When a Rake Falls (10 page)

“What, is she lost?” Boyce found himself thinking about variables, a concept Eve used to make decisions but one he had never fully appreciated before. What if she had fallen out of her gig and lay injured? What if highwaymen were in the vicinity? What if the silly girl had entered the woods by herself and fell victim to a brethren of the boot-grabbing tree? Boyce inhaled to fill every inch of his lungs. “Tut!” He grabbed the blue coverlet to cover his nakedness, but Nurse Hadley objected to his attempts to rise.

She snatched the other corner of the coverlet and vigorously engaged in a tug-of-war. Her brooch hung with silver scissors and whatnots swayed and jingled. “Please, your lordship.”

“I can stand. Just watch me.” After a swift tug sideways, he claimed his prize and wrapped the scratchy blue coverlet around his torso. He swung his feet to the floor, then with slow, purposeful movements, he managed to stand. Once upright, some unseen, irksome fellow shoved red-hot needles into his ribs and right knee.

Nurse Hadley widened her eyes after an accidental glimpse of his tender bits, then fled the room, passing Tut in the doorway. “Feverish, that one is.”

Tut's eyebrows rose for a fraction of a second before the mask of the discriminating butler descended over his countenance. “Yes, my lord.”

“I understand from Nurse that Miss Mountfloy has not returned. Is that true?”

Tut calmly addressed him, seemingly oblivious to Boyce's inadequate attire. “Yes, my lord, the young lady has not returned to the priory.”

“Bring me my breeches, shirt, and coat. Immediately, if you would be so kind. Oh, and can you acquire a pair of boots for my use?”

“I will see what I can do, your lordship. May I make a suggestion?”

“Yes, yes.”

“We have arranged for John to be your valet while you are here at the priory, but he is currently out with the other servants performing an errand for Mrs. Buxton. Perhaps I may be of service.”

“Of course. I shall try not to be too much trouble. But I really insist my clothes are fetched this instant. If Miss Mountfloy has not returned, I am quite sure she is in need of me.” He stepped over to the oak washstand and groaned at the sight of whisker growth shading his checks. “I say, Tut, what's this errand that called the servants out of the house?”

The butler turned in the doorway. “A matter of business, my lord. However, that business is unknown to me. With your permission, I will retrieve a suitable pair of boots.”

One of those pesky variables troubled Boyce's brain again. If she were injured, how would he get Eve home to the priory? “Yes, yes, and, Tut.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I need a horse.” He pictured her trampled by her own cart and lying on the ground, writhing in pain. His heartbeat raced. “Can you obtain a suitable hack for my use?”

“I will see what I can do.” Tut left the room and returned soon after. His arms were full of Boyce's clean clothes and a pair of borrowed black boots polished to a pier-glass shine.

“You're a magician, Tut, thank you.” Boyce grabbed his clothes and moved behind a Chinese screen. With some difficulty and a few audible winces, he stepped into his breeches, threw his shirt over his head, tucked the tails of his shirt between his legs, and then buttoned his breeches. He had just finished with the three buttons on the top of his white linen shirt when Lydia entered his room unannounced.

“Oh, let me help you dress.” She giggled, rushing forward.

He stepped from behind the screen and held up his palm. “Stay where you are. Thank you, I don't need help. Where is Buxton, by the way?”

Lydia pouted and walked over to the window. “Buxton is away in London on business. He wants to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, you know. Evidently, our money or currency or something needs to be changed.
Decimal
is the word he uses. It has something to do with ten fingers and toes. It means nothing to me, but it is ever
so
important. That's the reason you only have me to amuse you during your stay at the priory, and I would like to amuse you, dear Boyce.”

“You were married what—two, three, eight months ago? I'd expect Buxton down here with his pretty new bride, not in London messing about with old coins.”

“That is all your fault. Buxton is rather put out with me at the moment, but I truly love him. I do.”

