“I understand. One cannot be expected to continue on as one did before, after such a catastrophe. I would never think you maudlin.”
A meadowlark trilled, its cheerful call echoing in the distance. Alice felt like singing along. She felt lighter, somehow, as though a rock that had been pressing on her chest was suddenly lifted. It had been such a burden, carrying the memory of Adelaide silently and alone. She had not realized how much she’d needed to share her sister’s memory with someone. She had been so very lonely, with nothing but a ghost and dreams of revenge to occupy her mind.
Now she had a friend.
Her mind drifted back to the daffodils, and her smile widened.
And yes, just possibly, two…
Chapter Twenty-Five
Alice was by temperament an early riser. She had always awoken with the first rays of dawn, much to the consternation of her sister and mother. Waking early had the advantage of freedom—she could indulge in whatever suited her fancy, for there was no one else awake to care and lecture. In Northumberland, she had used the time to ride her horse, and in London she had spent the time reading.
In Hampshire, she decided to spend the time snooping.
Lord Abingdon may have asked her to this house party so she might seek out his daffodils, but she had accepted the invitation for the sole purpose of seeking out the whereabouts of his treacherous brother.
Did she feel guilty about taking ruthless advantage of Abingdon’s kindness for such nefarious purpose? Possibly. Fine, yes, she did. But someone had once said something about the end of an enterprise justifying the means, and avenging Adelaide’s cruel fate was far more important than qualms over using an innocent to further that goal.
No matter how much her conscience pricked.
She felt vaguely like a criminal the first time she rifled through the papers in Lord Wintham’s private study. Worse, she was an inept criminal, for she found nothing useful. When the household finally began to stir, she crept back to her room.
Breakfast, at least, was…entertaining. The food was of the usual sort—tea, toast and jam, sausages, bacon, eggs, and more tea—delicious, but not entertaining. The room itself, likewise, was lovely, in shades of creamy yellow and pale green, but not what one would call entertaining. No, the entertainment was provided by persons named Dillingham, Wessex, and Eliza.
Alice happily munched on her toast. She so enjoyed a good farce.
“White, you see, pairs well with black. But brown requires off-white if it is to be shown to its true advantage,” Dillingham explained earnestly. “Just a shade or two south of cream.”
Eliza’s face was impassive. “Oh, yes, just so.”
Anyone would have thought she was sincerely interested in Dillingham’s analysis of the proper color pairings of gentleman’s attire. But Alice noticed the miniscule twitch of her right eyelid and grinned.
Wessex, who sat to Eliza’s other side, did not grin. He glowered.
That just made Alice grin all the more.
“Dare I ask what has you so amused, Miss Bursnell?”
The rough velvet of Lord Abingdon’s voice gave her the tiniest ping of pleasure. “You may, but I would not be so indelicate as to answer. Watch for a moment, and perhaps you will also find a reason to be amused.”
He hiked an eyebrow. “How intriguing.” He heaped a plate with food and sat down at the table next to her to watch.
She poured him a cup of tea, added milk, no sugar, and passed it to him. He took it but did not drink, instead staring down at the pale brown liquid with a curious expression. Like a child who was given a puppy on Christmas morning—overjoyed, but somewhat suspicious that it might bite him.
Something stabbed in her chest. “Did you not want tea, my lord?”
He looked confused by the question. “I—” He was, after all, English. His brow furrowed.
“Lord Abingdon? You are not watching,” she chided gently.
“What? Oh, yes.” He looked up from the perplexing tea and fixed his attention on the guests milling about the breakfast room.
He looked tired. What kept him from sleep?
She watched his gaze roam casually about the room, flitting from face to face before returning sharply to Wessex with yet another puzzled frown. He drank his tea. His frown smoothed. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile. Then he laughed outright, though he did his best to cover it.
He turned to her, his lips twisted comically.
“Yes, exactly,” she murmured over the rim of her teacup. They were both being very naughty.
Eliza was turned squarely to face Dillingham, shutting Wessex out of the conversation completely—as much as Wessex could ever be shut out from anything. “Tell me, sir, do you think pink could ever pair with red?”
Wessex snorted derisively. “Oh, please—”
“Now, now. Let’s not be too hasty. I wonder if…” Dillingham tapped his chin thoughtfully, clearly determined to give the matter its due consideration. “Yes, I think it might do. One would have to be extremely cautious in selecting the exact shade of red to carry it off.”
Eliza leaned forward with round blue eyes. “Do you?”
Alice suppressed a giggle. Watching Eliza feign interest in the minutiae of men’s fashion and Wessex feign apathy—with far less success—toward Eliza’s interest in Dillingham was the most fun she had had since…well…since she had stumbled on a half-naked man in the daffodils.
Even now that memory brought heat to her cheeks.
But not unpleasantly so.
“It is most satisfying to see Wessex so utterly discomfited by a baronet,” Lord Abingdon muttered. “I would walk from one end of London to the other just for this.”
Ha!
She took a demure sip of tea. “Or perhaps from Drury Theater to St. James’s?”
