Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

Deftly, she extracted her eight-month-old son, Alexander, from beneath the sideboard, scolding him as she gathered him in her arms. “And just what are you doing?”

Chuckling at his nephew’s antics, Dustin leaned back against the cushioned settee, crossing one long leg over the other. “I believe he was on the verge of mastering the fascinating challenge that’s been endlessly plaguing him. After days of eyeing the sideboard and all its bottles and fine crystal, he was hell-bent on inspecting them at close range. Had you delayed your interruption a scant moment longer, he would have pulled himself up and accomplished his feat.”

“And my entire floor would be doused in madeira and garnished with slivers of glass,” Ariana muttered. With an exasperated sigh, she glared at her innocent-looking son, striving to appear stern. “You,” she informed him, marching back to her chair, “are an untamable tempest.”

“I quite agree.” Dustin flexed his shoulders, grimacing at the resulting stiffness. “Every muscle in my body aches from that tiny tyrant. I’m unused to such a whirlwind of activity.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?” Ariana responded dryly. “From the gossip I’ve heard thus far this season, it sounds as if you’ve attended every party and danced with every woman the ton has to offer. Soon you’ll be forced to travel abroad in order to discover new prospects. Rather like you do with your thoroughbreds.”

“An interesting concept.” Surprisingly, Dustin sobered, staring pensively into his drink. “Unfortunately, however, I’m finding the allure of my thoroughbreds to be far more long-standing than that of my liaisons. I fear my brother snatched up the last real treasure in a vast array of shoddy imitations.”

Ariana inclined her head. “Did something unpleasant happen at Newmarket?”

“Yes. My mare lost.”

“Very amusing. That’s not what I meant and you know it. You’re not one to agonize over your losses—probably because they rarely occur. Now, are you going to answer my question?”

“Touché.” Dustin raised his glass in tribute. “Very well. No, nothing happened at Newmarket—at least nothing tangible. But you’re right. I am restless. Why? I haven’t a clue. Perhaps it is time to travel abroad. I might not find intriguing women, but I’m sure I’ll discover an Arabian or two.”

Unfooled by his lighthearted quip, Ariana studied Dustin, wondering how her brother-in-law would react if she were to tell him what she believed to be not the immediate but the underlying cause of his malady. Was he ready to hear it? And was she the one to impart the fact that he was far too warm and loving a man to be eternally content with empty dalliances and profitable horse races?

Chewing her lip, Ariana resettled herself—and her son—in the cozy armchair.

Alexander was gone before she’d smoothed her skirts. He slid down the seat cushion, dropped to the rug, and crawled toward the sideboard—a miniature bandit intent on completing his crime.

He collided with his father’s boots.

“Well, I see you’ve kept your poor mother occupied. All day, I suspect.” Hoisting Alexander into his arms, Trenton Kingsley crossed over to his wife. “I’m home, misty angel.” He bent, brushing her lips with his. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Ariana caressed her husband’s jaw. “You’ve been gone forever. It was scarcely dawn when you left for Bembridge. Was the storm’s destruction that severe?”

A tired nod. “Unfortunately, the village sustained quite a bit of damage. The good news, however, is that most of it is now in the process of being rectified.”

“In other words, you spent all day securing the homes and providing for the families.”

Trenton smiled tenderly at the blatant pride in her assertion. “It wasn’t so remarkable a feat. After all, I have the money and the knowledge of the structures.”

“You also have the heart,” Ariana added fervently, love shining in her eyes. “You’re incredible—and I don’t mean as an architect or a duke. I mean as a man.”

“And you’re beautiful.” Trenton frowned, stroking the shadows of fatigue beneath her lids. “But you look exhausted. In retrospect, I’m sorry we didn’t bring Alexander’s governess to Spraystone with us. At least you would have had some assistance.”

“I couldn’t do that to Mrs. Hopkins. She was more exhausted than I. Why, she nearly wept with joy when I told her to stay at Broddington for a much-needed rest. I suspect she’ll sleep the entire week in anticipation of Alexander’s return. Besides, I did have some help. Dustin was a savior.”

Trenton’s gaze flickered to his brother. “My thanks are twofold, then. One for helping Ariana with my rascal of a son, and one for remaining at Spraystone and keeping an eye on them both while I was away. I know you wanted to help out in the village, but when I left this morning, the skies were still ominous, the grounds were covered with splintered wood, and the base of the hill behind the cottage was badly flooded. I would never have left Ariana and Alexander alone, nor would I have trusted them into anyone’s care but yours.”

“My pleasure.” Dustin waved away the thanks, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Although, if you ask me, neither debris nor rushing waters are any match for your son. In truth, I believe that, had the storm chosen to resume, it would have survived a scant hour in Alexander’s company before spinning out over the Solent as fast as its winds could whip.”

Laughter rumbled in Trenton’s chest. “You’re probably right. What did my little villain do today?”

“You name it,” Dustin replied, counting off on his fingers. “Painted the oriental rug in the library a vivid green, used the silver tea service as a thunderous new musical instrument, plucked stray feathers from your hens. He has a propensity for detail, your son. The uneven feathers seemed to offend him. So, once again, did the inexplicable existence of facial hair on human beings.” Gingerly, Dustin touched the ends of his mustache and winced. “I take it I’m the only one he knows with one of these.”

“Actually,” Trenton replied thoughtfully, “I never before considered it, but yes. No wonder it baffles him so.”

“Well, I’ve endured eight months of bafflement in the hopes that he’d come to accept it. But now he’s graduated from bafflement to attempted obliteration. He spent the latter portion of the morning trying to detach my mustache from my upper lip. Thus, I’ve decided to concede and shave the bloody thing off the instant I return to Tyreham. At least that will leave one less part of me for Alexander to destroy.” A wry grin. “In any case, by midafternoon Ariana had reached the point where she looked as if she were about to drop. So, I took over myself, confident that an eight-month-old’s stamina was no match for a vigorous man of two and thirty. After three hours of frolicking in the barn and two hours of storytelling in the nursery, I’d altered my opinion. Your heir wasn’t a bit fatigued, while I, on the other hand, fell asleep on the nursery floor, where I snored away the afternoon, awakening only when Ariana came to fetch me for dinner.”

“I see.” Trenton had to struggle to control his mirth. “And what, pray tell, did Alexander do during your well-earned respite?”

“Located a new diversion,” Ariana sighed. “He squirmed down the stairs, feet first, only to discover the beloved haven you just completed for me. I spotted him as he crossed the conservatory threshold, eyes alight as he realized that it afforded him the same intriguing amusements as the conservatory at Broddington. By the time I’d dashed after him and crept through the pile of dirt he’d spilled, he’d already managed to upend three ferns and topple six geraniums.”