Fascination -and- Charmed (68 page)

The cart slowed and Calum approached ahead of Struan. “Nothing to fear, man,” he said. “My friend and I would appreciate a ride back to the road.”

There was no answering greeting. The carter hesitated, drawing almost to a stop. Then he clucked and jerked the reins, urging his horse onward.

“I’ll be damned,” Struan said, momentarily nonplussed. “Surly fellow. Cabbage-headed, too. Obviously thinks we intend to set upon him and doesn’t think we can outrun him.”

“We’ve surprised him,” Calum said, lengthening his stride again. Within moments he caught up with the cart and hauled himself onto its open back. He motioned for Struan to join him.

Once they shared the back end of the ancient, apparently junk-laden conveyance, they raised eyebrows at each other and Struan inclined his head questioningly to the carter, who must have felt them climb aboard.

Calum nodded.

“I say,” Struan said loudly, “this is very good of you. We left our carriage on the road and climbed the ridge. Rather farther to the top than we’d expected. We appreciate your hospitality.”

Very gradually, the cart slowed until it merely crawled forward.

Then it stopped.

Calum had been studying the contents of a rickety chest. A faded green satin cushion concealed ugly pieces of china, a cook pot and assorted kitchen implements. He dropped the cushion, got to his feet and climbed over the chest to kneel behind the driver. “We mean you no harm,” he said kindly.

“If you’d prefer, we can most certainly walk, and—” Calum broke off abruptly.

“What is it?” Struan asked, sensing the other man’s tension. He scrambled forward in the cart.

Calum gripped Struan’s arm as if restraining him. Struan looked from Calum’s still face to the driver, who had turned sideways on the seat.

“And what,” Calum said, his fingers digging into Struan’s arm, “do you suppose this could possibly mean, my lord?”

Struan dropped to his knees beside Calum and studied the cloaked driver’s profile. “It means that yet another outrageous complication has been added to this ill-fated journey.”

That remark brought a searing flash from dark blue eyes before Lady Philipa Chauncey said, “I assure you, my lord, that the complication here is the arrival of yourself and Mr. Innes—and the inconvenient coincidence of your finding me in this cart.”

He stopped her heart.

Simply to look upon him was to feel all breath leave her body, all blood leave her veins—all will to move desert her limbs.

“And from the look of you,” she said, startled by the sound of her own voice, “you are in no better condition. Though doubtless for a quite different reason.” Calum’s presence here was unbelievable.

He visibly collected himself and said, “I beg your pardon,” in the voice she had been hearing in every conscious moment since she’d fled Hanover Square on that fateful night that had made her insist upon coming to Cornwall directly.

“I said,” she told him as calmly as she could, “that you appear as shocked as I. What are you doing here? I thought we had agreed it would be wiser for you to decline the duke’s offer to come to Cornwall.”

His dark, slightly tilted eyes stared so steadily, she wanted to look away yet could not.

“We agreed to nothing, my lady,” he said at last. “In fact, I would say that there is a very great deal upon which we
ought
to seek agreement and understanding. What are
you
doing here today? This cannot be a safe venture for a young female—to be abroad alone where any rogue might come upon you.”

How he muddled her usually clear mind. And she had a certain mission to complete, a mission made impossible by the presence of her two passengers.

“Why are you not in London?” Calum asked.

She ignored his question. “I am perfectly safe here, I assure you,” she said briskly, turning back to the swaybacked gray mare Nelly had miraculously procured. “This hill and this path are on Chauncey land. It belongs to our Cloudsmoor estates. I’ve known the area well since childhood. I’ll drive you to the road. Then I’ll be on my way.”

Pippa urged the mare onward and wooden wheels began churning through rocky, deeply indented ruts. She braced herself for the questions that must come.

“I don’t suppose, my lady”—Viscount Hunsingore spoke for the first time —“that you know of any farmer or such—”

“Struan,”
Calum Innes said in a tone resembling thunder.

“Quite,” Viscount Hunsingore said gruffly.

“A farmer?” Pippa asked, grateful for any respite from trying to explain what she was doing in a peasant’s cloak and driving an ancient cart loaded with household castoffs.

