The Hopeless Hoyden (10 page)

             
Utterly frustrated, Emily stamped her foot.  "Ouch!"  She discovered she’d forgotten to put on her slippers again.

             
“Who's there?"

             
Startled by the low, gruff voice, Emily froze.  Was that Caldwell?  Her eyes darted about wildly, but she saw no one.  Instinct told her to react--and fast.

             
Hide!  It was the first thought that came to mind. 

             
She dove for the cover of a large, squat bush, then swallowed her cries.  Sharp, prickly leaves and branches ripped her robe, snagged her hair and pricked her skin.  Her heart pounded so hard she feared the man could hear it over the night noises.  She listened as his cautious movements through the thick brush brought him closer to her hiding place. 

             
The looming, dark figure stopped only a few feet away from her.  He seemed to be looking around, searching.  Under his breath, he muttered an oath followed with, "I lost her."

             
She could hardly believe her ears.  "Gabriel?"

             
Gabriel whipped around, trying to locate her.  "Emily, where are you?"

             
“Shhh, he'll hear you," she said, trying to scoot out from under the bush.  “Ouch."

             
“Who will hear me?"

             
“Your murderer."

             
“Must I keep reminding you that I am not yet dead, so ‘he’ can't be my murderer," he corrected her in a strangely strangled tone.

             
“Oh, well...Ouch!"

             
“Are you hurt?"  He was on his knees in front of her, pushing aside branches.

             
“No, but I can't get loose.  My hair!" she cried plaintively.

             
“You could have picked some place other than a holly bush to hide.  Be still, now."  His calloused hands cupped her face as his fingers worked through her tangled tresses, gently pulling strands free.  Snapping twigs, he circled his arms protectively about her, eased her out, and helped her to stand.

             
“Rats," she said, running her own hands over her snarled mess of curls.

             
Gabriel laughed as he plucked at the twigs and leaves still in her hair.  "'Tis a rat's nest, but a glorious one, at that.  Whatever were you doing in there?"

             
“I told you, following the man who is trying to kill you."

             
“And I've told you not to utter such nonsense."

             
Emily flashed a quick, mutinous look, but then shrugged her shoulders.  “Then you ought not to ask what I am doing."

             
“Emily, are you aware of what could happen if a stranger were to come upon you?  Why, you're dressed in your night clothes."  His voice had steadily risen.

             
“Oh pooh."  She batted his hands away from her hair while trying to gather her robe more closely around her and tightened its sash.  “I lost him, anyway."

             
“Who?"

             
“You are not to ask, remember?"  He wasn't the only one losing patience.

             
Gabriel remained silent, engrossed in the pool of shimmering moonlight surrounding her.  The simple lines of the silk wrapper concealed little of her slender form, and the white froth of her lacy night gown was--virginal.  Egads, he thought, he'd better make haste and get her back to the house before anyone caught them together. 

             
"Come on, Emily."  He grabbed her hand, setting off down the path.

             
“Wait, Gab," she cried. “Not so fast.  Ouch, ohh, ohh!"

             
“Now what?"   He looked around, suddenly wary of being caught, even, trapped.  His brain was screaming—Run! Retreat!  Cover your backside!  Thoughts and feelings that were similar to those he'd experienced at Salamanca when the French had routed Wellington's army.  What an ignoble experience....

             
“My foot.  I stepped on something."

             
The haunting memory passed, and slowly his mind's eye refocused on the girl before him.  Would he ever forget the horrors of war?  Then, he looked down.  "Don't you own a pair of slippers?"

             
“There was no time to grab them."

             
“Emily--" But he knew he was wasting his breath and clamped his mouth shut.  Instead, he stooped and came up with her in his arms and resumed walking.

             
“What are you doing?  Put me down," she cried, kicking her feet and pummeling his shoulders with her fists.

             
He stopped dead in his tracks and juggled her in his arms.  "Hold still, or I'll drop you." 

             
She complied instantly.

             
“That's much better."  He pulled Emily closer to his chest.  The feel of her soft curves set his pulses to racing, and her lilac scent intoxicated his senses.  With calculated effort, Gabriel reined in his desire, reminding himself that this tempting morsel was the enemy.  He met her glowering expression with a cold stare.  "Put your arms around my neck and behave.  It's late and I'm tired. This way we'll get back to the house sooner."  He waited until she clasped her hands together at the back of his neck, and started off again.

             
All too soon, they reached the terrace outside the library, and he reluctantly set her down on the flagstone.  Gabriel plucked more leaves from her tousled curls.  "You'd better brush your hair before going to bed.  Otherwise, your maid will wonder where you've been." 

             
Gabriel took her roughed hands in each of his, rubbing his thumbs over her bloodied scratches, and let his eyes slowly scan her attire.  "She'll probably ask questions anyway.  By the look of you, she'll likely surmise you've been in some sort of brawl."  He slid his hands up her arms, clasping her shoulders and turning her toward the door.  "Go to bed, Emily," he said, giving her a gentle shove at the small of her back.

             
As he followed her inside, he let his gaze rest on the sway of her hips as she climbed the stairs.  When a door above clicked, signifying she'd reached her room without mishap, he turned back into the salon and sank into a chair.

