Hell, not only did she have a blind old dog, she also had ailing parents and apparently went without food and sleep. Even since he’d been a boy it had been in him to play rescuer, and despite his vows to keep away from women, he couldn’t resist this sort of call.
Of course, if he stayed with her, perhaps he could persuade her away from the story again...
Yes, that was a far better reason for him to stay than wanting to rescue her or, God forbid, kiss her. He peered around the park. At least there was no one here but he couldn’t think what had come over him, wishing to kiss this pesky reporter in public.
Or wishing to kiss her at all.
Because kisses led to more, and he could not offer more. Would not offer more. Once he got her to the bedroom, she’d see the truth of his problems and there would be hell to pay. Really, he should not even be assuming a woman like Miss Haversham would consider joining him in the bedroom, but his unruly bloody mind would not cease going there. She’d be pale against his red bedding though the outline of her was a little fuzzy. Who knew what sort of a figure lay under that oversized coat? Was she lithe or curvaceous? He wagered more on the lithe side considering she hardly ate but who could tell under that sack of a garment?
And why was he wasting his time entertaining such thoughts?
“Are you feeling better?”
She glanced down at her hands before looking up. “Yes,” she admitted.
He knew the admission cost her. Miss Haversham was the sort of woman who ploughed on through, regardless of how tired or hungry she was. It didn’t take being an investigative journalist to figure that much out about her.
While it made her a royal pain in his behind, he could not help admire such a trait. Since inheriting his title, he couldn’t think of a day when he had not had some sort of work to do. He found those who enjoyed leisure time or didn’t throw themselves into work hard to understand. If one has a duty, one should do it.
It seemed Miss Haversham had several duties, but he wished she didn’t feel she had one to this story. If she figured anything out, there’d be hell to pay.
But she wouldn’t. All of these years doing this, and no one had figured them out. Not to mention, he was as cautious as they could come. There was no denying her tenacity but coming upon the idea of him partaking in kidnappings was a stretch for anyone, even someone as clever as her.
“You really should cease following me, Miss Haversham. It appears to be tiring you out.”
“You are hiding something, Lord Huntingdon, and I intend to find out what it is.”
“I was not aware visiting with a friend was some illicit deed.”
A pale brow arched. “It can be if that friend is a certain sort.”
A laugh escaped him. He’d never even had that sort of a friend. Amelia had been the closest to that happening and she’d near sprinted from him when she had seen the size of him. Not that it had shocked him, but he’d rather hoped seeing as they loved each other, they might be able to figure something out. Of course, he could have waited until they were wed, and she had no choice but to do the deed, but he had more respect for the both of them than to do that.
She peered at him. “The duchess is an attractive woman. I do not see how that’s amusing.”
“The duchess has no more interest in me than I do her.”
“What of Lady Steele? She was beautiful and accomplished. You could have been having an affair with her.”
“It takes more than mere beauty and accomplishment to capture my attention.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like...” He frowned, trying to recall exactly why he had fallen for Amelia in the first place. She’d been funny and rather vivacious, he supposed. Almost the opposite of him in some ways. Though he still resented their broken engagement and the humiliation that had come with her behavior, he struggled to picture how they would have functioned together these days. “Like courage, and tenacity. A sense of hard work.”
She opened her mouth then closed it. Damn it. He’d just described her, had he not? And she likely well knew it.
“And dark hair,” he added. “Lots of curves. Voluptuous.”
Her gaze narrowed to slits. “Of course.”
“Anyway, I am not having an affair so you can keep that out of your column, Miss Haversham, unless you take pleasure in ruining lives.”
“I do not take pleasure in ruining lives,” Miss Haversham protested. “But it was the only job open to a woman.”
“Why not find another job if you do not enjoy doing it?”
“Spoken like a true noble. Of course you would not understand having to work without pleasure to survive.”
“I understand full well working without pleasure. Most of my duties seldom bring me pleasure, but if I did not do them, my estates would not survive and the people who rely on me to keep them running would flounder.”
She blinked a few times. “Oh. Well, I...” She lifted her chin, bright spots of color on her cheeks. “Well, you will never go hungry.”
“That is true,” he conceded. “And that is where we are different, I suppose.”
DIFFERENT. YES. ENTIRELY different. So why was Freya struggling to remember that? He had wealth, privilege, education.
Good looks.
She had none of those. Everything she had was fought for and it still wasn’t enough. But if this story broke…
No, when this story broke and she found out what had happened to those women, she would finally be recognized as a reporter of note. The newspaper couldn’t turn down any of her future articles after that, surely?
“Perhaps it might be best if you turn your attention to another story,” Lord Huntingdon suggested. “Surely there is something else you can write about that does not involve you hiding in trees and following me about?”
“Well, you would like that, would you not? Especially if you were guilty.”
His brows lifted. “You think me involved in their disappearance?”
“Well...” She pressed her lips together. Wonderful, now she had put herself in thoroughly hot water, practically assuming a peer of the realm of kidnap.
That wasn’t exactly what she was saying but he had to be hiding something. “Why else would you be so insistent I drop the story?”
