by Merry Farmer
“I don’t think I am seriously hurt,” Maeve said, groaning more as Lord Carnlough slipped an arm around her back and helped her to stand. “I slid on the sand covering the road and lost control of the bicycle,” she admitted.
Lord Carnlough walked her back to the side of the road, near where the bicycles had been abandoned, and helped her to sit again. “We cannot be too careful,” he said, fussing over her in a way that brought pink to Maeve’s cheeks. “Rest for a moment so that you can be certain you aren’t seriously injured.”
Maeve nodded, grateful for the opportunity to catch her breath.
“Are you certain you’re alright?” Alice asked, a look of calculation coming into her eyes as she peeked from Maeve to Lord Carnlough.
“Yes, I think so,” Maeve said.
She didn’t think about her words or how Alice might take them. She assumed her friend would call off her games and her efforts to win Lord Carnlough over. But as it turned out, she’d underestimated the depth of Alice’s desperation or the lengths her friend would go to where her last chance at marriage was concerned.
“We should ride back into town and fetch help, my lord,” she said, stepping closer to Lord Carnlough’s side.
Maeve nearly gasped at the boldness of Alice’s gambit. She was trying to get Lord Carnlough on his own.
“That might not be necessary,” Lord Carnlough said, his attention still focused on Maeve. “Miss Sperrin’s injuries might not be as bad as all that. We should simply wait and rest for a few more moments to see if she recovers. Do you agree, Miss Sperrin?” He glanced to Maeve with a look of deep concern.
Maeve smiled back at him—even though an ominous roll of thunder in the distance told her sitting and waiting might not be a long-term solution. “I think that’s all I need,” she said.
“How are your extremities?” Lord Carnlough asked, shifting to crouch beside her. “Are your ankles intact? Are all of your limbs still in place?”
Maeve’s smile widened. The man was flirting with her. Two could play at that game. “Perhaps you should test them, my lord,” she said.
“Perhaps I should,” he replied with a deliciously wicked look. “May I have your permission to ascertain the stability of your ankles?”
Maeve’s heart fluttered in her chest. “You may,” she said with mock formality.
She considered herself as wicked as any O’Shea as Lord Carnlough slipped his hand beneath the hem of her skirt and closed it around one of her ankles. He was gentleman enough to actually check to see whether her ankle was injured by maneuvering it this way and that. Maeve didn’t feel a bit of pain. In fact, what sensations she felt were as far from pain as could be.
“And now the other one,” Lord Carnlough went on.
He brushed his hand farther up her calf than he should have while ostensibly testing her other ankle. Maeve caught her breath, shocked by her own boldness, and also by how much she loved it and how natural it felt.
“I feel better than ever, my lord,” she said in a breathless voice.
Lord Carnlough answered with a low, rumbling laugh that caused an ache to form in her core. “I think we will make it through, Miss Sperrin.”
It would have been a perfect moment, but for the fact that Maeve caught Alice moving around the bicycles out of the corner of her eye. More than that, Alice had removed one of her hat pins, and, while she must have thought no one was watching her, she stabbed the pin into the front tire of Maeve’s bicycle.
Maeve was so shocked by the sabotage—and, admittedly, curious about what her friend intended by it—that she couldn’t find the words to say anything. Lord Carnlough noticed her change in expression, though.
“You do seem to be somewhat hurt,” he said. Another rumble of thunder sounded. He glanced up at the skies, then said, “I think it would be wise to move you to a place of shelter.”
“I saw a small cottage a ways back from the road,” Alice said, moving back toward them. “Unfortunately, it appears Maeve punctured the tire of your cousin’s bicycle in her accident, but if we take her to that cottage for shelter, you and I could ride back into Ballymena, or perhaps to your estate, to fetch a wagon to convey her and the bicycle home.”
Understanding dawned in Maeve’s mind. That was Alice’s aim. She wanted to deposit Maeve out of the way so that she and Lord Carnlough could play the heroes together.
