Chapter 1
Kent, England
June, 1809
Robert Kemble, Earl of Macclesfield, had never been given to flights of fancy, but when he saw the girl by the lake, he fell instantly in love.
It wasn't her beauty. With her black hair and pert nose she was certainly attractive, but he'd seen women far more beautiful in the ballrooms of London.
It wasn't her intelligence. He had no reason to believe that she was stupid, but as he hadn't shared two words with her, he couldn't vouch for her intellect either.
It certainly wasn't her grace. His first glimpse of her came as she flailed her arms and slipped off a wet rock. She landed on another rock with a loud thump, followed by an equally loud “Oh, bother” as she stood and rubbed her sore backside.
He couldn't put his finger on it. All he knew was that she was perfect.
He moved forward, keeping himself hidden in the trees. She was in the process of stepping from one stone to another, and any fool could see that she was going to slip, because the stone she was stepping onto was slick with moss, and—
Splash!
“Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear!”
Robert couldn't help but grin as she ignominiously hauled herself to the shore. The hem of her dress was soaked, and her slippers had to be ruined.
He leaned forward, noticing that her slippers were sitting in the sun, presumably where she'd left them before hopping from stone to stone. Smart girl, he thought approvingly.
She sat down on the grassy bank and began to wring out her dress, offering Robert a delicious view of her bare calves. Where had she stashed her stockings, he wondered.
And then, as if guided by that sixth sense only females seemed to possess, she jerked her head up sharply and looked about. “Robert?” she called out. “Robert! I know you're there.”
Robert froze, certain that he'd never met her before, certain they'd never been introduced, and even more certain that even if they had, she'd not be calling him by his given name.
“Robert,” she said, fairly yelling at him now. “I insist you show yourself.”
He stepped forward. “As you wish, my lady.” He said this with a courtly bow.
Her mouth fell open. She blinked and scrambled to her feet. Then she must have realized that she was still holding the hem of her dress in her hands, baring her knees for all the world to see. She dropped the dress. “Who the devil are you?”
He offered her his best lopsided smile. “Robert.”
“You are not Robert,” she spluttered.
“I beg to differ with you,” he said, not even trying to contain his amusement.
“Well, you're not my Robert.”
An unexpected surge of jealousy raced through him. “And who is your Robert?”
“He's…He's…I fail to see how that is your concern.”
Robert cocked his head, pretending to give the matter ample thought. “One might be able to broach the argument that since this is my land and your skirts are soaked with water from my pond, then it is indeed my concern.”
The color drained from her face. “Oh, dear Lord, you're not his lordship.”
He grinned. “I'm his lordship.”
“But, but his lordship is supposed to be old!” She looked most perplexed and rather distraught.
“Ah. I see our problem. I'm his lordship's son. The other his lordship. And you are…?”
“In big trouble,” she blurted out.
He took her hand, which she had not held out to him, and bowed over it. “I am extremely honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Trouble.”
She giggled. “My name is Miss Big Trouble, if you please.”
If Robert had had any doubts about the perfection of the woman standing before him, they melted away under the force of her smile and obvious sense of humor. “Very well,” he said. “Miss Big Trouble. I shouldn't want to be impolite and deprive you of your full name.” He tugged on her hand and led her back to the bank. “Come, let us sit awhile.”
She appeared hesitant. “My mother, bless her soul, passed on three years ago, but I have a feeling she would have told me that this is a most inadvisable idea. You look as if you might be something of a rake.”
This caught his attention. “And have you met many rakes?”
“No, of course not. But if I were to meet one, I should think he would look rather like you.”
“And why is that?”
She quirked her lips in a rather knowing expression. “Come now, are you looking for compliments, my lord?”
“Absolutely.” He smiled over at her, sat down, and patted the ground next to him. “There is not need to worry. My reputation is not so very black. More of a charcoal gray.”
She giggled again, causing Robert to feel as if he must be King of the Universe.
“My name is actually Miss Lyndon,” she said, sitting beside him.
He leaned back, resting on his elbows. “Miss Big Trouble Lyndon, I presume?”
“My father certainly thinks so,” she replied pertly. Then her face fell. “I really should go. If he caught me here with you…”
“Nonsense,” Robert said, suddenly desperate to keep her there beside him. “There is no one about.”
She sat back, her manner still somewhat hesitant. After a long pause she finally said, “Is your name truly Robert?”
“Truly.”
“I imagine the son of a marquess would have a long list of names.”
“I'm afraid so.”
She sighed dramatically. “Poor me. I have but two.”
“And they are?”
She looked sideways at him, the expression in her eyes most definitely flirtatious. Robert's heart soared.