LITMIR.BIZ

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get any worse, could it?

      “Victoria!” A reprimanding male voice caused her to jump. “What the devil are you doing?”

      Then again, maybe it could.

      Victoria jerked toward Remington, the lanterns beyond dimly outlining his tall, lean frame in the descending torrent of rain. His dark, wet hair was plastered to his forehead and neck, whilst that billowy linen shirt of his was no longer billowy. It had turned sheer and clung to his lean, muscled arms and wide chest.

      Her own nightdress, which only boasted a chemise beneath, was also beginning to stick to the length of her body. Though she didn’t have the sort of sizable breasts most females her age toted, she had more than enough to make her cheeks burn.

      She crossed her arms over her chest. “You ought to go inside. You’re getting wet.”

      “We are both getting wet.” He gestured toward the open doors beneath the portico. “Come. The blighter is probably hiding somewhere in the house.”

      She squinted against the rain slathering her face. “No. He never hides and he always answers whenever I call. Which means he has to be somewhere outside.”

      Remington closed the distance between them. “I doubt he will even be able to hear us over all of this wind and rain. Now come. Come inside. I was hoping you and I could talk.”

      What a rum pot. Talk? At this time of night?

      Victoria turned away, cupped the sides of her mouth and yelled out against the wind, “Flint! Where are you?”

      “We are getting soaked to the bone.”

      “You really ought to cease pointing out what is already obvious.” She paused, sucked in a large breath and then shouted as loudly as she possibly could, “Flint!” More rain and wind pummeled her as an agonizing chill overtook her limbs.

      “Victoria, please. This is ridiculous. He’s a dog. He has fur to protect him against the elements. You, on the other hand—”

      “Flint! Fliiiint!” Panic edged into her strained voice and her limbs began to quake. Where was he? Why wasn’t he responding? Flint never wandered far from the house. Not ever.

      She spun in every direction, wondering which way she should go, but found that the night, wind and rain were blending together too much, making it impossible to see.

      “Victoria.” Remington grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “I promise to assist you in finding him in the morning. Now come.”

      She flung his arm away and stumbled forward, toward the direction of the open field. Her stockings were now sliding down her legs, being sucked in by the mud around her. “No. I cannot leave him out here all night. I cannot! He is anything but good at taking care of himself.”

      “Much like his lady.” He stepped back toward her. “Please forgive this necessity.” Large, warm hands grabbed her firmly by the waist, then yanked her straight up into the air, pulling her feet out of the mud and out of her stockings altogether, leaving them stuck in the ground.

      Victoria gasped as she was effortlessly pitched up and over his hard shoulder like a sack of barley, her bare feet dangling out before him, her arms and long braid dangling behind him with her bum in the air. His grip dug into her hips and the night bounced with each large step he took back to the portico.

      “What are you doing?!” she shouted, smacking his hard backside hidden beneath his soaked shirt. She froze, realizing she shouldn’t even be touching any part of him, and certainly not his backside. She twisted against his shoulder. “My stockings! I … This isn’t respectable! I am still in my nightdress!”

      “So I have noticed,” he drawled as he kept toting her back toward the house.

      She collapsed against him, plotting her escape.

      Stepping in through the doorway, Remington finally plopped her down onto the marble floor of the large foyer. She slipped and stumbled against the water pooling beneath her cold, bare feet.

      He slammed the doors and bolted them with quick sweeps, flinging water everywhere. He turned and fell back against the doors. Blowing out a breath, he paused and glared down at her, his rugged face glistening from the water that continued to dribble down from his matted hair. “You do realize your father, not to mention your cousin, would have held me accountable for whatever happened to you out there?”

      As if she cared. “I am not abandoning Flint on a night like this.” She scrambled around him, trying to get to the doors, but he set his back against both knobs.

      She pushed at his massive, wet body.

      “I am not moving,” he gruffly announced.

      “Step aside.”

      “No.”

      “Step. Aside.”

      “No. You are not going back out into that rain.”

      She shoved at his body again, trying to get him to move away from the knobs, but her feet kept sliding against the smooth marble. Annoyed to no end, she gritted her teeth, fisted her hand and punched his shoulder.

      He seized her upper arms, his hard grip pinching her skin beneath the sleeves of her nightdress, and fiercely spun her around, yanking her back against himself so she couldn’t hit him again. He leaned over her, his broad chest and arms locking her against his chest. Icy water cascaded down onto her neck and arms from his drenched clothing. She stiffened, her eyes widening, realizing she was officially at his command.

      He leaned farther down, bending her far forward and in turn, keeping her in place with his weight. “Cease being an impertinent child,” he demanded, his warm breath heating the side of her chilled cheek. “He’ll be fine. You, on the hand, won’t be if you get any more drenched.”

      She trembled within his arms, the cold seeping deeper into her skin. “He is all I have left of Victor. And if that makes me a child, so be it. Now let me go. Let me go!”

      Remington released her, allowing them both to straighten. Turning her toward him, he grasped her shoulders, pulling her close. The few waning candles in the sconces of the entrance hall dimly illuminated his rain-moistened face. He rubbed her shoulders. “Forgive me. Grayson has often told me how close you and your brother were.”

      She looked away, refusing to give in to emotions that were pointless to feel. It wouldn’t change the fact that her brother was gone, having succumbed to smallpox after a servant had exposed him to it. Sometimes she wondered why it hadn’t been her.

      Remington’s fingers pressed into her shoulder blades, silently assuring her that she was not alone. Not wanting or needing his pity, she pushed away his heavy arms and swiped away droplets of water running down the sides of her face and chin.

      “Victoria.”

      She glanced toward him. “What is it now?”

      “I … leave for Venice tomorrow.”

      She sighed, unable to hide her own disappointment knowing she wouldn’t see him until her coming out. “Yes. I know.”

      “I may not return in time for your debut. Which is why I was hoping you could …” He winced.

      She stared up at him, dreading whatever he had in mind. “You were hoping I could what?”

      He shrugged and glanced away. “I … wanted to give you something, is all. Something that would—”

      “You had better not be asking me for a kiss, Remington. Because you won’t get it.”

      He cleared his throat and shook his head before setting his broad shoulders. “No. I … in truth, I wanted to give you something that will help bring Flint back.”

      She sighed. “A whistle won’t be of any use. That dog hates whistles.”

      “It’s not a whistle.”

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