He swallowed hard and eyed a smudge on the window. Forget the kiss, forget her hair, forget ever touching her. How hard could that be?
LUCY SHUT THE door behind Lord Huntingdon and she and Freya froze until the blur of him had passed the window. Lucy pivoted on a heel and hastened over, grasping Freya’s hands. “I did not know you knew the Earl of Henleigh.”
“What was he even doing here?” Freya asked, finally releasing the breath that she suspected she had been holding since she first stepped into Lucy’s shop.
“He offered to come here for the final fitting, can you believe it?” Lucy shook her head. “He is such a gentleman.”
“Well, I suppose he’s not terrible,” she murmured.
“What sort of story are you doing on him? Something to do with one of his lovers I would wager.” She waggled her brows.
Freya sank onto a spindly chair. How her legs had held her up for so long, she did not know. Seeing the earl after kissing him only yesterday had made her legs feel as though they were skinnier and weaker than the legs of the furniture beneath her.
“I do not think he has any lovers.”
Lucy scowled and drew out the second chair then sat opposite. “An attractive rich man like that? He must have women clamoring to be his countess.”
Freya didn’t want to think on that. She eyed the woodgrain of the table and traced the pattern with a finger. “He’s not that handsome.”
“Either he has done something truly awful or you are as blind as your dog, Freya. I see plenty of handsome nobles in my job and that man is one of the most handsome.”
“Well, if you like that sort, he is acceptable I suppose,” she muttered.
“Acceptable?” Lucy leaned in and peered at Freya. “I think you have been working too hard. I shall certainly have to hire someone else now.”
“No!” Freya snapped her head up. “You cannot afford it.”
“I will be able to soon. Just a little while longer. But if it is taking that much toll on you, I will refuse your help.”
Freya shook her head vigorously. She could not bear the thought of Lucy delaying her dreams. Just a little more money and she would be able to have a new shop and someone to assist her. Hopefully if Freya could keep her wits about her, they would both be on the rise up together. How wonderful it would be.
“I wish to keep helping you,” she assured Lucy. “I just do not like the earl much.”
Which was true. Was it not? After all, he had scolded her for simply visiting her friend and derided her writing. Just because his kisses were pleasant and his body made her stomach do funny little twirls, did not mean she liked the man.
“He’s a little stiff sometimes but seems pleasant. Will you tell me what this story is?”
Pleasant? There was that word again. It was too insipid, too mild to describe that kiss, even if she wished to keep it that way. Scorching, mind-numbing, transformative...any and all of those words worked far better.
“I believe he knows something about the disappearance of these noble women.”
“But what could he possibly know?”
“I’m not certain.” She sighed. “He evades my questions, but he was seen with one of them before she vanished, and his new sister was kidnapped shortly before her marriage to his brother. Apparently, she fought off the kidnapper.”
“Goodness, how did she fight him off?”
“The story is she attacked him with a knife.” Freya shrugged. “How many countesses do you know who could fight a man off with a knife?”
Lucy lifted her shoulders. “Certainly none of the ones I make dresses for.”
“The whole thing is odd, and I swear Lord Huntingdon knows something.”
“So you’ve been following him?”
Freya’s cheeks warmed. “I did not intend to get caught.”
“Caught by an earl, how exciting.”
“It was not exciting.” Freya stabbed a tiny floating piece of fluff to the table with one finger while her stomach gave a traitorous twirl at the memory of Lord Huntingdon’s lips against hers. “Not exciting at all.”
“He seemed rather contrite after giving you an earful. Perhaps he shall answer your questions now.”
“Doubtful,” Freya muttered. “The man is not being cooperative at all.”
“Rather like someone else I know,” Lucy said with a smile.
“Oh, Lucy, why can this not be easy? I know I have a story here and I know if I can find out what has happened to these women, this will make my career. No more silly gossip and no more men looking down their nose at me because I write about nobles bedding one another. If only I had not—” She clamped her mouth shut.
“Had not...?”
The temptation to tell Lucy burned on her tongue. To confess all about the kiss and how it distracted her, how it confused her to no end.
How it made her hungry for more.
She swallowed the admission. What a fool she would sound if she admitted they had kissed let alone the fact she wanted it to happen again. Goodness, even her closest friend would be hard pressed to believe an earl had kissed her no matter how much Lucy loved her. She was plain, poor and trying to write a story about him. Nothing about that made them a perfect match.
Freya flicked away the piece of fluff and fixed a smile upon her face. “I just regret not being firmer with him.”
“Well, I know you, Freya, and peer of the realm or not, you will get the answers you want.”
“I hope you are right.”
“When am I not?”
Freya rolled her eyes and gave her a nudge with her shoulder. “Never, of course.”
“That means I’m not wrong about the earl being handsome either.”
Freya struggled to argue with Lucy on that.
Chapter Ten
Guy couldn’t fathom quite who was following who at this point. Regardless, he couldn’t help smile when he spotted Miss Haversham and Brig. The dog had perched himself on the path and apparently had no inclination to budge, his rear firmly planted while Miss Haversham tugged on his lead. He couldn’t hear her pleading with the dog, but he saw her mouthing something like damned dog as she motioned down the path.