“My son finds it necessary to be in London.” Lady Buxton expostulated from the doorway. “He feels time apart to reflect upon the solemn state of matrimony would be beneficial to his wife and to himself. So he has left her with me for the time being. I can truly say that I am grateful for her company and assistance. At sixty years of age, my mind is not as it used to be. A few months ago in the spring, I instructed the gardeners to cut the roses by the front door. I meant to say grass, not roses, so now you understand why bare stumps greeted you upon your arrival. I cannot express my gratitude enough to my daughter-in-law for taking over the responsibilities of running the household.” She stepped forward to enter the room but halted after a couple of steps. “I see you are dressing. Come, Lydia, let his lordship dress in peace.”

“Boyce doesn't really mind if I stay, do you?” Lydia waved her hand. Her fluttering lace sleeve resembled a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

A transitory frown crossed Lady Buxton's face, replaced by a serene countenance and a tender grin.

“Delighted you are here, your ladyship,” he said. “Have you heard news of Miss Mountfloy?” He reached for his cravat and wrapped it several times around his neck. Fear for Eve's welfare knotted his stomach, but he needed to hide his distress, to spare the ladies concern.

“Oh!” Lydia clapped her hands “I hope you are going to tie the mathematical. That knot is the kick of fashion. And it makes a gentleman ever so handsome—irresistible, in fact.”

Lady Buxton exhaled audibly and sat next to her daughter-in-law. “No, Miss Mountfloy has not returned. Nor have the servants. Christine is with her, so no harm will come to her, I'm sure.”

“I'm sure they will be back soon, Mama,” Lydia said, adjusting her yellow muslin skirt into smooth, perfect folds across her lap.

Boyce stilled while Tut stepped forward to correct the hash he made of his neckcloth. “A simple knot, please. Since I will be riding.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Where are you off too?” Another pout crossed Lydia's perfect lips.

“I plan to search for Miss Mountfloy,” he said. “It is growing dark, and I fear for her safety. She is my responsibility, and I must see that she is restored to her father.”

“Young man,” Lady Buxton pleaded, “you are not well enough to ride. When the stable boys return, I will send them to hunt for Miss Mountfloy. You are not fit to undertake such strenuous exercise. Inflamed ribs can be lethal.”

While he slipped into the sleeves of his coat, biting his tongue to suppress a grimace, the nurse reentered the room. Clearly she was one of those uncanny females with a second sense to indicate when her patients were fully dressed.

Lady Buxton turned awkwardly in her chair to face the nurse, an indication of possible stiffness in her hip. “Nurse Hadley agrees with me that you should rest. Don't you?”

The nurse nodded and approached the bed. “Of course, your ladyship. The surgeon indicated the young man should stay abed for at least a week before any attempts at perambulation.”

Boyce wiped away the new smudge he made on his borrowed top boots before taking his first step with care. “Yes, yes, Mrs. Hadley, I like you. You are doing a fine job. Indeed, I cannot thank all of you ladies enough. Now, if you will excuse me, I will borrow one of your fine horses and hunt for Miss Mountfloy. Tut, I lost my hat when the balloon lifted off. Can you procure something suitable for the time being? Preferably the brim not too wide, mind you.”

“I will endeavor to find something satisfactory, my lord.” The butler exited the room.

Lady Buxton clicked her tongue. “Just like your mother, all reckless emotion and no common sense. I suppose there is no stopping you? If your ribs become inflamed, I plan to scold you to the devil.”

Boyce tentatively strolled over and kissed Lady Buxton on the cheek. “I like you too. I couldn't be more pleased to know I resemble my mother. And to show my gratitude, I plan to enjoy your scolding—”

The older woman slapped him on the cheek. “You young rapscallion. Anyone can see how important Miss Mountfloy is to you, so off with you.”

“Where's my kiss?” Lydia turned her cheek to Boyce. “I feel ever so slighted.”

“Of course you do.” Boyce gave her a kiss on the cheek with a loud smack and then turned to Nurse Hadley. “You're the one who actually deserves a kiss. Do you want one too?”

Nurse Hadley's wide eyes appeared genuinely horrified, while the other ladies laughed in unison.

Pleased with his success in hiding his anxiety over Miss Mountfloy's fate, he used the interruption to escape outside. There in the courtyard, he found a groom holding a real Sussex horse. Not as heavy as a shire or fat as a Suffolk, the good-sized beast sported a dun-brown coat and matching flaxen-colored tail and mane.

