Lord Rockingham, of course, burst into laughter.
George jolted away from her, brushing at his coat and trousers.
“I’m so sorry! Do forgive me, Mr. Kirkley, Lord Rockingham.” Margaret burst out of her chair and proceeded to wipe the grains off her gown. Both her fiancé and the marquess rose beside her. As did her brother and Montford.
She couldn’t bear any of this a moment longer. She needed to be away from him. She needed to compose herself somehow.
“Please excuse me.” Margaret sent a pleading look in Penelope’s direction.
“But of course, Margaret, you must change out of that immediately or you’ll have ants crawling up your legs.”
Not exactly what Margaret had in mind, and she couldn’t help but catch the provocative glance Lord Rockingham slid her direction. He licked his lips, bringing to mind the memory of his mouth on her legs, on her…
She backed up before a manservant could assist her with her chair and would have knocked it over if Lord Rockingham hadn’t reached out to catch it.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered again, this time sending an apologetic glance in George’s direction.
“But of course. Allow me to escort you back to the house.”
“No!” She needed to be alone. “No,” she said less emphatically. “I don’t wish to ruin your tea. Please, stay and enjoy the party. I will…” Margaret glanced down at her gown. “I will change out of this and rejoin you shortly.”
And before she could bring about any additional calamities, she moved away from the table and weaved through the other guests’ chairs until she could step out from beneath the large tent.
The sun felt hot, and her breaths were coming in short little bursts.
When she felt relatively certain that no one was watching, she paused and raised a hand to her chest. She was going to have to speak to him, explain somehow, and beg him not to tell his uncle.
Of course, he knew.
Of course.
5
A Young Rake
It seemed that the woman Sebastian had craved for the remainder of the night was George’s widow after all.
With nothing better to do after riding and then cleaning up, he had ventured outdoors to discover his host overseeing the setting up of the rather large canvas tent, and rather than sit about and do nothing, Sebastian had set right to work assisting Danbury and the manservants employed to the task.
Once it had been raised, Sebastian had located the necessary equipment required to play a game of paille-maille and designed a rather challenging course for any of Danbury’s guests who might be so inclined.
By the time he’d completed setting up the game and finished sending the yellow ball flying through all of the circles, several of Danbury’s guests had made their way outside. It went without saying that most of the unmarried females drifted casually in his direction. As did several married ones.
Sebastian would hazard to guess he’d conversed with damn well every lady under the age of sixty and half the ones over it and still not identified the woman who had fled from him the night before.
Until Margaret Coates, the Countess of Asherton, had arrived. From a distance, even before he’d known her name or heard her voice, he’d known.
She’d managed to hide most of her long silken hair beneath her bonnet, strands he’d threaded through his fingers, and yes, she wore a less-than-notable gown…
But it was her.
He had simply known.
And when he’d sat down beside her, he realized that if his eyes hadn’t recognized her, his body would have. The world stood still, and he could almost imagine himself being filled with an overpowering sense of completion.
As he’d stared at the delicate skin of her wrists, just above her gloves, he could not help but think that marriage between her and Uncle George must be some sort of a joke. But why?
She was not destitute. As Danbury’s sister, she would never want for anything. And if not for security and position, why would a woman such as she engage herself to his uncle?
She was obviously a beauty. The dress could not hide her gentle feminine curves nor was her bonnet able to conceal all of the long ebony strands beneath it. When she glanced up from behind thick lashes, he became momentarily mesmerized by eyes the color of scotch one moment and the deepest green the next. Hazel eyes. How absolutely delightful.
A beauty, by God.
The undeniable attraction he experienced when he took her hand and then kissed the back of her glove was incomparable. Her subtle and sexy perfume, combined with the essence of the lady herself, both excited and stirred him.
It was the same hand that had grasped the sides of his head, the same fingers that had tugged at his hair and urged him to taste all of her.
As she’d pulled her hand away from his hold, she’d trembled.
She, too, had known it was him. Of course, though; he’d told her George was his uncle. By God, she had fled from his chamber as though the hounds of hell chased after her.
And after throwing the bowl of sugar into the air, she’d run away again, although with considerably less prowess.
“Dashed nuisance,” his uncle complained to nobody in particular, brushing his jacket the moment Lady Asherton was no longer in earshot.
“I’ll send for a towel and hot water,” Lady Danbury offered helpfully, frowning in the direction in which her sister-in-law disappeared.
Sebastian remained standing although the other gentlemen all returned to their seats.
“Let me help you, My Lord.” Miss Drake rose to brush at Sebastian’s coat with a lacey white handkerchief. As she did so, he caught a whiff of lilac-scented perfume—too strong. It overpowered the subtle scents worn by the lady who had just taken flight.
He stepped away from Miss Drake. The shiver that ran through Lady Asherton had been either attraction of fear. On the basis of last night’s encounter, he’d wager it was more likely attraction. Then again, maintaining the reputation of a proper lady, she might also be concerned that he intended to expose her rather unladylike nocturnal activities.
Or simply tell George. Her fiancé, a gentleman who adhered to the strictest proprieties as a rule—in public, that was.
“If you’ll excuse me.” He supposed he ought to put the widow out of her misery and assure her that he had no intention of revealing their encounter to her future husband or anyone else.
Good God! Surely, she didn’t intend to actually marry his uncle!
But why the engagement then?
“You haven’t finished your tea, My Lord!” the pretty American chit implored with a pout.
“I’ll return shortly.” Sebastian extricated himself from her hands, having no desire to sit around drinking tea.
Perhaps Lady Asherton wanted him to follow her—expected it even.
Taking a moment to ascertain that the lady was no longer outside, Sebastian sauntered across the lawn toward the manor. Likely, she had retreated to her private chamber.
Which oughtn’t prove to be too difficult of an obstacle.
Danbury’s ancient retainer met him with a quick bow the moment Sebastian entered through the front door. “Is there anything I can do for you, My Lord?” The gentleman had been exceedingly helpful even though Sebastian had arrived at such a late hour the night before.