“The idea has merit,” Lord Carnlough said, rocking back and standing. Maeve’s heart sank. “Are you well enough to stand, Miss Sperrin?”
“I am,” Maeve said. She would have said so even if both of her ankles were broken and she were bleeding copiously.
“Come on, then.” Lord Carnlough offered her a hand.
Maeve took it, glad her wrist didn’t seem to be broken, and stood. Thunder rumbled again, and spits of rain started to fall down on them. Through it all, Alice looked delighted.
“Should we go, then?” she smiled at Lord Carnlough.
Instead of jumping to her scheme, Lord Carnlough rubbed a hand over his face and glanced around in thought. “I think that you should ride back and send help to us, Miss Woodmont,” he said. “It would be the best and easiest course of action. I see the cottage you mentioned over there.” He nodded to a small building by a cluster of trees half a mile or so off the road to one side. “Miss Sperrin and I will wait for whatever help you can send there.”
“I—” Alice’s smile vanished. She glanced between Maeve and Lord Carnlough for a moment, then frowned at Maeve. “I suppose so,” she said in a tight voice. “If this is the last chance we have for things to turn out right.”
Lord Carnlough looked confused by Alice’s odd statement. Maeve knew exactly what her friend was trying to communicate.
Thunder sounded closer. This time, Maeve saw the lightning that went alone with it. “We’d better act, whatever we choose to do,” she said. “It would be terrible to be caught out in a storm.”
“You are right,” Lord Carnlough said. “Miss Woodmont, please be safe as you fetch help. Until we meet again.”
He nodded, and that was the end of that. Alice had no choice but to retrieve her bicycle and start back the way they’d come. Maeve was only partially happy that Alice had finally seen reason and left her and Lord Carnlough alone. The rest of her was deeply worried, not just for Alice’s safety in the storm, but over what her friend could possibly be thinking to pull the sort of stunt she’d just attempted.
Chapter 4
There were a great many things in life that Avery didn’t feel he was prepared for. He hadn’t been prepared to take over the earldom, or to have his father die when he was barely thirty. He hadn’t been prepared to take up his father’s seat in Parliament either. And he hadn’t been prepared to play umpire to Miss Sperrin and Miss Woodmont as the two friends vied for his attention.
“Are you certain you’re fit enough to walk to the cottage?” he asked Miss Sperrin, his gaze fixed on Miss Woodmont’s back as she rode away across the rolling countryside. “We could abandon the bicycles for now and I could carry you, if you feel the need.”
Miss Sperrin laughed—her laughter was a lovely sound that went straight to his groin—and shook her head. “I think I can manage pushing a bicycle over such a short distance. My wrist feels slightly tender, but that won’t stop me from walking. Though I am glad you’ve taken charge of the one with the punctured tire.”
That had been an easy decision to make. Pushing a bicycle with a flat tire required more effort than pushing one with two working wheels, so they’d switched for the quick journey.
“We should hurry then,” he said, nodding to the cottage.
It wasn’t just the rivalry between Miss Sperrin and Miss Woodmont that bothered Avery. Women and their friendships were an utter, baffling mystery to him, but even he could sense that the tension between the two women was not good. He hated problems that he didn’t know how to solve. Just as he bristled with discomfort whenever a woman showed him more regard than he was willing to r
eturn.
Fortunately for him, the storm that appeared to be rolling in from the west and spattering him and Miss Sperrin with rain as they raced with increasing urgency toward the remote cottage required all of his attention.
“It doesn’t appear as though anyone is home,” Miss Sperrin said as they reached the cottage and rested the bicycles against one of its walls. “What should we do?”
Avery frowned up at the sky as the rain began to come down harder. Miss Sperrin was correct in that the cottage looked unoccupied. He didn’t see any lamps lit inside, and there was no smoke coming from the chimney. He was certain the cottage wasn’t abandoned, though. They were on his own land now, and the cottage belonged to one of his tenants.
Which was why he felt no compunctions about trying the door handle and letting the two of them inside after his repeated knocking went unanswered. Sure enough, the cottage was clearly lived in, but whoever occupied it wasn’t at home, and evidently hadn’t been at home all day.
