Tempting a Proper Lady (9 page)

As he neared the trees, a soft whistle reached his ears. Then John emerged from the wood, the rifle in his hands pointed at the back of a fellow dressed in the simple coat of a working man.

Relief unwound some of the tension in Samuel's shoulders. “Well, what have you there?”

“I thought it wise to relieve this gentleman of his rifle,” John answered, as calmly as if they spoke of tobacco brands. “He seemed uncertain of his aim.”

“Wise indeed,” Samuel agreed. “You there. Why are you shooting at me?”

The gunman sent him a sullen glare and remained silent.

“Talkative fellow, isn't he?” Samuel said.

“Quite.” John poked the fellow in the back with the rifle. “Answer him.”

“I was paid to do it.” The shooter spat at Samuel's feet. “Filthy American swine.”

“Who paid you?” Samuel demanded.

Their attacker remained silent, though if looks
could kill, Samuel would have shriveled into a corpse.

“As if we couldn't guess,” John said. “I suppose we should take him to the magistrate.”

“I agree. Let me go fetch my coat.” Samuel headed back toward his coat and hat, still piled in the middle of the meadow.

He was halfway there when he heard John shout. The rifle fired. Samuel pivoted and ran back the way he had come, where John and the shooter wrestled for the rifle. He stopped and aimed his pistol. “John!”

The stranger glanced back over his shoulder and saw Samuel poised to fire. He felled John with a hard shove and took off, the rifle sailing through the air and landing on the nearby grass just beyond John's reach.

Samuel fired, but just missed the fellow as he disappeared into the wood. Cursing beneath his breath, he raced forward and crouched beside his friend. “John, are you all right?”

“Yes.” It was the tone of disgust in his voice that convinced Samuel he was unhurt. “Bloody hell, he's getting away!”

The distant sound of hoofbeats reached their ears. “I'd say he's already gone,” Samuel said. “Come on, let's get you up.”

“I'm hardly an invalid.” Brushing away his captain's hand, John slowly climbed to his feet. “Bastard took me by surprise.” He swiped his hands over his clothing, clearing crushed grass and leaves from the material. “You know Raventhorpe had to have sent him.”

“Of course. His Lordship is nothing if not tenacious.” Samuel stared off in the direction where the man had fled. “But there's no way to prove anything. We had best watch our backs from now on.”

“Agreed.” John raised a brow. “So, does this make me the first one down?”

Samuel's mouth twitched. “Considering you knocked me down earlier, I'd say I was the first one down.”

“Good, then you buy the ale.”

“Done.” Samuel turned away. “I'll fetch our coats, and we can be gone from this place.”

“Good idea.” John picked up the rifle and hefted it in his hands, testing the balance.

Samuel started across the field, then stopped. “Oh, and John…I believe you're right.”

“About what?”

“This is a very bad place for a picnic.”

John grinned. “Maybe next time you will heed my advice before all hell rains down upon us.”

Grinning, Samuel continued across the field, pistol in hand. “Where's the fun in that?”

 

Lady Iften's brood of daughters resembled one another to a shocking degree, Cilla thought, all of them blond and blue-eyed and so pale as to look positively ghostlike. Each one was tall and skinny with the distinctive beak of a nose that characterized the Raventhorpe family—like a flock of storks that had descended upon the blue drawing room.

Except for Edith. While as blond and pale as her sisters, she had been blessed with a sweet feminine
bump of a nose and a mouth curved like cupid's bow, lending her a delicate loveliness that branded her the clear beauty of the group.

And she knew it.

“Now, Annabelle, you must allow that I know more about these things than you do,” Edith was saying. “Why, you are new to fashionable society. I am certain you will agree that the peach silk will wash out my fair complexion. Certainly you can select another color for my dress.”

“I thought the peach was lovely,” Annabelle said. “I liked it so much I ordered an evening dress made from it for after the wedding.”

“The color looked very well on you,” Cilla said.

Edith glared at Cilla. “Kindly do not interrupt, Mrs. Burke.” She turned her attention back to Annabelle. “My dear cousin-to-be, you must allow that your coloring is vastly different than mine.”

“But you're both blond,” Dolly said, a wrinkle of confusion appearing between her brows. “Seems like what would look good on one should look good on the other, don't you think?”

Edith let out a trilling laugh that she had no doubt practiced in front of her mirror. “Oh, Mrs. Bailey! Why, my hair is closer to
moonbeam
, while Annabelle's is…yes, wild honey, that's it. A very
dark
blond, nearly brown.”

