Beyond A Wicked Kiss (15 page)

"He visited." She watched his eyebrow arch and amended her statement. "Once. He visited once."

"Yes. That is what I've heard."

Ria wondered if Tenley was the informant. Tenley would not have shared this information as a kindness. He begrudged his father any time spent with her. "Then you must also know that the governors are not in the habit of coming here."

"But they tour the school."

"Certainly."

"And if they desire to visit, it is an acceptable practice."

"Of course."

"They can come and go if they please."

"Yes."

"Then it will serve nicely as a means of doing all of those things without comment. Now, have off with trying to dissuade me. I have my own reasons for being set on the matter."

"Shouldn't you like to tell me what they are?"

"No."

"But—"

"No," he repeated. "There is no predicting what you would make of them. I have not forgotten that you traveled to London without benefit of escort, armed only with the most improbable notion that I was some sort of spy and the odd conviction that I could lend you assistance."

"Yet here you are."

He gave her a sharp glance. "Because it amuses me. You would do well not to make too much of it beyond that. I found myself at sixes and sevens in London with all of my friends engaged, one of them literally, in their own imbroglios. It seemed good sense to make myself scarce. There is also the matter of acquainting myself with the estate at Ambermede. Tenley is still in residence, and he and I will have to discuss how we mean to go on."

It occurred to Ria for the first time that West had probably never stepped foot inside the manor. As the duke's ward, she had had opportunity to become familiar with the house, while he had not been allowed to cross the threshold. "Will you demand that Tenley leave?"

"No. For now it is his choice if he comes or goes. I have no immediate plans to take up residence beyond a few weeks."

"Then you mean to be a frequent visitor to Gillhollow?"

"Not the village," he said. "But here at the school. I plan to visit Mr. Beckwith at Sunbury first and express an interest in the academy. I understand he is there now, settling in for the winter. It is not so far. We shall see how that goes."

"I do not believe you will find him so overcome by the honor of your visit that he will invite you to join the board."

"Perhaps he has not heard that I am no longer a bastard."

"I do not believe there is a person in all of England who has not heard the story of the duke naming you his true son and heir." She paused. "Oh, I see, you were making light of it."

"I was." West's green glance fell on the small smile that hovered on her lips. She had a sweetly generous mouth that demanded attention be paid to it. West was inclined to give it its due. "I think Mr. Beckwith will hear me out and mayhap be persuaded to accommodate me." He saw that Ria remained unconvinced. "Am I so objectionable, then?"

"No," she said hastily. "That is, I do not think so. It is only that as a group the governors are singularly insular."

"Really?" West was confident that Ria knew next to nothing about the men who governed Miss Weaver's Academy—nothing, that is, but the face they put before the public. "How do you mean?"

"Well, the school is a very old institution," she said. "It was founded in 1725 by a group of London gentlemen who were forward in their thinking about the education of females. The governors today are largely comprised of the third and fourth generation of those founders. This social responsibility has been passed on as a legacy to the sons, their sons, and their grandsons. So it goes. Your father's family was not part of that tradition. That is why I do not think they will welcome you into their fold."

"You may be right. I will allow it presents a challenge, but I am not unaccustomed to standing at the bakery window with my nose to the glass. If there is a sweet I desire, I usually find my way inside."

"As you did tonight." Ria flushed as she realized how her words might be interpreted, and her eyes slid away. "I did not mean... that is..."

"You did not mean that you are the sweet? Is that what you are trying to take back?" He chuckled deeply at the back of his throat, the sound of it perfectly wicked. "You are blushing, Miss Ashby, and it suits, for you are far too pale without it. However, your discomfort is so palpable that even I cannot continue to tease you at this juncture. In the future I hope you will take yourself in hand, else you will prove to be tedious company."

Her chin came up and she glared at him.

"Oh, you have rallied nicely. Very well done."

"You are incorrigible."

"That is the considered opinion of those who know me well."

"My, and I have arrived at the same conclusion after only a short acquaintance. I
am
clever."

West grinned. "Now you most definitely have your feet under you, Miss Ashby." He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. "Enough about the governors. Tell me about that fellow you hired... Mr. Lytton, I believe is his name... I understand he has not yet proved his worth."

Ria shook her head, no longer in surprise that he knew what he did, but simply as a response to his statement. "It is true that he has been a disappointment. I was hopeful at first, but there is nothing he has been able to discover on his own."

West was compelled to point out, "There may be nothing anyone can discover. You must admit to that possibility. Miss Petty might be lost to you."

"I have considered it," Ria said, though she was loath to admit she had lost faith, however briefly. "But this very evening, Amy came forward and has told a story which holds out some promise."

Glancing sideways at the clock, West realized he had kept Ria from her bed far longer than was his intention. He had no regrets about coming to the school straightaway, but he had meant only to have a look at the lay of the land, then retire to the inn. Miss Emma Blakely's departure from the house had inspired him to step inside for no other reason than to prove that he could, then demonstrate the same to Ria. He had overstayed a welcome that was only grudgingly given in the first place, and now she was teasing him with this tidbit of information from someone named Amy as artlessly as Eve had tempted Adam with the apple.

West did not try to resist. He bit down hard. "Who is Amy?"

"Miss Amy Nash. She is also a student."

"Of an age with Miss Petty?"

"Amy is eight."

West was disappointed but careful not to show it. Ria obviously considered the girl a reliable informer, and he did not disabuse her of that notion. "Amy knows where Miss Petty is?"

