Candice Hern (19 page)

She adjusted her bonnet, which must be sadly askew, and retied the ribbon beneath her chin. “I am not closing up, whatever that means. I simply think we have spent too long here and need to get back on the road.”

“You are uncomfortable. I am sorry about that, though I am not sorry about kissing you.”

He smiled, and his eyes were back to their normal twinkle, the earlier sensual intensity now gone. Dear God, he really was adorable. What was she going to do about Simon Westover?

“I don’t believe I’m sorry, either,” she said, “but I also don’t believe we should let it happen again. I have Belinda to think about. I cannot think of anything else just now. Please, let’s go back to the coach. Let us be friends again and carry on as before.”

“How long before? You’re not going to slap me again, are you?”

She smiled, appreciating his attempt to put them back on familiar ground, bantering and arguing. “No, I’m not going to slap you. But I just might pinch you if you don’t hurry up.”

He pushed himself away from the wall and offered his arm. “Let us be off then. I’d hate to be subject to another one of your blows. I assure you, I’m too weak in the knees to withstand it.”

T
he trip to Kendal was fraught with a new kind of tension. Their conversation was inconsequential and relaxed, but now and then, when their eyes met, it was like setting off a tiny electrical storm that shot through the interior of the carriage and charged the air. Awkward silences followed such moments, until one of them, usually Simon, shattered the disquiet with a comment about the roads or the weather or the distant fells and lush green pastures that dominated the view.

They never spoke of what had happened at the village fete, though the very fact of that kiss—those kisses—sat between them like a third passenger. They spoke around it, they tried to ignore it, but it was always there and always would be. Though they pretended otherwise, things between them had changed forever.

Simon maintained the pretense as best he could, but the kiss dominated his every thought. It had been a wondrous moment, blissful, dazzling—a conscious sharing that had not been a part of the kiss at Buxton. That one had simply been a result of his blood being up from the taproom brawl. It had been intense and almost feral, but not a joining of souls such as he’d experienced today. Those long minutes against the cottage wall were worthy of erotic Persian poetry in the way body and soul had pulsed with glorious sensation.

Eclipsing everything else, though, even the raw sexuality of it, were two things. First, Simon had not been able to get enough of her. He would never be able to get enough of her. That mouth, those lips—Lord, they were every bit as delectable as he had imagined, and he wanted to taste them again and again. She was like a drug, an opiate he could not live without. In thirty-four years he had never felt such a hunger, so powerful it outstripped all his other appetites.

For this alone, he had to have her.

Second, and more important, had been Eleanor’s response. She had not pushed him away or fought him or submitted with passive resignation. He had given her every opportunity to object, but there had been clear invitation in those green eyes.

She had participated fully, had taken as much as she gave. Her hunger had been almost equal to his own, if possible. It was quite extraordinary to think she might want him as much as he wanted her. In
fact, her mouth had been wild and eager at first. He had to coax her into a more succulent, unhurried, prolonged merging of lips and tongue, and she had followed his lead deliciously. She had, at last and with sweet abandon, relinquished her unwavering control and simply given herself over to the moment.

She was clearly embarrassed by what she’d done, and maybe even a little angry with herself for it. Simon still had much to teach her about trust, and he was more than willing to take his time. When she had said she could not think of anything but Belinda right now, Simon wanted to believe that
he
was the thing she wanted to think about but could not. Hope swelled in his breast.

By the time they reached Kendal, he and Eleanor had settled into a kind of quiet harmony. Simon did his best to keep the mood light, and to keep his hands to himself. Eleanor would have to come to terms with what had happened between them, but in her own way and in her own time. He would not rush her and would try his damnedest not to touch her.

They picked up the Runners’ report in Kendal, which directed them to Penrith. They were getting closer to the border. Surely Eleanor must now accept the inevitability of a Scottish marriage for her niece. Simon would not, however, disturb the amity between them by mentioning it. When they had talked about it the night before, she did not seem ready to change her mind about Barkwith just because they
might have gone to Scotland. There were places to take a girl in Scotland as well as England, she had said, and it might simply be a more elaborate ruse than the one that had lured her so many years ago. Eleanor’s mind was fixed as far as Barkwith’s villainy was concerned. Her own experience made it impossible for her to believe in any other outcome than Belinda’s ruin, to keep the peace, Simon had given up trying to disabuse her of the notion.

