Her gray eyes fixed on Rowan, and the girl smiled, a blast of white and joy and cheer. “Oh, good sir, how can I ever thank you?”
“A kiss would be a very nice thank you.” He turned on his most alluring expression.
Instead of blushing in shocked delight, she laughed—not the giggle of a coquette but a sound of true mirth. “It might be nice for one of us, but I daresay that wouldn’t be me.”
In a low, sensual voice, he said, “There’s only one way to find out.” He took a step forward.
Her expression shifted to amused patience. “You, sir, do a fair job portraying the rogue. I’m duly impressed. However, I think perhaps a cup of tea and a slice of lemon cake might be what you really need, Mr. . . . ?” She raised her brows.
“Law,” he supplied. “Rowan Law.”
He kept quiet about his new courtesy title. It sounded ridiculously self-important to use it when introducing himself. Moreover, Viscount Hadley didn’t fit. It might never fit. Hadley was his brother’s title and name for as long as Rowan could remember. To apply it to himself was . . . wrong. A girl like this one, with disturbing resistance to his charm, would surely be even less impressed with a title, anyway.
She bobbed a crisp curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Law. I am Isabella Montgomery. Follow me, please.”
She tucked her kitten into one arm, turned with the grace of a ballerina, and practically skipped to a dirt road skirting the edge of the field.
Shaking his head over her neat sidestep of his scandalous suggestion, Rowan scrambled to keep up with her. He must be losing his touch. Usually women found him irresistible.
He’d best find his father so they could resume this inane trip and face up to the inevitable courtesy title and the staggering load of responsibilities that came with it. The quicker he completed touring their properties, the sooner he could return to the family seat, where Father and he had left Mother and other family members grieving.
“Is the nearest coaching inn up this road?”
“Not this road, no. You’d need to go to the main highway.”
Where would his father have gone to await him? Really, Father was taking this lesson rather too far.
Miss Montgomery glanced over her shoulder at him. “Are you in need of transportation, Mr. Law?”
“I have transportation. I simply need to find my father. We were traveling together and . . .” He paused. How much to tell her? “I got out to stretch my legs and lost my way. I thought he might wait for me at the next inn.” The tale bore a vague resemblance to the truth, anyway.
“Where was your final destination?”
“Crestwood Manor, a day hence, but we were to stay the night somewhere a few hours away.”
She stopped walking and turned to him. A disturbingly searching gaze came from her. “Perhaps he stopped along the road and is waiting for you to catch up.”
“Perhaps.”
The girl’s curiosity seeped out of her continual glances, but she had the good breeding not to ask prying questions. “Our vicarage is up ahead. If you come for the tea and lemon cake I offered, we can watch for your coach from our parlor window.”
Vicarage? He’d attempted to steal a kiss from a vicar’s daughter? He almost smacked his own face. Instead, he donned his most polite manners. “I would not wish to impose, Miss . . . Montgomery, was it?”
She nodded. “I invited, if you’ll recall, and it’s the least I can do to thank you for finding my kitten.” She pursed those deliciously full lips while her eyes laughed at him. “Really, the very least.”
He pretended not to catch her meaning. “Very well. Thank you. A spot of tea and lemon cake may be just the thing.”
The girl beamed at him. Was she still silently laughing at him? The kitten tucked its furry head into the crook of her arm.
As they climbed yet another low hill, Rowan pointed with his chin at the kitten. “What did you call the wee beastie?”
“Mimi, today. Yesterday, I called her Butterfly. The day before, she was Music. I cannot seem to find just the right name for her.”
The girl was either mad or charmingly eccentric. “How about Patches?” he suggested.
She made a scoffing noise. “That was my brother’s unimaginative name for her—no offense. He also suggested Callie since she’s a calico, but that’s too obvious. To spare his feelings, I did try both of those, but to no effect. I’ll find the right name. I’m fond of Mimi, but we’ll see how I feel tomorrow.”
“She may never learn her name if you change it every day.”
