Her housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see. The poor lad has a nasty gash. Do you think it will require stitches? Shall I summon the doctor?”
She posed the question to Rob, but he shook his head. “I can handle it. The cut is not deep enough to require stitches, fortunately. Just bring me whiskey, boiled water, clean cloths, and bandages. And can you find something for the boys to wear? They’ll need to change out of their wet clothes.”
At this same moment, he realized his shirt was still on the beach along with his boots, the blanket, towels, and Fiona’s belongings.
Not that he cared for Fiona’s bilious robe. He hoped it would blow away on a strong gust of wind.
But his shirt was the urgent problem. He did not have one on, and this would cause a scandal for Fiona if he continued to walk around like a bare-chested ape.
He heard giggles coming from one of the upper-story bedchambers and realized Fiona’s maids were peeking at him in his shirtless splendor. They would not have behaved so giddily had they noticed the injured boy’s bleeding leg. But they had fixed their gazes on him and appeared to be enjoying the show he was putting on.
Inadvertent on his part, of course.
“Mrs. Harris, I’ll need a shirt for myself, too. You’ll find several in the wardrobe in my chamber.”
“At once, Your Grace.” The housekeeper hurried off to fetch the requested items and called for a footman to retrieve their belongings from the beach.
As they waited, Rob realized Fiona was very wet and still wearing that clinging bathing gown. She had gotten a mild soaking while helping him get the boys into their boat, and then she had hopped into the water as they neared the shore, thinking to help push the boat up onto the sand.
The boys must have noticed the wetness of her outfit and been gawking at her ever since they began their walk back to the house. He ought to have realized what their impish grins signified.
“Look at me, lads,” he said with a low growl, putting himself between Fiona and those curious boys who appeared to be halfway in love with her already.
They were definitely in lust with her. Fortunately, at their young ages, lust was merely a matter of intense curiosity rather than actual manly urges.
But their father was no child. How wouldherespond to Fiona?
Rob received his answer about an hour later when the Marquess of Milbury’s carriage rolled up to Fiona’s front door and the marquess practically tumbled out in his haste to see his boys. Fiona had, thankfully, changed into more appropriate attire and was now wearing a peach silk dinner gown that enhanced the soft beauty of her face.
She had brushed out her hair and Molly had fashioned it in a simple bun at the nape of her neck, but that drew Rob’s eye to her slender neck and made him want to spend the evening kissing it and nibbling it instead of bothering with supper.
Rob had also taken a moment to change into appropriate attire. However, even though he was properly dressed, the maids still giggled and gawked at him whenever he passed by them.
If this nonsense did not die down in a day or two, he would have Fiona’s housekeeper give them a stern warning. After all, this was the home of a countess and not a bawdy house, although what he and Fiona had done last night was fairly bawdy.
But that was no one’s business.
He and Fiona were seated with the boys enjoying lemonade and cakes on the terrace when their father was announced. The boys looked ridiculous, for they were barefoot and now wearing some of Shoreham’s old clothes that were too big for their skinny frames, even though the earl had been fairly slender himself.
Their father, a distinguished-looking gentleman of about five and forty years, took one look at his sons and sighed. “Aren’t you a pair? A moment to make any father proud,” he muttered, striking a note of humor amid his resignation and embarrassment.
“Papa!” They ran and hugged their father, no doubt a preemptive action to distract him from threatening them with punishment.
Rob’s stomach began to churn.
Was Fiona considering Milbury?
In truth, the man would even fit in as a Silver Duke. That he was merely a marquess was irrelevant. He was rich, titled, a widower, and had a dash of silver at his temples that many women seemed to find irresistible.
Would Bromleigh, Lynton, and Camborne soon open a betting book on Milbury? Thetonwould find it most entertaining.
Rob rose as the man strode forward. He approached Fiona first, because this was her home and they had already been introduced to each other in London. “Lady Shoreham, what can I do but thank you from the bottom of my heart for your bravery in rescuing my sons?”
Fiona turned to Rob and, at his nod, introduced the marquess to him. “Lord Milbury, I merely sat in the boat while the duke did all the rescuing. His instincts are excellent and he sensed your boys might get into a bit of trouble the moment he spotted them. This is why we were so quickly on the scene. Any gratitude is entirely owed to him.”
Milbury cast him a sincere smile. “I have heard only the finest things about you, Durham. Everyone I know speaks highly of you. But I must say, even that praise falls short. You saved my boys. Mere words cannot express how grateful I am to you.”
Rob accepted the compliment with modesty. He was not usually a modest man, but he saw how close a bond the marquess had with his sons, and how sincerely humble the man was in offering his gratitude. It would not do to boast about his actions when it had amounted to little more than lifting the older lad out of the water. Timing was everything, was it not? Five minutes later, and they might have been fishing the boy’s lifeless body out of the water.
