Saving Lord Avingdale

by Lisa Kumar

  “Now, boys, let’s not fight at the breakfast table,” Julia broke in chidingly, but softened her rebuke with a smile.

  Avingdale flashed that charming take-my-breath-away smile. “Correlton started it first.”

  Julia wagged a finger at both of them. “Behave. I don’t care who started it.” Looking at Maryanne, Julia rolled her eyes. “See what I have to put up with?”

  Maryanne stopped picking at her food. “Yes, it’s quite dreadful,” she said, her voice dry. “I’m sure you’re always pulling them around by their ears.”

  James winced. “That sounds painful.”

  Avingdale snorted and turned a surprisingly earnest look in Maryanne’s direction. “I don’t know what Lady Correlton does with her husband, but I can assure you she does no such thing with me.”

  Maryanne shrugged, not sure what to say. Why was he even looking at her? “That’s good to know,” she said lamely, but for some reason her mouth kept forming words. “Your ears would probably be quite sore if every woman who was angry with you pulled at them.”

  Mortification washed over her in a red-hot wave. Had she really said that out loud?

  Lord Correlton guffawed. Yeah, guessed she had.

  Once James’ laughter died down, he said, “Miss Terrance knows Avingdale too well. She’s delightful.”

  “Now that is something with which I agree.”

  Maryanne gazed at him in astonishment. Had he gone crazy? She’d insulted him, and he thought her delightful?

  Her hand went reflexively to her cup. Gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white, she tried her best to hide behind the tiny mug as she took slow, little sips of hot chocolate.

  Julia sighed. “I think we’ve scared our guest. Let’s finish our breakfast.”

  Thankfully, except for the occasional small chitchat, they all ate in silence for a while.

  Maryanne stole glances at Avingdale as he ate. Like most aristocrats from his time period, he ate with a refined manner while around ladies. Wonder if he can scarf down food like men from modern Earth. A smile crept to her lips as she imagined him eating pizza and hot wings with his hands.

  “And what has brought you such joy, Miss Terrance?” a voice drawled next to her. She startled and banged her knee against the bottom of the table, shaking the plates and utensils.

  “Uh, nothing.” She couldn’t very well say that in her imagination he looked as good during a pig-out as he did when eating like a proper gentleman.

  Avingdale arched a brow and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Folding the fabric neatly, he sat it on the table. “In that case, since you have nothing on your mind, would you care to join me for a stroll in the gardens?”

  Was this some sort of joke? Maryanne glanced around. Julia and Correlton gazed at him, surprise on their faces.

  She sent Julia a panicked look. Alone? Out in the gardens? With Avingdale? “Uh….” Her brain refused to function and think of a logical answer.

  “She’ll need a chaperone,” Julia said softly.

  “I believe Miss Terrance has one by the name of…ah, yes, Mrs. Feathering.”

  Her stomach sunk. Oh, yeah. That lie. So what did she do? Cover it up with another fabrication. “Someone in her family took ill, and she left in the night.”

  He arched a brow. “I understood she was from America?”

  Correlton smoothly inserted himself into the conversation. “She has relatives in England. That’s why she came along with Miss Terrance.”

  “Interesting. I didn’t know you had so many people arriving and taking leave during the night.”

  Correlton smiled thinly. “I don’t know if I would call it ‘many.’ Only you arrived and she left. Who exaggerates now?”

  Avingdale pushed himself away from the table and shook his head ruefully. “You’ve won this round.” He turned to Maryanne and offered his arm. “Shall we? I’m sure Lady Correlton will come along to protect your virtue.”

  “Insufferable man,” Julia grumbled, also rising. “Come, let’s give this gentleman his stroll so that he’ll leave us alone.”

  Maryanne scooted her chair backward, but her bottom felt like it was glued to the chair. She lurched forward with more force than she’d intended and nearly face-dived into the table. Her hands slammed down on the cloth-covered wood as strong fingers wrapped around her elbow, steadying her. She was klutzy on the best of days, but this was ridiculous.

