Seeking Celeste (2 page)

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Authors: Hayley Ann Solomon

BOOK: Seeking Celeste
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The pain told her instantly that the sprain was more serious than she had first feared. In despair she looked at her trunk, merrily corded in canary yellow and weighing, to her mind, a ton at least. She shifted herself off the footpath and considered her narrowing options.
If she did not make Kingsbury by nightfall, she would undoubtedly miss her connection to Staines, thereby angering the dowager countess, who would have sent a trap down to wait upon her arrival. On the other hand ... she could not very well walk in her present condition, so she had no option but to cheerfully wait upon the foot path and hope that some friendly passerby would notice her plight and help her into the village. The stream and little trickling waterfall to the left of the path looked inviting, so she abandoned her worldly goods and eased herself slowly onto a pile of the velvety green grass. The effort was worth the accompanying pain, for she reasoned that if she had to wait, she might just as well do so in a modicum of comfort.
Fortunately, her serviceable blue merino, whilst not the very height of fashion, was nonetheless the very thing for a crisp spring morning: warm and remarkably resistant to damp. It was in this position, then, that she shifted her plain, untrimmed chip straw hat, resigned herself to her fate and settled for what might turn out to be a long and tiresome vigil.
After what seemed like an age but was really closer to the far side of an hour, Miss Derringer began to feel the faintest prickle of misgiving. Surely, by now, a cart should have passed her way, or a horse and trap. Even a lone rider would have been comforting. She shifted position and winced. Her boot, once modishly loose, now seemed jammed to her swelling foot. She fiddled furiously with the laces, but the damage was done. The kidskin, she realized, would have to be cut, but since she had nothing so practical at hand as a knife, she desisted from her efforts.
“Allow me!”
Anne startled and swung round, as best she could under the circumstances. Too late she realized the indecorous manner in which her long, slender legs revealed themselves to appreciative eyes.
Colour danced to her cheeks as she immediately swept the blue merino down over lengths and lengths of excellent white linen petticoats.
The gentleman, clad indecently in buckskins that left little to the imagination and a severe dark riding coat that appeared faultless in its elegance, discarded his gun and advanced a trifle closer.
To Anne, who had fretted that no one would find her that day, the gentleman's amused chuckle came as a mixed blessing. On the one hand, she had undoubtedly been found; on the other ... well, she did not wish to reflect on the other, for her pain was suddenly forgotten in the confusion of several emotions that seemed to have taken over her foolish, dreadfully immodest person.
The slight flush turned to crimson as the gentleman dropped down lightly beside her and peremptorily took hold of her boot.
“Sir!”
“Is that indignation or gratitude I detect in your tone?”
“Neither!”
“How so? Either your maidenly instincts rail at me for making free with your ... eh ... delicious charms, or your common sense applauds me for having the foresight to carry a knife!”
“Let me go!” Anne glared uncivilly, for she was curiously loath to be a source of amusement to this arrogant fellow.
“I shall, with regret, once I have slit the leather.” The gentleman,
odiously
unabashed, slipped an ungloved hand into a near invisible pocket of his riding coat and withdrew the promised knife.
“Now, I shall endeavour not to hurt, but I shall not offer you false coin and make untrue promises.”
Anne nodded. The gentleman, after all, was merely trying to help. If his eyes lingered over her longer than was strictly pardonable, well, she had only herself to blame with her hat askew and her hair all but tumbling from its pins.
“Wait!” he ordered.
“Beg pardon?”
“Don't squirm! My aim may be unerringly accurate, but I beg you not to handicap this delicate operation by wriggling. A person may replace a boot—they may not as easily do the same for a leg!”
“You are pleased to make fun, sir!”
“And why ever not? It is not every day one comes on a sylph on one's lands.”
“Hardly your lands, sir! This, I apprehend, is the common toll road to Kingsbury.”
“Then, you have been misinformed. This is a private path that leads, admittedly, in that direction, but nevertheless well within the boundaries of Carmichael land.”
“The devil!”
The gentleman appeared not to have heard the unladylike epithet, but his lips twitched nonetheless.
“I take it you have been apprised otherwise?”
“And hoodwinked out of my last guinea piece! The coachman assured me it was for the toll.”
“You were robbed, for the toll road lies north of this boundary. There!”
