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Authors: Sally MacKenzie

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BOOK: How to Manage a Marquess
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And then she heard it again. This time there was no question. It was the rumble of thunder.
Oh, God, no.
Chapter Thirteen
“We have to go inside.” Miss Davenport scrambled to her feet. “We have to go inside
now
.” She looked as if she was on the verge of bolting, her body tense, eyes wide and frightened.
Nate closed the hamper. Neither of the boys complained. They were so attuned to the emotional atmosphere around them, they now looked a little tense and frightened, too.
“What's amiss, Anne?” Nate asked quietly.
“We have to go inside.” She pointed over his shoulder. “There's a storm coming.”
He looked at the clouds. They were still quite a distance away.
“Please.” Terror shimmered in her voice. “We have to go
right now
.”
He heard a faint rumble of thunder—and Anne's whimper.
“Very well.” She was clearly far too frightened to discuss the matter, and she was correct that it was better to be inside if there was any chance of a storm, especially around water. “We'll go to the cottage.”
Anne nodded and ran barefoot back to the folly, lifting her wet skirts high, leaving her hairpins and shoes and stockings behind. Nate picked them up, as well as the blanket and the hamper, and followed with the boys. When they arrived at the cottage, Anne was jerking on the door latch with both hands.
“It. Won't. Open.” Her words were spaced out with little panicked gasps.
“That's because it's locked, Anne.”
There was another rumble of thunder and she jumped, pressing her face against the door. “The key. Where's the key?”
The boys looked at him. Even Edward appeared worried about Anne. Her behavior wasn't normal. Oh, he'd seen people—even other men—who didn't like storms. You could tell they were nervous, no matter how much they tried to hide the fact. But he'd never seen someone almost mad with fear as Anne was.
He put down what he was carrying and reached up to wiggle loose a stone above the lintel. Ah. Duck hadn't been mistaken, thank God. The key was exactly where it was supposed to be.
He slipped it into the lock, turned it—and almost had his fingers torn off as Anne shoved the door open and dashed inside.
She stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around her. “Come in and shut the door before the storm comes.”
“Is Miss Anne sick?” Edward whispered, tugging on Nate's leg as Nate stooped to pick everything up.
“She's just a little afraid of storms,” Nate whispered back.
Both boys' eyes widened at his use of “a little.” Stephen threw Anne a worried glance.
“Hurry!” she shouted—and then whimpered when there was another distant rumble. “Please hurry.”
“Something's wrong,” Stephen said.
Nate nodded. Something was definitely wrong. He ushered the boys inside and closed the door behind them.
Anne literally sagged with relief. “We should be safe now.”
“Yes,” Nate said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. Stephen and Edward stood close together in a corner by the door, watching anxiously to see what was going to happen next.
He'd better get things settled now, before the storm got any closer.
Duck kept the cottage in good order. There were only two rooms—this small main room with its stone floor, table, chairs, and hearth, and a smaller bedchamber. He put the hamper down on the table—and noticed Anne was shivering.
It
was
a bit chilly in here, especially in damp clothes. He glanced at the hearth—good. There was coal at the ready.
“If you will take off your clothes, Miss Davenport—”
She gasped. “Lord Haywood!”
He almost laughed at her expression of shocked indignation. “Not here, of course. In the bedroom. You can wrap yourself in a sheet or a blanket or something and then bring out your things. I'm going to start a fire.”
She flushed. Apparently she was recovered enough from her terror to have room for embarrassment. “Oh, no. I c-couldn't. I—” She shivered again.
“You not only can, you will. I'll not have your death from ague on my conscience.” He stepped closer and dropped his voice. “Now go into the other room and take
everything
off.”
Her blush deepened. “But the boys—”
“Are too young to care and I, if you will forgive me for saying so, have seen feminine undergarments before.”
He would have said it was impossible for her to turn any redder, but he would have been mistaken.
