“And like magic his heart will melt and he will clutch me to his bosom?”
“Surely he would at least wish you happy. It’s a start.”
“A start. Yes, I suppose it would be.”
“Excellent. The sooner we win him, the quicker we can alienate Anthony.”
“Indeed, we have such fun to look forward to.”
“Actually, I hate to say it, but it would appear we have rain to look forward to just now, Lord Harry. Heavens, look how dark the sky has gotten.”
It was true. Clouds had rolled in where the sun had been shining but minutes ago. She should have been paying closer attention. Now if they did not get home quickly, Lord Harry’s beautiful new carriage was soon to be a wet new carriage. And them along with it.
“Here, let me put up the hood,” he said, pulling the carriage off to the side of the street and drawing to a halt.
He pulled up the brake and dropped the reins. Penelope remained comfortably in her seat while he climbed down and began working at the elegant hood, pulling it up first on one side, then going around to the other to adjust it when it appeared it had gotten stuck. She tried to be patient, but really all she could think was that someone she knew might come by and see her in the dreadful shawl. The air had begun to chill, though, so she had little choice but to hug it around herself.
Lord Harry seemed to be having some difficulty managing the hood. She tried to help him, pulling on it from where she sat. It was stuck. She gave an extra tug and finally it loosened. Rather unexpectedly, in fact. She nearly fell off her seat. Groping to catch herself, she fell against the lever and released the brake.
Ordinarily that would have done no harm besides a bit of bruising. However, just at that moment a coach clattered by at a rapid pace. The driver’s whip went wild and snapped in the air a hair’s breadth away from Lord Harry’s horses. They flinched. Then they jolted.
Penelope was tossed completely out of her seat and fell onto the footboard as the beautiful phaeton lurched into sudden motion. Discovering their reins slack and the brake released, the horses surged forward and lunged into the street. Lord Harry called after them, but of course that did little but add to the chaos of the moment. Penelope fumbled to regain her seat, but she was tumbled to and fro, unable to do much more than fall about, ending up wedged into the narrow space and completely unable to so much as see the terrified horses, let alone control them.
Dear heavens, but she was trapped here as the carriage sped up and careened forward! There was no telling what might happen. She’d be upset for certain, likely thrown under the galloping hooves or knocked senseless against the pavement. She couldn’t even find her breath to cry out for Lord Harry to save her.
But then the carriage was slowing. Voices shouted around her and she was finally able to grab onto something to regain her balance and pull herself up out of the veritable hole she was in. She righted herself with as much grace as was possible, which of course meant none at all, and finally plunked her backside securely into the seat, clutching the leather around her for dear life.
The carriage rocked, but it did not overturn. Instead, it came to a stop and she brushed her disheveled bonnet back to look around. Lord Harry had saved her after all.
No, wait…she was wrong. It was not Lord Harry. A gentleman on horseback was there beside her, sitting with cultured elegance as if rescuing wayward carriages was an everyday occurrence for him. He held his own horse in check with one hand, while with the other he gripped the halter of one of her horses. His hat sat perfectly erect on his fashionable head and he gave her the kindest of smiles as he turned to assess her damage.
“Are you well, Miss Rastmoor?” he asked.
She had to catch her breath before she could answer. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Markland.”
“That could have been quite a nasty accident there,” he said. “Are you certain you are not injured?”
“Yes, I’m quite well, thank you,” she said, feeling all sorts of self-conscious in her mussed condition. “But how did you come to be here? Didn’t we pass you going in the other direction?”
“We were, but the party we’d been going to meet was not at home. Ferrel went on to another engagement, and I returned this way.” He smiled a remarkably perfect smile at her. “And I’m rather glad that I did, I must say.”
“Yes, as am I,” she agreed. “The horses bolted and I was all jostled about, and—”
“And just where was Chesterton while all this was occurring?” Markland asked.
“I’m right here.”
His voice indicated he was jogging up beside the carriage. She turned to see him, and met his eyes for one brief moment. Then his full attention was turned toward Markland. She supposed it was a good thing she hadn’t been truly injured. No words of worried compassion came to ask after her.
“Ah, there you are, Chesterton. It would appear you lost something,” Markland said.
“But of course you are only too happy to return it to me now, aren’t you?” Lord Harry said, holding out his hand to take the reins from the other man.
“If you’re certain you can take care of it.”
Lord Harry glared daggers at that. Penelope sank back into her seat, feeling the tension between the men as if it were a living creature on its own. The fact that she could have very nearly just been killed seemed to have escaped both of them as they stared and postured. How vexing!
“I will take care to get Miss Rastmoor safely indoors before the rain,” Lord Harry said, fairly ripping the reins from Markland. “If you don’t mind, Markland, we’ll take our leave.”
Markland nodded with perfect politeness, nudging his mount to take a few steps backward as Lord Harry easily swung himself up into the seat beside Penelope. His warm, solid body brushed against hers, and she couldn’t help but notice that every muscle in his arm and shoulder was taut. She wished she hadn’t noticed that detail quite so thoroughly, in fact. It sent a most unmaidenly flush over her body, and she was suddenly warm despite the chill wind picking up around them.
