Heat flashed in Elizabeth's cheeks. How discon-certing to be daydreaming of a man kissing you breathless only to open your eyes and find that very man watching you. And good heavens, what a wildly attractive man he was.
The filtered light from the rising sun shimmered on his raven hair. A single, windblown lock fell across his forehead lending him an almost boyish appeal completely at odds with the compelling intensity of his gray eyes. Aristocratic bearing and masculine strength all but oozed from his tall, rugged frame.
A stark white shirt covered his broad shoulders. He wore no neckcloth and the strong tanned column of his neck rose from the opening in the fine lawn. Her heart sped up at the sight of a few dark hairs peeping up from that intriguing opening before his shirt thwarted her view.
His wide chest tapered in a perfect V to narrow hips, and his long, muscular legs were covered in buff breeches that disappeared into shiny black leather riding boots. She imagined a string of broken-hearted females littered the streets of London. He'd certainly make a wonderful subject to sketch.
"Do I pass inspection?" he asked in an amused drawl.
"Inspection?"
"Yes." A half grin touched his lips. "It's an English word meaning 'to examine thoroughly'"
Although he was clearly teasing, hot chagrin flooded her. Good heavens, she was indeed staring at him as if she was starving and he was a banquet. But at least he no longer seemed upset with her.
"Forgive me, your grace. I'm simply surprised to see you here." Her eyes narrowed on a mark on his cheek. "Did you injure yourself?"
He gingerly touched the spot. "A branch caught me. 'Tis only a scratch."
A soft nickering claimed her attention and she glanced at the magnificent black gelding drinking from the lake. "Are you enjoying your ride?"
"Very much." He looked around. "Where is your mount?"
"I walked. It's a lovely morn-" An image flashed in her mind cutting off her words. A horse rearing, a black horse very much like the one drinking from the lake.
"Are you all right, Miss Matthews?"
The image vanished and she dismissed the vague impression. "Yes, I'm fine. Actually, I'm-"
"Most robust."
She grinned. "Yes, I am, but I was going to say I'm hungry. Would you care to join me in something to eat? I brought more than enough." She dropped to her knees and began unloading food from her knapsack.
"You packed breakfast?"
"Well, not exactly breakfast. Just some raw carrots, apples, bread and cheese."
Austin watched her, intrigued. He'd never been invited to such an informal picnic. Here was a perfect opportunity to spend some time with her. What better way to ferret out her secrets and determine exactly what she knew about William and the blackmail letter? Settling himself on the ground next to her, he accepted a slice of bread and a chunk of cheese. "Who packed your picnic?"
"I did. Yesterday morning, before leaving London, I helped Aunt Joanna's cook with a problem. In gratitude, Cook told me I could help myself." She polished an apple on her skirt.
Austin bit into the cheese, surprised that something so simple could taste so good. No fancy sauces, no muted clink of silverware, no servants hovering. "What did you do to help Cook?"
"She cut her finger and suffered a wound that required several stitches. I was in the kitchen searching for some cider when the accident occurred. Naturally, I offered to help."
"You sent for a doctor?"
She raised her brows, amusement lurking in her eyes. "I treated the injury and then stitched her up myself."
Austin nearly choked on his cheese. "You stitched her wound?"
"Yes. There was no need to bother a doctor when I was perfectly capable of taking care of her. I believe I mentioned last evening that my father was a physician. I often helped him."
"You actually performed er, duties!"
"Oh, yes. Papa was a very good teacher. I assure you, Cook was well taken care of." She offered him a smile, then bit into her apple.
Austin's gaze was drawn to her full lips, glistening with apple juice. Her mouth looked moist and sweet. And incredibly tempting. Not that he believed she could actually read his thoughts, but in light of her odd perceptiveness, he jerked his attention away from her lips.
"It is such a lovely morning," she said. "I wish I could capture the colors of the sunrise, but I have no talent for watercolors. Only charcoals, and I'm afraid they only come in one color."
Austin cocked his head toward the sketch pad next to her. "May I?"
She handed him the tablet. "Of course."
He examined each drawing and could tell at once that she was very talented. Her bold strokes rendered images so vivid so startling, they appeared to leap off the page.
"Did you recognize Gadzooks?" she asked looking over his shoulder.
The gentle scent of lilacs surrounded him. "Yes. It's an exact likeness of the little devil." Glancing up from the sketch, his attention was captured by the intriguing gold flecks in her eyes. Huge, golden brown eyes, the color of fine brandy. Her steady gaze met his and held him captive for a long moment. A spark ran through him, igniting his pulse. Although he sat on the ground he suddenly felt as if he'd run a mile. This woman had the oddest effect on his senses. And his breathing.
He cleared his throat. "Have you had the opportunity to meet Gadzooks's family?"
"Only his mother, George, last evening."
"Then you must stop by the stables and meet By Jingo, By Jove, By Jupiter, and the rest of them."
Laughter bubbled from her. "You're making up those names, your grace."
"I'm not. Mortlin named the beasts as they were born… and born… and born. There were ten in all in this last litter and the names grew more, er, inventive as the births continued. Decency prevents me from saying some of them." With an effort he forced his gaze back to the tablet. "Whose dog is this?"
The merriment faded from her gaze. "That's my dog. Patch."
The sad longing with which she looked at the picture tugged at him, prompting him to ask, "Where is Patch?"
"He was too old to make the journey to England. I left him with people who love him." Reaching out, she ran a gentle fingertip over the drawing. "I was five when my parents gave him to me. Patch was so tiny, but within several months he'd grown bigger than me." Slowly pulling her hand away, she said "I miss him terribly. Although he'd be impossible to replace, I hope to someday have another dog."
He handed her back the tablet. "These are very good Miss Matthews."
"Thank you." She cocked her head to one side. "You know, your grace, you would make an interesting subject."
"Me?"
"Yes indeed. Your face is…" She paused and studied him for a long moment, tilting her head from left to right.
"That bad?" he asked in mock horror.
"Goodness, no," she assured him. "Your face is most interesting. Filled with character. You wouldn't mind if I sketched you?"
"Not at all." Most interesting? Filled with character? He wasn't sure if that was good or bad but one thing was certain. Those weren't the flirtatious words the women of the ton would use to describe him. It seemed at least as far as men were concerned Miss Matthews was artless and without guile. Unbelievable. And damned unlikely. But I'll discover whatever game she s up to soon enough.
"Perhaps you'd sit under the tree?" she asked scanning the immediate area. "Prop your back against the trunk and make yourself comfortable." She gathered her supplies, and in spite of feeling rather foolish, Austin did as he was bid.
"How's this?" he asked once he found a comfortable spot.
She knelt in front of him. "You look tense, your grace. Try to relax. This won't hurt a bit, I promise."
Austin adjusted his position and drew a deep breath.
"That's much better." Her eyes roamed his face. "Now, I'd like you to reminisce for me."
"Reminisce?"