“But—” She shivered again.
“Don't be ridiculous. Now hurry on. The boys and I are hungry.”
She was still hesitating.
“Do I need to help you?”
That got her moving toward the bedroom. “No, of course not.”
“Do be certain to take off everything.” He raised a brow in what he hoped she'd take for a bored, impatient look. “As I said, I know exactly what should be included. If I don't see every article, I will remove them from your body myself.”
She gasped. “You will not.”
He let his brow drift higher. “I wouldn't suggest testing that theory.”
“Oh!” She looked like she wanted to stomp on his foot, but realized she was still barefoot so she wouldn't do much damage. She contented herself with sniffing and giving him a haughty look before closing the bedroom door firmly behind her.
“Would you really take Miss Anne's things off, Uncle Nate?” Stephen asked. “I don't think that's proper.”
“It's not, but I don't want her taking sick.” He smiled. “And I know she's far too sensible to risk her health for propriety's sake. She just needed to be encouraged to realize that.” He rescued Stephen's and Edward's suits from the pile of things he'd carried from the lawn. “Here you go, boys. You need to get your wet things off, too.”
Unfortunately his only dry clothing was his shirt, and it was not heavy enough to restrain a cock that was determined to misbehave. When he peeled off his soaked breeches, the unruly organ sprang free, creating a far-too-obvious tent in the fabric.
Keeping an ear cocked for more thunder, he folded the blanket they'd brought from the house to eat on and wrapped it tightly around his waist. Even Hercules's cock couldn't have lifted that.
The arrangement was certainly awkward, though—and ridiculous. He had to pick up the front so he didn't trip on it when he walked.
He made his way slowly to the hearth, the back of his “skirt” forming a train that caught on everything.
“Blast.” He tugged it free of one of the chair legs.
Stephen and Edward giggled.
“Don't laugh. You are just lucky your suits didn't get wet or you'd be wearing one of these, too. How do you suppose women manage the things?”
“I expect they are used to them,” Stephen said reasonably.
Nate grunted and turned his attention to the hearth. The tinderbox was on the mantel, exactly where it had been when he was a boy. In just a few minutes, he had a nice fire going.
“Can we push the table closer, Uncle Nate?” Edward asked. “I'm still cold.”
“Of course. That's a splendid idea.”
He was moving the last chair when he heard the bedroom door open.
He turned to see Anne standing in the doorway. She'd wrapped a sheet around her body like a Roman toga and then tied a blanket so it fell, cape-like, over her shoulders. Her long blond hair streamed down her back.
She was, unfortunately, completely covered.
And completely, utterly naked under her costume.
Why that knowledge should be so stimulating, he couldn't say, but his cock was most definitely stimulated. It felt as if it were going to explode.
At least Anne couldn't see the battle it was waging under his skirt.
She spread her clothes before the fire—they were indeed all there, including her stays—and then straightened. Her cheeks were quite pink, from embarrassment rather than heat, he guessed.
“I'm so sorry I, er, lost my composure outside. You see I, ah . . . that is—”
Lightning lit the room as if a thousand candles had suddenly burst into flame at precisely the same moment and, just seconds later, a tremendous clap of thunder shook the cottage.
Miss Davenport screamed and leapt at him. Instinctively, he opened his arms and then held her as she buried her face in his chest, pressing as close as she could. She was gasping and shaking, overwhelmed by terror.
He murmured what he hoped were soothing noises and looked at Stephen and Edward.
The boys looked back at him apprehensively, as confused by the situation as he was. Thank God they weren't bothered by storms, too, or his arms would get rather crowded.
He managed to sit down on a bench by the table and pull Anne down beside him. She whimpered and climbed into his lap as lightning flashed again. Thunder boomed and rain lashed the windows. He tightened his hold on her.
“Stephen, why don't you get some food out for you and Edward,” Nate said in as normal a tone as he could manage. “Miss Davenport and I can eat once the storm has passed.”