He followed her gaze to spy a man on horseback riding recklessly along the path, caring little for those in his way. Several people had to practically jump out of his way. He swung his gaze back to the dog and Miss Haversham. He already knew what she planned to do, the bloody foolish woman.
Before she darted forward, he raced over. The ground vibrated beneath him, the sound of the hooves hammering in his ears. He looped his arms around the dog, vaguely heard a feminine scream and rolled onto the grass as a woosh of air rushed past him.
Brig wriggled in his arms while Guy gathered his breath. He winced and released the dog as Miss Haversham rushed to his side. “Lord Huntingdon, you could have been killed!”
“The second time this week,” he murmured.
The woman was a menace. He’d never had a brush with death until meeting her, though he might have exaggerated his injuries upon falling into the lake. The truth was, he’d rather enjoyed her concern over him.
He eased himself from the ground, waved away her offered hand and brushed the grass from his jacket. He looked in the direction of the rider, but Guy suspected the chap hadn’t even noticed the dog or his unexpected acrobatics. He winced and pressed a hand to the back of his neck. He was too old for this nonsense.
“Are you hurt?”
The concern in her gaze did something odd to his insides as though they had suddenly turned to liquid. He should not like it, but he was hugely tempted to feign injury and see if he could persuade her to assist him home. Then he could invite her in and have her tend to him and—
No. He had come to apologize. Nothing more. Not repeat the kiss. Not have her touch him. Not feel her body against his. All those things would lead to him wanting more and he simply couldn’t have more. He had resigned himself to that fact. He’d remain a virgin forever than
ks to his ridiculous size and he’d made his peace with that after Amelia.
“I’m well.”
She put a hand to his arm, and he bit back a groan. If he didn’t stop acting like a damned virgin, he’d be in trouble. The mere touch of a hand to his arm shouldn’t have any sort of impact upon him. But, then, maybe it was more to do with the owner of the hand. So much of him wished to see her like he had seen her at the pond, with ridiculously long hair in wet ringlets trailing down her waist and her dress clinging to a small waist and quite generous hips.
“Oh. Your coat.” She touched the seam and prodded a finger through. He flinched when she connected with his side.
“Well, that’s not going to help,” he grumbled.
“That’s not your new one, is it?”
“Yes,” he said tightly.
“Oh no. I’m so, so sorry.”
He eyed the dog who sat placidly on the grass, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He envied Brig somewhat. It must be nice to be so oblivious. “I take it he is done for the day.”
“We scarcely walked unfortunately but we actually have sunshine today. I couldn’t let him miss out on that.”
“So you carried him here?”
She kicked a few blades of grass. “Only most of the way.”
“Good God, woman.”
Miss Haversham’s eyes widened. “What?”
He shook his head, unable to utter what he was thinking. She was either the daftest woman he’d ever met or the kindest. Maybe a combination of both. Underneath that determined exterior, beat the soft heart of a woman who helped out at her friend’s business and looked after sick parents and carried her dog to the park and back every day.
He couldn’t help wonder if there might be room in there for him, somehow.
Preposterous. He needed this to end. Now. Send her on her way, never risk humiliating himself in front of a woman ever again and ensure the secrecy of The Kidnap Club remained.
He waved a hand. “I just came to apologize.”
“Oh?”
“For yesterday. I made an assumption and I was wrong.”
“I really didn’t know you were going to be there, my lord.”
He nodded. “I realize that. That’s why I sought you out.”
“I see.”
“I am sorry for accusing you. You might understand why, though.”
Miss Haversham lifted her chin. “I cannot imagine what you mean.”
“So hiding in bushes and standing in muddy puddles brings nothing to mind?”
Her lips quirked a little. “I am afraid you are talking in riddles, my lord.”
Christ, the woman was bold. And fool that he was, he liked it.
A little furrow appeared between her brows and she shifted slightly, ducking behind him. He frowned. “What on earth…?”
She gripped his arms. “Do not move,” she ordered, her knees bent so she crouched low.
“But—”
“Blast,” she muttered. She lifted a hand and waved to someone behind him.
Guy twisted to view a fashionably dressed gentleman making his way over to them. He tipped his hat to Miss Haversham while Guy eyed him closely. His garments were well made but a little gaudy for his tastes. The word dandy came to mind. Sandy-colored hair curved down the sides of his face and Guy suspected the man had little problems garnering the attention of women.
But did he garner Miss Haversham’s attention?
He glanced back at her. She smiled generously and dipped her head in greeting to the man.
Guy hated him.
FREYA’S CHEEKS HURT already from the false smile. She loathed Simeon Curtis. The man pretended to be lovely to her, but she knew he had tried to persuade the editor to rid the newspaper of her. She’d overheard him complaining of the London Chronicle becoming some fluffy feminine newspaper, despite the fact that many had gossip columns, and while she did not enjoy writing the column, she was darn good at it. Not to mention, several newspapers had women writing for them—usually under pseudonyms—but they were still popular. Simeon hated women unless they were in his bed and thought himself utterly superior to the opposite sex.
