His musings were interrupted by a mud ball whizzing by his ear. It missed his face by less than a hair.
That did it. He splashed into the water, grabbed her by her arms, and hauled her to her feet. "You're aware, of course, that this means war," he ground out, his gaze raking her flushed laughing face.
"Of course. But keep in mind who won the last time the Americans and the British engaged in battle."
"I'm most confident of your defeat, Miss Matthews."
"I'm most confident of your defeat, your grace."
Austin halted at her words, his eyes narrowing on the mud splattered across her pert nose. Her gold-flecked gaze met his with sparkling challenge, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her dimples peeked out. His attention riveted on her full, lush lips. A tingle ran through him, recalling the feel of those lips crushed beneath his mouth. He forced his gaze upward and met her eyes- golden brown orbs brimming with laughter.
She was utterly impossible. Impertinent beyond all measure. His clothing was ruined and he was standing in the damn lake. He was wet, uncomfortable and… furious.
Wasn't he furious?
A frown pinched his brow. Yes, of course he was. Furious. He absolutely was not amused. Not in the least. This was not at all funny. And he certainly was not enjoying himself. Not a bit.
"Prepare yourself to be thrashed" he warned. Turning toward the embankment, he pulled her along.
"You'll have to catch me first!"
She yanked herself free of his restraining hand and lifting her sodden skirts to her knees, treaded her way farther out into the lake. "Come back here. Now."
"So you can thrash me? Ha! I think not!" She backed several more steps away, until the water came to her waist. Suddenly her musical laugh rang out. "Good heavens! You should see yourself! You look so funny!"
Austin looked down. His wet filthy shirt clung to his chest like a second skin, and black muddy stripes adorned his riding breeches. Several dead leaves clung to his ruined boots.
"I would wager you've never been so disheveled in your entire aristocratic life," she said, laughing. "I must say, you're looking most distinctly un-dukelike."
"Come here."
"No."
"Now."
She shook her head, her smile never faltering.
Austin stalked forward plowing through the chilly water, filled with purpose and grim determination. And somehow managing to conceal his unexpected and unwanted amusement. Damn woman. She was nothing but a plague on a man's sanity. He'd expected her to try to flee, but she stood her ground and awaited his arrival with a bright smile on her lovely face. He stopped a foot from her and waited.
"I started out this morning feeling rather grim, but this episode has cheered me considerably," she said her dimples winking at him. "You must admit that this is rather humorous."
"Must I?"
She squinted in an exaggerated fashion and peered at his face. In spite of himself, a grin tugged at his lips. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "I saw that smile." For the life of him, he couldn't explain why he found this debacle amusing. The "Notorious Duke of Bradford, England's Most Eligible Bachelor"-covered in mud, lake water lapping at his hips, conversing with a woman whose beaming smile held not a bit of remorse, only amusement. The esteemed members of the ton would take to their beds in shock if they could see him now, utterly filthy and bedraggled accompanied by an equally filthy and bedraggled American.
Her gaze dipped to his wet shirt. "This was a lovely shirt. I'm sorry it's ruined your grace, truly I am." Reaching out, she brushed her hand over his wet sleeve, then raised her gaze to his. "It was not my original intention to hit you with the mud, but once I had well, it seemed a pity not to take advantage of the opportunity. To be perfectly candid I think you needed something to make you laugh. And as for me, this adventure is the most fun I've had in months."
Austin's muscles jumped reflexively under her light touch. He searched her eyes for any signs of deceit or falseness and saw nothing but innocence and warmth. This was the most fun she'd had in months. Hell, he certainly could say the same. Of course, it wasn't necessary to tell her that.
Heaving a resigned sigh, he asked, "Does calamity follow you everywhere, Miss Matthews? This is the second time you've fallen practically at my feet."
"I fear that falling in such a manner runs in my family."
"What do you mean?"
"It's how my mother and father met. Mother came out of a millinery shop and tripped and fell at Papa's feet. She twisted her ankle in the fall, and Papa tended to her wound."
"I see. At least you come by your unfortunate propensity to tumble honestly."
"Yes, but I wouldn't call it unfortunate."
"Really? Why is that?"
She hesitated and he found himself mesmerized by her suddenly serious brown eyes. "Because it's how I first met you." A tiny smile curved her lips. "Even though you are somewhat arrogant and more than a little pigheaded I find that I… well, rather like you."
Austin stared at her in blank astonishment. "You like me?"
"Yes. You're a warm and caring man. Of course," she added in a dry tone, "you manage to hide that fact quite well sometimes."
"Warm and caring?" he repeated in a bemused voice. "How did you reach that conclusion?"
"I know because I touched you. But even if I hadn't, I would still be able to tell." Her gaze settled on his muddy shirt. "You've been an exceptionally good sport about all this. I'd wager you've never done anything like this, have you?"
"Never."
"I thought not. Yet you eventually managed to see the funny side of this episode, although your initial shock was quite evident." Her gaze turned speculative. "You keep people at arm's length, thus cultivating an aloof, cool air. However, you treat your sister with kind indulgence and your mother with warmth and courtesy. I've spent enough time with you and observed you with enough people to know what sort of man you really are… how good and decent you are."
Tightness invaded his chest, her words confusing him, throwing him off balance. He was further surprised when a heated flush of pleasure flooded his face. He had to forcibly jerk his thoughts away from the staggering notion that this woman considered him warm and caring. Decent. And good to his family. If you knew how I failed William, you would realize how wrong you are.
Before he could fashion a reply, she said "I realize our meeting last evening ended on a strained note, but might we not start afresh?"
"Afresh?"
"Yes. It's an American word meaning 'all over again.' I thought, perhaps if we tried very, very hard we might be… friends. And in the spirit of blossoming friendship, I'd like you to call me Elizabeth."
Blossoming friendship"? Bloody hell, now he'd heard everything. Friends? With a woman? And this particular woman? Impossible. There were only a handful of men he called friends. Women could be mothers, sisters, aunts, or lovers, but not friends. Or could they?
He searched her face and it struck him just how different she was from any woman he'd ever met. How was it possible that, in spite of her strange claims of visions and the fact that she obviously had secrets, she made him feel she was trustworthy? Whatever it was, he couldn't deny, even to himself, that she attracted him like a moth to a flame.
If she wished to believe they were friends, he'd do nothing to disabuse her of the notion-at least not until he'd found out everything he needed to know from her.
But with each passing moment it was increasingly difficult to believe that she was involved in any way with blackmailers or schemes of any sort.