook he head. “No. I am not so young, and I hope this is my last Season, anyway. It all grows rather tiresome. The gossip, the pretenses, the married couples taking lovers right under their spouses’ noses.”
He intertwined their fingers. “I would never be unfaithful to my wife, and I too, prefer the country and could live my life away from London with no regrets. I have a wonderful country estate given to me by my grandparents.” He placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head, his demeanor quite serious. “I will be more than happy to make this your last Season, Suzanna. I want to marry you.”
She closed her eyes, his words almost causing her pain. His arrogance aside, he could truly be the man she had been waiting for. They suited in every way. How she longed for a life mostly spent in the country and a husband who did not humiliate her by parading his mistresses around London.
She blinked away the tears that threatened to spill. She could not cry in front of him. He would demand an explanation, and she was not prepared to tell him the edict she lived under.
“I must, once again, remind you that we will not be marrying.” Her voice was dull, somber, exactly how she felt. She glanced up at the sky, thinking her mood had come from clouds drifting across the sun, blocking out the light and warmth.
But there were no clouds in the sky.
He must have caught her mood, because it was a quiet walk back to the tables. He held out her chair, and she sat and immediately engaged in conversation with Mr. Davies.
After luncheon, Lady Honora suggested they make use of the rowboats. Miss St. George practically ran up to Giles to remind him of his promise to take her for a ride. He left Suzanna’s side and escorted Miss St. George to the water’s edge.
Suzanna’s stomach muscles tightened, and a very uncomfortable feeling caused her heart to beat faster and her lungs to breathe deeper at the sight of Mr. Templeton and Miss St. George chatting amiably as they settled into the rowboat.
This was truly ridiculous. She was not at all envious of the girl. In fact, she had been the one to suggest he take her out in the rowboat.
Since she had no intention of marrying him, one day she would bear witness to him courting, and then wedding, a young lady. Perhaps someone like Miss St. George. Or even the girl herself.
Her mood plummeted, and she considered returning to the house. Perhaps something she’d eaten at luncheon had not settled well in her stomach. That was most likely her trouble, and she should take a walk to help her digestion. To an area where she could not see the boaters.
“Miss Blake, would you care for a ride in one of the rowboats?” Lord Campbell strode up to her.
“Thank you, my lord, but I believe I will just take a short stroll. I feel a bit unsettled, and don’t think a boat is the place to be at this time.”
“Oh, Lord Campbell, I would love a boat ride, if Miss Blake does not wish to do so.” Lady Barrington, another young widow recently out of mourning, hurried toward them. It was rather forward of her to ask, but Suzanna had heard the poor woman’s late husband had left her with nothing—his money spent on gambling and his mistress. She huffed. Another titled gentleman of the ton who did not take care of his responsibilities. It appeared Lady Barrington was forced to look for a replacement, since rumor had it that her own father was in no better straits due to his self-indulgence.
What a sad and desperate life is foisted upon women.
“Go on and enjoy yourselves.”
Lord Campbell eyed her. “Are you sure you are well, Miss Blake?”
She waved him off. “I will be fine.” She turned and walked away. Lady Hancock and Lady Livingston, both elderly members of the ton, sat under a tree, fanning themselves and watching the young people, just waiting for a misstep to spice up their afternoon.
With no one paying her any mind, Suzanna headed from the group and toward a wooded area that looked cool and welcoming. Hopefully, the gossiping ladies did not notice her departure, so she would not become fodder for the next ton scandal.
Her footsteps were muffled by the layer of damp leaves underfoot. The moist air felt good against her skin, and warm sunshine peeked through the leaves. She was free. Happy. Not concerned about Miss St. George and Mr. Templeton.
She meandered along, smiling at the little animals that stood up and studied her, their noses twitching, then racing off to hide. A few flowers managed to grow in the deep vegetation, despite the dampness and lack of full sun. She bent over, picked one, and sniffed. No scent, but pretty nonetheless. She tucked it into her bodice and went on her way. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the little bit of time to herself. The stroll was doing wonders for her disposition.
After about thirty minutes, she had wandered far from the group and should probably return. She hadn’t taken any turns on the path, so she reversed and headed back in the direction from which she’d come.
She stopped at an odd sound and tilted her head to listen. Holding her breath, she heard it again, and turned in a circle. About thirty yards from her stood a very large, very hairy, very big-toothed dog. He lowered his head and growled, his hair standing on end.
“Nice dog.” She barely got the words out past her suddenly dry lips.
He took a few steps closer, saliva dripping from his mouth. Oh dear God, is he rabid? She backed up and smacked against a tree trunk. “Nice dog.”
The dog stopped and sat on his haunches, continuing to stare at her. She licked her dry lips and moved a few inches forward, reaching her hand out. Perhaps, if she appeared friendly, he would relax. Instead, the dog sprang up again and growled.
Suzanna searched the ground for any sort of a weapon, a branch, anything. Then she looked up at the tree she stood under and saw a long hanging branch. “Oh God, I haven’t climbed a tree in years.”
The dog growled again and moved closer, his eyes like steel. Before she gave it too much thought, she grabbed the branch, swung a few times, and pulled herself up, her skirts catching on a broken limb. The dog growled louder and ran toward her. She yanked on her gown and petticoats, the sound of fabric tearing muffled by the dog’s frantic barking.
She reached desperately for the branch above her and pulled herself up. The dog’s paws bounced against the trunk, and the whole tree shook. He barked, growled, and snapped his massive jaws as she sat above him, her breath coming in deep gulps as she watched the animal.
Looking longingly toward the picnic area, she sighed. No one knew where she had gone.
Isn’t this a fine mess? Now what do I do?