Cilla rolled her eyes and glanced down at her hands before anyone could notice. She had run across her own selection of selfish debutantes in her day, but Edith might top them all.

“I never thought of it that way,” Annabelle said.
Cilla heard the hitch in her voice and looked up, trying to catch the girl's eye.
Don't let her do this to you
.

“And your complexion is much more robust than mine,” Edith continued. “After all, you were raised on a farm in the country, so you have a certain pinkness to your skin that someone raised in the drawing rooms of London would not.” She smiled sweetly, as if to distract from the acid in her tone.

“Perhaps Edith is right,” one of the sisters said. Esther? Eliza?

“Of course, I am right,” Edith said. “What do you think, Mama?”

Lady Iften looked up from the ladies' magazine she was perusing. “Your taste is impeccable, my dear, as well you know.”

“What color would you prefer?” Annabelle asked quietly.

“Perhaps a shade of bronze or dark purple,” Edith mused.

“Such as royalty might wear?” Cilla said. When Edith whipped her head around to glare, Cilla met and held her gaze. She wasn't the same scared debutante she had once been.

Edith looked away first with a little titter. “Oh, you are so amusing, Mrs. Burke. The Baileys must be simply delighted to have you in their employ.”

Cilla felt the sting but would not allow it to show on her face. Sharper tongues than that of Edith Falwell had attempted to fell her in the past—and failed.

“Indeed we are,” Dolly spoke up. “Why, Cilla is
more like one of the family than a plain old employee. I'd be lost without her.”

“How nice,” Edith said, her perfect mouth pursing as if tasting something sour.

“We think so,” Annabelle said. This time when Edith attempted to glare her into submission, she held her ground.

The butler came to the door of the drawing room. “Mrs. Bailey, Miss Bailey, you have a caller. Captain Samuel Breedlove.”

Cilla sat straight up in her chair, certain she had not heard aright. She could not take her eyes away as the butler stepped aside and Samuel filled the doorway. The Iften daughters gasped, and Cilla struggled to maintain a calm demeanor despite the flutter in her belly. Samuel's tall, broad-shouldered presence made the drawing room with all its feminine decor seem very, very small.

“Samuel!” Annabelle straightened, then glanced worriedly at the Iftens. All five of them plus their mother wore expressions of stony disapproval.

“Mrs. Bailey.” Samuel first bent over Dolly's hand, then turned to acknowledge each of them. “Annabelle. Mrs. Burke.”

“Samuel, my stars! We didn't expect you.” Dolly fluttered a hand to her throat, clearly uncertain what to do in the face of his boldness. “Do you know Lady Iften and her daughters? Lady Iften, this is Captain Samuel Breedlove.”

“I have heard of Captain Breedlove.” Lady Iften gave a barely perceptible nod. “My daughters: Miss
Falwell, Miss Esther, Miss Eliza, Miss Emily, and Miss Edith.”

“Ladies.” Samuel flashed a charming smile, then turned immediately back to Annabelle. “I came to see if you would join me for a carriage ride.”

“Miss Bailey, you cannot!” squeaked Eliza.

“You are an engaged young woman,” Lady Iften said. “I am certain my cousin would take offense if you were to accept such an invitation from a gentleman not of your family.”

“Now, Lady Iften, calm yourself,” Dolly said. “Annabelle has known Samuel since she was a child.”

“It is not done,” Lady Iften pronounced.

Samuel raised his brows. “Who is this cousin you're talking about, Lady Iften?”

“Lord Raventhorpe, Annabelle's betrothed,” the lady proclaimed with pride.

“Oh, would me taking Annabelle for a ride in my carriage upset him? How unfortunate.” He turned away from the Iften ladies and focused on Annabelle. “What do you say, Annabelle?”

Annabelle scowled at him. “Of course I can't go with you. You know I'm engaged to Richard!”

“Don't you remember our rides together?” His voice lowered to an intimate tone that carried to every straining ear in the room. Cilla tightened her fingers around her needlework. Dear Lord, the man knew how to turn a woman's insides to mush with just a whisper!

“Of course I do, but that was a long time ago. When
I was a child.” Annabelle sniffed and cast a glance at the Iften ladies. “My apologies, ladies. Samuel and I were engaged once,
long
ago.”

“Why, it seems like just last week to me.” Samuel sent a charming smile at Raventhorpe's disapproving relatives.

