Then Comes Seduction

“Take your marks,” the laborer called-he was Hatcher, was he not? “Get set.”

The gun fired with a loud pop.

Charlotte and Merton tumbled to the grass with a shriek and a shout. Margaret and Fletcher seemed just to have realized that they would have to hold on to each other if they hoped to proceed.

“One,” Jasper said, and by some miracle their bound legs moved forward in unison.

“Two.” Their outside legs moved past the bound ones.

“One.”

She was laughing.

Most of the field was on the ground within two strides. What was left of it was soon left behind as they forged ahead to the finish line in perfect unison with each other, cheered onward by the crowd.

And then it struck Jasper that the first prize in the race was to be three guineas, nothing at all to him, especially as the money was his to start with, but a truly enormous sum to Tom Lacey, one of his laborers, who was coming along several paces behind them with his wife while three of their five children screamed encouragement from the sidelines and the fourth watched with wide eyes and thumb firmly lodged in his mouth and the fifth lay fast asleep in the arms of the eldest.

“Two,” Jasper said, and their outside legs moved.

“Two-ah, I mean one.”

But Katherine had already hesitated, and he had performed a little stutter step, and they tumbled to the grass a mere three or four strides from the finish line.

“One comes after two,” she cried.

“No, it does not. Whoever did you have as a childhood teacher?” he asked her, tutting. “Three comes after two.”

And they lay there laughing helplessly, their arms wrapped about each other as Tom and his wife jogged across the finish line, closely followed by Margaret and Fletcher.

The crowd was applauding loudly and laughing hard too at the spectacle their baron and his wife had just made of themselves-again.

Somehow they got back to their feet and hobbled the rest of the way to come in fourth out of a field of ten. Not bad. Merton and Charlotte were still about six feet from the starting line and down on the grass again.

Lady Forester was purple in the face. And, silly woman, she was talking to Wrayburn, who had brows of thunder. Jasper did not hear what she said. Strangely, he did hear her uncle’s reply.

“You would not recognize simple fun, Prunella,” he said, “if it reared up and bit you on the arse.”

The lady would have swooned without further ado, Jasper guessed, if she could have trusted that someone would catch her. But Clarence was nowhere in sight, and Uncle Stanley was looking openly delighted.

“We could have won,” Katherine said when she had recovered somewhat from her laughter. She looked at Tom lift his wife from the ground after releasing their legs and swing her once about with a whoop while their children dashed up to them. “But I am very glad we did not. That was deliberate, was it not?”

“Me?” he said. “Deliberately losing a race? Do you have windmills in your head?”

“No,” she said. “And I am on to you, Jasper Finley. I am on to you.”

Whatever the devil she meant by that.

He bent to untie the bond that held their legs. He touched the soft flesh behind her knee in the process.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Liar.”

“Three guineas, girl,” Tom was saying. “Three guineas.”

And he had dared to complain, Jasper thought, about the lack of freedom that wealth and position and property could bring to a man.

“I have some baking to judge,” he said.

“And I have some needlework to judge,” she said. “Shall we go together?”

It took them a while to get to the lower terrace. People who had kept a respectful distance earlier in the afternoon were suddenly eager to joke with them and tell them what a wonderful time they were having and beg them to please please make the fete an annual event again.

It was already late in the afternoon. The races had all been run, the archery competition was over, the exhibitions had been judged, and the prizes awarded. Most people had eaten and drunk their fill, either standing on the terrace with friends and neighbors or sitting in the parterre garden or on one of the blankets spread on the lawn. All that was left apart from the ball tonight and the simple enjoyment of the park for those who chose to stay instead of going home to change were the mud sports.

And those were to be, Katherine had come to realize, the highlight of the day. Everyone was going to watch the eight men who had entered the mud-wrestling competition and the tug-of-war that was to follow and would involve a large number of the men. Several of the houseguests had already changed from their best clothes for fear they might be on the losing team and be dragged through the mud.

Men really were foolish. But what did that make of the women who were eager to watch them?

Including her.

“Stephen,” she said, when he came up behind her on the upper terrace and set an arm about her shoulders, “you are not going into the tug-of-war, are you?”

He had changed.

“But of course,” he said. “I have chosen the winning side, and so there is nothing to fear.”

She punched him lightly in the chest.

“It will serve you right,” she said, “if it turns out to be the losing side.”

But he only grinned, and she suddenly realized that perhaps many of the men secretly hoped that they were on the losing team.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked. There had been so little chance during the past two weeks for private conversation with him.

“Enormously,” he said, tightening his arm about her. “You have done superlatively well, Kate, with both the house party and this.” He gestured about them with his free arm. “You are happy?”

“Yes,” she said.

He turned his head to look down into her face, his eyes searching hers.

“Dash it all.” He grinned. “I was looking forward to breaking his nose.”

She set the side of her head briefly against his shoulder.

“And what of you?” she asked. “You have hardly moved from Charlotte’s side.”

He did not immediately reply, and she looked up at him.

“There are problems with being Merton, Kate,” he said. “Especially now that I have almost reached my majority. I am eligible, am I not? I see fellows like me all the time deliberately avoiding the ladies for fear of a leg shackle. But the thing is that I like ladies. I like Miss Wrayburn.”

“But you are not in love with her,” she said.

“Kate,” he said, “I am twenty. She is seventeen-eighteen today.”

“But you think she does love you?” she asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think so. She is a jolly girl, and I think she just likes me as I like her. But it has struck me that I have to be careful now just in case some lady should mistake friendliness for courtship. I would hate to break anyone’s heart, Kate. I would hate to break Miss Wrayburn’s, though I do not think she has a tendre for me. It is conceited of me, I suppose, even to imagine that there is a possibility that she might. But I am Merton.”

“Oh, Stephen,” she said, “you are such a very decent young man. I am proud of you. But you are not responsible for anyone’s heart unless you have specifically laid claim to it. You must not hide from ladies and treat them coldly as so many gentlemen do. You must be yourself. Everyone will love you-and that will have nothing to do with the fact that you are the Earl of Merton. But everyone will