  “Um, my foot got caught on…”—on what, you dummy?—“the leg of the chair.”

  “You seem to have a propensity for disaster.”

  That wasn’t an observation she wanted to hear. “What can I say? Disaster follows me around.”

  Julia gave a light laugh, changing the subject. “Let us retrieve our bonnets before going outdoors.”

  Once they had their bonnets firmly placed on their heads, Avingdale led Maryanne out of the manor, her head held up high as if she were going to her death. Julia trailed behind, probably getting the show of her life.

  Chapter 4

  Jonathan took in the smaller form at his side. Reddish-gold highlights shone in her hair, and it suddenly didn’t look so common anymore. Indeed, was there anything common about her?

  So far, she’d never failed to surprise him with what came out of that shapely mouth of hers—that was, when she deigned to talk. The only sounds in the garden were the whisper of their steps and the chirping of the birds. Lady Correlton walked behind them at a discreet distance but kept her silence.

  “Are the gardens pleasing?” he asked, hoping to get Miss Terrance to open up a bit.

  She seemed unusually interested in looking at a tall urn and not at him. “Very much so.”

  “The weather is pleasant, is it not?”

  “Yes,” she said with a jerky nod.

  He sighed inwardly. Her short answers were worse than any uncommunicative man’s. At least he didn’t have to worry about her being a chatterbox. Though why he was concerned about that, he didn’t know. He shouldn’t be around her enough to suffer. Right now, he was merely passing a few minutes of his time with her.

  She was like no young woman he’d ever known. Lady Correlton was similar to Miss Terrance in some of her manners, but their demeanors were completely different.

  Miss Terrance consisted of an intriguing mix of awkwardness, shyness, and a lack of tact. He should be horrified, so why did he find her oddly enchanting?

  Plus, he couldn’t dislodge the feeling that something covert was going on right in front of him. He’d seen the looks Miss Terrance and Lady Correlton shared—and to a lesser degree, James exchanged these knowing glances with the ladies. And that drove Avingdale mad. It itched at him like an annoying rash. What made it worse was that it all harkened back to one person—Miss Terrance. She was the cause of his…discontent, and that was unacceptable.

  Beyond the mystery she presented, he should have no further interest in her. Once he’d satisfied his curiosity, he was sure he wouldn’t. In the end, she would turn out to be like every other eligible woman—wanting something of him, chiefly his title and access to his fortune. Of this he was positive, and he’d yet to be proven wrong. Well, except for Lady Correlton. Even before she’d married Correlton, she’d been suspiciously immune to his charm. What a novel experience that had seemed at the time.

  But now, the feeling was repeated with Miss Terrance. But only somewhat. She appeared to not want his company, yet didn’t seem unaffected by him. He’d caught her sidelong glances more than once, along with the heat that rose in her cheeks when she realized she’d been discovered. And her clumsiness—he couldn’t overlook that. If anything, when he was near, minor accidents found her with alarming frequency.

  When she wasn’t tripping over her own feet, she walked with surprising grace.

  Lady Correlton drew even with them. “I see the head gardener. I need to have a few words with him, but I won’t be far.”

  He nodded. “Take your time. We won’t wander out of your eyesight.” Smiling at a s
tupefied Maryanne, he said, “Why don’t we sit for a while?”

  She gave no answer, so he took her over to a wrought-iron bench. Once she was seated, he took the empty space beside her. She scooted to the edge until she had to be teetering on the brink. Feeling a devilish streak steal over him, he inched closer.

  If possible, her shoulders stiffened even more, and she gazed determinedly ahead. She wanted to retreat so badly he could practically taste it. Her body trembled, and her hands clenched in her lap. He stopped when their thighs were millimeters apart.

  They were sitting far too close for propriety, but he had a test to carry out. He lowered his head and gently blew a breath on the sensitive area behind her ear.

  She shot off the bench as if the iron—or his phantom touch—had burned her.