“Perhaps because I’m getting a little tired of having my every move watched, not to mention you are so exhausted you haven’t noticed that half of your hair has spilled free and that your coat buttons are done up wrong.”
“Oh.” She put a hand to her hair and felt a long spiral of it trailing down the back of her coat. Then she glanced at her buttons and grimaced. If her plan today had been to make an utter fool of herself, she was doing a fine job of it.
“If it’s any consolation, your hair is quite lovely.”
Freya rose sharply from the bench. “I do not need your patronizing compliments, my lord.” Especially about the one thing she actually took pride in.
He held up both hands. “I promise there was nothing patronizing about it.”
“Well...I...”
She twisted and released a sound of frustration then stomped off toward a small pond at the center of the gardens. A few ducks bobbed on the surface and she rather envied them, sitting around, all unflustered and entirely sure of what they needed to do, which was, well, behave like a duck she supposed.
Her plans for today had gone entirely awry. She had hoped she might spot something sinister or scandalous but all she’d found out was that Lord Huntingdon noticed everything and they were more alike than she’d like to admit.
Footsteps sounded behind her, so she picked up the pace, following the circular path around the pond. She focused on the iron gates. Perhaps if she moved quickly enough, she could slip through and slam the gates on him and put an end to this humiliation.
Not that running away from an earl would be the most dignified of moments but how much longer could she tolerate being in his presence before she did or said something silly?
&nb
sp; “Miss Haversham,” he called.
She ignored him.
“Miss Haversham,” he repeated, his voice firm. A hand curled around her wrist, tugging her to a halt. She twisted but he was closer than she’d anticipated so she pressed her palms to his chest to get some distance.
He wavered for a moment and she frowned, glanced down and spotted the heels of his polished hessians too close to the edge of the pond. She grabbed for him too late. He toppled backward, his eyes going wide before he vanished into the murky water.
Frozen, she eyed the water, the ripples sending the ducks bobbing about aggressively. It couldn’t be that deep so he wouldn’t drown.
Would he?
“Oh Lord.” Scanning the surface, she tried to swallow the knot in her throat. With a shake of her head, she flicked open the buttons of her coat and shoved off her boots with each foot to the heel. “Jumping into a pond in the middle of Autumn. Just wonderful,” she muttered before taking a leap.
The water closed about her, stealing the breath from her lungs. She gasped when it reached her neck. “Whoever created this pond was an imbecile.”
Why would anyone make one so deep? She fumbled around where she’d last seen the earl, aware of the mud seeping between her toes. Her fingers brushed fabric and she snatched it, hauling with all her strength until the earl emerged, his eyes closed. She shoved him toward the edge of the pond then clambered out.
Teeth chattering, she cursed under her breath and paced around then grabbed the collar of his coat then dragged him fully from the water. He weighed a ton and she supposed he had been weighted down by his clothes when he had gone under.
His eyes remained closed. Panic fluttered in her chest. The park remained empty with no sign of a strong man to help revive him or some tender woman who would know what to do with him. She kneeled beside him and prodded his chest.
“Um, Lord Huntingdon.” His dark lashes stayed fanned across his cheeks. His hat was long gone, and his damp hair curled outrageously. She wanted to touch it, which was entirely ridiculous given he remained knocked senseless. She poked him again, and when he didn’t respond she poked him several more times.
“Oh God, I’ve killed an earl,” she wailed, dropping her head to his chest.
“I’m not dead.”
She lifted her head swiftly.
He cracked an eye and peered at her. “Though there’s something vaguely celestial about all this.” He motioned to her loose, wet hair that spilled about her shoulders.
“Oh thank goodness!” Freya flung herself forward, looping her arms around his neck. Her lips met his in a rush and she stilled briefly, her eyes likely about as wide as his.
Then an arm wrapped about her waist and he kissed her back. She closed her eyes, lost to the sensation of his cold lips combined with his warm mouth. He kissed her hard, fiercely. Like he hadn’t kissed a woman in an age. Like a man who had nearly died, she supposed. He ran his hands up and down her back and a shiver wracked her.
He put his hands to her arms and eased her away. “You’re cold.”
“No.” She sucked in a heated breath and tried to tamp down on the disappointment creating a cold swirl in her stomach. “I mean I am but—”
But what? The shiver was nothing to do with her plunge into the water? She could hardly admit that.
“We should get you home and dry,” he said with a glance around. “And we should certainly move before someone happens upon us.”
She nodded, fingering a wet strand of hair. “Yes. We should. Of course.” She offered a swift smile. “Sorry for the whole, um, pond thing.”
He sat and pressed a finger to the back of his head. “I knocked my head when I went under I think.”
“I really did nearly kill you then.”
Lifting a shoulder, he offered her a lopsided smile that warmed her from her toes to her head. “I might have deserved it.” He stood and offered her a hand up. “I don’t suppose you wish to retrieve my hat, do you?”
She followed her gaze to spot it floating alongside the ducks. “Unfortunately, I think the ducks have claimed it as their own.”
“Alas, I think you might be right.” He bent to retrieve her coat and offered it out to her.