She was right, however, about the time lost at the fete, and though he would not have missed that time and that kiss for anything on earth, they would have to hurry to make up for it. He promised the postillions a few extra coins if they made it to Penrith before nightfall. Anxious for the extra reward, they pushed the team to breakneck speeds, and drove them barreling down the road, weaving past coaches, post chaises, wagons, gigs, carts, mounted riders, sheep, and anything else on the road that got in their way.

Simon and Eleanor laughed at the pace, and each held on to the straps for safety. Once, overtaking a large private coach at a pace that set their own chaise at a dangerous angle, Simon had grabbed her hand, and—heaven be praised!—she let him keep hold of it. At the next change of horses, Simon promised the postillions an even higher reward if they got them to Penrith in one piece. They maintained good speed, but were less reckless in negotiating other vehicles.

It was a scenic land, and meant for more leisurely
travel, with rugged vistas of the wild Shap fells to the west and the Howgills and more distant Pen-nines to the east. It was neither lush nor dramatic, but the occasional sensual contour of overlapping, treeless ridges could take a man’s breath away. Simon hated to rush through such raw beauty, but such was the price of a kiss.

As they neared Penrith, long stretches of open countryside were replaced by manmade scenery: charming villages, stone bridges, castle ruins, the imposing prospect of a large country seat.

They reached Penrith in record time. The majestic castle ruins overlooking the town were silhouetted black against the deep blue skies of late twilight. They were given no time to appreciate the red sandstone warmth of the town’s principal buildings as the postboys hurried them into the inn yard of the King’s Arms, an old timber-frame structure with upper stories nodding drunkenly over the road.

Simon paid off the tenacious postillions and took Eleanor’s arm to lead her into the large inn. They were both somewhat giddy from the frantic pace, and were disheveled and laughing when they entered the reception area.

“My bones will be rattling for weeks,” Eleanor said.

“And I am quite certain,” Simon said, “that I have more than one goose egg on my head from hitting the ceiling. Lord, what a wild ride.”

“My stars, Nickie, will you look at what the cat dragged in.”

Simon started and turned at the familiar feminine voice.

“Lord, I’d know that laugh anywhere,” another voice said, male and equally familiar. “Simon, old chap, what the devil brings you so far north.”

“Nick! Edwina! How marvelous.” Thrilled at their unexpected appearance, Simon lunged forward to greet his two closest friends in all the world. Amid laughter and clamorous greetings, he pounded Nicholas Parrish on the back and gave a great bear hug to Edwina Parrish. “I thought you were in Edinburgh.”

“We were,” Nicholas said. “But what about you? Don’t tell me you are on your way to Scotland, too? Whatever—oomph!”

He was interrupted by a finger in the ribs from his sister. “Nickie, you will notice that Simon is not alone.” Her eyes darted toward Eleanor, who had stepped back to allow the friends to greet one another, and returned to Simon, bright with inquiry. “I suspect there is a perfectly good explanation for a trip to the border.”

“Oh!” Nicholas exclaimed, looking from Simon to Eleanor and back again with very wide eyes.

Simon laughed when he realized what they were thinking. “How very rag-mannered of me.” He took Eleanor by the elbow and led her forward. “Allow me to introduce my friends to you. Mrs. Tennant, this is Miss Edwina Parrish and her brother Mr. Nicholas Parrish.”

Edwina smiled warmly at Eleanor. “How very pleased I am to meet you, Mrs. Tennant.”

“And I am equally honored, to be sure.” Nicholas took Eleanor’s outstretched hand and kissed the air above it. A fortunate move, for if he had presumed any more than that, Simon might have been obliged to exercise his right fist once again, despite the still bruised knuckles. Nicholas was a devilishly handsome fellow, and Simon did not at all relish the thought of him working his charms on Eleanor.

“But I say, Simon,” Nicholas said, “this is a queer start, even for you. Aren’t you a bit long in the tooth for this sort of adventure?”

“Nickie!” Edwina grabbed her brother rather tightly by the arm. “It is none of our business and I daresay we are horribly
de trop
. Now, let us leave them alone. We can talk with Simon another time.”

Nicholas shrugged. “All right, then. Wish you the best, old boy.” Guided by Edwina’s tugging hand, he made as if to leave.

“Wait!” Simon could hardly speak from laughing. The looks on all three faces were too ridiculous: Nicholas, wary and incredulous; Edwina, motherly and indulgent; Eleanor, thoroughly confused. “Let me explain.”

“There’s no need, Simon.” Edwina cast an appraising glance at Eleanor and broke into a warm smile. “It is quite clear to me.”

“No, I do not think it is at all clear to you,” Si
mon said, and burst into another fit of laughter.

