“Very good, my lord.“
Appearing as if he were in the finest dining room, Calvert efficiently packed the platters into a basket before returning for the plates and crystal. Then, with a discretion that Simon could only appreciate, he returned to the carriage nearly hidden behind a distant bush.
Not nearly as pleased with the turn of events as Simon, Claire shifted uneasily.
“Are we not leaving?”
“As I said, there is no hurry.” His hand slowly rose to tug the ribbons of her bonnet. Before she could protest, he had plucked the satin concoction from her dark curls and tossed it onto the blanket. “Do you recall how I held you in my arms during our night together?”
A flood of color warmed her cheeks. “I recall very little, sir. I was barely twelve.”
His gaze dropped to her enticing mouth as he leaned forward.
“Shall I refresh your memory?”
“Lord Challmond . . . Simon,” she protested, her hands rising to press against his chest.
He felt an unfamiliar warmth burst through his heart. “I like the sound of my name upon your lips,” he breathed. Gads, this woman was a desirable minx!
Her eyes dark with emotion, she sucked in a sharp breath. A delectable pulse leapt at the edge of her mouth, revealing that she was far from indifferent to his nearness.
“Stop this foolishness at once,” she commanded in a breathy voice.
“But why?” His hand moved to stroke her satin-smooth cheek. “Such . . . foolishness can be a delightful means of passing a spring day.”
For a moment her lips parted, almost as if in invitation, then, seeming to gather her senses, she abruptly stiffened.
“I have already warned you, my lord.”
“Ah, yes, that you would bloody my nose.”
“Yes,” she gritted out.
His eyes danced with wicked pleasure. “Perhaps it would be worth a bloody nose or two.”
“Oh . . .”
Her protest was cut short as he claimed her mouth in a possessive kiss. For a moment she stiffened, then her lips melted beneath his demand and he could taste the lingering sweetness of strawberries. Simon moaned in satisfaction, gathering her close to his chest. It had been far too long since their last kiss, he thought as his pulse quickened. Odd, considering that he never longed for the practiced seduction of his various mistresses with such intensity. Why Claire’s seductive innocence would prove so enticing was a thought he refused to dwell upon.
Feeling the heat surge through his body, Simon deepened the kiss, then, with a restless need, he trailed his mouth over the line of her jaw and down the soft curve of her neck.
Damn, but this woman stirred his passions.
Lost in the mounting sensations, Simon barely noted the distant shout or the sudden cry that echoed through the trees. Indeed, his only thought was to continue the delightful task of nibbling the satin skin of her neck, when Claire abruptly pulled away.
“Oh . . .” she said for the second time.
“Oh, indeed,” Simon murmured, preparing to claim her lips in another kiss, when her hands firmly pushed against his chest.
“Simon, halt that,” she insisted, struggling to her feet despite his protest. “We must help that poor little boy.”
Six
Finding it ridiculously difficult to keep her knees from buckling, Claire attempted to concentrate on the ragtag boy struggling to free himself from the grip of the grim-faced butler.
La, what was the matter with her, she wondered in disbelief.
The gentleman was a shameless seducer. What other reason could there be for his lavish picnic and well-practiced kisses?
But like the most susceptible simpleton, Claire had been unable to resist the temptation. There had been something enticing in the thought of a gentleman going to such an effort for her pleasure. And as far as his kisses . . . well, there was little point in denying that they created the most delicious sensations. Or that she had done nothing to avoid his advances.
Witless fool, she chastised herself. Wasn’t she the one who adamantly insisted that she was above such weakness? That she possessed a fate that did not include frivolous society or flirtations with gentlemen, no matter how absurdly charming they might be?
So why had it been only the outraged cry of a young boy that had brought her to her senses?
The disturbing question was thankfully brushed aside as Simon rose to his feet and regarded his butler with raised brows.
“Good God, Calvert, what is about?”
Holding the struggling child by the collar of his filthy shirt, Calvert frowned with deep disapproval.
“This young scamp was caught attempting to lift your silver, my lord.”
“The devil, you say,” Simon growled. “Is that true?”
The thin face with too-large ears and covered with dirt twisted with fear.
“I t’ain’t done nothing.”
The butler gave him a shake. “I caught him with the basket in his hand, my lord.”
Simon took a step forward. “Do you know the penalty for theft, young lad?”
“I said I t’ain’t done nothing.”
“Shall I take him to the magistrate, my lord?” the butler demanded.
“No . . .”
The lad struggled even harder, tears coming to his eyes. Claire felt her heart twist with compassion. Poor child. He was obviously terrified.
“Wait,” she commanded, moving toward the tiny thief and bending down beside him. Then, as he reluctantly calmed his attempts to free himself from the relentless Calvert, she offered him a coaxing smile.
“What is your name?”
There was a pause before he gave a loud sniff. “Harry.”
“Harry, there is no need to be frightened,” she soothed. “We will not harm you.”
Grubby fingers rose to scrub the tears from the freckled face. The effort only smeared the dirt in a pitiful fashion.
“I t’ain’t no thief.”
“Of course you are not.”
The butler gave a choked exclamation, clearly outraged by the implication that he was lying.