“Are you certain we should be here?” Miss Sperrin asked in a hushed voice as she stepped closer to the fireplace, hugging herself. She was damp from rain, though the skies hadn’t opened up enough for her to be soaked.
As soon as Avery had that thought, the heavens burst and the rain which had been light moments before turned torrential. A flash of lightning, followed by booming thunder, broke through the awkward silence.
Avery smirked. “I believe we are left with a choice of house-breaking or standing outside in the middle of this storm. I will leave the choice to you, Miss Sperrin.”
Warmth spilled through him as Miss Sperrin burst into laughter. “I suppose house-breaking it is,” she said, continuing on toward the fireplace.
Avery made certain the cottage door was secure behind him, and he glanced out one of the front windows to assess the strength of the storm. He and Miss Sperrin had been incredibly lucky to find shelter before the worst began. A few minutes later, and they would have been soaked to the bone.
Avery was also glad to see that Miss Sperrin didn’t appear to have suffered any lasting damage in her bicycle crash. Her wrist appeared to be well on its way to recovery, judging by the way she moved it. She’d been stunned, that much had been obvious, but not so stunned that she hadn’t been able to engage in a bit of shameless flirtation with him.
She knelt in front of the fireplace now, moving some of the logs from the nearby pile as if she intended to light a fire. Between the ease of her movement and the deliberateness of her action, Avery was satisfied that she had come out of her crash with only bruises. He rather fancied the idea of exploring where those bruises might show up on her body.
“You know how to light a fire?” he asked, strolling to stand beside the fireplace. He went so far as to cross his arms and lean against the wall beside it in a rakish pose.
Miss Sperrin sent him a fetching look, her dark eyes dancing with mischief. “Of course, I do,” she said, resting the logs against each other so that they would catch easily, then stuffing the spaces with kindling. “I am not a delicate society miss, after all.” A flash of concern crossed her beautiful face, taking her smile away, much to Avery’s regret. “I hope you do not hold that against me, my lord.”
Avery could think of quite a few things that he would have liked to hold against the feisty and alluring Miss Sperrin. “If you are referring to the difference in our class,” he said, facing the issue head on, “then no. I will confess that said difference has not influenced my regard for you at all.”
Miss Sperrin blushed so fiercely that it set Avery’s heart pounding. “Thank you for your magnanimity, my lord,” she said, then underlined her gratitude by glancing up at him with one of the wickedest and most inviting glances Avery had ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of.
He wondered if she was flirting shamelessly with him as a way to seduce him, perhaps all the way into marriage. From the start, he’d had a feeling that that was what Miss Woodmont had been doing. He didn’t feel the same sense of manipulation from Miss Sperrin, though. All indications were that Miss Sperrin was genuinely taken with him, and that her flirtations were for her own enjoyment and his, not that they were a weapon she wielded to get her way.
He loved that.
“I think that, considering our dire circumstances,” he said, glancing around the cottage with mock seriousness, “we should dispense with formalities and titles for now.”
“And what does that mean to you, my lord?” Miss Sperrin asked with a cheeky, sideways grin. She found a box of matches beside the fireplace and took one out to set her handiwork alight.
“Call me Avery,” he said, well aware of the sensual purr in his voice. Two could play the flirtation game.
Whether it was the sudden flame of the fire as the logs caught or delight at his naughty demand, Miss Sperrin’s face glowed. She finished with the fire, making certain it would stay lit, then stood.
She was a good six inches shorter than him, but Avery felt as though they stood on completely equal ground as she said, “Well, Avery, if that is how you wish to proceed, then I insist you call me Maeve.”
Avery’s heart—and a baser organ—swelled. Every bit of social advice and etiquette said that he should abhor a forward woman, that he should want a fine lady who was too delicate to speak to a man as an equal, but that advice was rubbish. All those moralizing pamphlets and priggish expectations could go to hell. He liked Maeve’s moxie. He liked her flashing, brown eyes and her lithe, shapely form too. Devil though it made him, now that they were alone for an indeterminate amount of time—the storm showed absolutely no sign of letting up any time soon—he desperately wanted to seduce her.