Eleanor touched his sleeve. “Simon, what is going on here?”

“You will not credit it, Eleanor, but these two seem to think you and I are on the road to Gretna.”

“But we are on the—Oh! You mean—”

“Yes, they think we are running off to be married.”

“Oh, dear.” Eleanor gave a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “How amusing.”

Nicholas looked goggle-eyed from one to the other. “You’re
not
on the road to Gretna Green?”

“We are, in fact,” Simon said, grinning, “but not for the reason you suppose.”

“I think you had better explain,” Edwina said, “before we make even bigger fools of ourselves.”

And so Simon explained, in the broadest terms and leaving out several key details, the situation with Eleanor’s niece. “The last report from the Runners tracked them this far. We are to wait here for the next message.”

Edwina turned to Eleanor and briefly touched her arm. “Forgive us, Mrs. Tennant, for making such a rash presumption. How foolish you must think us. But you see, it just like Simon to do something so utterly romantic.”

“Mrs. Tennant is not terribly impressed by my romantic nature, Edwina.”

“No?” Edwina’s dark eyes flashed with wry amusement. “Do not tell me you have found that rare creature: the unromantic woman?”

“Let us just say,” Simon said, “that she holds my ‘starry-eyed romanticism’ as partly responsible for her niece’s elopement.”

“I don’t understand,” Edwina said.

Simon steeled himself for the reaction to what he was about to say. “I’m afraid her niece gave a great deal of credence to the advice of the Busybody.”

His words hung in the air like stale smoke. Edwina’s eyes blazed and Nicholas set his mouth in a grim, uncompromising line.

Simon held up a hand. “It’s all right. She knows all about
The Ladies’ Fashionable Cabinet
.”

Brother and sister skewered him to the spot with identical dark gazes, rapier-sharp.

“Don’t worry. We can trust Eleanor.” He looked at her, smiled, and kept his eyes on her when he spoke again. “I trust her.”

Eleanor smiled at him with her eyes, then turned to address Edwina. “Please do not blame Simon,” she said. “I was furious about the Busybody’s advice and went to great lengths to track him down. But I understand now about your motives, and about the need for secrecy. I will not compromise your efforts. You have nothing to fear from me, I promise you.”

Edwina let out a pent-up breath, and her expression softened, though her eyes remained watchful. “Thank you, Mrs. Tennant. We bow to Simon’s good judgment in trusting you with this information. My brother and I would be honored for you, and Simon, of course, to join us for dinner this eve
ning. I would certainly enjoy hearing more about how you unmasked the Busybody.”

“One step at a time, Ed,” her brother said. “We have yet to secure rooms for the night. Where is that landlord?”

The man himself, stout and wheezing like a bellows, was standing not two steps away, all agog at having four new guests cluttering his entry parlor. He was thrilled to discover that these four would make him full up for the night. The ladies would have private bedchambers, but the gentlemen would have to double up. He was also able to provide a large private parlor where the four of them would be served a fine supper cooked by his wife and daughters.

Eleanor and Edwina followed a chambermaid upstairs to their rooms. Simon and Nicholas remained behind to attend to the details of luggage and horses and postillions.

“What brings you to Penrith?” Simon asked as they walked back from the busy stables laden with portmanteaux and bandboxes. “I presume you are on your way back to London.”

“Yes, we are. We cannot leave poor Prudence to run everything for so long. We came down from Edinburgh to Carlisle so we could pay a visit to old Maggs. He’s beside himself about Spence. Did you hear what happened?”

“No. I’ve been rather out of touch.”

“Yes, well, he was found guilty of sedition two days ago and sentenced to a year in jail.”

“Good God. All for the
Restorer of Society to Its Natural State
? The corresponding societies, the combinations, and now this. It’s monstrous.”

“Yes, and we shall all have to watch our steps more closely if we want to stay out of jail. And we can’t leave Prudence alone now. What if something was discovered and she was threatened in our absence? We’ve got to get home. Poor old Maggs put us up last night, but he was so upset about Spence we stayed too long and got too late a start today to get any farther than this.”

“Well, it is a pleasant coincidence indeed that finds us at the same inn.”

They picked up their keys and trudged up two flights of stairs with their burdens. The two women had rooms on the top floor, at opposite ends of the labyrinthine corridor. Simon knocked on Eleanor’s door and called out that her bag was just outside. He heard the door open just as he rounded the corner to meet Nicholas, and the two of them headed downstairs to the room they would share. It was large and comfortable with wood in the grate ready to be lit. The two of them began unpacking and laying out their clothes for supper.