Ria shook her head and began to relate what Amy told her. West listened patiently to the story without interruption. When Ria concluded with Amy's disclosure of the dressmaker on Firth Street, West merely nodded.

"Are you not encouraged?" asked Ria when West made no comment.

"It is something worth investigating, but it does not warrant so much enthusiasm."

Since Ria thought she had offered a carefully tempered explanation of events, West's comment stung. "I am aware it may come to nothing."

"It was not my intention to dash your hopes, merely to maintain perspective. Your information is from someone who, unlike Miss Petty, may properly be called a child. I have not the experience you have with them, but from having been one myself, I know something about the lack of reliability."

"Amy is not a liar."

"I did not say she was. It is likely she believes the few details she told you and no doubt has spent weeks guiltily reviewing Jane's conversation with her. I should not be surprised if she has convinced herself of particulars that were never shared between them. It is just as well she could provide no description of Jane's proper gentleman, because it would be of little use."

"I had already thought of that," Ria said quietly. "What is to be done?"

"I will question her myself tomorrow. That is the first thing. If she tells me Jane has gone to Gretna we shall know how suggestible she is. You planted that seed with her."

"Then I should not have mentioned it?"

West shrugged. "We shall see."

"And what of the dressmaker's?"

"You will provide a description of Jane as well as a decent sketch of her. Perhaps there is a portrait of her already? A locket?"

Ria shook her head. "No. Jane had nothing like that. But Miss Taylor teaches watercolors and is credited to be our best artist. I believe she gave Mr. Lytton a sketch such as you want. I shall have her prepare another."

"Have her prepare two... and the same number of descriptions also. I will send one of each to London and keep the others."

"Then you will not be going to Firth Street yourself?"

"Miss Ashby, I have only just arrived here. I cannot traipse all over England in pursuit of every lead. Besides, other than presenting the portrait to every dressmaker on the street, I haven't the least idea how to go about it. I told you I was a clerk. I have no training in the subtleties that this work requires. I suspect that interviewing your eight-year-old student will tax my abilities. You must allow me to use my connections instead." West's grin surfaced briefly as he considered how eagerly the colonel would embrace this opportunity to assist him. The boot was on the other foot, as it were. While it happened on occasion that one of the Compass Club was in Dutch with the colonel, it was not at all the usual thing for the colonel to be in Dutch with one of his own men. West thought there was little Blackwood would not do to extricate himself from that uncomfortable position. In hindsight, discovering the colonel had met regularly with the old duke was proving to be more help than hurt.

"Something amuses you?" Ria asked, watching West's smile flicker across his face. The deep dimple came and went, teasing her. She tried not to stare but felt rather like a moth to the flame each time it appeared. "I confess, I can find nothing at all—"

West held up one hand. "It is a wayward thought that amuses. I apologize for the poor timing of it."

Ria knew herself to be disarmed again. It troubled her that he had accomplished the thing so effortlessly. It seemed that it was not always necessary for him to brandish his weapon. "When will you arrive on the morrow?"

Her question was, in effect, a dismissal. West rose from his chair and stood, feet planted slightly apart, hands clasped at his back. "If it is convenient, I should like to come before the noon hour."

"That will be fine." Ria also rose. "Will you take your luncheon with us?"

West tried to imagine eating a meal surrounded by dozens of young ladies, three female teachers, and their headmistress. He could not. "Perhaps another time."

"The governors do, you know. When they visit, either individually or together, they always sit at the head table for a meal. All of them have lived to tell the tale."

Recognizing a challenge when he heard it, West raised one brow. "You think I'm afraid."

"You blanched, Your Grace."

He grunted softly, acknowledging her dry riposte. "Very well, I shall join you, Miss Ashby."

"Oh, bravo! You do credit to all the scriveners in the foreign office by showing this measure of backbone."

Ria did not know she had gone too far until West closed the distance between them in a single, silent stride. His hands caught her at the waist and drew her sharply toward him. When her head fell back, he adjusted quickly, cupping it in one of his palms while his other arm circled her back and closed the embrace. Her face was very near his own, her lips but a hairsbreadth from his. When he spoke, his breath tickled her mouth.

"And what of your backbone, Ria? Will you not show it to me now?"

Without conscious thought, she stiffened a little. She had known instinctively what he meant. He was not daring her to resist him, but daring her not to. To that end she held herself very still and let her heavy lashes flutter closed.

The touch of his mouth was light, without real pressure at first. She felt it at the corner of her lips, then sliding over them. The contact was warm, slightly humid, and firmness was slowly applied. Her own mouth parted in response. Her reward was the damp edge of his tongue tracing the opening.

Ria's hands hung at her sides, and she did not lift them to mirror his embrace. It was not fear of what he would do if she reciprocated in kind, but fear of what she might allow. He was right to suspect that she trusted him, but not herself.

West lifted his head and drew back slowly. He held her steady, the fingers of one hand threaded in her silky hair while the other hand was splayed against her back. She was not trembling, but neither was she entirely steady on her feet. Her response had been something more than sweetly innocent. It held the promise of real passion at the end of a surprisingly short tether.

He smiled, the curve of his mouth perfectly wicked now, and bent his head quickly to kiss her again. This time her body came flush to his without any encouragement. His hands and fingers did not tighten their grip, nor did they move for better purchase. She was the one who reached for him, digging into the shoulders of his frock coat with her fingertips and holding on with the tenacity of a limpet. Her sumptuous mouth fitted itself to his as she pressed herself against him. It was no wraith that he held but a woman as light and supple as a sapling.