Page 105 of Aurelia

The earl, who’d found a relatively flat rock to sit on and was jotting down something in his small booklet, looked up and clucked his tongue. “It looks like a nasty little storm has sneaked up on us, Miss Burton.”

She glanced at the water between Nesta’s Perch and Crewe. The whitecaps had sprung up in a shockingly short time. “Is it safe to row back?”

“I think we should take cover and allow this to blow over.”

“But will it?”

He gave her a vaguely amused look. “Eventually all bad weather passes, Miss Burton.”

Why did that sound so ominous. And why did he keep calling her Miss Burton?

“We can take shelter at Walter’s cottage,” he said.

“He won’t mind?”

The earl raised an eyebrow, the gesture managing to convey a wealth of meaning, chiefly that everything—this island, the cottage, and probably Walter himself—belonged to him.

“Come,” he said, standing and holding out a hand. “Give me your satchel.”

“I can—”

“Miss Burton.”

She huffed a sigh and handed it over just as a fat drop of rain hit her nose.

When she began to walk back toward the sandy trail the earl shook his head and took her hand. “No. This way. I will lead you over the rocks. Once we are past the bigger ones it will be much faster.”

They had both removed their gloves to sketch and poke around in the rock pools and Aurelia’s pulse sped at the feel of his naked, slightly roughened fingers as his much larger hand swallowed her own. His grip was firm and she doubted she could pull away if she tried.

It is more likely that he could not pull away from you.

She ignored the taunting voice and paid attention to the rocky climb. By the time she reached the top, it had begun to rain in earnest. Even though it was beach grass and sand and not treacherous rock, the earl still held her hand.

Thunder cracked and she gave a startled yelp as the rain became a deluge. And then, for some reason, Aurelia laughed.

The earl glanced down at her as they splashed through puddles, his grin matching her feelings exactly.

Aurelia had no idea what was so funny—she was cold and quickly becoming soaked through to the skin—it just felt wonderful to be running in the rain with the all too fascinating man beside her.

Evidently, his lordship felt likewise because the two of them were laughing like fools by the time they reached the cottage.

The earl gave a peremptory knock on the cottage door and then opened it and ushered her into the small entry hall. “Walter?” he called out. “You have two wet visitors requiring shelter.”

The house echoed emptily.

The earl turned to her. “Either he is napping soundly or he is not at home. You must get out of those wet things. I will see if I can find him.”

Aurelia was shaking out her soaked, and probably ruined, bonnet when his lordship returned.

“He is not here.”

Her hand froze on the buttons of her pelisse.

“He will not mind if we make ourselves at home.” The earl took off his hat and hung it up on one of the pegs.

“Where could he be?” she asked rather stupidly—as if the earl would know the whereabouts of every employee.

“Probably on the mainland. His daughter lives there and he often goes to have a homecooked meal rather than his usual bachelor fare. In any event, there is a small fire already burning in the parlor and soon I will have a warming blaze.” He gestured for her to come with him.