“You cannot help, Pippa,” Calum said, and despite the enormity of the situation, she smiled at the sound of her name on his lips.

“It would appear,” Viscount Hunsingore said, “that we are not alone in having a small matter that might require, shall we say,
extraordinary
tact?”

Pippa stared grimly ahead.

“The lady’s affairs are her own,” Calum Innes said. “Just as yours are
your
own.”

“Gallant of you,” Hunsingore said in dulcet tones. “But hardly practical, old man. I’d say the lady will be asking for our
—
er
—discretion
about activities that call upon her to move about in disguise. Am I correct, Lady Philipa?”

“Struan—”

“Quite correct, my lord,” Pippa said, interrupting Calum. She drove around a wide, arching bend and began the descent to the road. “My situation is not particularly interesting to anyone but me. However, I should prefer that no attention be drawn to a little diversion that brings me pleasure.” “What kind of diversion?” Calum asked promptly.

Pippa frowned. “Really, you are very direct, sir. And you are very inappropriate…” She closed her mouth. If she made too much of this, the result might be exactly what she did not want. “Very well, I will tell you. At my home in Yorkshire—Dowanhill—I was always accustomed to spending time in solitude. My father expected me to entertain myself. I always—”

“Admired him for that?” Calum suggested.

“Oh, yes,” Pippa said. “What a bother it would have been to be fussed over. Anyway, I developed a fondness for nature and was fortunate enough to have the use of a small place on a distant corner of the estate where I could enjoy my surroundings and…” How silly it sounded.

Neither of the men commented.

“There is a similar situation here at Cloudsmoor. A hunting cabin. I do think it’s important for every soul to have time to reflect peaceably, don’t you?”

After a pause, both men mumbled unintelligibly.

“I knew you would agree. The cabin was abandoned many years ago. I found it during a summer holiday here. Today I took a few things there to make it
more—habitable.”
Ooh, she sounded light-brained.

“Good idea, I should think,” Calum said. “Shouldn’t you, Struan?”

“Indubitably,” Struan agreed. “So why are you bringing the jun—Why are you bringing the things back?” He’d been about to call the things she’d assembled “junk.”

“I am returning what I don’t need,” she told him, tilting her nose up a little. “There are others who will find good use for them. I abhor waste. My father taught me to do so and I always—”

“Admired him for it,” Calum finished for her in a monotone.

“Yes.” Really, it seemed that Calum frequently finished sentences she’d begun. A potentially annoying habit. She kept her eyes on the path and said, “It would be very inconvenient if you were to mention seeing me today. Here, that is. In these circumstances…that is…”

“Consider the episode forgotten,” Calum said promptly.

“Thank you. I—”

“We also have a delicate situation on our hands,” the viscount said rapidly. “One you might possibly—”

“Lady Philipa cannot have been in the area more than a few days,” Calum interrupted.

“You’ve just heard her say she knows the area well,” Struan argued. “Surely she might—”

“She cannot possibly help us. And you need never fear that we will mention our meeting today, Pippa.”

“There are two young people in our coach,” Viscount Hunsingore said, rushing out the words. “A fifteen-year-old girl and her ten-year-old brother.”

“Oh, my
God!
” Calum said.

Pippa glanced down at the top of his thick dark hair where he rested his head in his hands. She said, “Do go on, my lord.” This promised to be a fascinating story.

“Ella—that is the girl—was in a—”

“No!” Calum roared, raising a face slashed with red across high cheekbones. “Do not say
that
word in front of this lady.”

“In a what?” Pippa kept her attention on the track with difficulty.

“A, er”— the viscount cleared his throat —“an inappropriate establishment for one so young. For
anyone,
in fact. But particularly for a gentle young female such as Ella.”

Pippa could not imagine what kind of establishment Viscount Hunsingore referred to, but from Calum’s tone, it would appear to be quite terrible and unmentionable.

“I’ll deal with this,” Calum said. “Do you know of a childless family who might consider taking in two young people?”

