Jeremy’s first thought, when he heard the shriek and then felt the impact of a body against his, was that, somehow, Pierce had come back from the dead and was finally getting even with him for both the defloration of his sister and his own subsequent murder. Accordingly, Jeremy twisted about in the saddle and attempted to sling his adversary away. His progress in doing so, however, was hampered by the fact that his assailant had wrapped a pair of smooth, sun-kissed arms tightly about his neck, and was doing an excellent job of dragging them both down to the ground.
At what point Jeremy became aware that his attacker had both waist-length hair and quite sizable breasts, he was never afterward exactly certain, but it was probably at about the point both of their bodies hit the driveway and rolled a few feet into the grass in a tangle of crinoline, skirts, and coattails. The wind partially knocked out of him, it took Jeremy a moment before he became aware that he was lying on top of a body that, unless Pierce had sprouted a bosom in the afterlife, was quite obviously female. In fact, his face, before he lifted it, had been resting between two cantaloupe-sized breasts that seemed to have sprung loose from the bodice that had been confining them and, despite the fact that their owner was lying in a prone position, still reached quite perkily for the sun.
Although this was, to say the least, a pleasant sensation, Jeremy knew that if he had had the wind knocked out of
him, the woman beneath him had probably been knocked unconscious by the force of their landing, and so he did the gentlemanly thing, and lifted his head to see whether or not he could render her some aid …
… and found himself staring straight into a pair of laughing, and strangely familiar, brown eyes.
“You great sow!” a lilting voice, oddly sweet for the taunts it was uttering, mocked him. “You bellowed like a stuck pig. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
For a moment, Jeremy truly did believe he was looking at a ghost. Only a supernatural being could so closely resemble someone he thought he knew, and yet not look like her at all. For the woman lying beneath him was undoubtedly Maggie Herbert—Maggie Herbert was the only female he knew who’d not hesitate to call him a great sow—and yet not Maggie Herbert, not the Maggie Herbert who’d spent the whole of her childhood tormenting him.
That
Maggie Herbert, the last time he’d seen her, had been gap-toothed and rail thin, with pigtails on either side of her head and legs so long and gangling that she’d hardly known what to do with them, causing her to resemble a newborn foal taking her first steps every time she walked.
But
this
Maggie Herbert had a body as lush and as full as any high-priced courtesan—and Jeremy had been with more than a few of them, and so knew whereof he spoke. There was no longer any hint of coltishness about her, and Jeremy would be the first to testify that the legs he lay so snugly between were anything but gangling. In fact, the thighs that had parted beneath the weight of his body were very much in keeping with every other part of her against which he was pressed—supple, strong, but ultimately very, very feminine. Maggie Herbert had blossomed, he realized, into what one might call a bosomy girl, but having been graced with slim wrists and ankles, and an infinitesimally small waist, she carried off the look better than a lot of other women Jeremy had known, not seeming the least self-conscious about her new womanly curves … but also seemingly unaware of the devastating effect those curves could have on a man.
It was only when he glanced at her face that Jeremy realized that this Maggie and the one he remembered were one and the same. Gone were the braids, it was true, replaced by a curtain of chestnut hair so deep brown as to look almost black against the new green grass, and as for her teeth, they were even and white now, without a gap to be seen. But there was a glint in those dark eyes that he recognized: a flash of something too good-natured to be malice, but too mischievous to be purely ingenuous. And there was a twist to those lips, which at one time he’d thought too wide by half, but which, upon more recent inspection, he found quite temptingly plump, that harkened back to the Maggie of old, the one who’d teased and tortured him unmercifully and against whom, because she was a girl, he’d been told he could riot retaliate.
And now it appeared that merely by growing up, Maggie Herbert had won yet again, because he had never in his life seen a woman who struck him as quite so handsome … and yet remained quite so oblivious to his own charms.
“Oh!” Maggie exclaimed, laughing breathlessly. “The look on your face! It was priceless, simply priceless!”
Rising up onto his elbows, his face still only a few inches from her remarkable new bosom, Jeremy inquired, quite seriously, “Have you gone mad?”
When her only response was to laugh harder, he remarked, “You might have killed yourself, you know.”
“It would have been worth it,” Maggie replied with relish. She was laughing so hard that Jeremy, still sprawled on top of her, could feel her stomach muscles spasming beneath her corset stays. Maggie Herbert, in a corset! He never thought he’d live to see the day.
“Nevertheless,” he said severely. “You can’t go bashing about like that. You could have seriously injured yourself.”
“Oh, la. You never could take a joke. I see all that fancy schooling hasn’t changed
that
, anyway.” After brushing some tangles of dark hair off her heart-shaped face, Maggie struggled up to her own elbows, which caused the bodice of her dress to gap open even more dramatically, affording Jeremy a splendid view of what lay in the lace cups of her
camisole. Unlike earlier in the day, he was perfectly incapable of looking away this time, and instead of climbing off her, as he undoubtedly should have, he lay exactly where he was and admired the twin curves of soft white flesh.
It only took Maggie a second or two to notice that Jeremy’s eyes, which she had always considered a somewhat bland shade of gray, were actually not quite as colorless as she’d remembered. They were really a very subtle shade of light blue, with small dashes of silver within them—and they were not focused anywhere near her face. They appeared, in fact, to be glued to her chest. When Maggie followed the direction of their gaze, she saw that the button she’d lost climbing the oak had actually been a rather integral one, and that her considerable cleavage was spilling out from beneath the front of her white dress.