She grinned. “Most cats don’t respond to their names anyway, but I suspect it’s because the owner doesn’t choose the right name. Don’t you think so, Mimi?” She peered down at the sleeping kitten, who made no response. “Hmm. Perhaps not Mimi, then. I did like that, though.” Her curious gaze flitted to Rowan. “Have you any pets, Mr. Law?”
“My father has hunting dogs—he’s excessively fond of them.” More than he’d ever been of Rowan. It rankled to acknowledge that. “Mother has a canary. There are cats in the stables, but they aren’t pets; they’re mousers.”
“Not a pet of your own? A pity. Pets give us great joy.” The spring in her step suggested she found joy in many ordinary things.
“What gives you joy, Miss Montgomery?”
“Oh, most things. We were put on this earth to find joy, even in spite of hardships.”
She seemed absolutely pure and untouched by hardship.
Without missing a beat, she said, “At the moment, my greatest hardship is my brother. He sorely tries my patience. I’m also quite distressed at not having found the right name for my kitten. Quite a difficult hardship.” She grinned at him to show she spoke the absurd words in jest.
He smiled politely, but it probably looked tight.
“Most of all, I’m also desperately trying to paint a masterpiece—one that will gain me the notice of a local art master who accepts one new student this year.”
“I have no talent for art, but I admire those who do. I wish you luck.”
They reached a gray stone cottage about the size of the vicarage in his family’s county seat, yet this one appeared to be at least a century older. Flowers bloomed from every patch of dirt, and the yard appeared neat and tidy, from the cleared path to the weed-free flower beds. Humble but loved.
She trotted ahead to the front door. “Aunt Missy,” she called. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve found another stray.”
“Very well, bring in the poor creature, and let’s have a look,” came a woman’s laughing voice.
Grinning, Miss Montgomery wiggled her brows at Rowan as if they shared a private joke and led the way inside. Removing his hat, Rowan blinked in the dim interior. The girl’s light-colored gown guided him through the entryway into a dark-paneled room with an assortment of furniture and odd curios. It created a chaotic warmth.
A plump woman stood. She might have reached Rowan’s shoulder if she rose up on tiptoe. The diminutive woman tucked a strand of gray hair into a white cap. “An unusual stray, indeed.” She laughed. “Do introduce me to your companion.”
“This is Mr. Law. He was kind enough to help me find this little scamp.” Miss Montgomery indicated the sleeping bundle in her arms.
“I’m relieved you found her.” The older woman beamed at the kitten.
Miss Montgomery made the introductions. “Mr. Law, this is Mrs. Williams, my . . . well, I call her Aunt Missy, but she and the vicar took us in out of the kindness of their hearts.”
Mrs. Williams waved her hand. “You make it sound nobler than it is. Come in, Mr. Law, and welcome. I’ve just rung for tea.”
Mrs. Williams gestured at an overstuffed armchair next to a window. Once the ladies seated themselves, Rowan accepted the offered chair.
Mrs. Williams wasted no time. “Mr. Law, I’ve never met a ‘stray’ quite like you. And I’ve not seen you hereabouts.”
“Er, no, ma’am. My father and I were passing through. We got sepa
rated.”
“Ah, well, some boys just don’t seem to learn not to wander off from their parents.” Mrs. Williams chuckled at her own wit.
Miss Montgomery interjected, “I told Mr. Law he might watch the road from this window in the hopes his father’s carriage comes this way.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Williams nodded. “In the meantime, do accept our hospitality, Mr. Law. Anyone who will take the time to return a lost kitten is a friend of ours.”
Rowan offered a debonair smile. “It was my pleasure. If I had known the kitten would lead me to such a pair of lovely and charming ladies, I would have done so with greater haste.”
They both smiled, but while Mrs. Williams’s was merely a polite acknowledgment of his compliment, Miss Montgomery’s smile, coupled with a shrewd gleam in her eye, told him she saw through his flattery and was not impressed.
If they knew his father had abandoned him because he’d been disrespectful, these kind ladies might not be so hospitable. And what would he do if he failed to find his father?
