She crept downstairs and across the coffee room to the front door, which was unbolted. Blowing out her candle, she left it on the table by the door and went out. The door creaked very slightly.
She held the shawl tightly over her breasts as she hurried across the yard and jumped over the low wall. A quick glance to her left showed her Joe, turning back toward the inn. She hastened toward him, and an instant later, his pace increased, striding to meet her. And that was where her plan collapsed.
She did not see his frown of anxiety until he flung his arm around her waist. “What is it?” he demanded. “What has happened?”
“Nothing,” she assured him, but he took hold of her chin, tipping her face up to the moonlight so that he could see her better. She grasped his wrist in panic. “Truly, nothing,” she murmured. “I just wanted to tell you something because I don’t think you quite understand. I know you mean it well, to cheer me up in my current difficult circumstances, but truly, it is neither kind nor sensible, and besides, your mother really would not like it.”
To her annoyance, that sparkle of amusement lit his eyes. “What is so unkind and inadvisable? What would my mother not like?”
“Flirting,” she blurted. In her chamber, when she had worked out her words so carefully, she had never imagined saying them inches away from his face, with his strong arm around her waist and his perceptive gaze moving constantly between her eyes and her mouth.
“Who is flirting with my mother?” he asked.
She tugged at his wrist. “You know perfectly well that isn’t what I meant! Joe, you must see that this nonsense and talk of courtship—”
“And a kiss,” he reminded her, causing butterflies to soar in her stomach.
He took advantage of her surprise, her loosened grip on his wrist. His face swooped nearer, and her breath rushed out in a gasp.
“It is not fair to either of us,” she said, clutching in panic for the tatters of her speech.
“So, you dashed out here to stop me flirting with you?”
“Exactly.”
“To prevent any chance of me holding you in my arms?”
“Yes.”
“Gazing into your profoundly beautiful dark eyes?”
“Yes!”
His lips curved. His eyes gleamed. “Kissing you?”
Her fingers convulsed around his wrist, tightening when they should have pushed him away. And then it was too late, for he closed the tiny space between their lips and kissed her.
She didn’t know what she expected. Something quick and bold and impudent. Certainly not the sweet, slow way his mouth sank against hers, caressing and fastening, nor the way he parted her lips and took possession of her mouth.
Heat and wonder surged through her, dizzying her, and her free hand clutched at his back to steady herself. His kiss seemed to come in waves that caressed and invaded, giving delight and arousing desires she barely understood. And her lips could only cling, trembling, following and responding with blind, instinctive passion.
“So, when exactly,” he whispered against her mouth, “would you like me to stop?”
Never. She took advantage of his loosened mouth to draw a shaky breath, and then his lips took hers once more, and her hand slid up his back to his nape, stroking his soft hair. He gathered her even closer, and she loved the shock of his hard, powerful body against her. It seemed all of him caressed her, even his knee, his hips, and the hardness pressing against her abdomen. Inflamed, her whole body trembled.
And then his mouth stilled on hers. He did not release her, but a new, different tension held him. Very slowly, he let her go. She felt his breath against her ear.
“Someone is here.”
She stared up at him, still bewildered by the sudden change. He moved, turning her, keeping his body between her and the trees. Trees among which she had once seen movement of some kind. Perhaps it had not been Joe after all.
He raised his head and spoke, not loudly, but no longer in the soft murmurs that had melted her bones.
And he did not speak in English.
Chapter Eleven
Although, like Hazel, Joe had made sure no one followed them on their journey, he had felt observed almost since they had arrived at the inn. Even during his evening walk. Especially then, for he had seen the candle burning in Hazel’s window.
He had allowed alarm at her sudden appearance and then sheer desire to distract him, but the crack of some dry twig underfoot was too close to ignore.
It could have been thieves, smugglers, anyone. But no one else was quite this quiet for so long. Finally, Selim had wanted to be heard. And so, protecting Hazel with his body, Joe had spoken in Turkish.
“What are you doing there, my friend?”
There was silence. Then the voice he knew drifted out from the trees. Its words were English, though exotically accented. “Any man may walk in another man’s country.”
“Hiding like an assassin?” Joe asked. To Hazel, he whispered, “Go back to the inn. Quickly.”
“Assassins are not the only men who hide,” Selim observed.
It was, he knew, a barbed reference to his part in the coup’s failure. “That is true. Though I was remarkably open for a man whose first duty was always to his own country.”
“Noble Sir Joseph,” Selim mocked.
“Indubitably. And what brings you to walk in my country? At this hour, among the trees?”
“Perhaps I wanted to see if you had changed.”
“And have I?”
“You still pursue the ladies, I see.”
“Feel free to join us,” Joe invited.
“Oh, I do, and I will. You just won’t know when.”
There was nothing to hear, but Joe knew the instant Selim ran off. He felt it like a sudden absence and lunged instinctively toward the trees. He might have caught him, too, but a quick glance around for any of the prince’s men showed him only Hazel. Not back at the inn at all but following him toward the trees.