His gaze snapped to her. “Pardon?”
“To be sure, it is no great distance, although I once heard it described otherwise. Why, you would have to walk there and back again four times to make eight kilometers.”
He rubbed his cheek. He did that, she’d noticed, when he was anxious.
Again, she felt the slight stabbing in her heart.
She ignored it. “Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth again.” She waved her arm to and fro in the air as she spoke. “Really, it would make one quite dizzy.”
He looked down at his plate. She sipped her tea.
Finally, he asked, “Are you angry with me, Miss Bursnell?”
She pierced a bit of sausage with her fork. “No.”
“No?”
“Good heavens, what kind of man would you be if you let me traipse even one kilometer through London in the middle of the night? In satin slippers, no less.”
He blinked. “Quite right.”
“Nevertheless, you should be prepared for retaliation. More tea?”
“Yes, thank— W-what?” he stammered.
She made a soft clucking sound with her tongue. “You were well aware I have no sense of direction. I told you my weakness in confidence, my lord, and you used it against me. Surely, you do not expect me to let that pass?” She poured the tea.
“What— Um. What are you going to do?” he asked warily.
She smiled sweetly. “Why, discover your weakness and use it against you.”
He gaped at her. Then he closed his jaw, only for it to drop open again.
She tapped her fingers on the table in anticipation. Her smile widened. “This will be such fun. I do enjoy a new challenge. It is so thrilling, don’t you think?”
“No.”
She laughed merrily. “I meant thrilling for me. First, though, I must learn your weakness, since I do not know it already.”
His expression shifted slightly, and he leaned forward, his voice low. “Do you not?”
She froze. Slowly, she raised her gaze to his. Why, why, why was he looking at her like that? As though she— As if he— Well. She did not know what. She only knew it m
ade her skin feel itchy and prickly and hot.
Then he looked away.
And that was worse.
The room spun dizzily around her, and she reached desperately for the one thing that still made sense in her world. Her hand shook as she brought the teacup to her lips.
“Ah, good morning, Miss Bursnell. Lord Abingdon.” Colonel Kent bowed. “May I join you?”
She smiled and thanked the heavens for the interruption. “It would be a pleasure.”
Lord Abingdon said nothing.
“Miss Bursnell, I seem to recall you are an equine enthusiast. Would you care to walk over to the stables after you finish your breakfast?”
“I should like nothing better. I am done now, but please take your time.”
“Oh, I ate ages ago. I keep country hours, you know.” He stood and offered his arm. “Shall we?”
She took it. “We shall. Let me tell my maid to follow us.”
She refused to look back.
She didn’t want to ponder the look of recrimination on Lord Abingdon’s face.
Or had it been…hurt?
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next morning, Alice had a strong hankering for daffodils. Was anything so lovely as the golden trumpets in the hazy shimmer of dawn? She thought not. So, of the ten hours of daylight during which she might wander, she chose the first. She donned her blue pelisse and a straw bonnet, and set off in the direction of the lake.
The morning was still and quiet, save the calls of birds and humming crickets. Certainly, there was no half-naked viscount running circles around the lake.
Not that she expected there would be.
She was not disappointed. Not at all.
She raised her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the rising sun as she looked about the lake. No, there was no man. But there was an odd, lumpish pile of something. She walked closer to investigate and discovered a white linen shirt, a towel, and a flask of water—just the sort of things a man would need if he were to go for a morning run.
She looked about again, but saw no trace of Abingdon. Not on land, nor in the water.
The back of her neck prickled. Something did not feel right.
“Lord Abingdon?” she called tentatively. Then, louder, “Lord Abingdon!”
“Here,” came the muffled return.
She moved toward the sound. “Where?”
“Down here.”
She scanned the path anxiously until her eyes landed on a dark hole. She gasped and hurried forward. When she reached the hole, she knelt by the rim and peered down. “Lord Abingdon! Good heavens!”
He looked up at her with wide eyes and a pale face. “Miss Bursnell. I thought it was your voice. Hello. It’s a lovely morning, is it not?”
She choked back a laugh. The man was ridiculous, making pleasantries while clearly stuck in some kind of trap. “Are you all right?”
“I believe so. My ankle is injured, and this blasted hole is too deep to pull myself out of, but I am all in one piece.”
She got to her feet. “I will go fetch help.”
“I would rather you didn’t,” came the swift reply.
She paused in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”
“I would rather not wait here alone, is what I mean.” He hesitated, then explained, “The hole was hidden, covered over with cloth and dirt, and the walls are unnaturally slick.”
She knitted her brow. The excavation was just large enough for an unsuspecting man to fall into—and it had been dug smack in the middle of Abingdon’s running path. It was so deep she could not even see the bottom in the darkness. The walls did seem to be coated with some type of slippery oil, making a climb out nearly impossible. The whole design was certainly deliberate, which meant that whoever had made it would likely return for their prey.
Lord Abingdon would not wish to be trapped there, helpless, when he did.
“I see.”
“Yes, I thought you might.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Well, how the devil am I to get you out?”