“But you are not engaged any longer,” Lady Iften said. “Therefore, such familiarity is ill-bred.”

“Samuel, please don't cause any trouble,” Dolly said.

“Trouble? Of course not. I simply wanted Annabelle to join me on a drive. For old times' sake.”

“No.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes at him. “It would be best if you left now.”

He didn't appear fazed in the least. “You know, Annabelle, I thought you had more gumption than to let anybody order you around.”

Annabelle stiffened.

Lady Iften shot to her feet. “Enough. Miss Bailey is betrothed to Lord Raventhorpe, sir. I thank you to cease this impertinent behavior and take yourself off.”

Dolly rose as well, sending a concerned glance at Lady Iften. “I do not think this is appropriate, Samuel.”

He looked from Dolly to Annabelle to the Iften ladies. Finally his gaze landed on Cilla for one long, hot moment, but even as her breath hitched, he looked away again. “Perhaps another time, Annabelle.”

“Mrs. Bailey, do you intend to allow this sort of behavior?” Lady Iften demanded.

“Of course not.” Dolly gazed at Samuel with true regret. “Please go, Samuel.”

“As you wish.” He bowed to all of them and headed for the doors of the sitting room. “We shall have our drive another day, Annabelle.”

“Insolent cur!” Lady Iften spat. “My cousin shall hear of this!”

Samuel paused in the doorway and gave her a cheeky grin. “Give him my regards, won't you?” Then he departed, leaving Lady Iften spluttering.

L
ady Iften wasted no time in carrying tales to Lord Raventhorpe. The earl came to call later that same day and spoke at length with Annabelle's father—sometimes in quite ringing tones—about his disapproval of Samuel's visit. After an hour or so of such discussion, Virgil emerged from his study and announced they were removing to Nevarton Chase immediately.

By late morning on Friday, Cilla found herself staring out the window of her room at the familiar fields and forests of the Baileys' country estate.

She had managed to post a note to Samuel before they departed London, advising him of their sudden exodus. And the cancellation of their picnic.

She was surprised at her own disappointment. The picnic was simply a business meeting where Samuel had promised he would tell her the whole of what he knew of Lord Raventhorpe and why he felt Annabelle was in danger. Then she would decide if he was telling the truth. And if he was…well, could she in good conscience allow Annabelle to marry the earl?

She knew Lord Raventhorpe to be quite full of his own consequence and intolerant of those who would thwart his wishes. She had experienced a taste of that herself in the way he had reacted to her questioning him about the past. The fact that he had deliberately exposed her social connections to the Baileys—no doubt well aware of her ignominious exit from society some years ago—only made her believe he had indeed intended to teach her a lesson of some kind by throwing her back into the turbulent waters of her old life.

Unkind? Yes. A killer? Undecided.

A knock sounded at the door. “Mrs. Burke, the driver is here to take you to the village.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Cilla picked up her bonnet and tied the ribbons, then took up her shawl and her purse. Since it was her free day, she was going to go to the village and see about getting some lace to trim a dress she was going to redo. Maybe she'd pick up some ribbons for a bonnet as well. Her straw one could use some reworking.

Cilla made her way down the stairs to the ground floor, her mind full of lists and plans. A footman opened the door for her, and she nodded her thanks as she walked outside, adjusting her gloves as she walked. A plain coach sat waiting, a hired hack from the village.

She paused beside the coach and looked up at the bearded coachman. “Please take me to the village green. I will decide where I want to go from there.”

“Yes, miss,” the coachman grunted.

She nodded to herself, then opened the door and climbed into the coach. As she closed the door behind her, she realized she was not alone.

“Don't be afraid,” Samuel said. “We had an appointment for a picnic, remember?”

The coach lurched into motion, and he rested a hand on top of the picnic basket on the seat beside him to keep it from falling.

Cilla recovered her tongue. “What are you doing here? You must have left London as soon as you got my note to get here so quickly.”

“You sent a note?” He grinned at that. “So you hadn't forgotten about me. Excellent.”

“As if I could forget about you!”

His smile faded, his gaze heating as he studied her from top to toes. “I'm gratified to know I made some sort of impression on you.”

Oh, he had made an impression, all right—one that had her heart skipping beats and her cheeks heating. And it was wrong. Perhaps there was some spark of attraction between them, but there was still doubt about his character. She had put her trust in a scoundrel once, and she did not intend to repeat the experience.

But it would certainly be easier to convince herself of that if he wasn't staring at her like he was going to make her part of that picnic lunch he had promised her.

