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Wilde in Love(34)

By:Eloisa James


“Good morning, Miss Larkin,” Alaric said. “You will remember my fiancée?”

Prudence’s mouth tightened, and to Willa’s surprise, an ugly look flashed through her eyes.

“Miss Larkin,” Willa said, keeping it short. From what she’d seen during their ride, the announcement of her betrothal had had a dampening effect on his admirers, but of course Prudence had an ingrained tendency to ignore inconvenient facts.

“If you’ll excuse us, Miss Larkin, we have made plans for a stroll,” Alaric said.

Prudence stepped backward, waving her hand gracefully. “I would never deny you any pleasure, my lord.”

Willa wanted to bare her teeth, but instead she took Alaric’s arm. “Where shall we go?” she murmured.

“Out of sight,” he replied grimly.

Lavinia bestowed a beatific smile on Mr. Sterling, just the kind they all knew he loathed. “Yes, I would love to go for a stroll with you,” she trilled, tucking her hand through his arm. “Thank you for asking. I believe I’ll address you as Parth, and you must call me Lavinia.”

“That is more honor than I deserve,” Mr. Sterling retorted.

“Nonsense! Alaric and I are on a first-name basis, obviously, since he is marrying my best friend. Just think how often we will find ourselves together in the coming years!”

She flashed a smile at Willa. “You must call him Parth as well, Willa,” she said, blithely ignoring the fact that her escort’s eyes were emitting sparks.

“I would be honored,” Mr. Sterling—no, Parth—said to Willa, managing to sound genuinely pleased.

“I’d be happy if you addressed me as Willa.”

Alaric tossed the bottle to Parth, who snatched it from the air. His hand now free, Alaric took Willa’s arm and drew it close to his side.

The four of them followed the river until it wound away from the road between two fields. Cushions of violet-blue wildflowers and sweet-smelling lavender lined the water, which had turned from dark turquoise to pale and shimmering.

“Let’s stop here,” Lavinia said, walking over to sit beneath a willow, so tall and lush that it looked like a pale green fountain.

“Did anyone ever tell you just how much a man appreciates a riding habit such as the one you are wearing?” Alaric asked Willa, as she followed Lavinia.

“One assumes,” she said.

“I don’t often have the impulse to revere a piece of clothing,” he said. “But your rear in those skirts, Evie …”

“Hush,” she ordered, looking over her shoulder. She faltered at the look in his eyes and turned about. “Why are you flirting with me? You are an explorer. You’ll board a ship and sail off … somewhere. I, on the other hand, have a domestic frame of mind.”

That slashing eyebrow of his went up. “Domestic, are you? I’m glad to have the proper adjective. I had been trying some out in my mind.”

She wouldn’t ask, she wouldn’t ask.

“ ‘Domestic’ wasn’t one of them,” he said, his eyes dancing.

If he imagined she would board a ship and explore the pirate latitudes with him, he was sadly mistaken. That was her father. No, her mother. She clearly remembered her mother’s laughter, the morning her parents had taken off on that madcap race. They’d scarcely kissed her farewell.

“Willa!” Lavinia called. Sunbeams were breaking through the branches and creating a halo around her hair. She looked positively angelic. “Come join me.”

“We’ll have to share glasses,” Alaric said when they reached the willow. He pulled a knife from his boot, flipped it open, and made quick work of the wine cork.

Lavinia took a sip of the wine he gave her, and passed the glass to Parth, fluttering her eyelashes as she did so.

He gave her a look of round dislike and took a deep draught.

“You’re such a gentleman,” she cooed, snatching the glass from him and drinking the rest. “Parth, would you mind terribly lending me your coat so I can lie down on this bank?”

Without a word, he wrenched off his coat and handed it to her.

“Thank you!” Lavinia cried, dropping it on the grass. Then she lay back, wiggling a bit until she was comfortable—and perhaps until the coat had acquired a grass stain or two. “Willa, do join me. Parth’s girth is such that I’m sure we can both fit.”

Willa unpinned her wide straw hat. Alaric’s mouth brushed by her ear as he murmured, “You could have balanced a fruit platter on top of that thing.”