He halted, his heart swelling at her courage. He swung around, seizing her hand to walk back to the inn. Some part of him might have been frustrated to abandon the chase, but under no circumstances would he have left her unprotected. Selim, in this mood, was too unpredictable. Joe knew he would be back.
“Your adventuring prince,” she murmured, peering at him with alarm in her eyes. “He does mean you harm.”
“I don’t think he’s made up his mind,” Joe admitted, placing her hand more decorously on his arm. “But he is still angry with me. However, there’s nothing to worry about. Tomorrow, we’ll be safe at Brightoaks.”
She didn’t look entirely happy about that either.
“As for the rest,” he murmured, “you are among friends. You don’t need to be in such rigid control over everything. Take each day as it comes and see where it leads.”
“A lady in my position cannot afford such luxuries.”
“If that is true, why did you kiss me?” He fully expected her to accuse him of doing all the kissing, but again, she surprised him.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You confuse me.”
He resisted the powerful urge to confuse her again. It was, after all, a public inn. Opening the door, he bowed her over the threshold. Then, by feel, he found his candle and the flint where he’d left them and lit two candles. She picked one up, and with his own, he followed her to the stairs.
Outside his door, he halted. He thought she might run away, but she didn’t. She paused, a little uncertain, a little agitated, her eyes huge and brilliant in the candlelight.
He took her hand. “Good night,” he said softly and kissed her fingers, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. He hesitated. “I will always look after you, you know, whatever you decide, whatever you wish.”
He hoped he didn’t imagine the reluctance with which she withdrew her hand.
“Good night,” she whispered and hurried along the passage to the chamber she shared with Irene and Louise.
*
Frustration did not begin to describe Barden’s mood as he all but stormed into the very inferior inn to demand dinner and a bedchamber for the night. Since this had to be shouted over the noise in the taproom, it did not improve his temper, but the innkeeper eventually understood.
“Why don’t you step over to the coffee room, sir?” the man suggested. “Only one other gentleman there, so you can enjoy your dinner in more peace.”
“I doubt that,” Barden muttered, stalking away to the indicated coffee room, which was ridiculously cramped. Moreover, the other occupant could not, in Barden’s book, be described as a gentleman.
His table manners were clearly rough, he drank ale with his dinner, and his clothing was shabby. Even the hat beside him on the bench was crushed on one side.
However, the person nodded amiably, and Barden sat down at the only other table.
After a silence, broken only by the sound of chewing, the person looked up and said, “Don’t get many gentlemen like yourself stopping over here.”
“I’m not surprised,” Barden replied with a curl of his lip.
“Not that I’m a local man myself,” the person went on, apparently oblivious to Barden’s haughty lack of interest. “I’m only passing through. Looking for someone, as it happens. Pretty sure I found him, too. Only, I lost him again. Giving up tomorrow and heading back to London.”
The faint similarity between this person’s quest and his own managed to catch Barden’s attention.
“Funnily enough,” he said, “I was looking for someone myself. A lady, whom I also appear to have lost.”
“Isn’t that a coincidence now? Weren’t staying at the vicarage, were she?”
Barden’s eyes narrowed. “I believe she might have been. A family friend, you might say, of the vicar’s wife.” He had no reason to keep her name secret. In fact, the more her name got out, the better it suited his purpose. “Miss Curwen. Miss Hazel Curwen.”
“Pretty little thing with amazing dark eyes?”
Barden began to smile. “That’s her.”
“Well, I don’t know where she’s gone,” the man said. “But I know who she’s with.”
“Well?” Barden demanded impatiently.
“Sir Joseph Sayle.”
Barden’s mouth fell open. “Sir Joseph Sayle? Are you sure?”
Damnation, was Sayle in the same market as himself? It certainly sounded as if he had already marked the goods if not outright bought them. He was a wealthy man and enjoyed a great deal of success with the ladies, so people said. Barden had hoped to get to her at once, so this situation was not ideal. On the other hand, Sayle did not rush his fences. He would take his time, woo the girl before seducing her. Which at least gave Barden time. And now he knew where to go, for the world and his wife were attending Lady Sayle’s party at Brightoaks.
Including himself.
He began to laugh.
*
The day dawned with rain, so only the younger boys were eager to join Joe in the curricle and be soaked. However, by midday, the sky was clear once more, and Hazel had no excuse not to take her turn. In truth, she disdained to refuse her “treat”, determined to be neither overwhelmed nor embarrassed simply because an attractive gentleman had chosen to honor her with his attentions. She was not used to dealing with such situations, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t learn. She had been rather taken by surprise last night, but today she would be firmer and still enjoy the pleasure of his company.
And perhaps her determination communicated itself to him, for there was no effort to bolt ahead of the other carriage or take any liberties. Instead, they talked of everything from horses to politics and the local crops and farming methods. And because his humor was never far away, it was fun and soothingly impersonal.
Until she couldn’t resist saying, “You are the owner of your estates, are you not? Does your diplomatic career not interfere with that?”