The boot shot off Anne's foot, catching her momentarily by surprise.
“Oh!”
“Yes, it hurts a little, I don't doubt.” The amusement vanished from the man's face as he explored the ankle with sudden, unexpected tenderness. “Worse than I first suspected. You make a brave face, miss ... ?”
“Derringer.”
Aristocratic brows arched in her direction.
“Indeed? You appear a trifle too young.”
Anne looked at the gentleman in sudden confusion. Young for what? And why was he regarding her now with a sudden tightening of his eminently masculine lips? She tried to ignore the warmth that coursed through her being as he lifted her as if she were nothing more than a troublesome child.
“Put me down, sir!”
“And abandon you to any passing crofter? Not likely!”
There was a faint sternness about him that caused Anne to resign herself to this extraordinary and unlikely fate. She felt, however, honour bound to make one last protest before the fluttering of her pulses overset her entirely.
“My bandbox ...”
“... shall be collected in due course. Come, if you wish to impress me with your good sense, you will cease remonstrating and allow me to get you over this paddock and across to Carmichael Crescent without further ado.”
“My hat!”
“You should have thought about that before allowing your pins to go hopelessly astray.” His voice was firm as he regarded her uncompromisingly, but since he was holding her quite high and facing him, she could not help noticing that his lips were perilously close for comfort. She wondered if he noticed, too, then immediately shut her eyes to the positively indecent image that presented itself to her obviously overset imagination.
When she dared peek at him once more, she found the sternness gone and her bandbox nothing but a tiny hint of yellow in the distance. He grinned.
“That is better! I can't abide gabbling females. And by the by ... yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes to your errant thoughts, young lady.”
If Anne could have blushed deeper than the pretty pink that already all but stained her cheeks from the crest of her head to the modest shadows of her well-laced bodice, she would have. Instead, she indignantly turned her head and pretended not to have heard the odious, pointedly ungentlemanly teasing.
Two
The Earl of Edgemere seemed to have a stride that made wide, lush paddocks disappear faster than Anne could ever have expected. She had a faint sensation of hedgerows and oaks passing behind her, but she hardly paid much heed. What caught her interest was the strong, masculine heartbeat that brushed up close to her ear. The man's warmth acted as a soothing drug upon her disordered senses.
All notions of maidenly conduct seemed to vanish deplorably into the crisp morning air as she snuggled up and brazenly resigned herself to her fate. The earl, feeling her relax, smiled more broadly than ever and allowed the faint glimmers of a whistle to emanate from his delicious golden lips.
“Not far, now. You shall have a hot posset and apply a cold pack to your ankle. I daresay after all your adventures you shall require a little light supper before bed.”
“Bed?” She glared at him, horrid visions looming before her. He nodded. “My housekeeper has prepared an excellent chamber for your use. I confess, we had not expected you to arrive so soon, but since you have, I suppose it is for the better.”
Did Anne imagine the sudden restraint in his tone? Again, he eyed her with renewed disfavour.
“You are certainly younger than I had thought.”
“Evidently. You have mentioned that twice already.” Anne kept her tone tart. If she concentrated on annoying him, she might not be quite as prone to throw her arms about him in wild abandon. She thought she must be going mad. Nothing he said made sense, and never—never in all her seasoned four and twenty years—had a man ever produced such a dangerous, rackety and entirely wanton effect upon her person.
She reminded herself sternly that she was Miss Anne Derringer. All the hurts of past seasons welled up inside her. “Prissy Miss Derringer,” “Miss Derringer the ice maiden”—titters behind fans—“Miss Derringer the bluestocking.” It wasn't working.
She did not
feel
like ice. On the contrary. As for her learning ... in this man's arms she was perfectly certain she could not now parse a simple sentence if she tried.
“How old
are
you actually? I collect from Lady Markham that you are three and thirty.”
“Well past my last prayers, in fact.”
Indignation mingled with relief. She was not going mad. The stranger was obviously suffering under some misapprehension. Whoever Lady Markham was, she had not been writing of Miss Anne Derringer. Anne had never encountered the woman in her life.
“Sir ...”
“I would not have phrased it in those disparaging terms, but yes, I had expected someone a little older. You are hardly out of leading strings yourself!”
Anne almost giggled. From the sublime to the ridiculous. She straightened her back, but that had the effect of causing this odious man to slightly alter his grip. His hands were scorching upon her merino. If only he had possessed the common decency to wear gloves... .