An idea sprouted. He could use the time to search for his brother’s lost love and inform her of Hadley’s fate. Any girl who could capture his brother’s heart must be remarkable. She deserved to know the truth—before she heard it in passing or read of it in the newspaper.
Over the brim of her teacup, Isabella watched her guest, a gentleman with all the town polish of a charming rogue, the kind that often came to Brighton in search of diversions once the London Season had ended. Many such gentlemen had plied their tricks on her, but with Aunt Missy’s guidance, Isabella had outmaneuvered them with her heart intact. She would resist this one, too.
Though this stranger seemed different, he carried too much air of mystery to be entirely trustworthy. Of course, his black attire and stark-white shirt, in addition to his dark hair and eyes, only added to the starkness of him. Perhaps that was the source of his image of danger. He spoke eloquently but never with any true animation, as if haunted by great sadness.
Aunt Missy seemed equally intrigued but had not yet put up any of her defensive guards that she usually did when confronted with a rake.
“Where is your home, then, Mr. Law?” Aunt Missy asked.
“My family hails from Sussex, ma’am.”
Not a complete answer. While petting Mimi, who slept in her lap, Isabella took a bite of lemon cake and glanced at Mr. Law again. The darkness of his eyes suggested secrets she longed to discover. Though windswept, the style of his dark hair, neatly trimmed on the sides while longer and wavy on top, gave him a polished appearance. His clean-shaven face had stronger lines than those truly patrician features she so often saw among the gentlemen who visited Brighton. But his mouth, oh how it captured her attention. Each motion, each pucker, beckoned to her.
She had resisted all manner of rogues, rakes, and roués. She would resist this one as well. Shame on him for suggesting she ought to kiss him! Still, his playful expression as he’d uttered the scandalous words had aroused her amusement instead of her ire. Perhaps he was a flirt rather than a true libertine.
Aunt Missy tapped her finger against her chin. “Law family from Sussex. Hmmm. I don’t believe I know your people.”
“A grievous oversight on our part, to be sure, ma’am,” he said.
Oh, what a charmer! Isabella barely managed not to roll her eyes. And again, he’d sidestepped Aunt Missy’s implied question. What was he not telling them?
“And where were you bound?”
“Crestwood Manor, a day’s ride from here.”
“I’ve heard of it.” Aunt Missy nodded.
The front door slammed, and heavy footsteps neared. Her brother George strode into the room. “I have decided to challenge Sir Reginald to a duel!”
Mimi lifted her head and offered a startled mew. Mr. Law choked and coughed into a napkin.
Isabella stroked Mimi’s fur. “George, really! That will be your third duel this week.”
They grinned at each other. Isabella petted Mimi until she went back to sleep.
Mr. Law said, “Sir Reginald? That popinjay? Whatever for?”
“He has stolen the love of my life!” George put a hand over his heart theatrically.
Isabella asked their visitor, “You know Sir Reginald, Mr. Law?”
“Yes, I’ve met him on occasion in London,” the mysterious Mr. Law said. “I’m surprised that silly fop could rouse himself enough to court a lady.”
“I think he’s sweet,” Isabella said. Although she too found his fascination with fashion and his flowery compliments to everyone a tad overdone.
“By all means, duel the silly peacock. I hope you’re a good shot.”
George grinned at Mr. Law as if he’d found a long-lost friend. “Perhaps it will be swords, my good fellow. So much more satisfying.”
Quickly, Isabella made the introductions. “Mr. Law, may I present my brother, George. You’d never know it, but he’s nearly three years my senior.” The siblings exchanged a grin. “George, this is Mr. Law, visiting from Sussex.”
The enigmatic Mr. Law stood and offered a bow worthy of a greeting to a Peer of the Realm.
“You’ve been to London?” George asked the visitor exuberantly.
“I assure you, it isn’t as glorious as it’s made to sound. You clearly lead a much more exciting life, what with all the duels and such.” Mr. Law raised his brows as if impressed, but a twitch of his mouth revealed he was playing along.
George sighed. “I haven’t actually fought any duels.”