How could she? Despite the fact that she knew the countryside quite well, she was all but a stranger to the tenants of both the Franchot and the Chauncey estates. “No,” she said slowly. “There is a housekeeper at Cloudsmoor. And some casual staff. And the gardeners, of course. But we haven’t actually stayed there in some years, and I don’t really
know
anyone. But—”

“Of course you don’t,” Calum cut in, sounding almost relieved. “That’s that, then. Don’t give it another thought.”

“Someone had bloody well better give it some thought.”

At the viscount’s profanity, Pippa sat very straight and hid a smile.

“Watch your tongue, man,” Calum said predictably.

“Look,” Viscount Hunsingore said, “this is
my
affair, but I’m in a fix and I’d appreciate any help I can get. I rescued Ella because—”

Pippa was almost certain Calum muttered something about lust. Certainly he’d said something to interrupt his friend.

“As I was saying,” the viscount continued, “I rescued Ella and her brother, Max—and due to certain circumstances, we were forced to get them away from London.”

“This is
not
Lady Philipa’s affair,” Calum declared.

“Normally I would agree,” his friend said, obviously agitated. “But the situation is desperate. I
have
to find a place for them.”

Pippa considered. She had not missed the suggestion that the viscount’s silence could be bought with her assistance in the matter of the children. “Do they have any skills?” she asked.

“Dancing in veils and picking pockets,” Calum replied darkly.

She almost pulled up the horse. “I beg your pardon?”

“Calum is in high humor, my lady,” the viscount told her, sounding anything but amused. “No, Ella and Max do not have any…any usual skills.”

“What of their parents?” She realized the question was belated.

“None,” Hunsingore said flatly.

“Orphans?”

“Yes.”

“Sad, but I believe I can think of a solution.”

The viscount loomed over her left shoulder. “You can?”

“Absolutely. I shall return you to your carriage and make haste back to Franchot Castle myself. You will arrive considerably before me, but Justine—Lady Justine—is there. The dowager duchess has taken to her bed. She frequently takes to her bed.” And Pippa wished she did not feel so very relieved by that fact.

“I do not understand what the solution to our problem is to be, Pippa,” Calum said.

“Have you heard of illegitimate children?” she asked.

The total silence that followed went on for a long time.

“I can tell that you have. Of course you have. You are men of the world. I refer, of course, to children who are born to a mother who is not married to their father. I have never been entirely clear as to the manner by which this is accomplished, but I have definitely heard such arrangements discussed. At gatherings.” She wrinkled her nose. “Among ladies who whispered about it,” she finished.

“No doubt,” Hunsingore said, sounding oddly distant.

“Yes, well, there we have our answer, then,” Pippa said.

Calum’s face was rather close to the side of hers. Suddenly he lifted down the hood of her cloak. “There, now I shall be certain not to miss a word of this wondrous solution. What answer do we have, my lady?”

“It’s so obvious,” she told them, smiling at her own ingenuity. “When you arrive at the castle, tell Justine you will require care for two children during your stay. After all, although I have heard illegitimate children referred to only as
fatherless,
why should they not be
motherless
instead?”

She turned on the seat and looked into Viscount Hunsingore’s frowning face. “People make explanations entirely too complicated, my lord. Tell Justine you are accompanied by your two illegitimate children.”

“I can’t,” Struan said.

“You can and you will,” Calum told him, watching Pippa and the dreadful old cart sway out of sight.

Damn, but he could hardly believe encountering her under such circumstances.

And damn, but he wished he were not drawn to her like a hawk to a glint amid Scottish heather.

Somehow he must learn to be colder in the matter of Lady Philipa Chauncey. He said, “We should have thought of pleading your relationship to the little starvelings ourselves, only we do not have Pippa’s wit.”

“Wit?” Struan sat heavily on the wall beside the road. At their request, Pippa had set them down on the highway, but out of sight of the carriage. “She is one of—no, she is the most addlepated female I have ever encountered.”

“I should prefer that you not refer to her as such.”

“Innocence can be charming,” Struan said, evidently oblivious to the protective ire rising within Calum’s bosom. “Innocence is to be
expected
in a young female. But for such a creature to invent a fantastic solution to a serious problem
and
to behave as if we shall, of course, be glad to implement that solution—it’s maddening!