“I’ve never even been to the sea.” He stroked the dolphin’s snout. “At least, not that I remember,” he added softly.
“You should rectify that. I love the ocean. Something about the sound and smell is incredibly peaceful and refreshing.”
“Perhaps I will.” He turned his head then looked at her. “We’re not in view of anyone else. Isn’t that scandalous?”
She arched a shoulder. “Probably.” She almost said she was already scandalized, but she didn’t want to talk about her aborted wedding with anyone, especially Lord Bodyguard. “So your name is Raphael?”
He took his hand from the dolphin. “Rafe.”
“Rafe. It suits you.”
A smile teased his mouth. “How fortunate after thirty-two years.”
“So that’s how much older you are than me.”
“How much older is that?”
“Ten years. It seems like a great deal of time, and yet I know several young ladies who married men older than you this Season.”
His gaze held hers. “You aren’t marrying me, Miss Pemberton.”
“You called me Anne before,” she whispered. “You can do that when we’re alone.”
“We should never be alone.”
“But we have been.”
He glanced toward the picnic area, which they couldn’t see. “That was ill-advised.” He frowned at her. “I thought I was plain with you the other day—we aren’t friends.”
“And I explained—plainly—that we are. Stop fighting it.”
“I fail to see how we can be friends. Or why. It’s not as if I can take you to Magazine Day. Then I would have to marry you.”
She flashed a smile at him. “Would that be so bad?”
He laughed, and she recalled how the scar on his chin would flatten when he smiled broadly or laughed. She also remembered how the slight ridge in the bottom of the center of his lip felt against her.
“Please stop flirting with me, Anne. We can’t go back to…before.”
“Were we flirting before?” She simply couldn’t stop herself. Being with him made her feel so light, so wonderful, better than she had in months.
A fat raindrop landed on his sleeve near her hand.
Rafe looked up, squinting. “Here it comes.” He took her hand as several drops began to fall, and together, they raced to a narrow doorway tucked into the side of the stairs that led up to the statue and the main covered area.
He opened the door and pulled her inside before they were completely drenched.
She looked up at him in surprise. “How did you know this was here?”
“I just…” His brow creased, and confusion shadowed his eyes. “I saw the door.”
“I was never allowed to come in here.” She looked around at the small, dark space but couldn’t gauge the size or depth.
“Your hair came loose.” He tucked a damp lock behind her ear beneath her hat.
“It’s always doing that,” she murmured, instinctively lifting her hand and connecting with his. She didn’t pull away.
He didn’t either. “I remember.”
They stared at each other as the rain cascaded outside the door. Someone could come—likely would come as they sought to escape the squall. Even so, Anne couldn’t move away.
She edged closer to him.
“Anne,” he breathed, her name a warning and yet somehow an invitation too.
“Anne!”
Startled, she stepped back as her godfather leapt into the chamber beneath the stairs. “Godfather, you’re all wet.”
“Quite.” He brushed at his sodden sleeves. “I had just returned to the picnic to say we should move inside. Too late, I’m afraid.” He looked toward Rafe. “You must be Mr. Bowles.”
Anne looked between them. They hadn’t yet met?
“I am,” Rafe said. “You must be Lord Stone. Thank you for your kind invitation today.”
“I’m pleased to welcome you to Ivy Grove. I see you found the secret room in the folly. Clever of you. Or did my goddaughter bring you here when the rain started?”
“Your goddaughter?” Rafe looked toward Anne, but she couldn’t see his face very well now that they weren’t standing so close together. Between the darkness of the room and the brim of his hat, she couldn’t see his eyes at all.
“Miss Pemberton is my goddaughter,” the earl said.
Rafe nodded slowly—that she could see. “That’s why you’ve been here many times.”
“Yes, since I was a child,” Anne said.
“Since before you can remember.” The earl laughed. “Oh look, the rain is slowing down. When it stops, we’ll make a run for the house. Well, not a run.” He chuckled.
“Should we take the coaches?” Rafe suggested.
“That would be faster—and drier if the heavens decide to weep again. Capital idea, Bowles!” The earl looked to Anne with a grin. “I’ve just the coach in mind for us, my dear. Sir Algernon has an elegant new vehicle.”
Oh no. Her godfather really did want to play matchmaker. Anne wanted no part of that. She silently prayed the rain would continue.
Alas, it did not. A moment later, the air grew silent and the day brightened.
“Wonderful!” The earl stepped outside and looked up. “Come, let us hurry. I saw most of the guests gathered inside the temple around the statue. We’ll just go up and tell them all the plan—rush to the coaches and we’ll picnic in the ballroom!” He said this with such gaiety, it seemed to have been his plan all along rather than a contingency.
Anne wanted to tell him to go ahead and she would accompany Mr. Bowles to the coaches, but Rafe was already moving outside.
“I’ll see you at the house,” he said, inclining his head first toward Anne, then the earl before taking himself off.
She clenched her jaw in disappointment as she took her godfather’s arm and went with him into the temple. There, he directed everyone to the coaches and promised blankets and towels when they arrived at the house.
“Ah, there’s Sir Algernon.” He began to steer her toward the knight, who was perhaps fifteen years her senior—suddenly, Rafe seemed quite young.
She tried to dig the heels of her half-boots into the stone. Having already bowed to the wishes of her parents—with disastrous results—Anne resisted doing so again. She wanted to make her own choices, dammit. “I am not ready for courtship. It’s too soon.”
“Oh,
