Mad About the Man (25 page)

Read on for an excerpt from Tracy Anne Warren's next novel,

H
APPILY
B
EDDED
B
LISS

Coming soon from Signet Select

September 1818

Gloucestershire, England

L
ady Esme Byron hiked her sky blue muslin skirts up past her stocking-clad calves and climbed onto the wooden stile that divided Braebourne land from that of their nearest neighbor to the east, Mr. Cray.

Cray, a widower near her eldest brother, Edward's, age of forty, was rarely in residence and never complained about her trespassing on his land, so she was free to use it as if it were quite her own. Not that Braebourne didn't provide plenty of beautiful acreage to explore—it did, especially considering that her brother owned nearly half the county and more besides. But Cray possessed a lovely natural freshwater lake that sat a perfect walking distance from her family's house. The lake attracted a rich variety of wildlife, so there was always something fascinating to sketch. Plus, no one ever bothered her there; it was quite her favorite secret place.

She jumped down onto the other side of the stile, taking far more care for the satchel of drawing supplies slung over her shoulder than she did for her fine leather half boots. She wobbled slightly as she sank ankle-deep into the mud. She stared at her boots for a few seconds, knowing her maid would give her a scold for sure. But she was always able to talk dear Grumbly around, so she wasn't worried.

Grabbing hold of the fence, she unstuck herself one boot at a time. She scraped the worst of the mess off into the nearby grass; then, with a swirl of her skirts, she continued on to her destination.

She sighed blissfully and turned her face up to the sun.

How good it was to be home again after weeks in the city.

How wonderful to be out in the open again, free to roam wherever she liked, whenever she liked.

A tiny, guilty frown wrinkled her brow, since technically she was supposed to be back at the estate helping entertain the houseguests visiting Braebourne. But all seven of her siblings and their families were in residence, even Leo and his new bride, Thalia, who had just returned with celebratory fanfare from their honeymoon tour of Italy. With so many Byrons available to make merry, she would hardly be missed.

Besides, her family was used to her penchant for disappearing by herself for hours at a time as she roamed the nearby woods and hills and fields. She would be back in time for dinner; that would have to be enough.

An exuberant bark sounded behind her and she glanced around in time to watch her dog, Burr, leap the stile and race toward her. She bent down and gave his shaggy head a scratch. “So, you're back, are you? Done chasing rabbits?”

He waved his golden flag of a tail in a wide arc, his pink tongue lolling out in a happy grin, clearly unapologetic for having deserted her a couple of minutes earlier to hunt game in the bushes.

“Well, come along,” she told him before starting off toward a stand of trees in the distance.

Burr trotted enthusiastically at her side.

Several minutes later, she reached the copse of trees that led to the lake. She was just about to step out of their protective shelter when she heard a splash.

She stopped and motioned Burr to do the same.

Someone, she realized, was swimming in the lake. Was it Mr. Cray? Was he back in residence?

A man emerged from the water—a man who most definitely was not Mr. Cray.

And who was most definitely
naked
.

Her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of his long, powerfully graceful form, his skin glistening with wet in the sunlight.

A quiet sigh of wonder slid from between her parted lips, her senses awash with the same kind of reverent awe she felt whenever she beheld something of pure, unadorned beauty.

Not that his face was the handsomest she had ever glimpsed—his features were far too strong and angular for ordinary attractiveness. Yet there was something majestic about him, his tall body exquisitely proportioned, even the unmentionable male part of him that hung impressively between his muscled thighs.

Clearly unaware that he was being observed, he casually slicked the water from his hair with his fingers, then walked deeper into the surrounding area of short grass that was kept periodically trimmed by the groundskeepers.

She shivered, her heart pounding wildly as she watched him settle onto the soft green canopy of grass and stretch out on his back. With a hand, she motioned again to Burr to remain quiet. She did the same, knowing if she moved now, the beautiful stranger would surely hear her.

One minute melted into two, then three.

