Page 47

“Perhaps I will take a fencing lesson first, the better to dethrone Thomas,” Merry mused.

“You could imitate the dowager duchess. Just bring your son to Green Park and push him into the river,” Stella suggested.

Bloodthirsty wench.

His mother and Merry convulsed with laughter, naturally.

Silvester slid down the bank into the water, his toes curling into the mushy riverbed. “Who would like to be first to leave the water?” he asked briskly.

“First in, first out,” his mother announced. “I hope you don’t strain your back hoisting me into the air, dear.”

Silvester splashed toward her. He had the odd sense that his mother had brought about this debacle deliberately, though he had no idea why. But then, he often didn’t understand his mother.

Perhaps she had been overheated and wanted to bathe. Or tired of Mrs. Thyme’s company.

As Silvester lifted the dowager toward the bank, one of their grooms caught her hands and helped her up. A second groom wrapped her in a blanket. She took his arm and started back up the slope.

“I’m next,” Merry said, striding through the water to Silvester’s side. “I promised the children I’d be home hours ago.”

Once on the bank and wrapped in a blanket, she waved goodbye and set off after the dowager.

“I can climb out if you would steady my arm,” Stella said, looking prickly.

The sound of her laughter seemed to hang over the river. Plus, her horrendous ruff had wilted, revealing perfectly shaped breasts that turned dusky pink when she caught his gaze.

“I’ve already lifted you in the air once,” Silvester reminded her, wrenching his gaze away from her bosom.

Damn it.

That dress was clinging to the soft curve of her hips. With just a long step, he could wrap his arms—

He stopped himself with an internal shock. What in the bloody hell was he doing? He never thought about ladies in such improper terms.

“I didn’t like your gown at first,” he heard himself say. “That ruff . . .”

She curved her lips into something of a smile. “May I have your assistance up the bank, Your Grace?”

Silvester frowned. “I didn’t mean it that way. And we’re on a first name basis, remember?”

“Of course,” Stella said, ploughing through the water until she was just below the spot where a groom waited with yet another blanket. “Perhaps you could help me?” she asked, looking up at the fellow.

Irritation shot through Silvester. No groom was going to touch Stella, not when she was wet like . . . like this.

“No,” he said sharply.

She looked at him, green-blue eyes framed by river water, and he lost his breath for a moment.

Obviously, it was due to the shock of sending Yasmin off with Giles.

“I only meant to say that your dress looks better without the ruff,” he said briskly. “Now, if you’ll turn toward the bank, I’ll hoist you up.”

It wasn’t until he saw the pink in her cheeks turn red that he realized “hoist” wasn’t a flattering word. But Stella turned without a word. His eyes fell to her plush, indecent arse, fabric clinging to every curve.

No wonder women wore layers of clothing. They had so much beauty to hide.

When his hands touched Stella’s waist, he felt a little shudder go through her body. In a flash, he realized that she would be an equal partner in bed. Her husband, whoever he would be, would be the luckiest man in the Goddamn world, because Lady Stella’s body was . . . And she was that too.

All that.