She settled back in her seat, unusually aware of her plain attire, designed for a day of walking through the village. While not ill-fitting or terribly threadbare, she knew her garments were old and out of style.
Had they met years ago when she lived in London with her parents, she would have been dressed by a fashionable modiste in colors that flattered her and clothing cut in a way to draw the male eye to her figure and keep it there.

She had not yearned for such things in a very long time.

“If you did not receive my note,” she said, “how did you know we had left London?”

He chuckled. “The servants' network is an amazing thing. I swear it could predict the weather, never mind alert me to the sudden departure of one household.”

“Ah.” A small smile curved her lips. “I have seen such miracles myself, now that I have joined the ranks of the employed.”

“My coachman, John, is very much abreast of the local happenings via the servants. Apparently my call on Annabelle Tuesday had dramatic repercussions.”

“His Lordship was most put out,” Cilla confirmed. “He and Mr. Bailey closeted themselves away to discuss the matter, but we could hear their voices throughout the house.”

A smile of satisfaction curved Samuel's mouth. “Good.”

“I am certain he believed that our returning to Nevarton Chase would discourage you from seeing Annabelle.”

Samuel laughed. “Has he not heard of the railway? As soon as I received the news of your departure, I made arrangements to follow you. And here I am.”

“And somehow you discovered I had ordered a hack to bring me to the village this morning.”

“It's a small village. People talk,” Samuel confirmed. “I apologize if I disrupted your plans.”

“No, no.” She shook her head, glancing down at her twisting fingers. “We had an appointment today anyway.”

“Was there something you intended to do in the village?” His voice changed, acquired a slight edge. “Did I interrupt some sort of romantic rendezvous?”

“Romantic? Heavens, no.” She laughed, but even she heard the harshness of it. “I have no desire for a man in my life, thank you, Captain. I was just running errands.”

“What kinds of errands?”

“Normal things. Picking out lace for a dress I am going to rework, perhaps some ribbons for an old bonnet I have. But such frivolities pale in comparison to the importance of our meeting today.”

“You like pretty things.”

“Really, Captain, what woman doesn't?” She smiled at him. “It is just trimming for a few old, outdated dresses. Annabelle's safety is much more important. I will visit the village store another day.”

“If you're certain.”

“Of course I am. Where are we going?”

“As I told you, on a picnic. Away from servants and gossip, where we can talk freely.”

“Then I am glad I wore my outdoor clothing.”

“Very efficient of you,” he agreed, and they fell into silence.

He wondered what she was thinking.

Any other woman might have reacted differently to being basically kidnapped—especially if that woman had intended to embark on a shopping trip. But Mrs. Burke had simply smiled and adjusted her plans. Didn't she realize she was going to be alone with him with only John standing nearby? Didn't she realize how a man could take advantage of such a situation?

He certainly did.

The simple dress she wore was plain brown and serviceable, a garment easily maintained for someone who had little in the way of funds to replace clothing. The fitted bodice only emphasized her shapely figure and perfect bosom, with long sleeves that ended at her gloved hands. Her dark hair had been swept up in a simple twist, with a little brown hat perched just above her brow. The hat was just as sparsely decorated as her dress, with only a few flowers and a faded ribbon to relieve its blandness. Yet despite her clearly out-of-date, much-used clothing, Cilla Burke carried herself like a lady dressed in the height of fashion.

He knew she had begun life in the upper reaches of society, but even though she had fallen on more difficult times and had been forced to seek employment, she knew her own value. And for some reason, he found that quiet confidence impossibly attractive. Very strange indeed for a man who had traditionally sought women who needed the strong arm of a male to guide them. Perhaps his time on the island had changed him more than he thought.

Finally the coach stopped, and Samuel opened the
door, stepping out first and then turning to assist Cilla from the vehicle. Once her feet touched the ground, he reached back into the coach and grabbed the picnic basket.

John climbed down from the coachman's perch, a blanket slung over his shoulder. He handed it to Samuel, who put it over his own shoulder.

“Mrs. Burke, this is John Ready, the man I trust most in the world. John, Mrs. Burke.”

John tugged at his hat brim. “Madam.”

“Mr. Ready.”

“I will stay with the horses,” John said, “and keep an eye out for trouble.”

“Much appreciated.” Samuel crooked his arm at Cilla. “Mrs. Burke, may I?”

She laid her tiny hand on his forearm. “Thank you, Captain.”