Quite unexpectedly, she heard the soft yet unmistakable sound of a snore.

Is he asleep?

She smiled, realizing that's exactly what he was.

She knew she ought to leave; this was the perfect chance. But then he shifted, his face turning toward her, one hand resting at his waist, his knee bent at an elegant angle.

And she couldn't leave.

Not now.

Not when she was in the presence of such artistic majesty—as if the universe itself had given her a gift. How could she refuse the opportunity? She simply had to draw him.

Without giving the impulse so much as another moment's consideration, she sank quietly onto a nearby rock that provided her with an excellent view of her subject. Burr settled down next to her and laid his chin on his paws as she extracted her pencil and sketchbook from her bag and set to work.

*   *   *

Gabriel Landsdowne came abruptly awake, the late afternoon sun strong in his eyes. He blinked and sat up, giving his head a slight shake to clear out the last of the drowsy cobwebs.

He'd fallen asleep without even realizing it. Apparently, he was more tired than he'd thought. Then again, that's why he'd come here to Cray's, so he could spend a little time alone, doing nothing more strenuous than taking a leisurely swim and lazing away the day. He could have done the same at his own estate, of course, but the place always put him in a foul mood.

Too many bad memories.

Too many unwanted responsibilities to ignore.

His usual crowd would laugh to see him doing something as prosaic as taking a solitary afternoon nap. On the other hand, he was out of doors naked, so they would most certainly approve of that.

Smirking, he stood up, brushing an errant blade of grass from his bare butt. He was about to cross to the stand of bushes where he'd left his clothes when he heard a faint rustling sound behind him. He turned and stared into the foliage.

“Who is it? Is someone there?” he demanded.

The only answer was silence.

He looked again, but nothing moved; no one spoke.

Maybe it had been the wind?

Or an animal foraging in the woods?

Suddenly a dog burst from the concealment of the trees, its shaggy wheaten coat gleaming warmly in the sun. The animal stopped and looked at him, eyes bright and inquiring but not unfriendly. He seemed well fed but was of no particular breed, a medium-sized mix of some sort. Part hound and part something else.

“Who might you be, fellow?” Gabriel asked.

The dog wagged his tail and barked twice, then spun around and disappeared into the trees once more.

Just then, Gabriel thought he spied a flash of blue in the woods.

A bird?

The dog must have sensed it too and had gone off to chase whatever it was.

Shrugging in dismissal, Gabriel turned and went to retrieve his clothes.

*   *   *

“It's high time you were home, my lady,” Grumbly scolded as Esme hurried into her bedroom a couple of minutes after the dressing gong rang. “I was on the verge of sending one of the footmen out after you. Och, and look at those boots. What new mischief have you been about this afternoon? Tromping in the mud.”

“Oh, don't carry on, Grumbly,” Esme said, using the maid's old nickname given to her when Esme was still in apron strings. “I went for a walk, then stopped at the stables afterward to check on Andromeda. Her wing is still healing and she needs food and exercise twice a day.”

Andromeda was a hawk Esme had found in the woods last month, shot with an arrow. She'd nursed her through the worst and hoped the bird might be able to fly again with enough time and care.

Mrs. Grumblethorpe
tsk
ed and turned Esme around, her fingers moving quickly to unfasten the buttons on Esme's dress. “You and your animals. Always worrying over some poor, misbegotten creature. Rabbits and birds, hedgehogs and box turtles. You're forever dragging something back, to say nothing of all the cats and dogs and horses.”

Three of Esme's cats—all strays she'd rescued—lay snoozing in various locations around her room, including a big orange male, Tobias, who was curled up on a cozy spot in the middle of her bed. Her maid didn't approve, but she'd given up that battle long ago.

Burr, who had trailed in with Esme when she'd returned, lay stretched out in front of the unlit fireplace hearth. He snored gently, clearly tired after their recent adventures.

Esme thought again of the splendid naked man at the lake and the drawings of him that were now inside her sketchbook.

A flush rose on her skin.