“No? A pity.”
George nodded mournfully. Aunt Missy looked on with an indulgent smile.
Isabella gave her brother a sympathetic pat on his arm. “Perhaps you’ll meet another love of your life at the public ball.”
George perked up. “Indeed.”
Another love of his life. How wonderful it must be to love so easily. Isabella could only imagine how that must feel.
“Are you in school, George?” Mr. Law asked.
George swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “Just graduated from Oxford.”
“Ah. Which college?”
“Exeter.”
“I did as well,” Mr. Law said. “Did you have Professor Keynes?”
George let out a scoffing noise. “His class was a good place for a nap. I think he is the son of the sandman.”
Without missing a beat, Mr. Law said, “He’s old enough to be the sandman.”
They shared a comradely grin—or rather, George grinned, and Mr. Law’s mouth curved slightly. But more importantly, faint light brightened Mr. Law’s eyes. He quickly snuffed out that light, as if he felt it somehow inappropriate to enjoy a moment of true merriment.
Could he be in mourning?
As she took another look at him, the small black band around his arm that blended in with his black tailcoat became apparent. Poor Mr. Law! Whom did he mourn?
While they chatted like old friends, Mr. Law surreptitiously kept watch on the road, but no carriage passed. As only a young man not yet twenty-one could do, George devoured enough tea, sandwiches, and lemon cake for four people.
George stood. “Well, I’d best be off. I promised Molly I’d write to her every day.”
“Another love of your life?” Mr. Law asked.
“To be sure. I really ought to be a sailor with a girl in every port.”
Panic rose up in Isabella’s chest. “Don’t you dare become a sailor!”
George froze. Slowly, he said, “No, of course not. I wouldn’t really go to sea, you know.”
Isabella took a shaky breath. “No. I know. Forgive me.” George was safe. She folded her hands together and did a slow release of air, letting go of her panic.
Mr. Law watched her with assessing eyes. He probably thought her a ninny destined for bedlam, who had fits of madness on a regular basis.
“Er, anyway.” George glanced at each of them in turn. “Good afternoon, Mr. Law. I’m happy I met you.”
Mr. Law stood and offered anot
her formal bow. “I am as well. Good afternoon.”
George sauntered out of the room.
Resuming his seat, Mr. Law’s expression shifted into the kind indulgence one often wears when watching a child at play. “Likeable lad.”
“I suppose he’s tolerable when he isn’t severely trying my patience,” Isabella said in an exaggeratedly mournful tone.
“I’m sure an angel such as you has an abundance of patience.” Again came that flirty curve of his mouth.
Angel. Bah! Who did he think he was fooling? She’d heard all those flowery phrases from other so-called fine gentlemen who thought they were irresistible.
Mr. Law was too flirtatious. How many ladies had fallen for his charm? He had too many secrets. And he clearly thought himself such a catch that any girl would fall all over herself to kiss him.
The object of her thoughts glanced first at the road outside the window, then at the clock on the mantle. His posture deflated ever so slightly. Unconsciously, he started bouncing one knee, a clear indication of anxiety.
He must have been truthful about becoming separated. But why all the secrecy? Did it have anything to do with his being in mourning? Perhaps rather than secretive, he was merely private. She would do well not to pry.
Gently, she said, “Mr. Law.”
He gave a start as if he’d forgotten her presence. A tiny, rueful smile twitched his lips but didn’t erase the sorrow in his eyes. “How may I be of service, Miss Montgomery?” Always that air of refinement and charm.
Should she trust his sincerity? “Perhaps you’d enjoy seeing the gardens and sitting under the willow tree? We can face the road so you may continue to keep watch. Or,” she added impishly, “we could enjoy a more exhilarating diversion and go for a swim in the pond.”
He lifted a brow as a smolder entered his dark eyes. “We?”
“We as in, you and my brother.” She waited for his reaction.
Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth, but nothing lit the dullness in his eyes. “Of course. Your brother.” He glanced at Aunt Missy but said nothing further.
A Week in Brighton Page 17