  He reached out and pulled her down. Instead of resisting as he thought she might, she all but landed in a boneless heap beside him, though she still managed to keep half a foot between them. He slid closer, but this time she didn’t budge. How far could he push her before she snapped?

  There was only one way to tell, so he bent down and whispered, “Do I make you nervous?”

  She jerked away from him. “What? No.”

  “I think I do.”

  “You’re mistaken, sir.”

  A low rumble of laughter escaped him. She shivered. A masculine thrill of power swept over him that she couldn’t hide her reactions to him. “Your actions say otherwise. Otherwise, why did you seek to escape—and why do you tremble so?”

  Her chin lifted defiantly, though she still stared straight ahead. “I’m like this with everybody.”

  “To a lesser degree,” he admitted easily.

  “You flatter yourself.” Her voice lacked the venom that so often comes with righteousness.

  He opened his mouth to retort, but Lady Correlton had the bad grace to stroll up to them. “Please excuse me, that took a little longer than anticipated.”

  Maryanne shrugged, relief plain on her face. “No harm done.”

  Lady Correlton’s gaze honed in on them as if she realized for the first time how close they sat. “I hope both of you have been suitably entertained.”

  “Indeed, we’ve been having a most enlightening conversation.”

  Miss Terrance, bless her, spluttered but quickly covered it by coughing. He turned toward her solicitously. “Are you well, Miss Terrance?”

  She finally looked at him, her eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m quite fine. Merely a tickle in my throat.”

  Anger flushed her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with wrath. He loved it. The expression suited her well. She’d never looked so beautiful. Beautiful? In her own strange way, she was. Most people probably overlooked her, dismissing her soon after first sight. But if one searched deeper….

  What was wrong with him? He must be sleep-deprived to be having such thoughts. He cleared his throat and stood. “Shall we continue with our little jaunt?”

  ***

  Maryanne had never hated a dinner as much as she hated this one. Sure, the dining room was beautiful, just like the rest of Cranston Manor. Guests lined the long table. The glass stemware caught the candlelight and glittered in a headache-inducing way.

  But all this could be forgiven if her dinner partner had been anyone else.

  Three days had passed since she’d come to stay with Julia. And he was still there.

  Always.

  Right by her side.

  Avingdale was like an irksome critter that popped up wherever she was. He wanted to talk to her. Even worse, he wanted to abolish any sense of personal space she had whenever they were semi-alone. Curse him, she didn’t like anyone that close, so why did she sometimes enjoy his determination to crash through her bubble?

  Was she losing her mind, or had he lost his? Because one of them had to be insane. Their interactions were too strange, and coming from her, that was saying something.

  The servants had recently brought the second course, which she now picked at. Avingdale had slopped the food on her plate. Okay, not slopped. He’d arranged her food quite prettily. For some reason, that only infuriated her all the more.

  “More wine, Miss Terrance?” His voice ripped her out of her thoughts.

  “N—” Oh, why not? Liquid courage and all that. “Yes, thank you.”

  Avingdale reached for a decenter and poured her some Madeira. Maryanne’s hand shot out, and she grasped the glass of amber liquid. The sweet, fortified wine’s caramel flavor exploded over her tongue, and she sighed. She’d never much liked wine, but this one wasn’t bad.

  “I’ve noticed Madeira is one of your favorite wines.”

  She sat the glass down with a thunk. There he went again with his questions and obtrusive presence that she should hate but couldn’t. “You have?” Of course, he had. He’d practically been stalking her for some reason. Now if she could only figure out why.

  “I’ve had the time…and motivation to observe many of your habits.”

  She scowled. “I know you’ve had the time, but I can’t guess at your motivation.”

  “Cannot a gentleman find you fascinating?”

  He was crazy. She knew it. That, or he was running a fever and spoke from delirium. But he didn’t look flushed, so that theory was out the window. “Why would they be interested?”

  “Maybe they find your strange ways intriguing. I’ve seen more than one gentleman attempt to engage you in conversation.”

  “More likely they find me plain odd. That’s what stares have always amounted to. Yes, on occasion, a few even become adventurous enough to speak to me in order to satisfy their curiosity.”