“I will have you know, sir, I am four and twenty if I am a day!”
“Really?” His tone rang with disbelief. “You look hardly an hour above eighteen. Quite unsuitable, in fact, to accompany Miss Kitty the requisite thirty miles.”
“Sir, set me down!”
“Whatever for? I may be disposed to turn you off, but it shall not be without a character or before you have at least enjoyed the hospitality of my home! It is the least I can do, Miss Derringer.”
“Really? Well, I shall have you know, sir, that it is not enough!”
Mild surprise entered Lord Carmichael's brilliant, deep-set, hazel bright eyes. He stopped in his tracks.
“Devil a bit, woman! Whatever can you mean? I believe I am more than generous under the circumstances.”
“The circumstances are exactly what eludes me. Now set me down, sir. I fear you are a victim of some unfortunate misapprehension.”
Robert stared at Miss Derringer in bemusement. He wondered whether her delicate pink lips ever curved into the delicious smile he suspected them capable of. Actually, smiles were not the only thing her lips caused him to ponder about... .
“Sir!”
“Be patient, Miss Derringer, we are nearly at the manse. See?”
Anne did see. The house was unmistakable with its huge, wide arches, pilaster columns and marble steps. My lord ignored her feeble protests and increased his pace. Anne decided it would be useless to argue with anyone headstrong enough to blithely ignore her express injunctions. No doubt he would soon enough realize his mistake, and when he did, she hoped he would be sufficiently humbled to offer her a profuse apology. Three and thirty indeed!
The stairs to the front entrance were taken at a leisurely but thoroughly efficient pace so that it seemed, to Miss Derringer's bemused estimation, that it was no time at all before they were being heralded into an imposing morning chamber of royal blue relieved by elegant hints of silver and a tall, impossibly beautiful epergne filled with a profusion of cut flowers.
“How wonderful!” The words escaped her just as the stranger set her down on an elegant, Egyptian style chaise longue of deep velvet.
“My sentiments exactly.” Robert's eyes danced, for he could not resist teasing the straight-backed, slightly prickly Miss Derringer. She might challenge him with an ascetic tongue, but he could have sworn she was less resistant to his tender ministrations than she would have him believe. His own instincts on this matter, he righteously chose not to explore.
“No need to gape, Augustus! The young lady has met with an unfortunate accident. See to it, if you will, that her portmanteau be restored to her forthwith. It is to be found by Tom's stream at the south boundary.”
“Very good, my lord! And will that be all?”
“Apprise the Viscount Tukebury and Miss Kitty that Miss Derringer has arrived. No doubt they will wish to make their bow and curtsy.”
“Very good, your lordship.”
The door all but closed behind him.
“May I look at your ankle?”
“Indeed, you may not! Quite improper, my lord! I collect you
are
a lord?”
“Yes, but you are aware of that, Miss Derringer. No doubt Lady Markham filled you in on
all
my particulars. She has a remarkably sharp tongue for one so advanced in years!”
Anne was momentarily diverted, wondering what
else
the unknown Lady Markham could tell her of this handsome man, so stern and cool, yet with such a mirthful dimple bubbling beneath the surface. She would like to explore it... .
“Miss Derringer!”
“Oh! Beg pardon, my lord! You were saying?” She looked at him inquiringly.
“I was saying that either you present me with your ankle or I shall advance upon you and unceremoniously retrieve it from under your skirts myself.”
“Oh! How very unhandsome of you, my lord!”
“Very! I am not known, my dear, for my handsome nature.”
Did the voice hold a slight warning? Anne very prudently decided not to press the matter but rather, with great delicacy and a quite inordinate degree of feminine modesty, presented the offending foot meekly.
The earl stared at her hard, and a strange but fascinating smile threatened to break the severity of his quite captivating lips. He said nothing, however, but regarded the swelling with a small tightening of his brow.
“Miss Derringer, I should like a doctor to have a look at this.”
“No! My lord, it is perfectly fine. A good night's rest and I shall be right as a trivet. I need to travel tomorrow—”
“I have already explained, Miss Derringer, that you are travelling nowhere without suitable escort! I don't care whether you are thirty, forty or a mere green girl no older than my Kitty! You have been summarily discharged from your duties—I confess I was deceived a little by Lady Markham's letter of reference—but I am willing to make good my error. You shall be paid your fee, so be quiet, I beg you, and bother me no more about trifles.”