“I'm not hungry,” Stephen said, looking anxiously at Anne.
“Don't be afraid, Miss Anne,” Edward said. “We're inside now. The storm can't get you.”
“And it's moving off.” Nate threaded his fingers through Anne's long hair, damp from her tumble into the lake, and cradled the back of her head. “Listen. The thunder is growing fainter.”
They all listened. There was another low, faint rumble, and then nothing.
Finally Anne shuddered and pulled away. He let her go, and she slid off his lap and onto the bench.
“I'm sorry,” she murmured, studying her hands.
“It's all right, Miss Anne.” Edward patted her on the arm.
She made a sound that was a cross between a sob and a laugh and hugged him, and then at last she looked up, but at Stephen, not Nate.
“I know I'm silly to be so frightened of storms,” she said. “But someone I knew was hurt in one, and I've never quite got over it.”
Who?
Nate studied her profile since she wouldn't look at him directly. It must have been someone important to have affected her so.
“I like storms, Miss Anne,” Edward said. “They're exciting.”
This one certainly was.
“But you do have to be careful of them, Edward,” Nate said, “especially around the water. Miss Davenport was quite right to hurry us inside.”
Anne smiled quickly at Nate with what looked like gratitude before turning back to Edward and Stephen. “I do wish I wasn't so afraid of them, though. I'm sorry I upset you.”
“
I'm
not frightened by storms,” Edward said. “I'm very brave.”
Stephen snorted. “You're afraid of the dark, Edward.”
Edward's little jaw hardened and he looked as if he would deny it, but then he leaned his head on Anne's shoulder. “Only a little bit.”
“We're all afraid of something,” Nate said without really planning to.
“Really?” Stephen stared at him. “What are you afraid of, Uncle Nate?”
Marcus marrying. Marcus dying.
Sharing that would be far too honest.
“Spiders.”
“Spiders?!”
Miss Davenport choked back a laugh. “Are you really afraid of spiders?”
“Well, I don't like them. And I
was
afraid of them when I was Stephen's and Edward's ages.” He grinned. “And now I'm afraid I'm going to die of hunger. Why don't you see what's in that basket, Stephen?”
* * *
Anne walked up through the woods from the boathouse with Lord Haywood while Stephen and Edward ran on ahead. “The boys seem happy.”
The marquess nodded. “Yes. I'm glad we took them to the island.”
Lud! The island. The storm. My complete loss of self-control.
Lord Haywood must realize her reaction had been far too violent to have been caused by an acquaintance's injury. He was waiting for her to tell him the details she hadn't wanted the boys to hear.
It's none of his concern. I hardly know him.
And yet she felt she knew him very well, perhaps even better than she knew Jane or Cat.
Lord Haywood could have got angry when she'd . . . well, gone mad, really, out there by the water. He could have argued with her or ridiculed her. He'd done neither. And when that last bolt of lightning had lit the cottage like the sun and the crash of thunder shaken the windows and she'd jumped into his arms, he'd held her as close as she'd needed.
She'd felt protected. Safe.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Heat flooded her face. Her cheeks must be red enough to glow.
“Ah. Perhaps they're worth more than a penny then.”
“Oh, no. A penny is too much.”
The boys were out of sight now, but not out of earshot. She heard them shouting, kicking stones along the path and rustling through the leaves.
If I call them back or catch up to them, I won't have to tell Lord Haywood about Mama.
The marquess wasn't pressing her. He was just walking along beside her, gazing at the trees.
Which made it impossible to keep silent.
Or perhaps she
wanted
to tell him. She hadn't talked about that terrible day in years.
“It was my mother, and I saw it happen.”
“Oh.” Concern darkened his eyes. He didn't ask what she was talking about—he knew.
She felt his compassion and that loosened her tongue further. “It was three days after we'd got back from London and my first Season.”
BOOK: How to Manage a Marquess
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