Read Online One Night of Scandal by Nicola Cornick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicola Cornick
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her footing in the muddy depths of the pond and sat down with a splash.
Lord Richard Kestrel—unforgivably—laughed. ‘Is this the latest fashion?’ he continued. ‘A gown with duck-weed trimmings?’
Deb gave an infuriated snort. Of all the undignified situations in which to be found! It would have to be Lord Richard Kestrel, of all people, who was the last man on earth she wanted to see her at a disadvantage.
‘You are trespassing,’ she said haughtily.
‘I am.’ Richard eyed her with deep amusement. ‘Would you like me to assist you, Mrs Stratton?’
‘No, thank you,’ Deb said, struggling to find her feet on the slippery mud of the pool. ‘I would like you to go away.’
Lord Richard ignored the request and came forward and offered a hand to her anyway. Deb ignored it.
‘Do accept my help,’ he encouraged. ‘It will save you much trouble in the long run.’
Deb gritted her teeth. ‘I would not dream of inconveniencing you.’
‘Please have no scruples about that. As I am here already, you may as well take advantage of me.’ He grasped her flailing hand and pulled hard, dragging her from the grip of the mud. Deb’s ankles came free with a squelching sound and she cannoned into him. They both ended up amongst the bushes, Richard’s body breaking Deb’s fall. She lay still for a moment, completely winded.
‘There was no need to take me quite so literally.’
Deb opened her eyes to look down into Richard’s laughing face. With horror she realised that she was lying on top of him, her breasts squashed against his chest and one of his hands curved around her buttocks. Just as she realised this, she felt Richard’s hand slide with leisurely intimacy over her body and she gave a horrified gasp and rolled off him. Richard sat up.
‘Please do not worry,’ he said, scrupulously polite. ‘Whilst you have a figure that looks most alluring in a dampened gown, the sight—and the smell—of that mud is enough to kill any ardour stone dead.’
‘I am glad that there is something that puts a rein on your rakish habits,’ Deb snapped. She pushed a piece of weed out of her eyes and examined her torn skirts. There was a jagged rip down the left-hand side that was quite irreparable and showed far too much petticoat.
‘What were you doing in there?’ Richard enquired. He seemed genuinely interested. Deb glared. ‘I was trying to free the sluice gate,’ she said. ‘If it comes to that, what are you doing here? As I have pointed out already, you are trespassing.’
Richard lay back in the grass, his hands behind his head.‘I was riding past when I heard a splash and a shout. I was afraid that someone might have had an accident.’
He turned his head and looked at her. ‘You are not very grateful, Mrs Stratton. I begin to wish that I had left you to your watery fate.’
Deb looked at him and, most unexpectedly, felt an urge to laugh. ‘I am sorry about your clothes,’ she said, her lips twitching as she took in the mud that was beginning to dry on his pristine hunting jacket. ‘I dare say you looked quite nice when you started out. And I am sorry that I interrupted your ride.’
Richard stood up and helped her to her feet.
‘Would you care to make up for it by riding out with me later?’ he asked abruptly. ‘When you have had the opportunity to change into dry clothing, of course.’
Deb hesitated, surprised by a strong urge to accept. She knew that it was madness to consider it, but when had common sense had anything to do with inclination? Yet today she had promised herself would be the beginning of a new, more sensible approach to life in general and Richard Kestrel in particular. She had to extricate herself from this growing attraction before it was too late. She fought a short, sharp battle with herself and shook her head.
‘Thank you, but I do not think so, my lord.’
Richard’s hand was still on her arm. ‘But you would like to,’ he said acutely.
Deb flushed, feeling
Lord Richard Kestrel—unforgivably—laughed. ‘Is this the latest fashion?’ he continued. ‘A gown with duck-weed trimmings?’
Deb gave an infuriated snort. Of all the undignified situations in which to be found! It would have to be Lord Richard Kestrel, of all people, who was the last man on earth she wanted to see her at a disadvantage.
‘You are trespassing,’ she said haughtily.
‘I am.’ Richard eyed her with deep amusement. ‘Would you like me to assist you, Mrs Stratton?’
‘No, thank you,’ Deb said, struggling to find her feet on the slippery mud of the pool. ‘I would like you to go away.’
Lord Richard ignored the request and came forward and offered a hand to her anyway. Deb ignored it.
‘Do accept my help,’ he encouraged. ‘It will save you much trouble in the long run.’
Deb gritted her teeth. ‘I would not dream of inconveniencing you.’
‘Please have no scruples about that. As I am here already, you may as well take advantage of me.’ He grasped her flailing hand and pulled hard, dragging her from the grip of the mud. Deb’s ankles came free with a squelching sound and she cannoned into him. They both ended up amongst the bushes, Richard’s body breaking Deb’s fall. She lay still for a moment, completely winded.
‘There was no need to take me quite so literally.’
Deb opened her eyes to look down into Richard’s laughing face. With horror she realised that she was lying on top of him, her breasts squashed against his chest and one of his hands curved around her buttocks. Just as she realised this, she felt Richard’s hand slide with leisurely intimacy over her body and she gave a horrified gasp and rolled off him. Richard sat up.
‘Please do not worry,’ he said, scrupulously polite. ‘Whilst you have a figure that looks most alluring in a dampened gown, the sight—and the smell—of that mud is enough to kill any ardour stone dead.’
‘I am glad that there is something that puts a rein on your rakish habits,’ Deb snapped. She pushed a piece of weed out of her eyes and examined her torn skirts. There was a jagged rip down the left-hand side that was quite irreparable and showed far too much petticoat.
‘What were you doing in there?’ Richard enquired. He seemed genuinely interested. Deb glared. ‘I was trying to free the sluice gate,’ she said. ‘If it comes to that, what are you doing here? As I have pointed out already, you are trespassing.’
Richard lay back in the grass, his hands behind his head.‘I was riding past when I heard a splash and a shout. I was afraid that someone might have had an accident.’
He turned his head and looked at her. ‘You are not very grateful, Mrs Stratton. I begin to wish that I had left you to your watery fate.’
Deb looked at him and, most unexpectedly, felt an urge to laugh. ‘I am sorry about your clothes,’ she said, her lips twitching as she took in the mud that was beginning to dry on his pristine hunting jacket. ‘I dare say you looked quite nice when you started out. And I am sorry that I interrupted your ride.’
Richard stood up and helped her to her feet.
‘Would you care to make up for it by riding out with me later?’ he asked abruptly. ‘When you have had the opportunity to change into dry clothing, of course.’
Deb hesitated, surprised by a strong urge to accept. She knew that it was madness to consider it, but when had common sense had anything to do with inclination? Yet today she had promised herself would be the beginning of a new, more sensible approach to life in general and Richard Kestrel in particular. She had to extricate herself from this growing attraction before it was too late. She fought a short, sharp battle with herself and shook her head.
‘Thank you, but I do not think so, my lord.’
Richard’s hand was still on her arm. ‘But you would like to,’ he said acutely.
Deb flushed, feeling
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