“My lord,” he protested.
Simon moved to tower above them, his massive frame making the lad tense in alarm. “Claire, I think you should leave this matter to Calvert.”
“No, don’t let them take me to the magistrate,” the youngster squawked, turning toward his only friend in panic. “They’ll hang me fer sure.”
Claire longed to sweep the child into her arms and assure him that everything would be fine. What should a young boy know of the hangman? Instead, she flashed Simon an annoyed glare.
“No one is going to hand you over to the magistrate. Not if you tell the truth.”
“Fah,” Simon muttered, only to be rewarded with another glare.
“Did you have the basket?” she softly demanded.
Harry lowered his gaze, clearly torn between the fear of the hangman’s noose and Claire‘s persuasive urgings. At last he lifted his head.
“Aye.“
“There, you see?” Calvert breathed in righteous indignation.
“But I t’ain’t wanting no silver,” Harry denied.
Claire smiled with gentle understanding. “You had the basket because you were hungry, did you not?”
Harry covertly glanced at the servant holding him prisoner. He was no doubt painfully aware he could be hung as easily for a scrap of food as a candelabrum.
“Aye.“
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Two days ago.“
Two days? Claire experienced a surge of anger. Who would allow a mere child to go without food for such a length of time?
“Calvert, would you please retrieve the basket and bring it here?” she commanded.
The butler frowned as he glanced at the silent earl. “My lord?”
Without allowing his gaze to stray from Claire’s expressive countenance, he waved a hand toward the carriage. With obvious reluctance the
servant loosened his hold on the boy and backed toward the carriage, clearly prepared to rush back at the first hint of trouble.
Ignoring both Calvert and Simon, Claire regarded the boy shifting his feet in a nervous fashion.
“Where do you live?”
The boy’s wariness only deepened. “About”
“Have you run away?”
The eyes widened in fear. “I t’ain’t going back. I’d ruther be hung.” Claire caught her breath. Rather be hung than return home? How dreadful.
“Back where?” she gently demanded, knowing she must possess all the facts if she were to help him.
A trembling lip jutted out as if he were going to refuse to answer, then Calvert returned with the basket of food and his resolve wavered. He was clearly starving.
Taking the basket, Claire lifted out a platter of pheasant. With a sudden lunge the lad grasped one of the delectable birds and began stuffing it into his mouth.
“The smithy,” he retorted with his mouth full.
With deliberate stealth Calvert inched his way past the boy to stand at the side of Lord Challmond.
“Shall I fetch the sheriff?” he demanded in low tones.
“No.” Rising to her feet, Claire turned to face the butler and Lord Challmond with fierce determination. “You cannot punish a .child for being hungry.”
Emerald eyes carefully studied her flushed countenance with seeming fascination, then Simon gave a faint shrug.
“We have discovered where he belongs. He needs to be returned to his guardian.” He paused with a lift of his auburn brows. “Unless you propose to leave him out here to fend for himself?”
“Certainly not. Nor do I intend to hand him over to the guardians who have terrified him into fleeing.” Her hands landed on her hips in a familiar motion. “Surely even you can see that he has been ill treated?”
Simon studied the too-thin face and unmistakable welts from a whip on his bony arms. A grimace marred his handsome features.
“Then, what do you suggest?”
Claire considered for only a moment. “I shall take him to the orphanage. He shall be fed and schooled with no fear of being beaten.”
Not surprisingly Simon frowned at her scheme. Young boys being sold into apprenticeship was an established practice. It provided a craftsman with much-needed labor and trained the lad in a profitable trade. In the eyes of the Crown the boy was the property of the blacksmith, and her interference would only create trouble for her and the boy.
“And when the smithy discovers his whereabouts?” he demanded.
As usual, Claire had given little thought beyond the immediate future. She raised her hands in an impatient movement.
“We shall decide that when the time arrives.”
Their gazes locked for a moment as he probed the depths of her determination. Then, obviously sensing she would not give sway, he turned to cast his butler a resigned glance.
“Calvert, you may leave. Miss Blakewell and l will take the lad to the orphanage.”
“But, my lord . . .” With an effort Calvert swallowed his protest and offered a stiff bow.
“Very well.”
Rigid with disapproval, the servant reached down to retrieve the blanket from the ground, then, collecting the forgotten violinist, he climbed into the carriage. A waiting groom urged the horses down the narrow path.
Claire slowly turned toward the gentleman at her side. Strangely her usual need to keep him at a prickly distance was melted by a sudden warmth.
“There is no need to trouble yourself, my lord. l am perfectly capable of walking the boy to the orphanage myself,” she forced herself to say.
“I insist.” That devilish grin returned. “And l do have a name, Claire. It is Simon.”
Claire hesitated only a moment. “Thank you . . . Simon.”
* * *
Two hours later Simon’s groom pulled the carriage to a halt in front of Blakewell Manor. Simon could not help but breathe a sigh of relief.
Who the devil would have suspected that one small imp could prove to be so troublesome?