“Trifles? Trifles? My lord, my life is not a trifle, and I intend, tomorrow, to continue on with my journey!”
The earl glared at her, unused to being ridden over roughshod in his own home.
“Miss Derringer, have I not made myself plain enough? You are going nowhere until I have delivered Tom to Kestridge and returned to fetch Kitty myself. Then, once she is safe in the hands of Miss Parsons, I shall return you personally to London.”
“In your chaise?”
“Yes, Miss Derringer, in my chaise! Do you require to know whether I drive a curricle or phaeton or merely an outmodish barouche?”
“No, my lord, for these matters cannot possibly interest me, beyond the fact that riding twenty miles in a closed chaise with you would be enough to quite ruin my reputation forever. However, since I cannot expect you to care a ha'penny farthing for such inconvenient trifles, I merely require you to know that you seem to be labouring under some
absurd
misapprehension ...”
“Absurd? Miss Derringer, I am many things, but I assure you, I am not absurd!”
The eighth earl glared at the impossibly composed young woman before him. How
dared
she look so neatly imposing when her delectable raven's hair was falling about her face in a most improper manner and it was she—
she
—who was at fault for believing she was a suitable travelling companion for someone like his hubble-bubble sister. Why, as she had almost implied herself, it was
she
who needed the chaperoning. Little vixen!
“My lord, I believe we shall get on a great deal better if—
”
“If what?”
“If you give me a moment to explain.”
“I believe I have another plan for getting along better, Miss Derringer!”
“And what is that, my lord?” Anne tried desperately to still the inconvenient hammering of her heart. Drat the man! He had no right to play havoc with her senses, no right to kneel next to her and smell of apple blossom and soap... .
His mouth was upon her. Light, but as devastating as if he had forced her lips open and commenced a concerted assault. Anne determined to push him away, but found, instead, that her arms were tangling themselves against his chest, and her traitorous mouth, far from being outraged, seemed curiously satisfied with the caress. For a moment, she experienced a warmth flood her being that convinced her, once and for all, that she was no ice maiden.
“Angel, my dearest angel.” He was murmuring endearments into the base of her neck. Anne could not believe how tender a man's tone could be, nor yet how beguiling the touch of a finger on flesh.
Then, very unfairly, but quite properly, she disentangled herself, straightened her elegant back and delivered a stinging blow across one deplorably handsome cheek.
My lord gasped at the gesture, his eyes narrowing quite dangerously. Anne drew in her breath and awaited the inevitable reprisal. It never came, though she could sense his jaw tightening.
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as both parties glared at each other, yet felt wholly miserable within. Anne, always fair, drew in a breath to apologize.
“Spare your platitudes, Miss Derringer! I apologize for so far forgetting myself as to take advantage of an employee—nay, a
guest
in my home. Unforgivable and I assure you the event shall not recur.”
The stiffness of his tone was unmistakable. Anne felt quite dreadful as she noticed how streaked his profile was. She had never intended actually
hurting
the man; she had merely wished to discourage unwelcome advances. Unwelcome? Ever distressingly truthful, it was
her
face that burned when she remembered her curious response.
She opened her mouth to speak, but she could not formulate the words that would remove the hauteur from his eyes or the grim set to his lips as he regarded her.
“Think no more on the matter, sir. I must have said something improper to encourage you to believe ...” Her voice faltered.
Robert, had he been alone, would have cursed out loud. How could he have been so maladroit as to allow a situation like this to arise? Worse, how was it that despite the most humbling of set downs, his pulses still raced quite excruciatingly, and the impulse to take her in his arms and repeat his offense again and yet again remained disconcertingly strong.
Instead, he tightened his lips, hardened his tone—more against himself than the offending young lady—and decreed that no more was to be said on the matter. When the silence between them grew uncomfortable and there was
still
no sign of his truant siblings, he decided that the interview ought to be brought to a speedy close, for his self-control seemed strangely unreliable.
“Miss Derringer, I shall have a trap sent round for Dr. Harley. I suggest you heed his advice, for he is quite notable in his field. In the meanwhile, I shall convey you to your chamber whilst I consider what is to be done with my sister.”

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