“Will you not introduce me?”
Freya sucked in a breath at his boldness but conceded. The best way to deal with men like Simeon was to be polite but cold and send him on his way. If she argued with him or pointed out his flaws, he went into flat denial and somehow made her look like the bad person. “Forgive me. Lord Huntingdon, this is Mr. Simeon Curtis. He writes for the London Chronicle.” She gestured to Simeon. “And this is Lord Huntingdon, the Earl of Henleigh.”
Simeon bowed deeply. “I thought I recognized you, my lord. Please do not tell me Freya has taken to pestering you directly for her column?”
“Not at all,” Lord Huntingdon said stiffly.
Freya ground her jaw at the use of her first name.
“If it were up to me, we wouldn’t even have that column.”
“I am sure Lord Huntingdon would agree with you, Simeon, but we must give the readers what they want. I cannot recall how many letters I have had in the past week about it.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “A few more than you I imagine.”
Simeon’s lips flattened into a straight line, and Freya regretted her words. She refused to be intimidated by him, but she did not have the time to be making enemies at the newspaper and bickering with silly little men was beyond her.
Usually.
Usually he did not try to make a fool of her in front of the earl.
“Men do not have the time to waste writing letters, unfortunately, or else I should have received a lot more,” Simeon muttered.
“What was your most recent story, Mr. Curtis?” Lord Huntingdon enquired.
He lifted his chin, looking straight down his nose at the earl. Freya nearly shook her head at his boldness.
“A piece on marine insurance and what an investment it shall be.”
“Oh yes. I believe I cast my gaze over it. I cannot really recall the content, though, I am afraid.”
Simeon’s cheeks reddened slightly but he recovered swiftly. “I am certain many of my stories would be of interest to you, my lord. Perhaps you will allow me to send them to you?”
“I rather think not. I hardly have any leisure time, what with being an earl and all that. You know how it is.”
Freya bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from laughing aloud. Simeon looked as though he might explode, the veins in his neck growing stark and the redness spreading downward and vanishing underneath his cravat.
“Of course, of course.” He gestured to Freya. “No doubt Freya is taking up much of your time too. Perhaps you would like to join me for a walk?” He offered her an arm. “We can leave Lord Huntingdon to his busy schedule then.”
“I am afraid she is accompanying me.” Lord Huntingdon held out his arm.
She skipped her gaze between the two of them. What was happening here?
“Miss Haversham?” Simeon prompted.
She jerked into action, taking Lord Huntingdon’s arm. “Forgive me, Simeon, but the earl and I are incredibly busy. Good luck with your latest little story.” She smiled sweetly.
Simeon’s nostrils flared then he straightened his shoulders and tipped his hat. “Good day to you both.”
Lord Huntingdon did not bother responding and led her away with a tug at her arm. Thankfully Brig understood their need to escape and ambled along beside them until they reached a bridge that crossed the river. Freya loosened her arm from the earl’s. “I think we can stop now. He’s most certainly not following us.”
“I rather thought we were taking a walk.” He gestured to the path over the other side of the river.
“I thought we were escaping Mr. Curtis.”
A dark brow rose. “Did you wish to escape him?”
“Of course! The man is insufferable.”
“He was flirting with you.”
“Flirting?”
“Yes, it’s
something men do when they like a woman,” he intoned.
“I understand what flirting is, but Simeon was not flirting with me.”
“No? So all that Freya business.” He mimicked Simeon’s tones. “And offering to walk with you?”
“In case you did not notice, he derided my writing and suggested I should not be working at the newspaper at all.”
He scowled. “Did he?”
“Yes!” She shook her head. How on earth did he misconstrue all of that for flirting? “He only calls me Freya because he likes to demean me, and he was hoping you would gladly send me on my way.”
“I did not like it one jot,” he muttered.
“Neither did I.”
“The man is an ass.”
She nodded. “Thank you for not sending me off with him, by the way.”
“I would not trust him with my spinster aunt.”
“Well, I do not suppose I would either.”
He gave her a look. “Aunt Edith has survived three husbands.”
“He’s quite insufferable but not immortal, Lord Huntingdon.”
“If he calls you Freya again, I shall gladly call him out.”
“Goodness, that’s a little extreme.”
His scowl deepened. “Men like that need to be taught a lesson.”
“I should think being dismissed by the Earl of Henleigh was enough. He doesn’t need a bullet hole in his chest too.”
He sighed and offered her his arm again. “Does it make up for yesterday at least?”
“You humiliating Simeon in exchange for your false accusations?” She pretended to ponder the matter. “I suppose so.”
Freya hesitated taking his arm but only briefly. She should not really. Far better for her to still be annoyed at him and focus on her story. But he had come to her rescue twice today so she could hardly deny him. She took his arm and tried not to think about how pleasant it was to be strolling around the park on the arm of this handsome gentleman.
Tried and utterly, utterly failed.
Chapter Eleven
“You really rescued Freya’s dog?” The seamstress shook her head, her lips curving while she shoved pins into the seam of his coat.
Taking the Spinster (The Kidnap Club Book 3) Page 7