Instantly, Maggie found herself drowning in a flood of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, there was a comic element to the situation that even in the throes of the excruciating embarrassment which immediately consumed her, Maggie could not fail to recognize. Bare-breasted in front of the Duke of Rawlings! What would Lady Herbert say? On the other hand, there wasn’t anything comical about the way the Duke of Rawlings was looking at her. If she’d harbored any doubts before as to whether or not Jeremy’d changed since she’d last seen him, the look on his face just then abolished them. She had never seen him wear a look like that before … .
At least, not directed at
her
.
This was exactly the sort of look she’d been attracting lately, however. She’d seen it on the faces of strangers as she walked past them in the village; an admiring look, to be sure, and yet there was also something more there than simple admiration, something she could only describe as … well, lust.
Lust ?
From
Jeremy
?
And it was then that Maggie realized that this was no longer any children’s game. This was a man, over twenty years of age, not a boy, lying on top of her. And she was a
woman—well, just about—and he had better get the hell off, before anyone happened to stroll by, or look out one of the manor house windows … .
“Get off me,” Maggie grunted, unpropping her elbows, though doing so lowered her head and shoulders back onto the ground and increased the overall impropriety of the situation. It allowed her, however, to grapple with the opening at the front of her dress.
Jeremy, enjoying Maggie’s discomfort as much as he was enjoying the view, remarked, almost offhandedly, “You appear to be missing a button, Mags.”
“You think I don’t know that, you smarmy git?” Maggie could not look him in the face. His eyes, like the rest of him, had changed, and now they seemed to have some kind of strange effect on her, an effect that was as much the reason for her crimson cheeks as her missing button. Observing her struggles with a single raised eyebrow, Jeremy said, “You look as if you could use some assistance. May I?”
Maggie, her embarrassment quickly turning to outrage, slapped at his hands—big brown hands, she saw with alarm, heavily callused and considerably larger than her own—while clutching the front of her dress closed with her other fingers. “No, you may not,” she said, emphasizing each word with a swat at him. “Get off me this instant!”
“Given the fact you that
you
jumped
me
, Mags,” Jeremy pointed out, “your current indignation, is heartily misplaced.”
“Get off!” Maggie glanced around. “My God, someone might see us!”
“Again, you might have thought of that, young lady, before you so violently unseated me from my horse.” Jeremy, noting with disappointment that she had finally managed to close her dress, looked down at her clenched fingers with a frown. “Why are you fussing so much, anyway? I’ve seen you in your altogether before, you know. Though not, I’ll admit, since you developed such a smashing figure—”
“
Get off
!” Thoroughly mortified, Maggie rammed the side of his head with the elbow of her free arm. Though the blow could not have hurt—much—Jeremy did look very surprised.
It couldn’t be all that often, Maggie supposed, that the Duke of Rawlings got it upside the head. What kind of girl would want to offend a duke, particularly an eligible one? But then, Maggie wasn’t all that concerned about what the Duke of Rawlings—or any other duke, for that matter—thought.
Perhaps that was just as well. Because what the Duke of Rawlings was thinking was that he’d been a fool to stay away from home so long. What he said, however, was, “I say, that wasn’t very sporting.” Rubbing his ear, he tried to look displeased. “You haven’t turned into one of those silly slapping sort of girls, have you?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Maggie snapped. “Get off me. My
father
might be watching.”
“That,” Jeremy said emphatically, “is the only sensible reason I can think of for ending this highly enjoyable interlude.”
And he slowly disengaged himself, being careful to observe, as he did so, the way her skirt had hiked up, revealing a pair of calves so superbly rounded, they’d have been the envy of any chorus girl. And that wasn’t all he noticed. After he’d climbed to his feet, he extended a hand to help her to her own, and managed, while doing so, to catch a glimpse of the spot where her stockings ended and her garters began, just inside the curve of a smooth white thigh.
Maggie, on the ground, didn’t miss Jeremy’s swift glance between her legs, and in a tizzy of confusion, she shoved her skirt down before looking up, suspiciously, at the hand he held down toward her.
“What?” Jeremy exclaimed, noticing her narrowed eyes. “I’m offering you a helping hand, that’s all, you silly girl. You needn’t look at me as if I were going to bite you.”
Maggie swallowed. That’s precisely what he looked like he was about to do … bite her, or something worse. Handsome as he’d turned out, it seemed pretty likely that there were a lot of girls to whom Jeremy had offered a bit more than a helping hand … and done a lot more than bite.
Misunderstanding the reason for her hesitation, Jeremy rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to dunk you in the reflecting
pool again, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he informed her. “I think we’re both old enough now to forgo those kinds of childish pranks, your recent ambush aside.”
Knowing she was being ridiculous, Maggie lifted a hand, careful to keep the front of her dress anchored with the other. The moment Jeremy’s strong fingers closed over hers, she knew she was in trouble. His was not the kind of grip that was easily broken. He was going to hang on exactly as long as he wanted to, and there wasn’t a blessed thing she could do about it.
But despite the strength in those long fingers, he was surprisingly gentle, not yanking her at all as he might have done when they were younger. It was a good thing he hung on to her a little longer than necessary, too, because as soon as she was fully upright, Maggie suffered the biggest shock of all.
Jeremy was taller than she was.
Not just taller than she was. A
lot
taller than she was. Her head only reached to his shoulder. Her nose would have smacked right into the middle of his chest if he hadn’t tightened his grip on her hand when she stumbled in shock.
“Maggie?” Jeremy peered down at her, a quizzical expression on his face. “Are you all right? You didn’t break anything after all, did you?”
Dazed, Maggie shook her head.
Jeremy Rawlings, taller than she was
? And not just a little taller, either, but at least six inches taller than she was! When had this happened? The last time she’d seen him, she’d towered over him by half a foot at least. He had grown twelve inches in five years. Good God, he was as tall as Lord Edward!