Nina Coombs Pykare (22 page)

When the viscount gave her a friendly smile and tucked her free arm through his, Edwina didn’t take her arm away. The earl’s anger had unsettled her a great deal, a very great deal, so this little friendliness on the part of the viscount was welcome. She allowed him to guide her along the road. No one would see them there anyway. It was nice to feel friendship from someone.

“The day is lovely,” he said, looking at her with that charming smile, making the sort of trivial conversation that rakes made in London, made when they wanted to win a lady.

“Yes, it is,” she replied, aware that her tone was entirely too light and gracious for her circumstances, but for the moment not caring. The earl had spoiled the outing for her by his inexplicable anger, his rudeness at breakfast. She hadn’t realized how much she had anticipated his company today. The girls enjoyed being with their father, she knew that. Then her very real disappointment for them had been made worse by his rude treatment of her.

Perhaps the viscount’s cheerful presence would help her forget that unfortunate breakfast. She didn’t want to let the earl ruin what was really a lovely day. She sniffed the air appreciatively. It carried the smell of greenness and growing—something she hadn’t known much of during her years in the city, years spent in cheap rooms trying to make do with the least possible amount of everything so that Papa would have more funds to use in his insane quest for a title.

Constance tugged at her hand, pulling her out of her painful memories. “Violets, Miss Pierce! That’s what I want. I want to find some pretty violets.”

Edwina forced herself to smile. “We will, Constance. I’m sure there are many violets in the woods.”

“Good!” The child gave a little skip of joy and the viscount smiled. Edwina smiled, too, a more genuine smile this time. She couldn’t help warming to the viscount. He seemed to be the only person at the castle who hadn’t let the place ruin his life. At the moment, apart from Constance and the housekeeper and butler, he was the only one friendly to her.

But watching Henrietta march stiffly ahead of them along the road, Edwina felt her smile fading. Was the child irretrievably lost in her melancholy? Would she ever be reachable? Or had this awful curse ruined her life forever?

Following her gaze, the viscount squeezed Edwina’s arm sympathetically. “There’s a great deal of life in the woods,” he said with a knowing smile. “But it all takes time to grow.”

“Yes.” She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “Yes, I know. Only sometimes we get anxious waiting for things to blossom. We want to see the beauty immediately.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But with patience we often succeed where we least expected to.”

This philosophical discussion was getting too close to home. No doubt the viscount was talking about the child, but she couldn’t keep herself from thinking about the father—and his inexplicable anger at her. When she didn’t reply, the viscount squeezed her arm comfortingly again, drawing her closer to him.

“Here!” Constance cried. “Here’s a path. Can we go into the woods here? Please, Miss Pierce? Please?”

Edwina looked along the path. It seemed well marked and fairly clean. “Yes, Constance. This looks like a good place.”

They stepped off the road into the shade of the trees, into coolness that was a tangible presence, comforting against her skin. Constance was already tugging at her bonnet strings. “Please, Miss Pierce, please?”

Edwina nodded. “Yes, you may take your bonnet off while we’re in the woods, but you must put it on again when we get back to the road. I don’t want your nose to burn in the sun.”

“Yes, Miss Pierce, I will. Oh, look!”

“First give me your bonnet. I’ll carry it.”

The child jerked it off so fast the strings were almost broken. Edwina looped them over her free arm and Constance darted off into the trees, dropping to her knees in the dead leaves. “Violets! Oh, look at the pretty violets!”

The viscount looked at Edwina and smiled again. She smiled back—the little girl’s joy was contagious.

Constance glanced up, her face ecstatic. “Oh, Miss Pierce. I do love the woods. Almost as much as the ocean.”

Edwina nodded. “They each have their own kind of beauty. We want to appreciate them both.”

“You’re very philosophical for a woman,” the viscount said, with a smile that took the sting from his words. “Most women are concerned with more mundane things—gowns, jewels, and the like.”

Edwina returned his smile. He was being so charming she could hardly do otherwise. She looked down at her old gown, wishing she hadn’t soaked her new green one in the ocean yesterday, wishing she’d been able to wear it this morning. “As you can see, milord, I haven’t many gowns, none of them exactly the latest fashion. I am sewing up some new ones, though. And as for jewels, I haven’t a single jewel. So I don’t need to think about them at all. Besides, nature’s beauty is for everyone. Anyone may admire it.”

