Page 96 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

“Oh, really? Is this why we all ended up in the water? Or why he took a swing at me? Or tried to kiss you against your will?” he grumbled. “Perhaps he sensed you weren’t all that averse to his kisses and only needed a little more persuasion.”

She stiffened against him. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

He groaned. “I do trust you. It is your betrothed who’s the problem. Why can you not see it?”

She shifted in the saddle, turning slightly to have a better look at him. “Who says I do not see both of you quite clearly? I would suggest you worry about your own behavior and stop remarking on Andrew’s faults.”

“Am I supposed to keep my mouth shut and let you walk into danger?”

She sighed. “I will acknowledge that his behavior was insulting toward you, but he is not a danger to me. Or to you, for that matter. He might have tossed you in the water, but he certainly was never going to drown you or harm you in any other way.”

“He tried to punch me.”

“My point is, the two of you are behaving like enraged bulls and not leaving me free to make my own decisions.”

“As in which one of us to choose?” He gave a bitter laugh. “I devoured you last night, left not an inch of you unexplored. All the while, I was worried that I would overwhelm you with my prowess,” he said sarcastically, “and bind you to me while you were vulnerable and might later decide you had made a wrong choice in marrying me. But I shouldn’t have worried, for I am the one who was used last night and about to be left heartbroken.”

“James! I would never do anything so vile to you. Please do not say another word while you are angry and think you know my mind. That is my own, and neither you nor Andrew will push me toward a decision I am not ready to make.”

“Push you?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I have been twisting myself into knots trying to be patient and not rush you.”

She turned forward once again, and tried not to lean her stiff back against his chest. But it was impossible to avoid while Romeo galloped home.

It was also impossible for him to ignore her sweet, wet body pressed to his.

Was he about to lose her to Clement, that utter clot?

Chapter Eighteen

Gwendolyn could not believe the chaos of this situation.

Everyone ran toward them as she and James slogged into the house, their boots squishing upon the entry hall floor and their clothes dripping wet.

“What in heaven’s name happened?” Fiona asked, speaking for all of those now gathered around them as they marched in.

“Nobody’s business,” James muttered, ignoring everyone as he strode upstairs and called for his valet, who was among those standing beside Fiona.

“Right here, m’lord,” Crawford replied, and hastened after him.

This left Gwendolyn facing Robert, Jordan, Fiona, and her husband, who must have raced over after receiving a frantic summons from his wife. Also there were Agatha, Harting and his wife, Alfred the footman, and several others whose faces were familiar—Milbury Hill staff.

Robert and Jordan were in tears because they thought they were about to lose a second mother, and this simply tore Gwendolyn apart. No matter what happened, she loved those boys and would always welcome them into her home as though they were her own dear sons.

They were already firmly lodged in her heart. Surely they had to be aware of this. But if they were not, she would speak to them and let her feelings be known after she dealt with their father and her betrothed.

Then there was Fiona to assuage. She stood beside the boys, obviously not pleased to see Andrew back in Gwendolyn’s life—as evidenced by the murderous frown pinned on her face.

Gwendolyn hoped she was not about to lose one of her dearest friends over this matchmaking debacle that Fiona had instigated in the first place.

“Andrew will be joining us shortly,” she said, tipping her chin up in an attempt to maintain decorum. “I expect all of you to be polite to him. By the way, he is now a viscount. Viscount Winterbrook is his new title, and he ought to be given proper deference.”

That said, she clomped up the stairs to change into dry clothes herself, ignoring Fiona’s muttered, “I’ll shove that bloody viscount’s deference right up his arse.” That brought a chuckle from the boys. Honestly, did Fiona have to be so coarse in front of those impressionable lads?

Agatha scampered after Gwendolyn, almost knocking into her when she paused suddenly midway up the staircase. “Harting, the viscount will require a change of clothes as well. See that he is properly attended to upon his arrival.”

“He’ll get my proper attention,” she heard Fiona mutter, rolling up her sleeves.

Ah, friends.