She became acutely aware that she didn’t have so much as a thong on. He was so close, so—hot. These sudden urges made her uncomfortable. It went against everything she believed to lust after a man she’d met just a couple of weeks ago, but then another image of her and Sebastian flashed through her mind. They were parked behind the stables in the back of the carriage and the hemline of her gown was up to her ribboned Empire waist. She was raking her fingers through his thick, dark, tumbling hair as his hands cupped her breasts—
“Are you—enjoying your time here at Bridesbridge, Miss Parker? Is it everything you hoped it would be?”
“Yes, I’m having a fabulous time, and it’s beyond what I had hoped. But what about you? Are you getting closer to making your final decision?”
“Yes, every day. It hasn’t been easy—but it has led me here, to this point, with you. You’re so different from the others.”
She’d heard this before, and it was beginning to sound a little stilted. “You keep saying that, Mr. Wrightman. But what, I wonder, does it mean?”
He looked pained again, so she lightened up. “Good different, I hope?”
“Yes. Good different.”
“It’s hard to tel —sometimes—exactly how you feel,” she ventured.
“I don’t real y like al the attention I’m getting as the host of this thing. With the chaperones, so many people I don’t know wel , it’s hard to relax and be myself.”
That must be why his behavior seemed at times so contradictory. This reality show was putting strange pressures on al of them. But her mind kept turning to his skintight breeches tucked neatly into his shapely riding boots. “I feel for you,” she said.
She’d like to feel him, period, she thought. She could hardly contain her physical attraction to this man, and from the way he looked at her when they were alone, it seemed as if he felt the same way. They had chemistry al right—on steroids. The force of the attraction, she reasoned, was probably made al the more powerful by the restrictions of Regency etiquette. She couldn’t touch him, kiss him, or even hold his hand until he asked for her hand—in marriage. A flash of her untying his breeches came into her head. She would take hold of him with her leather-gloved hand and he would throb with need—
“I hope you’l like the afternoon I’ve planned for us.”
“I’m sure I wil .” He could be so thoughtful at times, so considerate of her feelings and her pleasure.
He slowed the horses to a trot and they stopped at the Grecian temple. Chloe began to feel another urge rising up in her. It was the simple urge to pee. It happened to her every time she was out in the middle of nature, it seemed.
When he offered his hand to help her out of the carriage, she cast an eye toward the weathered green dome of the Grecian temple on the hil .
Behind the temple’s fluted columns, a picnic blanket had been laid out and sprinkled with red rose petals.
She reveled in the beauty of the scene. She never wanted to forget it. But one of the horses chose that moment to make a loud farting noise and a wave of the most disgusting-smel ing air rose up around them. Just at the wrong moment, Sebastian whisked his hand away to cover his nose with his arm. “Arrgh,” he muttered, wincing.
Chloe made a move to lean on his hand that suddenly wasn’t there and stumbled out of the carriage. Meanwhile, the horse lifted its tail and dumped on the road. The pile stank and steamed. Both Sebastian and Chloe gagged.
Such were the hazards of driving by horse.
Sebastian escorted her toward the temple. Heavy clouds began to gather in the sky. Chloe needed to go to the bathroom, but didn’t want to leave.
A basket overflowing with dainty sandwiches, buns, and grapes anchored a corner of the picnic blanket. Grapes! And not a mutton leg, cow’s tongue, or pig’s head in sight. A stack of reproduction first-edition Wil iam Cowper and Wordsworth poetry books and a box of charcoal sticks and sketchbooks weighed down another corner.
“Wel , what do you think of what Mr. Wrightman has arranged for you here?” Mrs. Crescent asked. She clasped her hands in obvious satisfaction.
“It’s perfect,” Chloe said, trying not to think about her bladder.
“Lemonade?” Mrs. Crescent asked as she held up a corked bottle.
Chloe leaned in to whisper to her. “I need to dash off to the ladies’ room.”
“You do? How unfortunate. Wel , one never thinks of such a thing out here on a picnic. You’l have to go in the woods—or walk over to Dartworth Hal . And remember, ladies don’t run, even to the ladies’ room.”
“If you wil excuse me, Mr. Wrightman. I need to use the—facilities.” Under her breath she said to him, “Or lack thereof.”
He bowed. “Of course. I recommend Henry’s lab.”
Henry had a lab? As in science lab?
“See it right there?” Sebastian pointed to a little brick building that stood beneath a clump of trees. “It’s a lot closer than Dartworth. And he happens to have one of those newfangled water closets al the way in the back of the building. Don’t be long. I’l be waiting for you.” He popped a grape in his mouth and plopped down on the picnic blanket. “Ugh, my tooth.” He started rubbing his jaw again.
Chloe knocked on the door of the lab, but nobody answered. When she opened the door, light from floor-to- ceiling windows spil ed into the room, shining on a neatly organized wal ful of books. A large telescope on a tripod stood in a window. Wooden plank tables had centerpieces of test tubes in wooden racks, a primitive stethoscope, a camera obscura, and pieces of what looked like a gas lamp. A journal stood open on one of the tables, and next to it a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Everything, every single thing, piqued her curiosity.
