Page 38 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 24

Coming to a halt by the tree, Hal grabbed onto it and growled, “Miss Wyndham, why have you not gone indoors?”

“Polly was afraid you might drown, so I let her watch you swim, to reassure her. I’ve found it quite instructive as well.”

“You must dry yourself,” he commanded, shaking the water from his hair. Why wouldn’t the wretched woman ever listen to reason?

“I will, I will. I already have a bit,” she assured him but made no sign of returning to the house.

Now his errant body was under control, he could ensure she went back indoors—on his shoulder if necessary. He scrambled up onto the tree trunk to avoid getting muddy, used his bare toes to get a firm grip, and walked carefully along its length before leaping down onto terra firma.

A curious sight met his eyes. Tia had cast off his jacket from around her shoulders and was running in wide circles on the grass, flapping her skirts out in front of her to dry them. Polly skipped along in her wake, clearly enjoying this diversion from lessons, and her kitten—who evidently liked the new game—chased around their feet in an apparent effort to trip them up.

He became aware of an unaccustomed tension in his stomach, spine, and shoulders. With a painful shudder, the pressure burst out through his lungs, and he laughed aloud.

Once he began, he couldn’t stop. His sides ached, the tears rolled down his cheeks, and his gut clenched and unclenched in an unremitting spasm until he feared he was about to shatter.

A gulp of air turned into a sob, followed by another, wracking his whole body. Hal pressed his hands against his face, deeply humiliated. Through the maelstrom of emotions, he heard Tia’s voice. “Polly, take your kitten into the house and feed him. Afterward, you can go back to the nursery and read for half an hour before luncheon. Your father is perfectly well. Only, he’s laughed too much at our silly antics and needs time to recover. Go.”

The sound of scurrying footsteps accompanied Tia’s arm winding about his heaving shoulders as her soft body pressed against his side. He leaned toward her and grasped the fingers that curved against the muscle of his upper arm, struggling for control.

The sobs continued, but they sounded more like hiccups now.

What a fool I’m making of myself. In front of Tia, too.

For three years he’d stored up this agony. During those years he’d tried to be strong. Grieving, yes, but dry-eyed, for gentlemen never wept. Especially not those of noble birth.

Hal sucked in a trembling breath. He ought to behave like a man and release the warm, delicate fingers he held. But they offered a comfort he hadn’t known for an exceedingly long time.

“It’s all right, Tia, I’m all right,” he managed. “I’m not distressed, truly. It’s just that I haven’t laughed at all since Mary’s death.”

Her breath brushed his cheek. “I know you haven’t, Hal. I know you haven’t. But it was high time, wasn’t it?”

He grimaced. “I dare say it was.”

“And they do say, don’t they, sometimes you laugh until you cry? I imagine the body can’t help it.”

Dear, sweet girl. He didn’t deserve her sympathy, or her commiseration—he’d used her ill, yet here she sat, forgiving him, condoling with him. With an almighty effort, he eased her away and got to his feet, pulling her up after him.

“You’d best not hold me again in public,” he warned. “We don’t want to give the servants something to gossip about.”

“I don’t care about the servants. I want you to be happy.”

His heart gave a kick. She cared about his happiness? This was a precious gift indeed, and most unexpected. “Don’t worry about me. But I genuinely don’t want any of my staff seeing us in our present sodden state if it can be avoided.”

Hal couldn’t help but glance down at her body. The cloth clung to her in an obscenely provocative fashion, stoking his blood to fever heat.

“Here, put my jacket back on.” His voice was harsh. Collecting the rest of his clothing, he pulled her away from the water, into the lee of the folly tower.

“If we cross from here to the archway and the cloisters, we can make it up the back stairs to my suite without being seen. One of my dressing gowns will cover you head to foot so that you can return to your own wing with dignity.”

It wasn’t really her dignity he was worried about. It was his self-control, now drawn out gossamer-thin. When they eventually reached the protective shadow of the archway unobserved, he sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

As soon as they were safely inside his dressing room, he locked the door and turned to his fellow conspirator. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she regained her breath from their run, and his eyes snagged once again on those delectable curves.

God help him. If he could send her back to her mama without ravishing her first, he deserved a medal. Setting his teeth against the pull of temptation, he grabbed a dressing gown and handed it to Tia, then turned his back and sent out yet another silent prayer.

This time, he prayed for strength.