The Wicked Ways of a Duke(20)

“We’d best be on our way.” He turned so she might take his arm. “It’s about five miles, so I have a carriage for us.”

“Did you come down by carriage, then?” she asked as they left the tiny station. “Or did you hire one?”

“Neither. When I cabled last night to see if Cam was in residence, I learned that he’s not. The house is let to some rich family from America. I’ve no idea who they are, but they sent me back an invitation at once to spend the weekend. Dukes always seem to impress Americans. There was such a to-do when I arrived this morning, I’ve never seen the like. I fear I quite let them down by provisioning my own picnic hamper, and they kindly lent me a carriage, even though I’m being quite secretive about the identity of my companion. Got to protect your reputation, you see. Here we are.”

He brought her to a halt beside a carriage where a liveried driver stood waiting. The driver bowed to her and bent to roll out the steps as St. Cyres took her hand.

“Mind the basket,” he warned her as he assisted her into the two-seated vehicle. “Had to put it in front. What with the blanket and the fishing rods and tackle, there’s no room in the back.”

She stepped over the enormous picnic basket on the floor of the carriage and sat down. “Rods and tackle?”

“I intend to teach you to fish,” he explained, following her into the carriage. “I hope you don’t mind? I can’t stand the thought of a country girl not knowing how.”

“I don’t mind at all. Fishing and a picnic sounds delightful.” She bent forward for a look at the basket, and when she saw the monogram on its wicker surface, she gave a cry of delighted surprise. “Fortnum and Mason? Oh, how lovely!”

“I’m glad you think so.” He glanced up at the driver. “Take us to Greenbriar’s boathouse, Halston, will you?”

“Aye, sir.” The driver released the brake and snapped the reins, sending the carriage into motion.

“Are we boating, too?” she asked.

“Well, we have to for a bit,” he explained. “Rosalind’s Pond is in rather a remote spot and there’s no road, but there’s a stream runs to it. I could have ordered horses instead, but I didn’t know if you rode. Do you mind a boat?”

Prudence hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in a boat.”

“Never? Not even a punt?”

She shook her head. “I could never work up the nerve. I don’t know how to swim.”

“I’m an excellent swimmer, so you needn’t worry. As long as you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you. I’d trust you with my life. After the way you saved Sally, how could I not?”

He gave her an odd look, one she couldn’t quite define. “As long as you’re not nervous about the boat,” he muttered and looked away.

The carriage bypassed Richmond itself and turned off the main road, going down a lane lined with trees and shrubbery. After a few miles, he pointed to a manor house of gray stone in the distance, barely visible through the thick grove of trees. “That’s Greenbriar,” he told her. “It’s a small place, but quite comfortable.”

Small? It was at least three times the size of Uncle Stephen’s house in Sussex and seemed huge to Prudence, but she supposed a duke might think it small.

“Americans are a strange lot,” he went on. “They received Cam’s permission to install gaslights in the house just because they’re staying there through the year and find lamps and candles inconvenient. They probably regard it as an investment since they’ve made an offer to buy the place from Cam’s family. Want to marry off their daughters to English nobility, I expect, and want a house near London.”

“They have daughters?” Prudence didn’t much care for the sound of that. No wonder St. Cyres’s arrival had caused such a stir. “Are they pretty?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“No,” he answered at once, but to her ears it sounded unconvincing. “Homely as can be, I swear.”

She looked at him and made a sound of disbelief. “I think they must be very pretty.”

He actually laughed, the wretch. “Are you jealous?”

“Not at all,” she said with dignity.

“Good.” He leaned close to her. “You’ve no reason to be jealous of any girl. I like you best.”

Prudence’s heart soared, but she immediately felt compelled to contain the happiness caused by his words, reminding herself it was foolish to harbor hopes of romantic attachment to a man so far above her. But despite her efforts, the exhilarating joy she felt would not be suppressed, and she was still smiling ten minutes later when the carriage halted beside a millpond.

There, a rather ramshackle boathouse stood beside a small dock where a rowboat was tied, motionless in the still water of the millpond. St. Cyres helped her step down from the carriage, grabbed the picnic hamper, and walked her to the edge of the dock, ordering the driver to bring the fishing gear and blanket from the carriage boot. The servant complied, putting the requested items in the bow of the boat, along with the picnic hamper. While Halston kept the rowboat steady, Rhys held out his hand to her. “Just step in slowly,” he told her, “and have a seat aft.”

She settled herself on the bench seat in the stern, and St. Cyres followed her in, taking the center seat, facing her. He reached into the bottom of the boat for the oars, locked them into place, and nodded to Halston. “Untie the lashings,” he ordered, “then you may go. Return for us in about four hours.”

“Very good, sir.” The servant complied, then gave the boat a shove with one foot, and they were off. Making good use of the oars, St. Cyres guided the boat across the millpond and onto the river.

Prudence watched him, admiring the way his powerful arms and shoulders rowed against the river’s current and kept the boat on a straight course. Still, after several minutes of watching him make all the effort, she felt compelled to offer some assistance. “You seem to be working much harder than I. Can I help you row?”

He grinned at her, leaning back as he once again pulled the oars through the water. “And have you sitting right beside me? I’d love it, but I’d still have to sit almost center or the boat won’t trim, and that would be a bit uncomfortable for you.”

She didn’t know what he meant about the boat, but she did think sitting beside him would be wonderful. “I don’t mind.”

“All right, though if I were truly a gentleman, I’d refuse to let you. Rowing upstream’s deuced hard work. But since we haven’t that far to go, I’m going to be selfish, take you up on your suggestion, and squeeze you into half a seat.”

“That’s all right,” she said shyly. “I’d like sitting beside you, so I’m being selfish, too.”

“Are you, now?” He laughed. “I like a girl who’s honest about her motives.”

He stopped rowing, and she settled herself into the offered half a seat, moving carefully in the boat to avoid tipping it. He kept his hand on her oar, and she placed both her hands behind his.

“Ready?” he asked her, and when she nodded, he said, “On three. One and two and three.”

They pulled back on the oars together, sending the boat shooting forward. “Am I doing this right?” she asked, feeling a bit awkward as she tried to lean forward and pull back in time with him.

“You’re doing it perfectly,” he assured her, and glanced over his shoulder to see if they were headed in the right direction. “We’re straight as an arrow.”

They rowed in silence for several strokes and soon developed a perfect rhythm. She liked the feel of his powerful body so close to her own, her shoulder and hip brushing his with each stroke. Following his instructions, she helped him guide the rowboat off the river and onto a smaller, more meandering stream, where immense weeping willows overhung the banks and dappled the water with sunlight and shade.

“I say, we do row together rather well, don’t we?” he asked as they both leaned back.

“Yes, we do.” She turned her head to look at him and smiled. “You’d think we’d been rowing together forever.”

Then, for no reason she could define, both of them stopped at once. She watched his lashes lower as his gaze slid to her mouth, and everything in the world seemed to stop. He moved closer, ducking his head beneath her hat, and she realized he was going to kiss her.

Excitement flooded through her, and with it, a powerful happiness. This was what she had been daydreaming of yesterday, this moment, hardly daring to hope it would happen. She tilted her head back, and he leaned even closer, until his lips were only a fraction from hers. He went still, and the blissful excitement within her deepened and spread until it was an ache so acute she couldn’t breathe.

“Prudence,” he murmured, and his voice seemed to echo her own emotions. Her lips parted, her eyes began to close. But just before his lips touched hers, he pulled back, his movement so abrupt, the boat rocked in the water.

Disappointment pierced her, and she looked away.

“Hell,” he muttered, the tone of his voice expressing just how she felt.