Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

The rain had fallen in white sheets over the hills at Oberton Hall. Evangeline adored rainstorms. They meant renewal, new flowers and new shoots, and rich-smelling earth. They saw the sky washed, the air made fresh, and rushing brooks overflowing with bubbling songs. There was no other joy like a brisk walk through the fields and gardens after a storm had passed through, and nothing Evangeline liked more.

Which explained her current predicament.

Distracted by a baby raven that had fallen out of its nest on her walk, she'd lifted a heavy and drenched Lucky into her arms and navigated a treacherous patch of mud to reach the creature, only to get firmly stuck bang smack in the middle of the muck. It was also her rotten luck that it was right at the start of the long drive leading up to the main house, which meant any help was a good mile or two away. She could scream her lungs out and no one would hear her.

Evangeline grasped the wriggling, soaked dog in her arms and glanced down with a wince. Well, this wasn't a little mud. It seemed to be a sinkhole or some such. Lucky gave a sharp yelp— she wanted nothing more than to jump down and roll around in the mess, but from the way Evangeline's boots were sinking, she didn't think Lucky would enjoy swimming. Or drowning. This was sludge and it was sticky.

Lucky's overexcited motions made Evangeline sink deeper in the mud as she tried to calm twenty pounds of squirming dog. "Don't worry, dearest. If it comes to life or death, I'll simply toss you to safety."

In other better news, the baby bird had somehow flown off, so that was one good thing. Now, she just needed to save herself and her dog. But the more she struggled to lift her leg, the more she sank. The higher the mud rose—it was clear up to her ankles now—the more apparent it became that it stank. Not like rich earth at all, but like fermented horse dung.

Evangeline let out a few hysterical snickers. "Serves you right that you're stuck in shit. Good Lord, where's a shovel when you need one?"

Her chortles grew until her sides were aching. She turned into a gigglemug when she was nervous—another oddity that never served her well in public—but it wasn't until the snicker-snorts came that she'd have to worry. For now, her sanity hadn't completely mutinied.

"What shall we do, Lucky?" The dog stared at her with trusting brown eyes and licked her chin as though she had all the faith in the world of her mistress rescuing them. "I hate to say it, but we seem to be up shit's creek, wee lassie!"

Why on earth was she speaking in Scots? She blinked. Could it be because of a certain giant gentleman with the faintest of burrs? She wondered whether the Duke of Vale sounded more so when he was in the Highlands. Devil take it, why was she thinking about him when she was stuck in man-eating muck? The maniacal puffs of laughter erupted anew. The snorts were definitely en route.

Stop braying and think, woman!

In a fit of frustration, she yanked her leg hard, and with a loud squelching sound, her foot came loose… without its boot. Peering over Lucky's bedraggled fur, she cringed at the brown color leaching up her sodden skirts. She couldn't see beneath them. Balancing precariously on her hidden leg, she attempted to feel for harder ground, but everywhere she stuck her stockinged toe, the wet earth sucked at it like a hungry mouth.

Evangeline let out a frustrated howl, startling poor Lucky, who tumbled into the mud. She grabbed the dog quickly before she could sink. Gracious, could their predicament get any worse? At this rate, they'd both be consumed before dinner. A faint crunching sound like wheels over gravel met her ears, and she swung around. Her heart soared and sank in the same giddy exhalation. There was a carriage coming up the drive, but it was one she instantly recognized.

Be grateful. At least you'll be rescued.

And maybe you're mistaken about that crest.

But no, as the coach drew closer, her initial assumption had been correct. Damn and blast! The crest on the side was indeed a ducal one—it was the same coach she'd seen outside of the shelter—when the Duke of Decorum himself had criticized her conduct. Of anyone who could have visited Oberton Hall, why, oh why couldn't it have been a farmer or a local merchant, or even her father?

She'd settle for a scolding from the earl over being caught in such a fix by a man who made her feel like she was on the edge of a bottomless crevasse and about to tumble to her doom. A stupidly handsome face didn't excuse an irritating and cocksure manner. She'd had enough of dictatorial men. Dictatorial dukes . Irritation swelled in her stomach as well as a strange, excited fluttering as the coach drew closer.

"Oh, behave, you silly sausage," she snapped to herself and then bit her lip as Lucky gave a small whine at her acerbic tone. "Not you, sweeting."

Her bloody sole was beginning to ache from balancing on it. Gingerly, she placed down her bootless foot and gasped as it sank deep, throwing her off-kilter. The carriage rolled to a stop, the coachman giving her the oddest look before jumping down. Perhaps it was just the one man. Maybe the carriage was empty, and he was here alone because sometimes coachmen borrowed their employers' conveyances. Her ponderings were absurd, of course, because the door opened and the irksome duke she hoped never to see again emerged.

It didn't help that he looked utterly gorgeous, those singular dark coppery locks gilded with tones of garnet in the overcast daylight. Evangeline wondered idly whether his hair was as thick and silky as it looked. Whether his chest hair, if he had any—she'd seen a smooth-chested farmer or two in the height of summer—would be the same. Was he hairy?