First had been the simple task of coaxing him into the carriage. Harry had maintained a firm believe that adults were not to be trusted. Any plea for him to place himself in their care was met with a fierce refusal. It was only when Claire had induced him into viewing the elegant carriage had he at last given in. It was obvious his desire to ride in such an impressive equipage had overcome his natural fear.
But even after placing the boy into the carriage, Simon’s troubles were far from over. With unnerving speed Harry had climbed about the carriage, peering over the edge, bouncing upon the seats, and even attempting to climb next to the groom before Simon had firmly clamped him onto his lap. He had thought that he had heard the woman next to him stifle a giggle, but he had been far too occupied with the wiggling demon to notice.
Then, arriving at the orphanage, Simon had been forced to physically carry the terrified Harry into the refurbished monastery. Thankfully an efficient, kind-faced lady had soon taken charge of the child and with an ease he could only envy had managed to coax the boy into following her to the kitchen. Relieved to have his burden lifted, Simon prepared to leave, only to be outmaneuvered by the devious Miss Blakewell, who insisted he view the establishment from the attics to the cellars, introducing a bevy of well-scrubbed children and a handful of staff. She had also ensured that he promised a ludicrously large donation before allowing him to return to the carriage.
Now he could only smile in rueful resignation. His carriage was marred with grubby hand-prints, his boots were scuffed, and he had no doubt that his toes were bruised. Hardly the romantic afternoon of seduction he had so carefully planned.
Still, he discovered that he did not regret his day spent with Claire. For the first time since his return he had been allowed to glimpse the tender, kindhearted girl whom he had known· as a young lad.
Stepping out of the carriage, Simon turned about to assist Claire down. Amazingly she did not snatch her hand free the moment she was safely upon the courtyard and instead, glanced up with a faint smile.
“Thank you, Simon. You were very good to Harry.”
He wisely chose not to reveal that the young scamp had been fortunate not to be tossed over the side of the carriage.
“It was nothing.”
“And I am very sorry about your boots.”
Simon heaved a rueful sigh. “Not nearly as sorry as my valet is bound to be. He takes each scuff as a personal insult.”
“Perhaps he will be more understanding when he realizes the wonderful deed you were performing.”
Simon gave a sudden laugh, well able to imagine the deep shock to his valet. “He is more likely to douse me with laudanum in fear I have developed a brain fever.”
She lifted her brows, although Simon did not miss the hint of amusement in the depths of her magnificent eyes.
“You do not often perform good deeds?”
“None that involve thieving orphans and innocent maidens,” he informed her in dry tones.
An expression of satisfaction settled on her delicate countenance.
“Then perhaps you will not be so eager for a picnic on the next occasion.”
“On the contrary. I am most eager. We were, after all, interrupted at a most inopportune moment.”
With a deliberate motion he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the slender fingers. He cursed the soft kid gloves that kept him from feeling the warmth of her skin.
Eyes wide, Claire snatched her hand from his intimate grasp.
“My lord,” she protested.
“Simon,” he corrected her.
“I must go.”
“Wait.” He blocked her retreat with his large form. “Will you ride with me tomorrow?”
“I fear that I must help Father with his accounts.”
“That cannot take the entire day.”
“And I arrange the flowers at the church tomorrow. “
“We can go
in the afternoon,” he insisted.
She paused, clearly longing to refuse, then, turning to glance at the large manor house, she gave a reluctant nod of her head.
“Very well,” she said in grudging tones. “That would be lovely.”
Simon narrowed his gaze, a stab of suspicion piercing his heart.
Why, the shameless vixen!
She was still clearly determined to use him for her own mysterious purpose.
Well, he would teach her not to trifle with a gentleman, he acknowledged. Eventually he would discover the reasons for her strange behavior, and in the meantime he would sweep her off her feet with his irresistible charm.
A smile of anticipation curved his lips as he offered an elegant bow.
“Until tomorrow, my dear.”
Climbing back into the carriage, Simon gave his groom the signal to proceed, and with a smooth jolt they were sweeping out of the courtyard and along the short path to Westwood Park. His thoughts lingered on the unpredictable Miss Blakewell and how best to set about his plot of seduction.
It would not be easy, he thought with a rueful shrug. His picnic had been meant to melt her resistance and urge her to confess her devious scheme. Unfortunately she was clearly unimpressed with the more obvious romantic ploys, while he had been all too susceptible to the lure of her innocent kisses.
He would clearly have to be very, very clever.
Still brooding on a variety of plots as they arrived at Westwood Park, Simon climbed down and ordered his groom to change horses and return to the courtyard. Then, striding into the foyer, he made his way to the library, where he crossed to the Sheridan desk and pulled out a leather sack containing several pound notes. He was on the point of leaving when the familiar form of Locky entered the room.
“Well, well, Challmond,” Locky drawled.
Simon turned to meet his friend’s piercing scrutiny with a mild lift of his brows.
“Yes?”
“I just heard the most astonishing tale.”
“Indeed?”
Locky strolled farther into the room, a mysterious smile softening his blunt features.
“Yes. I halted at the local inn for a cup, when a chap came in and claimed that he had caught sight of Lord Challmond driving Miss Blakewdl with a small lad seated upon his knee.”
Here Comes the Bride Page 7
