slipped in the mud, and Chloe slid out of his arms and landed with her feet on the ground.
He caught her, helped her regain her footing, and their hands touched for the first time. “So sorry,” he said, with his incredible English accent.
“I’m not.” She melted faster than a chocolate molten lava cake. “Maybe you’re fal ing for me.”
He laughed and there they were, face-to-face. “I am—fal ing for you. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re a rarity.” He moved closer as if to kiss her, and her lips parted. She resisted taking his designer-stubbled jawline in her hands.
His lips were almost pressing against hers and his arms had almost gone around her waist when they heard twigs snap behind them, reminding them that Chloe’s cameraman was stil there, and now another cameraman had appeared as wel .
She stepped back. She couldn’t help but notice Sebastian’s very revealing breeches, so she tried instead to focus on the wet shirt clinging to his muscled torso—and that was certainly no punishment. Their bodies quivered to be together, and for the first time, Chloe felt for Regency women who weren’t al owed to act on any of their impulses, or, if they did, they’d suffer life-altering consequences.
Chloe needed more time with Sebastian, preferably not in a thunderstorm and surrounded by cameras, and perhaps not in the nineteenth century, for that matter. She had to admit that in the modern world, they’d have slept together already! Their relationship would’ve been so much further along by this point. How could you get to know a man when you were surrounded by chaperones? When you couldn’t talk to him, be alone with him—or rip off his ruffled shirt and breeches?! Did Regency women real y know who they were marrying? How could they have?
Chloe could learn more in a single weekend away at a beach cottage with him than six or even twelve more weeks of this. And, if she real y wanted TMI, she could’ve done what Emma did with men she’s just met, and Google them, check out their Facebook page, fol ow them on Twitter.
Just a few minutes of cyberstalking would’ve revealed more than she’d learned about Sebastian in two ful weeks!
The hedge maze was far off, and however enticing it had once looked, Chloe couldn’t be happier than to be free of it.
At that moment a footman came running toward them. “Mr. Wrightman, we need you in the stables. Do you have a moment?”
Sebastian looked at Chloe. So much for their romp in the hedge maze, she couldn’t help but think. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m fine. Is everyone inside? Do you want me to just—head into Dartworth?” It was awkward asking if she should just drop into his sprawling estate or what.
“Yes, I’m sure everyone’s gathered in the music room. The competition wil be postponed.”
“I’l escort you,” the young footman offered.
Sebastian bowed, she curtsied, and he headed toward the stable.
She tied off the broken lace on her waterlogged boots and noticed that one of her white stockings had gone shocking pink at the ankle. Mrs.
Crescent would never approve of pink stockings. It seemed she had cut her ankle on the hedge and blood had turned the stocking pink.
On her way toward Dartworth, she and the footman stepped over a little creek that had swel ed up during the storm. She stepped on a wide rock in the middle of the creek to get to the other side and noticed how two streams of water flowed on either side of it. This divergence weakened the streams, until they trickled off into nothingness.
She never imagined she’d fal for two so very different men, brothers no less, so quickly. The money and the winning got washed away, and too often, she forgot al about them. She had to stay focused, fol ow ridiculous Regency protocol, and not al ow her resolve to weaken any more. No more getting lost. She’d set her GPS for Sebastian, and that would be it.
Chapter 14
The windows in this room offered the best view of the hedge maze. Julia and her chaperone were playing cards in front of the fire. Mrs. Crescent had dozed off on a Grecian sofa.
Chloe clenched her fists. It took al of her wil power not to rail against Grace.
Chloe had to remind herself of how her feelings for Sebastian had been growing steadily stronger. She forced herself to think, too, of the money, of how it would save her business and might even save her from having to sacrifice Abigail to Winthrop every summer.
At that moment Fifi appeared, trotting in from the hal way, his rib cage wrapped in linen bandages. The yel ow room dripped with white flowered molding like frosting on a wedding cake, while rainwater dripped from Chloe’s hemline to the floor. The fireplace crackled and the shadows danced on the gold-leaf harp in the corner. She wiped her face with her wet shawl and the white fabric turned gray with grime.
Grace, in her shimmering gold silk gown, circled Chloe like a lioness assessing her prey. “It’s not about how shocking you look, Miss Parker.”
Her voice rose up to the domed ceiling. “It’s about how hopelessly blind you are to the fact that you just don’t belong here.”
A cameraman angled in and Chloe imagined balancing a book on her head, chin up, just like Mrs. Crescent had taught her.
“Fifi! Miss Parker!” Mrs. Crescent hoisted herself out of the chaise. “Thank God you’re both al right.” She bent to pat Fifi delicately on the head.