She thought too of how he'd almost caught her as she'd been leaving. Good thing he'd assumed the noise she'd inadvertently made was Burr.

Good old Burr.

Who was the stranger? she wondered not for the first time. Certainly no one who lived in the neighborhood. She would have remembered a man like him. Peculiar, though, that he seemed oddly familiar, as if she had seen him somewhere before. She'd thought and thought and just couldn't place him.

Oh, well, it would come to her—or not. She wouldn't concern herself. After all, it wasn't as if she were likely to see him again, let alone be introduced.

She didn't have time to ruminate further as Grumbly removed her dress and half boots and sent her over to the washbasin to tidy herself for dinner.

In far less time than one might have imagined, Esme stood clean, elegantly coiffed and attired in an evening gown of demure white silk—presentable for company once again.

She'd hoped with the Season over, she might be able to put all the entertaining behind her for the year. But then Claire had decided to host one of her autumn country parties, inviting the usual gathering of friends and family, in addition to a few new acquaintances from London.

Esme sighed inwardly, wishing she could spend a quiet evening with just the family, then retire early with a good book.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders, fixed a smile on her lips, and headed downstairs.

*   *   *

“Might I procure a beverage for you, Lady Esme?”

Esme glanced up from where she sat on the end of the long drawing room sofa and looked into the eager gray eyes of Lord Eversley.

Only minutes before, the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies after dinner, strolling in on a wave of companionable talk, the faint lingering aromas of cigar smoke and port wine drifting in as well.

Esme had been listening with only partial attention to the other women's discussion of fashion when the men entered and Lord Eversley approached to make her a very elegant bow.

He'd been seated next to her at dinner, his conversation both pleasant and interesting. He was attractive, personable, well-mannered, and intelligent—in short, everything any sane young woman could want in a husband. Plus, he was heir to an earldom and a fortune that was impressive even by her family's standards.

Eversley had been one of her most attentive suitors this past Season and his presence here obviously amounted to Claire and Mallory's rather badly disguised attempt to further the relationship. A little nudge in the right direction, she could hear them saying, and wedding bells would ring.

She ought to be cross with them. Really, she should. But she knew they only meant well. They just wanted her to be as happily married as they were. If only they would believe her when she said that she wasn't interested in a husband.

Not right now.

Not for a good long while if she had any say in the matter.

Luckily, her oldest brother, Edward, was in no hurry to get her off his hands, content to let her remain here at home for as many years as she liked.

The time would come when she needed to marry. Until then, she would have to find ways to avoid the overtures of interested young men, even ones as thoroughly eligible as Lord Eversley.

“Thank you,” she said in answer to his question, “but I already had tea.”

“Ah,” he said, linking his hands at his back. “A stroll, then, perhaps? The gardens here at Braebourne are quite splendid, even by lantern light.”

“Indeed they are. Again, I am afraid I must refuse. Another time perhaps? I have walked a great deal today, you understand, and my feet are far too weary for another outing at present.”

Her feet were never weary—everyone in the family knew she could beat paths through the fields like a seasoned foot soldier—but Lord Eversley didn't need to be apprised of that fact. Hopefully none of the others were listening and would give her away.

Yet apparently someone else
was
listening. Lettice Waxhaven—another of the London guests, who happened to have made her debut along with Esme this past spring—leaned forward at just that moment, a fierce gleam in her pale blue eyes. “Yes, where were you this afternoon, Lady Esme? We were all of us wondering, what could be so fascinating that you would vanish for the entirety of the afternoon?”

Esme hid her dislike for the other young woman behind a tight smile. Why her mother and Lettice's mother had to be old childhood friends who had been unexpectedly reacquainted this Season, she didn't know. It was because of the renewal of that friendship that Esme found herself far too often in Lettice's company.

“I was just out,” Esme said. “Walking and sketching.”

“Really? Pray tell, what is it you sketch?” Lettice asked as if she were actually interested—which she was clearly not.