             
What a night!  So, his little protector had also seen Cecil leave the house.  And like himself, she, too, had lost his cousin's trail.  Probably, Cecil had slipped out to meet his accomplice, the very one whom Emily had overheard him plotting with in the woods.

             
Gabriel had never developed a fondness for his two cousins.  While growing up, Deborah exhibited a grasping nature and whined whenever she didn't get her way.  As an adult, she still acted the spoiled brat, pouting or venting anger whenever things displeased her.

             
Cecil and he had argued often during adolescence.  As a result, a good number of their differences had been settled with fisticuffs.  Over the years, Cecil had made it clear that he resented Gabriel's position as heir to the title and fortune.  Since Gabriel's return from the Peninsula Wars, he had often spied a covetous gleam in his cousin's cold, dark eyes.

             
Gabriel had no illusions concerning the advent of this house party.  His cousin's creditors must've been nipping at Cecil's heels to precipitate his protracted sojourn into the quiet hills of Cotswold.  In addition, being here would have provided an alibi for Cecil had his hired thugs in London succeeded in slitting Gabriel's throat.  Yes, Gabriel thought, it would behoove him to exercise more caution, just as Emily had said.

             
Emily!  What a fright that violet-eyed minx had given him tonight in the woods when he recognized her cry.  He'd swear his heart had actually skipped a beat, fearing something dreadful had happened to her.  One way or another, the girl was going to be the death of him.
              He allowed a roguish smile to curve the corners of his mouth as he recalled how she looked standing in a pool of moonlight.  Her wild tresses snarled with leaves.  Her robe wrapped tightly, protectively, about her slender body, emphasizing every feminine curve.  Her stance was defiant.  Her chin tilted up as her eyes sparkled with fury.  Her pouting mouth.  Those deliciously kissable lips.  It had taken all his will power not to take her in his arms and make love to her then and there.

             
Then, he remembered the flashback of trying to flee Napoleon's troops, and he suddenly understood its significance.  For there was little doubt about it--Miss Pendleton was one deadly trap—the parson’s mousetrap.

###
             

             
To evade an inquisition by Emily, Gabriel rose early, rode out with his bailiff, and managed to stay gone half the morning.  When good manners finally forced him to return to entertain his assembled guests, he fully expected Emily to be lying in wait for him.  Trying to outwit her, he entered the house through a side door, scanned the hall, and on his toes, snuck past the drawing room, feeling like an utter fool in front of a curious footman.

             
He was at the base of the stairs when a familiar giggle caused him to glance up to the first landing and groan.  There sat Emily, perched precariously on the banister with a bird's eye view of the length of the hall.

             
“Up here, milord," she chocked on another giggle and waved her dainty fingers at him.

             
“So I see."

             
“Who are you trying to avoid?” she whispered loudly.  “Miss Raines?”

             
When Gabriel didn’t answer, she squared her shoulders and frowned.  “Not me?”  Then she giggled.  “It never works, you know."

             
“Apparently not," he replied drily.

             
“Besides, I have been watching for you.  We never properly finished our discussion last night--"

             
“Em...er, Miss Pendleton," he corrected himself, slewing his eyes toward the interested footman positioned a mere ten feet away by the drawing room door.  “Perhaps we could continue this conversation in the study."  Tossing her a fulminating glance, he pivoted on his heel and headed down the hall.  He heard her light steps bouncing down the stairs, running up behind him.

             
“Ladies do not run, Miss Pendleton," he shot over his shoulder.

             
“True, but it is imperative you do not escape me."

             
That stopped him--physically and mentally.  Turning to face her, his eyes were drawn to hers.  He noted the loose tendrils of hair framing her smiling face.  Instantly, he envisioned her chasing him across a green field, saw himself outdistancing her, then deliberately slowing his pace.  He wanted her to catch him.  In his mind's eye, she reached out, grabbed his coat and tripped, bringing them both down.  He was falling, falling toward her, falling into a kiss.... 

             
“Gab, are you all right?"

             
Her voice broke his reverie, and he shook his head to force his eyes free of the hypnotic depths of her blue-violet gaze.  One hand, he realized, was wrapped about her upper arm.  He jerked his fingers away as though they'd been seared by a red hot flame.  Taking a step back, he threw open the door to the study for her to enter.

             
But this gave him little reprieve.  For once inside, Emily whirled around, her violet eyes staring up at him.  "Someone is trying to spill your claret--"

             
“Ladies do not use cant, Miss Pendleton."  He heaved an exaggerated sigh, a cover to gain control over his racing heart.  He was shaken by the extent of his desire for this girl.

             
“Yes, no, I mean you have forbidden me to say someone wants to kill or murder you."

             
“You're splitting hairs."

             
She shrugged a shoulder.  "What does it matter?  What is important is that you admit your life is not worth a groat."

             
“Thank you." 

             
She ignored his sarcasm.  “Ahha!  So you admit someone is after you.  All that remains is for us to--"

             
“Us?"

             
“Yes, us.  We must discover who wants you dead."

             
He ran one hand through his hair, then gave her a long, searching look.  "Let's just say I'm willing to listen to your crazy ideas.  Nothing more," he amended quickly.

             
“Very good,” she said with a nod of her head, setting her curls to bouncing. “Although, I agreed to come over to Lindemann Park with the condition that I be allowed to sleuth about and find your foes.”  When Gabriel offered no argument, she asked, “So, who do you think the culprit is?"