The earl, who had been mute until that point, spoke with his gaze trained studiously on the distant scenery. “Your information was correct, Miss Bowman,” he said in a controlled manner. “This field is usually unfrequented.”

“Well, then, why are you here?” Lillian demanded accusingly, as if she, and not Westcliff, was the owner of the estate.

The question caused the earl’s head to whip around. He gave the American girl an incredulous glance before he dragged his gaze away once more. “Our presence here is purely coincidental,” he said coldly. “I wished to have a look at the northwest section of my estate today.” He gave the word my a subtle but distinct emphasis. “While Mr. Hunt and I were traveling along the lane, we heard your screaming. We thought it best to investigate, and came with the intention of rendering aid, if necessary. Little did I realize that you would be using this field for…for…”

“Rounders-in-knickers,” Lillian supplied helpfully, sliding her arms into her sleeves.

The earl seemed incapable of repeating the ridiculous phrase. He turned his horse away and spoke curtly over his shoulder. “I plan to develop a case of amnesia within the next five minutes. Before I do so, I would suggest that you refrain from any future activities involving nudity outdoors, as the next passersby who discover you may not prove to be as indifferent as Mr. Hunt and I.”

Despite Annabelle’s mortification, she had to repress a skeptical snort at the earl’s claim of indifference on Hunt’s behalf, not to mention his own. Hunt had certainly managed to get quite an eyeful of her. And though Westcliff’s scrutiny had been far more subtle, it had not escaped her that he had stolen a quick but thorough glance at Lillian before he had veered his horse away. However, in light of her current state of undress, it was hardly the time to deflate Westcliff’s holier-than-thou demeanor.

“Thank you, my lord,” Annabelle said with a calmness that pleased her immensely. “And now, having dispensed such excellent advice, I would ask that you allow us some privacy to restore ourselves.”

“With pleasure,” Westcliff growled.

Before Simon Hunt departed, he could not seem to keep from looking back at Annabelle as she stood clutching her gown across her chest. Despite his apparent composure, it seemed to her that his color had heightened…and there was no mistaking the smoldering of his jet-black eyes. Annabelle longed for the self-possession to stare at him with cool disregard, but instead she felt flushed and disheveled and thoroughly off-balance. He seemed on the verge of saying something to her, then checked himself and muttered beneath his breath with a self-derisive smile. His horse stomped and snorted impatiently, pivoting eagerly as Hunt guided him to gallop after Westcliff, who was already halfway across the field.

Mortified, Annabelle turned to Lillian, who was blushing but admirably self-possessed. “Of all men to discover us like this,” Annabelle said in disgust, “it would have to be those two.”

“You have to admire such arrogance,” Lillian commented dryly. “It must have taken years to cultivate.”

“Which man are you referring to?…Mr. Hunt or Lord Westcliff?”

“Both. Although the earl’s arrogance just may edge out Mr. Hunt’s—which I call a truly impressive feat.”

They stared at each other in shared disdain for their departed visitors, and suddenly Annabelle laughed irrepressibly. “They were surprised, weren’t they?”

“Not nearly as surprised as we were,” Lillian rejoined. “The question is, how are we to face them again?”

“How are they to face us?” Annabelle countered. “We were minding our own business—they were the intruders!”

“How right you…” Lillian began, and stopped as she became aware of a violent choking noise coming from their picnic spot. Evie was writhing on the blanket, while Daisy stood over her with arms akimbo.

Hurrying to the pair, Annabelle asked Daisy in consternation, “What is it?”

“The embarrassment was too much for her to endure,” Daisy said. “It sent her into fits.”

Evie rolled on the blanket, a napkin concealing her face, while one exposed ear had turned the color of pickled beets. The more she tried to control her giggles, the worse they became, until she gasped frantically for air in between yelps. Somehow she managed to squeak out a few words. “What a s-s-smashing introduction to lawn sports!” And then she was snorting with more spasms of helpless laughter, while the other three stood over her.

Daisy threw Annabelle a significant glance. “Those,” she informed her, “are conniptions.”

Simon and Westcliff rode away from the meadow at a fast gallop, slowing to a walk when they entered the forest and followed a trail that wound through the wooded terrain. It was a good two minutes before either of them was inclined, or indeed able, to speak. Simon’s head was whirling with images of Annabelle Peyton’s firm, flourishing curves clad in ancient under-garments that had shrunk from a thousand washings. It was a good thing that he and she had not found themselves alone in such a circumstance, for Simon was certain that he wouldn’t have been able to leave her without doing something completely barbaric.

In Simon’s entire life, he had never experienced such potent craving as he had the moment he had seen Annabelle half-undressed in the meadow. His entire body had been flooded with the urge to dismount his horse, seize Annabelle in his arms, and carry her to the nearest soft patch of grass he could find. He could not imagine a more unholy temptation than the sight of her voluptuous body, the expanse of silken skin tinted in shades of cream and pink, the sun-streaked golden brown hair. She had looked so enchantingly mortified, blushing everywhere. He wanted to remove her ragged undergarments with his teeth and fingers; and then he wanted to kiss her from head to toe, taste her in sweet, soft places that—