Gentlemen Prefer Mischief (3 page)

She smiled. “Then we’d best get to work.”

Reaching into her pocket, she took out two sticks about six inches long and handed them to the girls. Mary and Anna crouched down in the smoothed dirt at their feet, sticks poised.

“Begin with your full names, please,” she said, and as they formed the letters in the dirt, she observed with pride how much neater each girl’s penmanship had grown. If only they had desks and papers and pens and ink.

Patience
, she told herself,
one
step
at
a
time
. She’d saved quite a bit of money already from the shawl business. Once the ridiculous Woods Fiend problem was resolved and the shawls could be sold again, she would be able to save the rest of the money she needed to realize her dream: a school for all the girls of Highcross.

“Perhaps you ought to have asked Miss Teagarden if there was a particular time this Fiend favored,” the Earl of Ivorwood said quietly to Hal as he shifted to lean against a tree at the edge of the strip of woods between Mayfield and Thistlethwaite. “It’s been a good two hours already. Not that it isn’t romantic, old boy, standing about with you under the moon.”

Hal tipped the gold watch at his waist at an angle to catch some moonlight. He’d been thinking about Lily, and how perversely pleasing it was to rile her.

He’d found that journal of hers in an old guest room, though he hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet. She certainly wasn’t happy about him having it, and that made it all the more interesting. If he suffered a twinge of remorse about being in possession of her journal with the intention of reading it, he quashed it with the knowledge that it was obviously to do with him, and also that it was from four years ago and thus practically a history book.

“It’s getting on for midnight,” he said. “Isn’t that the standard time for evil spirits?”

“So they say. Almost like the rush of battle, is it, waiting for him to show?”

“Almost.” Hal had been in Spain, at the forefront of the battle against Napoleon, when he’d gotten the news about Everard’s death. The news had possibly saved his life, because when the letter arrived, he was sitting in a makeshift jail awaiting punishment. His crime: riding drunk through the conquered town, which wouldn’t have been notable except that he’d finished by performing a bitter, mocking serenade under the window of the house his colonel had commandeered.

Hal had been drinking with some other officers, all of them angered by the summary execution of one of Hal’s enlisted men, who’d stolen a small piece of salt beef from the colonel’s personal stores. The enlisted men were all starving, literally, because of much-delayed provisions, and had been growing agitated in the preceding days. The conquered town had yielded nothing but some barrels of sour wine, and any fool could have seen that, out of desperation, men might be driven to meet the needs which the army that had brought them to Spain could not. But Colonel Burke wouldn’t hear of extenuating circumstances, and he’d marched the soldier in front of the troops and shot him as a lesson to all.

The letter revealing Hal’s sudden accession to the viscountcy had resolved the question of what was to be done with a well-liked captain who’d shown disrespect to his superior, and had doubtless been a relief to Colonel Burke, who’d already done much to make himself hated.

Since then, Hal had tried to behave in a way that would have made his brother proud, but the viscountcy had been Everard’s passion, not Hal’s. He hated the blathery, horse-trading world of Parliament, keeping track of the family’s three estates made his head swim, and the social whirl that had once entertained him now felt dull.

So what did it say about him that he was looking forward to tussling with a fake spirit?

All had been quiet so far, save for the rustlings of forest creatures. If it weren’t for the fact that his staff was anxious about the Woods Fiend, Hal might have suspected Lily of tricking him into standing around like a fool near his woods solely for her own amusement, though she seemed unlikely to do things for her own amusement.

The snap of a twig a short distance away made the two men instantly alert. They stilled, listening as the sounds drew closer, a whishing of something against the grass and dry leaves, the sounds of a very inept Fiend if this was their quarry.

“Who goes there, and what is your purpose on the viscount’s land?” Hal demanded.

“It’s Miss Teagarden,” a feminine voice whispered.

“Oh, I say,” Colin muttered.

“I really think, my lords,” she murmured when she reached them, “that you should lower your voices if you don’t want to alert the Fiend to your presence.”

Hal sucked his teeth. “Lily, what are you doing here?”

“Why, I’ve come to see you gentlemen at work.”

More like checking up on them. And she’d come alone, apparently, which was interesting. He wouldn’t have thought her capable of something so scandalous.