“If yo' have to go in yon woodlands,” the groom said, “this animal is better than the missus's fine stepper and will get yo' through the bracken without a fuss.”

Boyce took the reins and accepted a hand up. Within minutes, he found himself galloping down the lane next to the turnip field. The smell of dirt mixed with sour turnips warmed by the hot sun filled the air. The horse's strides sent more burning pins into his chest and leg. Because the approaching dusk dimmed the sunlight, he almost missed the disturbance in the rows of turnips where the wagons hauled the balloon out of the field. He didn't bother entering the field to inspect the site. Instead, he wheeled the horse toward the woodlands. Nearing the edge of the timber, a horse and gig came into view, a young lady standing by the front wheel. After a brief discussion with Christine, the variable he considered the worst of the bunch became real. Eve must be lost in the stand of trees and unable to find her way back to the gig. “Miss Mountfloy!” His voice echoed back, but the only other response was a sudden flight of startled birds.

No response.

His jaw tightened. “Christine, you head back to the priory and summon help. Explain that I have entered the woodland to rescue Miss Mountfloy.” Without waiting for her reply, he carefully urged the snorting, hesitant Sussex dun toward the low spots of foliage and bracken. Once they reached the thick undergrowth, the large beast stopped and flipped his head up. “Miss Mountfloy!” He called her name until his throat felt raw. “Miss Mountfloy!”

He spent an hour urging the reluctant horse forward, around, and through a combination of ferns and unknown, intensely green shrubs. The deeper he entered into the stand of trees, the more the reduced sunlight stunted the undergrowth, so the horse had an easier time. However, this new ease contrasted with Boyce's inability to determine his direction of travel. For all he knew, he could be moving in a giant circle. Finally, he heard a muffled sound from his right, so he headed in that direction. “Miss Mountfloy.”

“I'm here, over here.”

The sound was faint, but he heard it nevertheless. In what seemed like a decade later, he reached her trembling figure.

She held on to an oak tree trunk, and from the tenacity of her grip, the tree was probably all that kept her upright. The bottom half of her gown was torn and stained, while her face appeared downright filthy. Renowned for his high standards of dress, it seemed odd to him that she appeared the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

“Eve, Eve.” Dropping the reins, he jumped off the horse, winced in pain, swore, and leaped over shrubs regardless. When near, he noticed tears streaking down her pale cheeks. He grabbed her up in his arms and held her tight. For some reason, he could not think of a good reason to let her go.

Her tears only intensified. “Thank you. Thank you. I was so frightened. I did not think anyone would find me before dark.” Her sobbing grew louder.

“Shh, you're safe.” The second after speaking these words, Boyce tried to decide which one of them felt more relieved. Her violent sobs against his chest and her sorrowful state of dress indicated she had had a rough time. She must have struggled in vain for hours to find her way out of the woodland. By contrast, his desperation only swirled about in his head in relative physical comfort, so she must have suffered the most.

When he released his grip, she kissed him full on the lips.

She must have been in more distress than he had initially realized. He held her at arm's length to examine her fully. Perhaps he missed an injury. He found her dirty but well. “Yes, yes, good to see you're not hurt.” Now he felt emboldened enough to aim for those apple lips. Upon the touch of her lips, his physical awareness became lost in a fog of joy. Since his lips were otherwise engaged, his heart sang a happy tune. He kissed her cheek. Upon the touch of her skin, his every care for the last several days melted. For him, his kiss was no general peck of good wishes or even the beginnings of seduction; it was an unspoken expression of “I'm overjoyed you're well.” Actually, he liked kissing her, so he continued to do so. Soon, he covered every inch of her pretty person with a kiss—well, every inch that could be kissed. So he kissed her ear—she grinned—he kissed her neck, long and slow. “Yes, yes, so pleased you're safe.”

She sagged in his arms. “Ah.”

“Seems to me I should record that you just uttered a sound of apparent satisfaction.”

“Enough,” she said, chuckling softly. Her cheeks were as apple red as her lips. “Listen, madman, how do we get out of here?” She punched his chest.

“Ow!” He clutched his upper arm.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I forgot about your injury.” She paused. “What are you doing here? You should be in bed. I apologize, I really do, but numerous kisses will not assist us in finding our way out of the woods.”