  Though it was barely perceptible, Maryanne’s keenly trained eyes didn’t miss the slight flinch her words elicited. Ah, she hit a sore spot if the fleeting look of guilt on his face was anything to go by. A deep sense of disappointment socked her in the gut. So the mystery was solved. Well, what else had she expected? A man like him would never show any true interest in someone like her.

  She squared her shoulders and pasted a smile on her lips as she had done so many times before. But this time, it hurt more than usual. Still, she forced herself to say, “See, no different this time.”

  “You may be right or you may not be.”

  His stiff tone told her all she needed to know. Another era, another jerk—it didn’t matter where in time she was, because it all turned out the same.

  To her consternation Avingdale transferred all his attention to the red-haired lady on the other side of him. Yeah, now that she’d called him out on his behavior, he was going to ignore her. How typical. She shoved the hurt and disillusionment into a deep, dark place where—with any luck—she’d never find it. Good riddance. That would teach her to think fondly of any man.

  She found herself sending dirty glances to Avingdale and his new dinner date. Who was the mystery woman? They had somehow missed being introduced in the drawing room when the dinner guests first arrived. Something about the lady tugged at her memory, but it took her a moment to remember what it was. Red hair…. Lady Sutton reportedly had red hair. A rock formed in Maryanne’s stomach. Had Lady Sutton come to sink her claws into Avingdale and lead him to his doom?

  No, she couldn’t allow her mind to go down that path. Not now while she was surrounded by people. She reached out a shaking hand, grabbed her wineglass, and took a fortifying sip.

  As for Avingdale, why wasn’t he sitting near Lord Correlton? With his title, he’d take precedence over most men at the table. But no, he had to be next to her—and Lady Prettypants with whom he was getting his flirt on. He must not mind dying. At that reminder, she released a pent-up breath. She had to stop thinking about him. Somethings couldn’t and shouldn’t be changed.

  As such, she wouldn’t spend one more wasted moment on Avingdale. Too bad her resolve didn’t last more than a minute. Though she didn’t want his attentions, neither did she desire that the floozy on the other side of him be deserving of them, either. But surely that was only
because she didn’t know the identity of the lady. If the woman wasn’t Lady Sutton, Maryanne couldn’t care less with whom he flirted.

  Yeah, right. Who was she kidding? She sunk lower into her chair and sulked.

  After the unending dinner finally came to a stop, the ladies retired to the drawing room to gossip. The men were left in the dining room to enjoy their port, so Maryanne had a reprieve from seeing Avingdale cozying up to another woman.

  Maryanne tried to be a wallflower so no one would bother her. So far, it was working until Julia walked up to the red-haired bombshell. Now that Maryanne could see her face-on, she hated the woman more than ever. How could anyone be that gorgeous? Please, don’t let this be Lady Sutton. She didn’t think she could take it if it were.

  Julia smiled at Maryanne, though it appeared a little strained. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself.”

  Not at all. “Yes, thank you.”

  The new woman looked down her nose at Maryanne as if she were examining a repugnant bug before turning back to Julia. “Do introduce us to your little friend.”

  Maryanne ground her teeth. She really hated this woman. Who did she think she was that would allow her to be so condescending and dismissive? Maryann would say beauty and rank, but Julia had both of those in abundance, so they weren’t excuse enough.

  “Lady Sutton, this is Miss Terrance, my good friend from America.”

  Sutton. Maryanne’s heart crashed to her feet. This was the woman who was supposed to help tie the noose of death around Avingdale’s neck? The urge to wrap her hands around the redhead’s slender, white neck nearly possessed her, but she gritted it back.

  Lady Sutton sniffed. “How charming. She’s an American like you.”

  “Indeed.” Julia’s icy tone could’ve frozen hot water.

  “It is fortunate you have another of your countrywoman to offer up amusement.”

  If Maryanne hadn’t been so shaken, she would’ve rolled her eyes. The intended insult was clear—that Julia deserved only the company of lowly Americans.