She smiled. “I’ll have you know, sir, that this is an exceedingly fashionable hat.”

Lavinia lay against the emerald grass, buttery curls spread about her shoulders, eyes closed in an expression of pure contentment. Parth was staring out at the water, brow furrowed.

Alaric shook out his coat and spread it on the grass next to Parth’s. Willa lay back, shoulder bumping Lavinia’s, and squinted up at the sky through the willow spears. “You’re going to get freckles on your nose, and your mother will be overset.”

“Mmmm,” Lavinia said sleepily. “I love it when the sun is warm on my face.”

Alaric watched the two of them with amusement. Willa’s closest friend was a diabolical woman, which said something about his future wife’s personality.

“Think you can still skip a rock five times?” he asked Parth.

Parth instantly headed for the placid river. “You’ve kept your arm,” he said, when they’d both hurled enough rocks to work up a heat.

Alaric took careful aim and skipped a rock seven times.

Behind them came a drowsy murmur of women’s voices. He could pick out Willa’s voice beneath Lavinia’s lighter one. Lavinia always seemed to be on the verge of laughing, whereas Willa was an observer.

And a doer, he reminded himself.

He had the impression that Willa quietly managed the lives of a great many people around her. Lavinia’s, for one. Lady Gray’s, for another.

He drew back his arm thoughtfully. Life was an odd thing. He’d spent years floating around the world, only to come home and discover that he had an anchor waiting.

“I cannot bear that woman,” Parth said quietly. “May I return to the inn now? Please?”

“You sound like an eight-year-old trying to shirk Latin class.”

“I’d do a Latin tutorial to get away.”

Alaric glanced back. The two prettiest girls in the world were lying side by side. Lavinia had an arm behind her head, a position that had a truly magnificent effect on her bosom.

Rather to his surprise, he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t interested. There was a distinct possibility that the man who wasn’t interested in Lavinia Gray’s breasts was dead.

Or something.

“If I leave, she’ll think she’s won.”

Alaric shrugged, but before he came up with an answer, Parth muttered a curse, hauled off his boots, and headed into the water.

“What are you doing?” Alaric shouted. Behind him, Willa sat up. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she sat up because …

Because he knew.

“There’s something trapped in that tree,” Parth shouted back. He was in up to his hips, plowing at a steady pace toward a tangle of tree limbs caught on a large rock in the middle of the water.

By the time Lavinia and Willa had come to their feet and joined Alaric at the water’s edge, only Parth’s head and shoulders remained above the surface.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Alaric said, tossing his top-boots well up onto the grass. “I believe I’ll see whether Parth could use some help.”

The water was warm, likely because the river was so shallow. When Alaric reached Parth, he had one arm buried to the shoulder in the tangle.

“Damn it,” he bit out. “It scratched me.”

“What is it?”

“Cat,” he grunted. A furious howl came from inside the branches as he brought his arm back out, the drenched animal clutched in his hand.

Alaric burst out laughing. Parth had hold of the ugliest, scraggiest, and downright most hideous cat he’d ever seen. It was hissing and spitting like a teakettle on the boil, ears flat to its sodden head.

No, its single remaining ear was back.

“I don’t believe he likes me,” Parth said, straight-faced. The cat was twisting wildly in the air, scratching at him.

Alaric bellowed his laughter and headed back to shore. When the water was waist-high, he realized that his shirt clung to every ridge of the muscles that encircled his body.

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he strode toward Willa. She was looking at him, a little dazed, her mouth slightly open. For her part, Lavinia was watching with pleasure as Parth wrestled the yowling tomcat.

The water was at Alaric’s knees by the time Willa’s eyes jerked above his waistband, her mouth snapping shut. “I’m afraid to say that I cannot ride on to King Arthur’s grave,” he said, splashing onto the bank. He spread his arms and sure enough, Willa’s eyes drifted down his body again.

Parth strode by him, clutching the cat by the front and back legs, so it was rendered more or less immobile. “That’s an ugly cat,” Alaric said, impressed. It had lost fur on one haunch and there was an old scar across its nose.

Willa laughed. “He’s almost as scarred as you are.”