that, something fast and as black as pitch emerged out of the foliage with an enormous stick in its mouth. He took one look at Thea and simultaneously dropped the stick and shook himself, sending a spray of muddy water all over her favourite green-sprigged muslin, before wagging his tail cheerfully.
Then he lunged.
Two big, wet paws hit her squarely on her belly and she lost her balance. Arms waving like a windmill in a gale, she struggled to stay upright. Instinctively she threw one foot behind to steady herself, only to realise too late that she stood on an incline. Thea tumbled clumsily backwards, her feet lifting from the bank as gravity took over. To her utter horror, she landed with a huge splash in the water mere inches from the irritating naked man’s groin.
Judging from her furious expression after she emerged coughing and spluttering from the water, Gray shouldn’t have laughed. Especially as she was, unbelievably, Gislingham’s ward and he needed to make a good impression. But with Trefor already swimming in excited circles around her, her vibrant hair plastered over her face and her blush so ferocious she practically glowed, he couldn’t help it. It had been a spectacular fall.
‘Here... Let me help you up.’
She slapped away his proffered free hand. ‘No, thank you! I know where that has been!’ Outraged and delightfully flustered, she dragged herself to her feet, shooting daggers at her companion who was also snorting with barely contained laughter, as she tried and failed to climb up the slippery bank. ‘Don’t just stand there, Harriet! Do something!’
Keeping his filthy hands to himself and wondering exactly how he was supposed to fix this mess before Lord Fennimore had him lynched for his carelessness, Gray watched the older woman brace her legs and heave the fuming redhead out of the water. Despite his now-subdued mood, it was a wholly pleasant sight. Miss Cranford’s soaked, thin summer dress was stuck to her shapely body like a second skin, moulding wonderfully to reveal a gorgeous peach of a bottom, and because she had to hoist her dripping skirts up to scramble up the incline, he saw a great deal of a very fine pair of legs from ankle to mid-thigh. He had always had a thing for bottoms and legs. Hers weren’t covered in stockings, giving him a splendid view of her pale alabaster skin, which nicely filled in some of the blanks in his suddenly rampant imagination.
She would be wonderfully pale from top to bottom, and, like a Titian, that paleness would perfectly set off all her riotous hair. Although darker now that it was soaked, Gray remembered how it had popped and crackled in the sunlight when he first saw her, like the dying embers of a warm winter fire. Evidently, he now had a penchant for redheads as well as bottoms and legs. Who knew? It was these surprising, unforeseen revelations which made his meandering life interesting. That and the enormous potholes it consistently threw in his path.
He did a quick flick through his many happy memories, disappointingly sparse these last two years since ambition had come unexpectedly knocking, and came to the unfortunate conclusion he had never bedded a redhead before. Something he needed to remedy—but not yet. It was a crying shame he couldn’t bed this one, because she was a tasty morsel if ever there was one, but Gislingham’s ward wasn’t his mission.
Gislingham was.
For the foreseeable future, Gray had to be on his very best behaviour. But he would store it in his mind for future reference and try to repair whatever damage he had done, making a mental note to seek out a suitably willing redhead as soon as he was able as a reward if he miraculously managed to save things.
While the ladies were occupied on the opposite bank, he swiftly pulled on his shirt then sank down in the water to wrestle on his breeches. Something much easier said than done. Only once he was semi-decent did he risk scaling the bank.
Miss Cranford was striding across the parkland by the time he had grabbed his boots, her fists clenched tightly at her sides and her lovely legs tearing up the ground, oblivious of the already besotted Trefor trotting along beside her. Gray didn’t bother calling his hound back, instead he sprinted bare foot to catch up with Lady Crudgington, who was still grinning, intent on eating an enormous slice of humble pie.
‘My sincerest and humblest apologies, ladies. My lack of propriety was unforgivable.’ Yet another thing for Lord Fennimore to justifiably rant about and one he couldn’t blame on his dog. ‘I feel dreadful.’ Which was true, but for entirely different reasons. He blamed the spectre of ambition which had unwelcomely crept up on him and simply refused to go away no matter how much he tried to tell it that he was a wandering gypsy at heart. With every passing moment, that coveted promotion was slipping away, as all things he coveted tended to do if he wanted them too badly. And as per usual, it was all his fault. He really did need to work harder at being a better spy. Especially as his tendency to live in the moment had created this moment—one he would much prefer not to have happened at all.
‘A bit of water never hurt anyone, my lord, and it was very funny.’
‘Traitor!’ Miss Cranford’s head whipped around and she positively glared at her companion.
‘Well, it was funny, Thea. You’d think so, too, if you weren’t in a snit about your hair.’ The older woman dropped her voice conspiratorially, while clearly intending for her delicious friend to hear. ‘It takes for ever to tame the natural curl, poor thing, and she wants to look her best for Mr Hargreaves this afternoon.’
‘I most certainly do not want to look my best for Mr Hargreaves!’ Miss Cranford stopped so abruptly, Gray almost walked into the back of her. The flecks of copper in her dark eyes matched her hair. They narrowed in accusation. ‘Look at the state of me!’ Noticing the two muddy paw prints on the front of her dress for the first time, she rubbed at the stain ineffectually. ‘This will take hours to repair!’
‘It would be my honour to buy you a new gown, Miss Cranford, to replace the one my dog has ruined.’ On cue, Trefor nuzzled her thigh with his head and began to wag his tail so fast the whole of his gangly body shook, gazing up at her in canine adoration. Gray watched her eyes drop to the animal and soften and in that second found himself liking her a great deal. And his dog. She clearly had a weakness for the mutt, which might be the only hope he had. ‘Trefor is very sorry, too, if it’s any consolation. Look at his eyes.’ Only the most hardened of individuals—or Lord Fennimore—could not be seduced by those sorrowful eyes.
Her hand dipped down to tickle the dog’s ear. ‘You’re a good boy really—aren’t you, Trefor? Just boisterous is all. I don’t blame you for what happened in the slightest.’ He heard the intended dig as she glared somewhat half-heartedly at him, and he did his best to look contrite. She was calming down and seemed in no hurry to stop petting the dog.
‘Miss Cranford, I really do feel wretched. I should have behaved with more decorum. In my defence—although I am well aware what you witnessed was wholly indefensible—the parkland was quite deserted when I ventured into the stream. Trefor loves water, you see, and he especially loves it with me in it. Had I had any inkling that somebody would stumble across me so early I would never have sullied your delicate sensibilities with the sight of me cavorting in my birthday suit.’ He felt his lips twitching again and bit down tightly on the bottom one to stop it. Good spies didn’t ruin contrition with laughter. ‘I can assure you it will never happen again.’
‘Well, I for one enjoyed it immensely, my lord,’ said Lady Crudgington with a wicked grin. ‘Do feel free to cavort in my presence whenever you see fit.’
‘Harriet