She blushed hotly and cursed her arbitrary brain. Dear God, which cod's head of a girl thought about a gentleman's body hair while stuck in a mudhole? He looked entirely too perfect, standing there in a pair of snug fawn-colored trousers… while she was stuck in a sinkhole and resembled a drowned piglet. Not that she needed to impress him. Or notice the well-fitting fabric stretching over thick, muscular thighs.

Those would definitely be hairy.

Focus, for mercy's sake!

"Good afternoon, Your Grace," she called out in a faux cheery greeting. "Lovely day for a drive, isn't it? If a bit damp and muddy in parts." A half-demented giggle followed, earning her another alarmed look from the duke's coachman. Evangeline pinned her lips, but she could feel the hysterical mirth bubbling up like a geyser about to explode.

"Indeed," the duke said, squatting a safe distance away, bright green eyes taking in the muddy expanse. His stare landed on Lucky, widening for a second. "What is that?"

"My dog," she replied defensively. Surely he would recognize Lucky from the shelter? Then again, the duke had been pounced upon by kittens.

She knew what he saw—Lucky was part bulldog, part miniature trawler spaniel, and had inherited the lesser qualities of both—which made her a brown-and-white, squat-of-face, thick-bodied, short-legged mongrel, and in a word, homely. But she was smart and calm in temperament, unless provoked. Possibly why the two of them got on so well. "Don't be cruel. She's a rescue. She wasn't wanted and had been thrown away."

"I meant she resembles a wee mud monster. Lucky, if I'm not mistaken? She looks heavy." Vale smiled, his eyes crinkling, but another emotion glittered in their clear depths, one that she did not want to think on too deeply. It had the sheen of admiration, and she would not fall into that ready trap again! She did not care what the Duke of Vale thought of her.

She shifted the sturdy dog to the other arm, and couldn't help noticing that the duke's eyes were the color of clovers today, and then cursed herself in the same breath. Heavens, was she going to now catalog his eye color? What was next? His broad brow? Or the gentle breeze teasing those garnet strands into his bold cheekbones?

Or his lips…

Goodness, they were a hedonist's dream, sculpted to perfection, even pursed in thought as they were now, the corner of the bottom one momentarily tugged between his teeth. The upper formed a dissolute heart, the lower dipping into a sensuous half curve that made her mind stutter to an undignified halt.

"Can you help, or are you going to crouch there all day and stare?" she snapped, peeved at herself for being so unusually concupiscent.

"You seem to have… er… gotten yourself in a pickle," he said.

"A shit pickle, Monsieur Obvious," she muttered. A corner of that lip kicked up as the coachman gave a hurried cough that sounded like a laugh. Heavens, her tongue was ungovernable when she didn't have the wherewithal to keep it corralled. Evangeline's cheeks flared hot, but she was beyond caring. "There's a hole here. It must have been worsened with the water flow from the creek. As you can perhaps discern, I am well and truly stuck."

Lucky started barking again as if she sensed rescue was imminent, and Evangeline struggled to keep holding the wriggling creature and her balance. The dog was starting to feel like a lead weight in her arms. "Enough, Lucky!"

The animal's panicked whine spurred the duke into action.

"Douglas, go get help," Vale instructed the coachman, standing to toss his hat, gloves, and walking stick into the carriage. "As well as ropes, planks, anything we can use. And be careful on the road in case there are more of these. Wouldn't want to get a stuck wheel."

"Yes, Your Grace."

After the young coachman did as bid, Evangeline watched as the duke removed his coat, trying not to be distracted by the flex of the ropy muscles in his arms and the way the seams of his shirt were stretched to their limits. Thick thighs… thick arms. He was thick everywhere, it seemed. Her ears burned hot, and she kept her lips firmly buttoned, lest she give those sentiments away. Her brain was broken. It had to be. No one could possibly have such debauched thoughts while stuck in such a dire situation. Or perhaps it only made her more desperate…

She'd die a virgin, after all.

Evangeline held back an unwelcome snort as the duke spread the expensive fabric on the muddy ground between them. "Your coat!" she exclaimed.

He shrugged. "It can be replaced. You, my lady, however, are much more important."

Warmth slicked through her at his words. No, no, no . He was simply being nice. Gallant. Dukes, even arrogant, domineering ones, were known for that. Aren't they? The only dukes of her acquaintance were friends of her father who were old and rheumy and could hardly remember their own names. Then again, Vesper's husband wasn't so bad. Nève had married a duke as well, though he was rather fractious.

Evangeline's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Why was Vale being so charming and solicitous? Men complimented women only when they coveted something, and right now, buried in mud as she was, she was at his mercy. Oh, come off it, Effie. Surely you won't look a gift horse in the mouth?

No, because her besotted brain had other plans for said gift horse's mouth.

