“Don’t you know who I am?” He laughed.
Now, that was pretty egomaniacal even if he was gorgeous.
He shaded his eyes with his hand and tried to get a better look at her. This
She stepped back. Maybe this was a trap. A man wasn’t supposed to see a woman’s bare legs or ankles until after marriage. Chloe’s ankles were wel hidden under the water, and she decided not to move until he left.
But he just kept staring at her as if she were the only woman left in the world, and it made her— uncomfortable.
“Since we haven’t been properly introduced, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she said.
He cocked his head, stepped off the boulder, and a look of hurt came over his face. She instantly regretted the remark, but had to play by the rules, especial y since she had already accidental y broken one of them. He mounted his horse, tipped his hat. “Good day, Miss Parker.” She curtsied. And he gal oped off, his horse’s tail twitching, his dogs bounding after him.
Whoever he was, he’d probably report her infraction and she’d be on the next flight home. As she trudged toward the bank, a strange noise came from behind. She whipped around. A group of frogs was croaking on the opposite side of the pond, their throats puffing with air. Something slithered around her ankle. She fumbled up the embankment and scrambled toward her linen towel. As quickly as she could with a linen towel, she dried off her legs and feet. The sound of hooves pounded around the far edge of the pond. Flickerings of a man on horseback appeared through the trees. He’d come back! She rol ed down her pantalets and reached for her stockings.
Chloe turned to say something—anything—to him. But . . . it wasn’t him. It was Mr. Wrightman, who dismounted his black horse even as it was moving.
She didn’t think his appearance was mere coincidence. Her every move was probably tracked on a GPS chip in her microphone pack. She slid into her stockings and fumbled with the ribbons. Final y, she tied them off, though they were much slouchier than when Fiona had done them.
He took off his hat and bowed. “And here I was hoping you’d emerge from the pond in a wet shirt.”
Despite herself, Chloe laughed at the Colin Firth
“I suppose you weren’t swimming. You were—trimming your bonnet? Do you want to be asked to leave?”
“No! I love Bridesbridge. It was—the chamber pot. And the one-bath-a-week thing. I’m over it now. I’ve got to get back to Bridesbridge.” She yanked on her gloves.
“Just now, when I saw Sebastian, and he told me you were here at the frog hatchery, I—”
“His name is Sebastian? And this is a frog hatchery?” She’d washed off in a frog hatchery?!
“It’s one of my conservation projects. A mere two hundred years from now, in the twenty-first century, more than half of the global amphibian population wil face extinction.”
He was spewing factoids at a time like this? She plopped the bonnet on her head and spun toward the pond, seeing now, for the first time, just how many frogs were scampering around. Her soap had disappeared. She eyed the boulder where the dark-haired so-cal ed Sebastian had appeared with his dogs and horse, but she didn’t dare ask about him. No doubt Mr. Wrightman would find it al very improper.
He grabbed her fan and parasol and handed them to her.
His gal antry surprised her. She scampered toward the footpath, looking back as she spoke. “I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Wrightman, for helping in the preservation of the Miss Parker species.”
“My pleasure. It’s a specimen we real y wouldn’t want to lose.” He untied his horse and caught up with her.
She spoke as quickly as she could. “And I apologize for my bad reaction to the leeches. I just don’t appreciate being put under the microscope.
But . . . I have to hurry back. I didn’t want to break any rules, I just needed to wash up.”
“I understand. It’s better that you go back alone, and to get on Bridesbridge property sooner, you should go that way.” He pointed to the north side of the property. “Watch out for the ha-ha. Do you see it?”
“The what?”
She knew quite a bit about the Regency, but this was a new one, and she always loved to learn something new, although now might not be the time.
“It’s a four-foot drop in the land to keep the sheep and cows from grazing in the gardens. It’s reinforced by a stone wal and a low fence that you can hardly see. I’l tel you al about it when we have more time. You don’t want to run and fal into the ditch. See it now?”
She said yes even though she couldn’t see it. What she could see was that Mr. Wrightman was a knowledgeable and thoughtful man, and his little lecture had piqued more than her interest. She liked the way strands of his hair fel into his eye, and she almost reached out to brush them away for him.
“Once you hit the ha-ha, you’re on Bridesbridge property, and safe.” He bowed. “Hurry.”
She curtsied, hiked up her gown, ran across the field, and stopped dead in her tracks when she hit the edge of the moatlike ha-ha. A cow looked up at her from across the ditch and mooed. She made a running jump and crossed it. Mr. Wrightman had saved her.
Winthrop, too, had saved her al those years ago. That was how they met. She’d fal en into the water during a party on a Lake Michigan dock and he dove in, rescuing her. She waited months to tel him she ranked second on her high school swim team.
She brushed past the kitchen garden at Bridesbridge and the scent of dil permeated the air. The sound of