“By all means,” Markland said. “Miss Rastmoor’s well-being is vital. I should be only too happy to see it assured.”
Markland smiled toward her again, and his words were flattering, but Lord Harry’s response was less than courteous. He didn’t even bother with a polite nod or any other parting pleasantry, but simply snapped the reins and began to guide the horses back into the roadway. Taut muscular shoulders aside, she could only think the man very rude. Especially considering a doting fiancé should certainly have been more grateful to the man who saved his beloved’s life.
“Good day to you, Mr. Markland,” she called back, ignoring Lord Harry’s sullen looks. “And thank you so very, very much.”
“It was a pleasure to assist you, miss,” Markland said, touching his hat. “I hope we might meet again soon, but in much less dramatic circumstances.”
Yes, she could heartily agree with that. Her brief ride in a runaway carriage was more than enough to convince her she did not need to experience anything like that again. She would have expressed her agreement, but Lord Harry turned the carriage sharply and she was forced to sit quite properly, unable to lean forward and so much as wave at Mr. Markland as they left him there in the roadway. She frowned at her companion.
“My, but anyone would think you disliked that man, Lord Harry,” she said.
“I do.”
“And from the way you are slapping the horses there one might think you dislike them, as well.”
His aggressive hold on the reins went immediately more slack.
“I’m concerned about the rain. The clouds seem to be rolling in much quicker than before.”
“Should we stop to put the hood up?”
Now he glared at her with something like the look he’d given Markland.
“I am teasing you,” she said, though it appeared the man was in no mood for humor.
“I’m sorry for what happened, Miss Rastmoor. I will never let you be
endangered again.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she assured him. “The horses were spooked. They don’t know you and you don’t know them; you could not have guessed they would behave that way.”
“I should not have let it happen. I’m sorry.”
“Well, no harm done. Your lovely new carriage was not harmed, and Mr. Markland came along in time to rescue me.”
“Yes, he did.”
“So we are all very fortunate. You should have at least been civil to the man, though. He seemed affable enough.”
“Did he? I have made it a practice never to trust anything that Markland might seem.”
“Ah, so there is a story there. Tell me, what is it between you?”
For just half a moment she thought he appeared as if he might consider telling her. But then the moment was gone and his jaw clenched and his eyes went cold.
“Nothing. We have a very long-standing difference of opinion, that is all.”
“Clearly it is not, but I suppose whatever it is, it is not my business.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She shrugged and pulled her hideous wrap more tightly around herself. “Very well. Perhaps I might run across Mr. Markland somewhere, now that we’ve been introduced. He might be more forthcoming.”
“I don’t doubt that he would,” Lord Harry said, more cold than ever. “In fact, he’d very likely tell you anything you wanted to hear. Just realize, my dear, that you would have little way of knowing which bits of it are true, and which are his own fabrication.”
“I’ll remember that, Lord Harry,” she said. “But you realize, of course, exactly the same might easily be said of you.”
HARRIS WAS NOT AT ALL HAPPY TO HEAR MISS RASTMOOR compare him in any way to George Markland. He wished he were free to inform her just how mistaken she was. He and George Markland were nothing alike.
At least, not in any of the ways that honestly mattered. He refused to contemplate the similarities that had become so painfully obvious to him over the years. All that mattered, truly, were the differences. And those were plentiful.
“At least it appears we made it to your home before the rain started up,” he said, pulling the phaeton to a halt in front of the grand Rastmoor town house.
“Thank you,” Miss Rastmoor said.
He rather hoped she might say more, but she didn’t. There was nothing more for him to do but hop out and help her down. Once again, he’d surrounded himself with the girl and still he was no closer to learning what he needed to know about the scarab. All he’d done was allow her to be practically killed by his own carelessness. Clearly this false engagement was not turning out entirely as planned.
If he did not do something soon to get what he needed, he was going to begin seriously doubting his abilities. And he was quite certain that where Miss Rastmoor was concerned, he would be more than able. All he needed was to concentrate on his goal and not let himself be distracted by minor inconveniences like George Markland.
He reached to lift her from the carriage, and it was a very simple thing to let his hands linger just a heartbeat too long as they slid across her body. It took very little effort at all to hold her just the slightest bit too close as her feet hovered above the pavement and she was completely at his mercy. It was pure pleasure itself to gaze into her large blue eyes, made even larger by the surprise of this sudden physical intimacy. Indeed, he was more than able to accomplish his goal.
“When will I see you again, Miss Rastmoor?”
She seemed momentarily at a loss, but found her voice soon enough. “Will you be at Lady Burlington’s ball tonight?”
“Lady Burlington is giving another ball?” This was news to him.
“She has had some friends arrive from the Continent and now she’s hosting a ball in their honor, I believe. Mamma says we ought to go, so I suppose we will go. I hope you…that is, perhaps you will be there, too.”
“If you will promise to dance with me, Miss Rastmoor, I will most certainly be there.”
She smiled and her eyes became even more blue than he could have imagined. “Then you will most certainly see me, Lord Harry.”
“I am looking forward to it already,” he said, finding the words felt as sincere as he hoped to make them sound.