They walked a few yards away—still far enough that they could have a private conversation but close enough that John could watch over them from his coachman's perch. Guiding her beneath a shady tree, Samuel set down the basket, then spread the blanket on the ground and held out a hand to assist Cilla in seating herself. It took a few moments for her to arrange her skirts in a way that she would be comfortable. In those few minutes, he found himself staring at the back of her neck as she bent her head, the tiny curls edging her hairline a nearly irresistible temptation. For an instant he imagined placing a kiss on that delicate nape. Then she reached down to adjust her skirts again and gave him a quick flash of a stockinged calf.

Damn John for being right. He turned away to grab the picnic basket before he forgot the reason he was here.

Cilla glanced over as Samuel sat down on the other side of the blanket and set the picnic basket down between them. “Why don't you tell me what you know of Lord Raventhorpe?”

“I should hate to spoil your appetite.” He opened the picnic basket. “The innkeeper has packed sandwiches, a bit of cheese, some lemonade, and, I believe, fresh berry tarts baked just this morning. What would you like?”

“Lemonade sounds lovely.”

“Lemonade it is.” He went about pouring the lemonade into the wooden goblets the innkeeper had sent along.

“While I appreciate your consideration, Captain, I do need to know about Lord Raventhorpe.” She watched his hands as he served. “Because if I help you, the ensuing scandal will put an end to any chance I have of building a future.”

“What do you mean?” He handed her the first cup of lemonade.

“I have an idea to start a business where ladies can employ me to assist with planning their weddings. Annabelle's was to be my first, and possibly the most well-known since she is marrying an earl. A big society wedding like that would give me a reputation as the person all young ladies of quality should employ to create the most talked-about event of the Season.” She lifted her cup to her lips, then
paused, her lip curling. “Failure would force me to marry again to survive.”

“So Annabelle's wedding means a lot to you.” He stretched onto his side and leaned on one elbow while sipping his lemonade with the other hand.

She tried to ignore how much of the blanket was taken up by his long, muscled body. “Yes, that's right. But if you succeed in stopping her wedding to Lord Raventhorpe, I will have failed in my position and will have trouble obtaining another.”

“Another? Why don't you just stay with the Baileys?”

“Because they intend to return to America. My home is here.”

“I thought I heard that your husband was American.”

“That is true.” She pressed her lips together, unwilling to discuss bad memories. “I lived in New York until he died, and for a bit afterwards. The Baileys hired me some months ago to help them navigate through English society and to help plan an elaborate wedding for Annabelle. Part of our agreement was that they would pay my passage here since the wedding is scheduled to take place in the family chapel at Raventhorpe Manor, but that I would remain when they departed for America.”

“And if your plans fell into place, you would have pulled off the biggest wedding this year and gotten a heck of a reputation for it.”

“Exactly.” She tightened her fingers around the cup. “My livelihood depends on this wedding, Captain.
I need to know everything if you expect me to help you ruin it.”

“Didn't your husband leave you anything when he died?”

She stiffened. “No. Edward was not very clever with finances.”

“So if you help me stop the wedding, you might be left unemployed and penniless.”

“It is a distinct possibility.” She sighed. “I suppose I could return to America to stay in the employ of the Baileys, but part of my goal was to remain here in England. I miss it.”

“You could marry again.”

She shook her head. “Not if I can avoid it. I intend to control my own life from now on, not depend on a man to do it for me. Yet another reason why this wedding holds such value for me.”

He sipped his lemonade, his dark eyes steady on hers. “I could pay you to help me.”

“Absolutely not!” She set down the cup with enough force that it nearly overturned, but she grabbed it before it tipped over. “That strikes me as…as…unethical, Captain. If I decide to do this, I will do it because it is the right thing to do. Keep your money.”

“I'm just trying to help.”

“I understand. I do appreciate the sentiment, but being paid by a man to do anything strikes me as too much like…well, not good.” She cleared her throat and looked at the picnic basket. “Did you say there were sandwiches? I did not have much for breakfast, so I am quite hungry.”

“Sure.” He sat up and reached into the basket to pull out a cloth-wrapped bundle and set it down before her, then grabbed another one for himself.

Cilla opened the cloth and found a ham sandwich on thick slices of bread. Balancing the creation between her two hands, she attempted to bite into it, but her mouth was not quite big enough. She tore off an edge with her fingers instead. “Tell me about Lord Raventhorpe.” She popped the torn bit of sandwich into her mouth and chewed.