Her unladylike language did not seem to bother him in the slightest. “You told me once that you were fond of puzzles, did you not? You will think of something.”
“Your faith in me is touching.” Her tone was sarcastic, but no sooner had the words left her lips than she was casting about for ideas. His faith was touching—and inspiring. He believed she would think of something, so she jolly well would.
“How far up can you reach?” she asked.
He stretched his arms as far up as he could to demonstrate. His fingertips barely grazed the top edge of the hole.
“Not far enough for me to pull you out. Hmm.”
He laughed. “Even if you could get a good grip on my arms, I don’t think you could pull me out. I’m a full-size man.”
“Oversize, I’d say.”
He laughed again. She took this as a good sign. The danger could not be too great if he could still laugh.
She looked around again. She could use her pelisse as a rope, but there was no tree or log nearby to tie it to. She would still have to pull him up, or his weight would pull her down. If only he could get a toehold, he could scramble up a bit…but the walls of the hole were slick and smooth, and his ankle was injured. She kicked a rock in frustration, sending it sailing to the lake.
And that gave her an idea.
She ran to the lake, grabbed four fist-sized, long but flattish rocks, and returned to him. When she looked down, his face was pale and pinched, his eyes closed. He was clearly in pain. She cleared her throat. His eyes opened.
“Do you think you are up for some digging of your own?” she asked.
He smiled slightly. “Are you suggesting I tunnel my way back home?”
“No. I’m suggesting you jam a few rocks in the wall so you can climb out.” She handed him the first rock. “Make a staircase, of sorts.”
He took the rocks one by one and worked quickly, creating four steps. The wall was too sheer and slippery to allow him to climb straight out, so she removed her pelisse and handed him one end, holding the other secure.
“You will have to put weight on your ankle, I’m afraid. Should I climb down and help you?”
“You will do no such thing. Then we would both be stuck in this damn hole, for who knows how long.”
“Eliza and Wessex would find us eventually.”
“Unless someone else did first.”
“Ah, yes.” That wasn’t worth risking. Whoever did this was clearly unhinged. “Right, then. I’m ready.”
She heard him grunt as he stepped on his sore ankle, and moments later he lay sprawled next to her in the dirt, breathing hard. Then he scrambled awkwardly to his feet, pulling her up with him so hard that she landed against his chest with a soft thud.
His bare chest.
She let out a startled gasp and pressed a hand against him to steady herself. Even through her glove she could feel the springiness of the coppery hair and the taught muscles beneath. She could feel his heat.
Blood rushed to her face.
She told herself to step back, but instead found her fingers curling in that delightful, springy hair. “You should let me look at your ankle.”
He shook his head. “No time for that. We must hurry. May I lean on you? I need assistance walking.”
“Wait a moment.” She grabbed his shirt and threw it at him. “Put this on.”
He did as he was told with only a grunt of protest. “I may be shot in the back for the delay, but at least I will die fully clothed.”
“I am not going to wrap my arms around a half-naked man, no matter how great the danger.”
Or the temptation.
She knew how that could end.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she wrapped hers around his waist. She fit snugly against him in the crook of his arm. He stumbled slightly, and she tightened her grasp.
His linen shirt was not nearly thick enough. She could feel every contraction
of his muscles, every movement of his bones, even through the layers of his shirt and her dress.
“Damn,” she muttered, searching desperately for another layer. “I forgot my pelisse.” It was still lying in the dirt by the hole, utterly useless. She looked at him sideways. “Pardon my language, my lord.”
“Nonsense. If one cannot use foul language in a situation such as this, foul language might as well not exist. Your language is nothing compared to what I said when I fell in that hole, let me assure you.”
She winced. “You must have been terrified.”
“Do you know…I wasn’t,” he said thoughtfully. He sounded rather surprised by the knowledge. “I should have been.” He paused. “I remember thinking, No matter. Miss Bursnell will find me.”
She turned to him, startled. Had he expected she would seek him out? “Pardon?”
“Not that I had any idea you would take an early walk. You must have wanted to see the daffodils again,” he mused. “But it seems to me that every time I find myself in an embarrassing fix, you are always on hand to witness it. So, naturally, you would be the one to find me in this morning’s predicament.”
She laughed in relief. “Strangely, I do seem to have a knack for it, my lord.”
“So, I was not scared, because I knew you would come. It was a very comforting thought because I knew if you came, you would fix everything.”
His words made her glow. She was ridiculously pleased by the compliment. All her life people had said, “Oh, Alice,” in disapproving tones as she got into one scrape after another. No one except Adelaide had given much thought to how she had managed to get herself out of those very same scrapes, much less thought well of her for doing so.
Adelaide was the only scrape she hadn’t been able to fix.
Yet.
She tightened her grip around Abingdon.
He might be merely her means to achieve that end. But she would not let him fall.
Not until he’d served his purpose.
After that, once he’d discovered what she was about… Well, she was fairly certain no more compliments would be forthcoming.
Twice as Wicked Page 10