He was looking forward to seeing her. What warm-blooded male would not? He would simply have to make sure his anticipation centered more on what he could get from Miss Rastmoor rather than what he could do to her. There was much to look forward to on both counts, but he was determined to keep his mind on business.
However, since playing this little charade with her was a part of his business, there could surely be no harm in enjoying himself along the way. Instead of releasing her once he’d set her securely on the ground, he pulled her closer and leaned in. A simple, tender kiss was certainly not out of character for a smitten fiancé, after all.
Perhaps he should have kept it simpler and not given in to the temptation of her scent, her taste. Perhaps he should have focused more on tenderness and less on the feel of her very feminine curves pressed against him, the delectable roundness of her backside as his hand strayed there. Certainly he should have kept his tongue in his own mouth. All those realizations hit him after the fact, once a loud, forced cough interrupted from the nearby doorway.
Hellfire. He released Miss Rastmoor’s heavenly lips to find her brother glaring fury at him. Clearly Anthony Rastmoor felt Harris’s action went far beyond acceptable. Indeed, as his brain began to function after momentarily losing control to Miss Rastmoor’s many charms, Harris was inclined to agree.
“Penelope, come in at once,” Rastmoor said, holding the door wide and giving no invitation to Harris.
But Miss Rastmoor was seemingly unfazed by it all. She appeared cheerfully in control of her full faculties and ignored her brother long enough to give Harris a friendly smile.
“Will you come in for some tea, Lord Harry?”
“Er, no thank you,” he replied with a quick glance back in Rastmoor’s direction. “Perhaps I should get the carriage under roof before the rain begins.”
She nodded, seeing the wisdom in this. “Yes, it would be a shame to get such a pretty thing all spattered with mud or ruin the padding. Well, then I suppose I’ll see you this evening at the ball.”
He took a nice, respectable step away from her and bowed politely. “I’ll look for you there.”
Rastmoor had not budged from his spot, so Harris didn’t attempt to detain the girl. Indeed, he’d wished to ask her to wear the scarab again, planning to flatter her with comparisons of its brilliance to the celestial blue of her eyes, but perhaps he’d forgo that. She seemed to favor the piece, and with luck she’d choose to wear it on her own. If not, surely he could still find some way to bring it into conversation again. He’d been so very, very close to discovering how she’d come by it.
Miss Rastmoor gave him another smile, curtsied sweetly, then trotted up the steps to meet her brother at the door. He stood still as a sentinel and allowed her to pass. His eyes never left Harris, conveying warning and threat, both at the same time.
It was almost humorous how the man’s demeanor had changed. Rastmoor had been all kindness and generosity this morning as he informed Harris of his gift. Odd that one little glimpse of his sister in a warm embrace could change him so dramatically. In the man’s favor, however, Harris did have to concede that embrace had gone a good deal beyond merely warm. Plus, there had been a good deal of oral activity involved, and they had been standing on the street in broad daylight, after all. Yes, he could understand that most brothers might take exception to a man behaving that way with their sister.
Hell, he took exception to himself for behaving that way with Miss Rastmoor. What had come over him? Was he so desperate that he couldn’t manage just a sweet little kiss to pique the girl’s interest so she’d be more pliable, giving him information when he saw her again? All he needed from her was the scarab, and a bit of information so he could track do
wn the rest of the stolen artifacts. He did not need more from her.
Yet he’d never been particularly good at keeping the separation clear in his head regarding need and want. It seemed too often he mistook one for the other. He’d do very well tonight to keep firmly in mind what he needed, and not become preoccupied with what he wanted.
“I’ll just take this down to the mews,” he said to Rastmoor, who still stood at the doorway and glared.
“Yes. You should do that,” the man replied.
With a simple nod, Harris climbed back into the carriage. Losing his head with Miss Rastmoor was quite careless of him. Indeed, if he wasn’t more careful, he’d risk losing far more than self-control.
BREATHE, PENELOPE TOLD HERSELF AS SHE SAUNTERED as casually as she could past Anthony into their home and toward the stairs that would carry her up to the safety of her bedroom. Now, move my left foot forward…now the right…Exhale and breathe again…now the right foot, er, make that left foot…Very good, now the right…
Oh bother. She stumbled on the stairway. It was all so very confusing. Did she really do this whole breathing and walking thing every day without so much as a thought? Heavens, but Lord Harry’s simple little kisses unhinged her.
How could that be? She knew he was doing it merely as a part of their charade. But this time it had come completely out of the blue! Perhaps that’s what had caused such mental confusion; the man had given her no chance to prepare herself.
Indeed, one really ought to be prepared for a kiss from Lord Harris Chesterton. Just the merest brush of his skin was enough to set the blood racing, the heart pounding. How lucky she was that it so happened to be her blood and her heart! But heavens, she really needed to get control of herself.
“Penelope!” Anthony called behind her.
She stumbled again, practically falling back down the four or five steps up she’d already managed to take. Drat. Now she was going to be subject to a lecture about what was or was not proper behavior. As if she wasn’t just now very painfully aware of her very improper behavior!
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