The Bedding Proposal Part 43

She stopped and motioned Burr to do the same.

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

A man emerged from the water-a man who most definitely was not Mr. Craycroft.

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 gra.s.s 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 gra.s.s 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. Apparently, he was more tired than he'd thought. Then again, that's why he'd come here to Craycroft'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 gra.s.s from his bare b.u.t.t. 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 s.h.a.ggy 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 ap.r.o.n 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 tsked and turned Esme around, her fingers moving quickly to unfasten the b.u.t.tons 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 a.s.sumed 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.

But Esme wasn't thinking about Lettice's false sincerity. Instead, she was caught up in memories of the beautiful naked man by the lake and the drawings of him that she'd done while he slept. Suddenly she was grateful for the room's warmth, since it disguised the flush that crept over her neck and cheeks.

"Nature," she answered with a seemingly careless shrug. "Plants and animals. Anything that takes my fancy at the time."

And oh my, had the glorious stranger taken her fancy.

"Lady Esme is quite the accomplished artist," Lord Eversley said with enthusiasm. "I had the great good fortune to view a few of her watercolors when we were last in Town." He smiled at her, clearly admiring. "She is a marvel."

Lettice's mouth tightened, her eyes narrowing. It was no secret-at least not to Esme-that Lettice had long ago set her cap at Lord Eversley and that so far he had failed to take notice of her. Esme would have felt sorry for her were Lettice a nicer person.

Lettice blinked and rearranged her features into a sweet smile, as if realizing that she'd let slip the well-practiced air of kind innocence she wore like a mask. "Oh, I should so like to see your sketches. Perhaps you might show them to us?"

"Yes, Lady Esme," Eversley agreed. "I too would greatly enjoy a chance to view your newest work."

"Oh, that is most kind," Esme said, hedging. "But I suspect you would find my efforts disappointing."

"Impossible," Eversley disagreed. "You are too good an artist to ever draw anything that could be deemed disappointing."

"You give me far too much credit, Lord Eversley. What I drew today amounts to nothing of importance. Just a few random studies, that's all."

Nude studies of an unforgettable male.

Sleek limbs corded with muscle.

A powerful, hair-roughened chest.

Narrow hips.

Taut b.u.t.tocks.

Impressive genitalia-at least she found it impressive, considering it was the first real, flesh-and-blood set she'd ever seen.

And his face . . .

Planes and angles that begged for an artist's attention, rugged yet refined, bold and unabashed.

Captivating.

"Truly, they're mostly rubbish and I have no wish to offend anyone's eyes with the viewing," she said, hoping Eversley would take the hint and let that be the end of it.

Instead, he persisted. "You are too modest, Lady Esme. Why do you not let me be the judge?"

"Who is modest?" her brother Lawrence said, joining the conversation. A few others turned their heads to listen as well.

"Lady Esme," Eversley explained. "Miss Waxhaven and I are trying to persuade her to show off the sketches she did today, but she is too shy."

Leo, Lawrence's twin, laughed from where he sat next to his wife, Thalia. "Our Esme? Shy about her art? That doesn't sound likely."

"Yes, she's usually raring to share," Lord Drake Byron agreed.