She grabbed it from him, threw it about her shoulders and took her offered boots too. “I had better be going, my lord,” she said, turning with her boots in hand. “Lots to do. A dog to walk. Articles to write. You know how it is.”
“Miss Haversham...”
She hastened down the path with bare feet and slipped out of the gates. Her bare feet and sodden state garnered looks from pedestrians and a gentleman even paused to ask if she needed help. Freya waved away his offer with a smile and didn’t stop until she was certain Lord Huntingdon hadn’t followed her. Pressing her back against the brick of a small butcher’s shop, she waited for her breaths to slow before slipping on her boots and doing her coat up properly.
She put a hand to her lips. What on earth had she just done?
Chapter Nine
A fitting for his newest jacket should be dull enough for a man to take his mind off a kiss.
Should be.
But was not.
Guy stared straight ahead out of the window of the tiny shop, potentially waiting as the seamstress tutted and tugged and moved around him.
“I must thank you for visiting me here, Lord Huntingdon,” Miss Walker said as she did another loop around him, paused, rubbed her chin and plucked something from the front of the coat. “I did not want to make you wait any longer.”
“Your services are quite in demand.” He glanced down at the jacket and tugged the edges. “I know why. You do excellent work.”
Miss Walker clasped her hands together and beamed at him. “Thank you, my lord, it means a lot to me to hear that.”
He eyed the seamstress. Around Miss Haversham’s age with tightly coiled dark hair pulled into a severe bun, and generous, pretty lips, Miss Walker had garnered herself quite the reputation with members of the ton lately. He didn’t much care for fashions but he enjoyed a perfectly fitted jacket.
And he needed one now. His dip in the pond had likely rendered those garments entirely unusable. He’d overheard his housekeeper speaking with Brown about the matter and how furious the laundry maids had been.
Brown hadn’t even lifted a brow when Guy had arrived home, drenched from head to toe, and Guy refused to offer an explanation regardless. What could he say? He’d decided to take a little swim? He’d fallen into a pond then been rescued by a nymph who kissed him as though she needed his kiss more than anything in the world?
“Lord Huntingdon, are you displeased?”
He blinked and focused his attention back on Miss Walker. “Not at all.”
“You had a strange sort of look then.” She pursed her lips and eyed the jacket critically. “A minor adjustment to the sleeves I think. I can do that right now.”
“Of course.” He swallowed hard and forced away thoughts of wet gowns and small waists and generous hips and long, long wet hair.
And how she tasted...
The bell at the door rang and Guy looked up, grateful for the interruption.
That was, until she walked in.
“Lucy, I—” Miss Haversham’s gaze met his. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Is it not enough that you follow me everywhere else? Can I not have a moment’s peace?” His words came out sharper than intended, mostly because he’d been recalling the exact flavor of her mouth and how soft she’d felt against him. Now he suspected he must have conjured her somehow, just to ensure the torture was complete.
“Actually, I—”
“Miss Walker, I apologize, but Miss Haversham has been following me because she has some odd idea that I am involved in a story.”
Miss Walker lifted a hand. “Oh, Lord Huntingdon—”
“Miss Haversham, I suggest you leave. With haste.”
Her mouth t
ightened and she shucked off that awful coat, flinging it over the long table that ran along the front of the shop then added her hat to the pile. “I am here for Miss Walker,” she snapped. “Your ego might have you believe a woman cannot have a life outside of you, my lord, but Miss Walker is my friend. I had no idea you were going to be here.”
He looked to Miss Walker.
She nodded, biting down on her lip. “It is true, my lord. Freya helps me when I have more orders than I can manage. We have known each other since I moved to England as a child.”
“Ah.” He drew in a deep breath.
One kiss and he’d become an utter fool. Miss Haversham had turned him into a madman. He blew out a long breath. “I apologize—”
“I can see you’re busy, Lucy, so I shall leave you to it,” Miss Haversham said, making a grab for her coat.
“Oh, you can help me if you do not mind,” Miss Walker suggested. “I only need to do the sleeves, but I could use an extra hand.”
Freya glanced between them both and shoulders sagged. “Of course.”
Guy froze as she neared him. Miss Walker directed her to pinch the fabric and he fixed his gaze on the street outside, the movement of people slightly blurry through the thick, beveled glass.
In the peripheral of his vision, Miss Haversham remained perfectly still, her gaze cast down while Miss Walker worked. He stole a few glances, liking the way her pale lashes fanned against her cheeks far too much and wondering how she gathered all that hair so with one simple comb.
It had been spectacularly long when wet but how would it look unleashed? He never thought a blasted comb could be a temptation. Given he had managed to resist the lure of any woman since Amelia, he would have thought himself impervious to such thoughts.
But, no, this wretched comb taunted him. One little tug and her hair would spill down her shoulders and wind down to just above her rear. It would swing there, begging for his touch. Then once he’d run the length of her hair through his fingers, he’d curve his hands over that arse and cup her close.
And she would panic and flee, just like Amelia had done. Except it would be even worse. He’d likely end up in the gossip columns.
Taking the Spinster (The Kidnap Club Book 3) Page 6