“Is this wise,” Colin whispered, “with the Fiend afoot?”

“But I knew I’d be safe here, with you gentlemen watching over the woods. And if you’re wondering how I found you in the dark, it was the moonlight glinting on your shiny buttons.”

“Blast,” whispered Colin.

“Lily,” Hal said in a low voice as the men reversed their coats, “your brothers would not be pleased to think of you out at night like this, in a possibly dangerous situation. The earl will see you safely home.”

“No, thank you. I should like to see who the Fiend is if you catch him. I have quite a bone to pick with him. Or her.”

“But look,” Colin whispered. “Our quarry.”

A light had appeared in a section of the wood about fifty yards away.

“I suppose you shall have your wish then, Lily,” Hal said. “If you can keep your skirts quiet.”

“I can.” A brief rustling as she arranged them.

They began to creep quietly toward the light along the edge of the wood. Hal thought he heard a soft thunking sound ahead of them. When they were perhaps thirty yards from the light, he sent Ivorwood ahead to flush the Fiend toward him. He told Lily to stand back at a reasonable distance for safety.

“And miss everything?” she said. “Certainly not.”

Her insistence reminded him of how she’d accompanied him and Ian and Rob on childhood escapades, often wanting to be included but then getting nervous about danger and consequences.

“If you change your mind, I’ll have to worry about abandoning you in the woods while I go after the ghost.”

“I’m all grown up now, my lord,” she said tartly. “I never change my mind once it’s made up.”

He thought about the purposeful set of her sharp little chin. “Very well then. Quietly now,” he whispered, and they moved into the pitch-black woods. As they drew closer to the glow, Lily stuck by his side, and he kept being distracted by thoughts of how she must look with her frock pulled tight against her legs and likely tugged above her ankles. Lily Teagarden, of all females.

Ahead of them, the light began to dance around.

“He may realize we’re onto him,” Hal whispered. “Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“So we don’t get separated.” He stuck his hand out in the darkness and felt her reaching for him. She swiped at his coat first, his elbow, and, what made his eyebrows shoot upward, his rump, where she lingered a moment before snatching her hand and thrusting it to the side to find his hand.

“Stop smiling,” she said.

He
was
imagining the prim blush that must be creeping over her cheeks. But her hand felt small and warm and dry in his; quite nice, actually. He couldn’t think when last he’d simply held a woman by the hand.

The light went out and there was a shout and a heavy rustling in the wood—the ghost being flushed. Hal tugged Lily with him as they picked their way past the trees toward where the light had been. Crashing sounds came from various points, some doubtless the trespasser, some the earl. And then the noises were only coming from one area, at some distance off.

They moved up a small, steep hill and Hal slowed their pace at the top as they came to the edge of a clearing. Bright moonlight picked out stumps and bushes but nothing else as he surveyed the area. He’d been certain someone had been near, but now there was nothing.

And then, unaccountably, he stepped on something that moved—something hard, like a hand—and he heard a grunt. A streak of moonlight coming through the clearing picked out a dark head writhing under a screening pile of leaves.

“Got you!” he cried just as Lily gave a funny sort of yelp.

And though he was bending over, he didn’t have hold of the Fiend yet, and then—what the devil?—Lily grabbed him around the waist. She knocked him backward down the hill.

They rolled and slid down the incline, sticks and brush scratching them, until they came to rest at the bottom, with her on top. Hal could hear the diminishing sounds of the enemy escaping, and farther away what was doubtless Colin giving chase.

“Let me up,” he said quickly, trying to move under what seemed a dead weight. “I might still catch him.”

She didn’t reply.

“Lily? Are you hurt?”

She gasped against his chest and moved jerkily, and he realized she was trying to breathe. Her pointy elbows dug into his ribs.

“You’ve had the wind knocked out of you,” he said, keeping the disappointment out of his tone. He could hardly throw her off him, but unless Colin was quick, the Fiend would escape.

“I’ll lie still while you try to breathe slowly.” He put an arm over her back to steady her so she wouldn’t roll off him and silently gnashed his teeth.

They lay there in the dark woods as she gasped shallowly. A rock pressed into his back, hard with her weight added to his. A few feet away, a small creature moved about in the dry leaves.

Her breathing became more regular. Just below his chin, her head lay against his neck, and the fresh scent of her hair teased his nose. Violets? Did violets have a scent?