“I have good stewards who always know how to reach me. For smaller matters, my mother is much more sensible than she appears.”
“Then you have no intention of giving up the Foreign Office?”
“Lord, no. I’m just waiting to be posted to Vienna for the peace conference.”
She regarded him. “In your own way, you are as adventurous as your Ottoman prince, aren’t you?”
“It was probably the basis of our friendship,” he allowed. He caught her gaze. “Because I can laugh and go adventuring, does not mean I’m not serious.”
“Are you?”
“About some things,” he admitted. “Including reaching terms of good understanding and peace with our neighbors.”
And love? she could not help wondering.
No, not without the lightning bolt. His practiced, casual flirtation told her that much. And there was no reason for it to hurt as much as it did. She barely knew him and would easily recover.
“How far are we from Brightoaks?” she asked before he could read her mind.
“It’s about half an hour from here, so we’ll just plod on.”
The proximity to his home gave her a nasty jolt. It was nearly time to face his family, to admit who she was, and face the humiliation of being sent away. She wondered gloomily how her grandmother and Great Aunt Agatha would greet her when she finally caught up with them in Scotland.
“I wouldn’t have brought you,” he said quietly, “if I had thought you would face insult or even a lack of hospitality.”
She threw him a quick smile. “I believe that was serious, too.”
“Of course. You are my new project. We are onto Brightoaks land now. This village is Little Finglebury—to distinguish it from the metropolis of Great Finglebury, which boasts several more shops and at least ten more families. And if you peer through the trees on that hill, you can just about make out the top of Brightoaks Court.”
She saw his gaze flicker to her tightly clasped fingers in her lap. Deliberately, she loosened them. She would not show unease.
All too soon, they turned in through a set of wrought iron gates and swept up a winding driveaway to a splendid residence, consisting of an impressively fronted building with a wing on either side.
Across the terrace, a phaeton and four energetic horses charged down upon them. The driver, a young lady bearing a startling resemblance to Joe, seemed to be in only nominal control. Joe caused his horses to swerve clear, but somehow, the girl managed to halt her team.
“Joe!” she called in clear delight. “Mama has just decided you wouldn’t come.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“Good afternoon, ma’am!” the girl called in friendly spirit to Hazel, who could only incline her head with what grace she could summon. “I hope I didn’t scare you,” she added. “I haven’t driven this team before, and they are a little unpredictable.”
“Whose are they?” Joe demanded.
The girl grimaced. “Standish’s. But you must admit, they are very fine, Joe, even if he did choose them.”
“As you must admit, he has no idea you’ve taken them out,” Joe said, clearly amused.
“He didn’t tell me not to,” the girl said blithely. “Goodness, look, Joe, another coach! Who on earth can this be so soon?”
“My guests,” Joe said wryly. “But my manners have clearly deteriorated in your company. Miss Hazel, my youngest sister, Miss Emma Sayle. Emma, Miss Hazel.”
Emma’s gaze was downright curious as she acknowledged the introduction. “You know, I believe I will leave these for Standish to exercise himself? Um, how do I turn them, Joe?”
“There will be plenty of space once we pass you.”
An array of footmen spilled out of the house as they finally stopped at the front door. Grooms and stable boys came running around the side of th
e house. All greeted Joseph with a respectful welcome, which he returned with good humor and apparent pleasure.
As he tossed the reins to a groom, he said, “You might want to send someone to rescue Lord Standish’s horses from my sister.”
The groom grinned. “Right away, sir.”
Joe turned and handed Hazel down. A sense of dread had settled over her. The children huddled together, much more subdued than usual. Even Bart looked slightly daunted as they followed Joe up the steps and preceded him into the house, where a superior butler and a neat, middle-aged woman, wreathed in smiles, waited to greet them.
“Welcome home, sir,” the butler said, bowing.
“Thank you, Wilson,” Joe replied cheerfully. “How are you, Mrs. Corner?”
“All the better for seeing you back at Brightoaks, sir,” the lady beamed.
“Mrs. Corner is our excellent housekeeper,” Joe informed his guests. “She knows the house better than anyone and will be happy to help you with anything.”
At that point, a lady glided across the entrance hall, clearly about some urgent business, until she caught sight of the gathering by the front door. She let out a squeak of “Joe!” and swerved toward them.
Joe strode forward to meet her. There was nothing formal about this greeting. He simply swept her into a warm embrace. The lady returned it, talking all the time.
“Oh, Joe, I had quite given you up! I said to Emma this morning not to get her hopes up because you were clearly staying in London. And it would have been so useful to have you here since we are expecting foreign guests. But here you are, quite without any warning at all! And you know your brother is home from the Peninsula and will come down in time for the party, too? You do look well, Joe, though I’m not quite sure how or why because I’m sure you…” She broke off, apparently only now becoming aware of the other newcomers. “Oh, and you have brought me guests! How delightful.”
Her smile did not waver when she took in the unusual nature of her guests, although she did cast a startled glance at Joe.
Pursued by the Rake Page 11