“Anyone may,” he said, “but many do not. How many London ladies, for instance, would risk their creamy complexions by walking about in the country air?”

Her smile faded. “Milord, I know very little about the life of London ladies. I’m a squire’s daughter and though I was properly educated, I’ve never been a lady. I never will be.”

“That’s too bad,” the viscount said gallantly. “Certainly you have the looks to put many of them to shame.”

She laughed lightly, endeavoring to hide her pleasure, but afraid she didn’t do it very well. Though she knew he was flattering her, the kind words soothed. “You’re bamming me, milord. As I have said before, you’ve been too long away from the pleasures of the city.”

The viscount frowned and shook his handsome head. “You are mistaken, Miss Pierce. I was on the town for some years and I never found a woman there who could compare with you. Not among all the belles of the season.”

In spite of herself, she flushed at the compliment. She shouldn’t let herself be affected by the man’s obvious flattery. Yet she couldn’t help but appreciate it. She was, after all, female. “I thank you for your pleasant words,” she said in a jesting tone. That was the best way to keep the viscount at bay. Make a joke of all this.

Seeming to realize that further compliments would not sit well with her, the viscount confined himself to saying, “You’re quite welcome. But every word I said is true. On my honor.”

They continued strolling slowly along the path that wound beneath the trees. The girls slipped here and there between the trees, pausing to admire the wildflowers, falling behind, then catching up or running ahead. It was pleasantly cool there under the trees and Edwina tried to relax, to push the earl and his strange behavior from her mind. After all, there was nothing she could do about his anger—at least, not till she discovered the reason for it. Was it possible- Could it be that the viscount knew the reason? But no, he’d been out, taking his morning-

The toe of her half boot caught in an exposed root. “Oh!” She threw out an arm to stop herself, but it was the viscount’s supporting hand that kept her from falling and brought her up against his waistcoat with a force that took the breath from her. For a moment she could only remain motionless, trying to pull air back into her body. Then, conscious of the girls only a short distance off, she pulled away from him. “Thank you, milord. I’m all right now. I have my bearings again.”

“I’ve kept you from a terrible fall,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and beaming down with that brash smile of his. “For such an act of gallantry, I certainly deserve a reward.”

“Milord,” she protested, keeping her voice low, “the girls! Think of the girls.”

He grinned. “The girls have moved on into the woods, my dear. After their wildflowers. If you don’t wish them to see us, you must give me my reward quickly so that I may release you.”

“I cannot,” she retorted, struggling to free herself. But the viscount’s arms didn’t loosen from around her.

“My reward,” he repeated. “You must give me my reward.”

She gave a sigh of resignation, though a part of her was more excited than resigned. “All right, but then you must release me.”

The viscount smiled. “I shall. Word of honor, I shall.”

So she let him claim her lips. There was no denying that the viscount was a personable man. He was hard to resist. And what harm could a little kiss do? Better that than make a fuss that attracted the girls.

The kiss was short but persuasive. She felt her breath quicken. But when he seemed about to claim another, she murmured, “Milord, please.”

“Yes, yes,” he said with a laugh, releasing her. “I am an honorable man, a man of my word.”

She didn’t reply, but laughing lightly again, turned away to resume their walk.

And the laughter died in her throat.

For there, directly in her path, stood Henrietta, and from her childish eyes blazed the same kind of anger that had earlier raged in her father’s. Edwina read there the child’s disappointment, her shock, her unbelieving outraged betrayal. And she knew that whatever ground she had previously gained with the child was now lost. And all because the viscount must have his kiss.

Chapter Twenty-two

Edwina’s heart pounded in her throat and her stomach was a battlefield for butterflies, not from the kiss so much, as from Henrietta’s disdainful look. It had only been a little kiss, a meaningless little kiss. There was no reason for Edwina to feel that she had betrayed the child—or her father.