Dear God, but having her lying across him was working upon him. It had been months since he’d known the receptive softness only a woman could offer.

She shifted and pressed against his hips, and he almost groaned. Under his forearm her rib cage seemed fragile, made on such a smaller scale than his own. She was a petite, tightly wound, governessish woman whose attitude toward him was far from warm. But she was also refreshingly
apart
from what his life felt filled with: compromises, gossip, vacancy. Could a life be filled with vacancy? He was overcome with the urge to bury his face in her neck, to kiss her and touch her and do everything.

“Oh,” she muttered, apparently now able to speak.

She pushed herself off his chest, grinding him further onto the rock as she shifted onto the ground. He sat up next to her, his mind refocused on their purpose. Or at least, on his purpose, as he was now very suspicious about hers.

“Do forgive me,” she said as they stood. “I tripped.”

He brushed at the leaves and twigs stuck to his clothes and hair. “That was an odd sort of tripping. You had me by the waist.”

“The Fiend startled me, being right there. That caused me to trip against you, and I tried to catch myself.”

“And then it was just an accident that you and I ended up rolling down the hill.”

“Exactly.” She seemed eager to confirm this version of events, especially for someone who so far had not agreed with him about anything.

“That’s odd, because from the sound you made when I stumbled on our man, I thought perhaps you’d recognized him.”

A pause. “How should I have seen anything in the darkness?”

“There was some light in the clearing. I saw dark hair.”

“Well, if I knew who the Fiend was, why wouldn’t I have gone to that person myself and insisted he stop?”

She was being purposefully obtuse. “No doubt you would have. If you had
known
that you knew the person.”

“That is so nonsensical a statement I can hardly follow it.”

A shout came from not far away—Colin looking for them.

“Here,” she shouted, practically in Hal’s ear. “We’re coming.”

He would bet she was grateful for any reason to end their conversation, but he could hardly insist they stand there in the night woods and finish it. They made for the sound of Colin’s voice.

***

Lily was grateful to step out of the darkness of the woods and into the moonlit meadow on the Thistlethwaite side as they followed the earl’s voice
.

Already a foolish part of her wanted to relive the moments of feeling Roxham’s muscle and bone and energy underneath her. He smelled very, very good—some kind of wonderfully scented and doubtless costly soap. It had felt so good to rest her head in the curve where his neck met his shoulders. She suspected herself, disgustedly, of lingering there longer than she’d needed to.

He… did something to her.

Of course he did: he was handsome as sin and the king of charm.

But she couldn’t think about that right now, because
oh
dear
oh
dear
oh
dear!
The Woods Fiend was Nate Beckett! Moonlight had illuminated his dark hair and the distinctive missing top of his ear, which he’d lost in a woodcutting accident years before.

The Becketts had a small farm near Thistlethwaite, and Mrs. Beckett had been a help to the Teagardens after Mrs. Teagarden died. Lily had thought of the Becketts’ home as a sort of refuge during that difficult year when she was twelve. She used to sit at their kitchen table with Mrs. Beckett. She
knew
Nate, even if she didn’t see him much anymore. What on earth was he up to in the woods?

Oh, what if Ivorwood
had
captured him in the end, she thought sickly as they moved closer to the sound of the earl’s voice. It would be a disaster, and one she’d helped bring about by insisting that Roxham investigate.

The earl hadn’t caught him, they discovered when they reached him.
Thank
God.

But she would have to get to the bottom of what Nate was up to as soon as possible.

“Very well,” Roxham said. “That’s it for tonight, then. If we haven’t scared him away for good, we will have to catch him next time. Why don’t you head back, Colin, and I’ll see Miss Teagarden home. Obviously, we can’t mention…”

The earl’s grin flashed in the moonlight. “I never saw her.”

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice.

She and Roxham started walking toward Thistlethwaite. In an effort to find him less appealing, she decided she would think of him as the Old Duffer, a term her Scottish nanny had used for silly, aimless men. She’d keep an image in her mind of him as being older than her and thus closer to the years of baldness and bad teeth. Surely it would help.

They’d been walking for a few minutes in silence when he said, “You are very comfortable wandering around by yourself at night. Have you no fear of the harm you might come to?”