And it didn't involve talking.

Good gracious! It had to be the mud: carnivorous sludge that made people feel lewd things. It definitely had some kind of poison in it. Mind-altering mud. Lusty mud. A storm of snickers surged in her chest, forcing her to pin her lips to keep them at bay.

This was simply attraction, nothing more. It happened to all animals, and humans, at their most basic level, were just that. However, unlike an animal, she could exercise her will. And. She. Did. Not. Want. This. Man.

Lies.

Evangeline peeked up at him again, breath catching as he rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal veiny, muscled arms covered in a— sod her life —dusting of bronze hair. Her mouth dried. Good God, she couldn't win, could she? Cool mud squelched into the hem of her underclothes just above the ribbons of her stockings. Against her overheated skin, it was a small reprieve.

He cleared his throat. "Here's what we will do. Heft the dog onto the coat first, and I'll drag it to safety."

It took her a minute to realize that pretty mouth was shaping words, and she let out an unseemly huff when her brain caught up. "I beg your pardon?"

"Toss the dog to the coat. Carefully."

With a sniff toward him—as if she wouldn't be careful with her sweet girl—Evangeline hitched Lucky closer to her chest and kissed her wet muddy head. "Don't be afraid, sweeting. The duke will save you." She glanced up at Vale. "Don't make any sudden movements. She doesn't like… er… males."

One slash of an auburn brow lifted. Her eyes met his, daring him to say what he was thinking. Like dog, like mistress, or something equally clever. Lucky had been found cowering on the side of a busy road, and when her footman had attempted to retrieve the animal, the dog had gone wild with fear. She'd been docile for Evangeline, however. Lucky never showed hostility toward her or her sister but had trembled and growled at the butler and the earl. Lucky's fear of males had lessened over the years, but she was still skittish around those she did not know.

With a harsh breath, Evangeline launched a heavy and wriggly Lucky toward the coat, her arms burning from the effort. Lucky hadn't made it that far, given Evangeline's quivering muscles, but it was enough to get her to safety.

Evangeline watched, her heart quailing, as the duke carefully drew the coat back toward him. Lucky, for her part, continued cowering, but the minute she was within reach of the duke, she growled and snapped at his hand.

"Enough, pup," he said in a low, commanding voice. "Calm down or you'll land yourself back in the mud. Don't worry, I've got you."

Evangeline stared as her persnickety pet gave a tiny whine and rolled over onto her back, exposing her mud-covered belly. That little hussy! Though Evangeline didn't blame the dog. At the sound of the duke's velvet command, she wanted to roll over.

"She hates everyone," Evangeline blurted in astonishment.

He lifted one shoulder. "Kittens and dogs like me, apparently. And on the rare occasion, beautiful damsels trapped in muddy bogs."

Did she hallucinate or did he just call her beautiful ? "I'm not a dam… oh no!" Something must have shifted beneath her, because the ground slackened enough to threaten her already precarious balance. Her luck had just gone from worse to catastrophic… and she was slipping and about to eat a face full of mud.

The duke set Lucky on firm ground and spread the now filthy, soiled coat back upon the earth. "Don't move, my lady."

"Can't fight gravity." Evangeline gasped, just as the thickened loam that kept her in place suddenly gurgled and released. At the precarious shift, her arms windmilled and her body tilted in slow motion. Instead of going forward, she went back. Smelly, muddy water sucked greedily at her hips, soaking instantly through to her skin as she hit the sludge with a wet smack. She could feel wetness seeping down her neck and into the gaps of her bodice.

With an emphatic curse, Vale lowered himself down to his coat, stretching one long arm out over the edges of the sinkhole, where watery mud was undulating from her fall. "Can you reach my hand?" She strained toward him, barely skimming the tips of his fingers with hers. "A bit more. Come on, lass, you can do it."

But she couldn't. The counterpull of the sticky mud made her feel as if her arm were wrenching out of its socket. "Ballocks. I can't move."

This time, at the expletive, the duke did smile. "Say it louder and stretch as hard as you can."

She blinked. Had the mud confused him as well? "Say what louder?"

"Ballocks."

Hot cheeked, Evangeline frowned. "I didn't…" But the duke only appeared to be amused instead of scandalized. "I do beg your pardon, Your Grace."

"Stop apologizing and say it, Evangeline," he said, inching forward along his coat.

Her eyes widened at her given name on his tongue—the sultry, commanding cadence of it making her quite useless knees quake. God above, she was as bad as Lucky! If she were able, she probably would have shown him her belly, too, and shamelessly begged for a rub. Heat sluiced through her.

Oh, sod it!

"Ballocks!" she screamed and propelled her upper body forward at the same time. It was enough to get her slick, mud-covered palm into his. Long fingers curled about hers and crept up her arm. Her breath caught in her throat as the edge of his coat started to get swallowed by the muck, his elbows starting to sink as well. "Vale, please don't let go."

A penetrating green stare anchored hers. "Never."