With great presence of mind, the viscount took Edwina’s arm in a firm grasp and moved her off down the path, and perforce Henrietta gave way, allowing them to pass. Something in the viscount’s expression prevented the child from saying anything, and Constance, who had wandered off to add more and more violets to the growing bouquet in her hand, didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss.

Edwina struggled to compose her features, to act as though nothing unusual had happened. So Henrietta had seen the viscount kiss her. That had happened and it couldn’t be changed. But it needn’t ruin everything. Surely it needn’t ruin everything.

So after several quiet hours enjoying the woods, they returned to the castle. By that time, because the viscount had been acting as though nothing had happened and because Constance had such obvious joy in the wonders around her, Edwina had managed to regain a certain calmness. She was afraid the girls hadn’t learned all that she’d intended from their first excursion into the woods, but there would be other days, other trips. At least Constance had her fistful of flowers and Henrietta-

Edwina suppressed a shiver. She was worried about Henrietta. A child like that shouldn’t be feeling such awful rage.

The great door of the castle loomed before them. The viscount used the knocker briskly, his other hand still protectively under Edwina’s elbow. The door opened to disclose a smiling Wiggins. “Did you have a good walk now, miss?” he inquired pleasantly, smiling down at the girls.

Edwina forced herself to sound cheerful. “Yes, Wiggins. It was quite a pleasant walk, thank you. Now we have lingered long enough, and we must get to our lessons.”

“Yes, miss.” The slightest change in Wiggins’ tone told her that she hadn’t succeeded in keeping her distress hidden from him. How very observant servants were. But she should have known that. Wasn’t she a servant herself?

She followed the girls toward the great staircase, the viscount trailing along behind her. Just as she put a foot on the bottom step, she heard a noise to her left. She stopped and turned. But she already knew what she would see—the earl emerging from his library. As he approached she could feel his eyes taking in the whole scene, the girls ahead of her and the viscount by her side, too close by her side.

“Greetings, cousin,” the viscount said cheerfully, apparently oblivious of the thunderous look in the earl’s eyes, the rage that was so obvious to her.

“Good afternoon, cousin.” The earl’s tone was calm, pleasant, polite. It was clear that his anger wasn’t directed at the viscount. But why must he look at her like that? As though she had done some terrible thing. As though she had committed some terrible crime. “I trust you had a pleasant excursion this morning, Crawford.”

“Very pleasant, cousin,” the viscount returned with a smile at her that made her color up. Now why should she flush like that, as though she’d done something wrong? The scarlet of her cheeks grew hotter at the memory of the viscount’s stolen kiss. But it was only that—a little kiss. The earl had no right to be angry about a kiss—even if he knew about it. And he couldn’t. She was sure he couldn’t know. Yet she felt like a very small, very bad little girl, one who was going to be caught out and punished.

With every second that his gaze rested on her in that terrible way, she felt herself growing younger, weaker, and less able to face him. With great effort, she tore her eyes away from the angry ones that seemed to burn into her. She would simply ignore that terrible look of his and go on up after the girls. She turned back to the stairs.

“Miss Pierce?” The words were spoken softly, politely, and yet—there was something in them that chilled her through and through. She was right. The anger she’d felt in him that morning hadn’t abated at all. In fact, it seemed to have grown.

“Yes, milord?” She meant to make her voice firm and unconcerned, to show him she was in control of her feelings even if he wasn’t. But to her dismay her voice cracked in the middle of her reply, making her sound weak, even guilty.

“I wish to see you in the library,” he said. “Immediately.”

“Yes, milord.” This time she managed to get the words out firmly.

The earl turned, a set to his shoulders that spoke eloquently of anger. Yet the viscount continued to gaze at her cheerfully, as though nothing out of the way had occurred. “I shall see you at dinner then, Miss Pierce.” He sketched a little bow. “My thanks for a pleasant morning.”

“I, too, enjoyed it,” she said, embarrassed that the earl should hear this exchange and yet feeling that she owed the viscount common politeness.

The viscount went on up the stairs after the girls. Taking a deep breath, Edwina followed down the corridor after the earl. How rigidly straight he held his shoulders. Even the back of his head and his stride seemed to reflect his ire.