“Tell me, Maeve,” he said as they stared at each other across the newly-lit fire, “how is it that a gem like you is still unwed?”
It was a shocking thing for him to ask, but he wanted to set the standard for their interactions then and there. He was not interested in holding back his true feelings, and he had no wish for her to hold back either. As far as he was concerned, the nature and content of Maeve’s answer to such an inappropriate question would determine if he would ask her another, life-changing question.
Maeve’s clever grin mellowed into something softer and a bit wistful. “It isn’t that I have never had an offer made to me,” she said, stepping away from the fireplace and over to the side of the cottage that served as a kitchen. She held out her hand to the stove, then set to work checking the firebox and preparing to light that fire. “I have refused two offers in the past—one when I was only eighteen because I was far too young to marry, and one just last year.”
“Last year?” Avery asked, suddenly feeling as though he wanted to find whomever that man was and wring his neck. He followed her to the stove, and as she worked to load the firebox with coal and kindling, he handed her what she needed.
Maeve glanced up at him. “I wasn’t in love with the man,” she said.
Avery shrugged. “Forgive me, but at your age, many other women would accept a proposal, whether they loved the man or not, simply to be settled.”
Maeve smiled, but there was a sad edge to it. “I could not do that to Alice,” she said quietly. “She has had a rough row to hoe, as I believe you know.” She glanced at him again as she finished setting the stove’s fire. Avery had taken up the box of matches on the sill beside the stove, and she directed him to light the fire with a gesture. “If I had accepted that offer of marriage, I wouldn’t have been able to be there for her. And Alice desperately needs someone to be her champion.”
Avery was surprised at how touching her admission was. He struck a match, then lit the stove. “Your devotion to your friend is admirable.”
“Thank you,” Maeve said, her eyes still downcast. “Sometimes I wonder….”
She let her sentence hang as she walked away from the kitchen area and back toward the fireplace. The stove would take an hour or more to be hot enough to boil water for tea—or to cook a supper, which could become
a concern, if the storm kept on the way it was—but the fireplace was warm enough to dry the rain from their clothes.
Avery followed Maeve once again, taking up a position opposite her at the fireplace. “I should mention that I have been awkwardly aware of the way Miss Woodmont has set her heart on me,” he said in a quiet voice, glancing at Maeve with a wince.
Maeve raised her head to meet his eyes, looking embarrassed. “I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious.”
Avery grinned uncomfortably. “Believe me, it is obvious.”
“I’m so sorry,” Maeve said with a wince. “You do understand her motivations for hoping, though, I trust. You know about Ryan.”
He nodded. “Her hopes are perfectly understandable. But I am afraid Miss Woodmont is chasing after a lost cause where I am concerned. While I do not personally take offense to her son, I could not, in good conscience, put any woman in a position as my countess that would subject her to the kind of scrutiny and prejudice she would inevitably encounter.”
Maeve’s face went even softer, causing Avery’s heart to race. He might not have been an expert where emotions were concerned, but he could see he’d impressed her.
“Besides,” he went on, sliding closer to her and daring to brush his fingertips across her cheek, “my heart’s interests were immediately taken elsewhere.”
He hesitated for only a moment before taking a chance and leaning toward her. Maeve took in a breath, parted her lips, then, at the last minute, pulled away. She walked away from him, heading back to the kitchen.
“What would you like for supper, Avery?” she asked, tossing a coquettish look over her shoulder, her hips swaying. “Certainly, there is enough here that we can devise a satisfying meal.”
Avery’s blood heated, and his trousers grew tight. He wanted Maeve like he’d never wanted any other woman. Few other women had turned down his kiss, then led him on with a silent promise of more.
“Can you cook as well as ride a bicycle and bring a man to his knees with just a few words?” he asked as he moved to sit against the back of the sofa that demarcated the living area of the cottage from the kitchen.
