“All right, Peter. Come out.”
His eyes peeked above Summer’s back.
Hands held innocently in the air—though I remained undecided as to whether or not I would relent—I moved with effort around Summer to meet Peter. Just as I reached out to him, my right foot got stuck in the mud, and before I could find my balance, I was falling, face first. I grasped the lapel of his coat in an effort to save myself. But it wasn’t enough. I shrieked as we fell, a splattering sound welcoming us. Peter was laughing, breathless, as I tried to use his neck to pull myself up out of the sinkhole.
“Let me help you,” he said, and for a moment, I thought he meant it. But staring into those clear, bright eyes meant I paid little attention to his hand digging beside me. He coated his fingers with mud and drew lines along my cheek, dabbing my nose for a final touch.
I sucked in a breath.
“Shall I continue? Or do you officially forfeit?” He laughed, dimpling his cheeks.
I felt a sudden urge to pull him toward me and kiss that smiling face. I steadied my voice. “I will accept your payment,” I said, a bit breathless.
“Agreed. Anything you want. I wish you could see yourself. I’m afraid my handkerchief cannot fix you now.” He rocked himself onto his heels. He wrapped my arms around his neck and lifted me effortlessly from the muck. My dress, my boots, and especially my hat were caked in heavy mud. Mary was going to murder me.
“What are you doing?” Never had a gentleman carried me before, or been so close to me. With shallow breaths, I tried not to notice the feel of Peter’s strong arms wrapped around me, nor the smell of his freshly shaved jaw despite the mud.
“I am rescuing you.” He winked. “Should we visit the creek next? I think you’re in need of a little washing up before Demsworth throws me out of the house for ruining you.”
“Good idea.” I agreed as he lowered me to my feet on dry ground.
Peter turned to Mr. Beckett, who’d continued ahead before circling back to us. “Winter will be missing his mother. Miss Moore and I shall return on foot directly.”
“Of course, Mr. Wood.” With a nod, Mr. Beckett moved toward Summer.
Peter tucked my arm into his, muddy and filthy as we both were, and we headed toward the trees.
Chapter Fifteen
The cool water rose to my calves as I stepped in it. Mud dissolved from my boots and the hem of my dress into the flow of the creek that rushed over its rocky path down the bend. Low branches from sagging trees hung over, mirrored by the water, shading us in a great canopy of green. I bent down, glancing at my reflection. Sure enough, Peter had painted my cheeks and dotted my nose with mud.
“Perhaps I shall try my hand with a brush and paints next. I have talent, do I not?” Peter stepped toward me, grinning.
I splashed him with a flick of water before untying my hat and tossing it onto the bank. Lifting a handful of water to my face, I washed away the dried mud.
After helping me pick off the thickest coating of mud from the back of my dress and hair, Peter pulled out his watch and carefully wet the silver cover. There was a gentleness to his touch that signified value and worth.
“It’s lovely.” I stepped out along the bank of the creek and retrieved my hat.
“It was my father’s,” he answered solemnly, following me onto land. “He gave it to me a few weeks before his chest pains started. I’d just returned from Paris. And I’ve worn it every day since.”
My heart swelled for him, knowing loss as I did. Except I had none of my parents’ belongings. Not even a string of pearls from my mother. Lord Gray kept a box of her things locked away; I could only hope to recover the items after his death.
“It is a very handsome watch.”
“There is an inscription on the back. My father had it done.” He turned the watch over in his hand. “It says, ‘Time is not guaranteed.’”
We looked at each other, and I had a distinct feeling that something was indeed growing between us, a pull that grew stronger cords, tying knots that would not easily come undone. “How very true.”
“Before he died, he told me to remember that some things aren’t worth being angry over, but plenty of things are worth fighting for. It is a motto I try to live by.” A look of sadness briefly crossed his face.
“I love it.” I leaned in, peering at the watch. That explained both Peter’s carefree nature and his loyalty to his sister. “Your father’s words are beautiful. It’s something my father would have said.”
“Forgive me, but did you lose your father as suddenly as I lost mine?” Curiosity laced his voice, though his eyes were filled with compassion.
“Pneumonia,” I said before I lost the nerve. I had not spoken of Father’s death in a long while. Why did I want Peter to know? It was as though my heart needed to tell him everything. We’d shared so much with each other already. “Sometimes I fear I am forgetting his face.”
Peter interlocked my hand in his, sending a tingling sensation through me. His gaze was serious and sweet. “I am so sorry, Amelia.”
